by Olivia Drake
As the coach rumbled past an alleyway, she glimpsed a sight that drove out all other thought. A gang of adolescent boys surrounded a small gray object on the cobblestones. One of them kicked at it, and it attempted to dart away, only to be encircled again by its tormentors.
Eyes wide, she turned back to stare in horror. “It’s a dog,” she gasped. “Those boys are torturing him.”
“Street urchins,” the duke said, his lips curling in disgust. “It is no concern of ours.”
James sprang to his feet. “Stop this coach at once.”
The coachman immediately began to slow the team of horses.
“Your Highness, surely you cannot think to interfere,” Lady Davina said. “It’s far too dangerous—”
He vaulted over the side of the still-moving vehicle and ran toward the band of boys. Blythe hastily unlatched the door and jumped out, too, even before the footman at the rear could fold down the step.
Stumbling, she swiftly regained her footing and dashed after James. Only one thought filled her mind, to rescue the poor animal before it was injured or killed.
Ahead of her, James gave a shout. The boys saw him coming and scattered in all directions. One attempted to snatch up the dog, but James caught him by the scruff of his neck. The brat tore himself free and took off at a run.
Blythe reached James just as he knelt on one knee to see to the cowering animal. Whimpering, the dog quivered in fright.
She crouched down, peeling off her glove to extend her bare hand to the mutt. “Oh, you poor dear. Are you hurt?”
“Have a care, he might nip.”
“No, he won’t. There, you see?”
The mutt cautiously sniffed her fingers and began to wag its stubby tail. Blythe continued to croon, telling the dog he was her sweet, pretty darling, even though his fur was so dirty and matted that she couldn’t even discern its true color.
James gently examined the beast for injury. “It doesn’t look as though she’s suffered any permanent damage,” he said.
“She?”
“Indeed. She’s only a pup, and a skinny one at that.” James had abandoned the prince’s accent for the moment. “The question is, what are we to do with her?”
Blythe made an instant decision. “I’m taking her home, of course.”
“Are you certain that’s wise?” he said with a keen stare. “Your mother doesn’t appear to like dogs—or any other pets.”
“She needn’t know.” Petting the mutt, Blythe considered how best to elude her mother’s sharp eyes. “We’ll simply have to sneak the dog in the back door and let her live in the kitchen.”
James arched an eyebrow. “We?”
“I, then. I will smuggle her into the house and see if one of the other footmen will look after her for me.”
“Perhaps the prince should adopt her. It might prove amusing to convince Lady Davina that this mutt is a rare, long-lost breed that somehow escaped from Ambrosia.”
Blythe giggled. She glanced over her shoulder at the landau, parked halfway down the street. With all the traffic noise, it was impossible for them to be overheard. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“You should know by now that I would dare anything.”
The rakish glint in his dark eyes brought to mind things she oughtn’t be thinking about. Things that involved kissing and caressing. Things that appealed to her far too much.
“We had better return to the coach,” she said. “The duke will become impatient.”
“A calamitous event that must be avoided at all costs.”
On that sardonic note, James stood up, then helped Blythe to her feet. Tail wagging, the puppy regarded them with mournful brown eyes. Suddenly she hopped onto her hind legs and braced her front paws on his breeches, leaving dirty streaks on the buff fabric.
“Minx,” he said, reaching down to scoop up the dog without a care for his fine coat. “That might be the very name for you. You’ll need a proper bath and a brushing as soon as possible.”
Wriggling with happiness, Minx washed his chin with her pink tongue.
Blythe smiled. “I do believe you have a new admirer, Prince Nicolai.”
“She’s far too forward, considering we’ve just met.” He lowered his voice to a husky murmur. “A pity she doesn’t realize I would sooner have kisses from a different girl.”
“Lady Davina?”
“Try again.” His gaze dipped to Blythe’s mouth, making his meaning deliciously clear. Then he returned his eyes to hers. “Shall we go? Prince Nicolai must shame our two companions into allowing this grimy little mutt to share the coach.”
As they walked back toward the landau, James carrying the dog tucked in the crook of his arm, Blythe felt a warm glow in the region of her heart. He had been quick and decisive in saving the puppy from harm. It had been the act of a fine, decent man who was noble in character if not in birthright.
So what did that make the Duke of Savoy?
She hesitated even to consider the question.
* * *
“I wonder if we should wait downstairs,” Edith asked, parting the lace under-curtain in her boudoir to peer down at the street. With the weather so fair, the green square teemed with pedestrians. “That way we can step quickly outside to greet Prince Nicolai when Blythe returns.”
“Is that why you summoned me from my work?” George said. “To make a decision as to where you should stand? Do as you see fit. It matters naught to me.”
Edith stepped briskly to stop him from leaving the room. Her husband looked irritated, his lips thinned and his eyes frowning. It never failed to amaze her how obtuse men could be about courtship. Situations had to be orchestrated, events planned in advance, opportunities seized lest they be lost forever.
She patted his hand. “Don’t be cross, dearest. I need your help. If you would just have a word with Prince Nicolai, perhaps you can persuade him to accept our dinner invitation.”
“He’s already turned us down. And what is this sudden interest in him, anyway?”
“Blythe was very taken with the prince last evening, as he was with her. Did you not notice the way they kept gazing at each other?”
“Frankly, no. However, she’s stated several times that her wish is to marry the Duke of Savoy.”
“But she can do better.” Edith gripped his hands hard. “Only think, George. No one among our acquaintances has a daughter who has married royalty. Not Lady Wargrave, not Lady Grantham, not even the Duke of Savoy himself.”
“What? I won’t have my daughter going off to live in a remote country where we’ll never see her again.”
“But they’ll be able to visit from time to time. Imagine, darling, our grandson could be a king.”
George shook his head decisively. “Absolutely not. I forbid it. Your ambitions are taking you much too far this time.”
“But dearest—”
“No, Edith. That is my final word on the matter.”
Lips pursed, she watched him wheel around to leave the boudoir. She had to concede the issue. Once George made up his mind, it was difficult to convince him otherwise. Blythe would have to wed the duke.
At the doorway, George turned back around. “By the by, did you ever find that letter?”
Nothing could have been better designed to distract Edith from her matchmaking scheme. “No. It’s still missing. I’ve searched everywhere.”
“Well, see to it that you keep looking. I needn’t warn you of the consequences should it fall into the wrong hands.”
As he left, a cold fear settled in her bones. Yes, she knew that all too well. They could lose everything: the house, their wealth, their standing in society. And in a court of law, possibly even their very lives.
She had queried the maids, moved every piece of furniture, but to no avail. Where had that blasted letter gone?
Chapter 24
After the drive in the park, James directed the coachman to deliver Savoy and his snooty daughter to their house on Albemarle Street. Then he let o
ff Blythe in the mews behind Crompton House so that she could slip the rescued dog in through the garden.
James wanted to accompany her. Unfortunately, his disguise as Prince Nicolai required him to return the coach to Lindsey’s house, where he changed back into his footman’s livery. There was a further delay as Blythe’s sisters grilled him about the progress of the ruse. By the time he’d arrived home, Blythe had already washed and brushed the little mutt.
He found the two of them downstairs in the laundry room surrounded by several maids. Blythe wore a damp apron over her pale green gown. Minx was curled up on a towel in her lap. Wielding a pair of scissors, Blythe clipped a mat out of the dog’s fur.
Amazingly, the dark gray dog was now a pale cream color. James refrained from commenting on the transformation, since he wasn’t supposed to have ever seen the animal before.
Blythe looked up at his entry. Given their audience, she wore a polite smile. “James, you’re just the person I’d hoped to see. Are you fond of dogs?”
“I am, indeed.”
“Excellent. Mama won’t permit animals upstairs, so I’d like for you to watch over Minx for me. You’ll need to see to her meals and let her out when necessary.”
He bowed. “You may depend on me, Miss Crompton.”
Their gazes locked as she rose and walked toward him to hand over the dog into his arms. “See to it that you do an excellent job. Prince Nicolai rescued Minx from a gang of ruffians, which makes her very special to me.”
Mirth—and something else—danced in Blythe’s eyes. A deep, mysterious warmth. It made James feel as tongue-tied as a callow lad. While he held the tail-wagging mutt, she disappeared out into the corridor. A moment later, he heard the light patter of her footsteps going up the stairs.
James didn’t see her again until after dark, when he was assigned to accompany the family coach to a ball. Under Godwin’s sharp-eyed supervision, James held the door for the Cromptons when they arrived at the party in Grosvenor Square. His gaze met Blythe’s for an eloquent moment; then she looked ahead to the torch-lit doorway and disappeared into the house.
After that one warm glance, the evening turned cold and lonely. He waited long hours out in the chilly night air, listening to the boasting and jesting of the coachmen and footmen, watching them play dice beside the long line of carriages. Having always had a distaste for gambling, he declined to join them.
Instead, he walked up and down the street in an effort to stave off irritation. He’d never been one for idling away the time; he vastly preferred to be active. The faint strains of music drifted from inside the house. He craved to be in there with Blythe, at her side, staking his claim on her. Not as Prince Nicolai, but as himself, James Ryding Crompton.
He wanted Blythe to know the truth about him. He wanted to peer into the future and be assured that she would understand he’d had no choice but to expose her parents as frauds. He hungered for the certainty of her forgiveness.
Damn, he was a fool! Hoping for the impossible would accomplish nothing. It was far more likely she’d hate him forever.
But what else was he to do? He couldn’t let the false Cromptons’ crime go unpunished.
Long after midnight, the noble guests began to trickle out of the house. The coachmen jockeyed their vehicles into position. Blythe emerged with her parents, and when James held the door for them, her gaze sought his. But this time, the playful warmth had vanished. Her eyes held a serious, almost troubled look.
Had something happened to upset her at the party? Perhaps Lady Davina had made another verbal jab. It frustrated James to be so removed from Blythe’s life that he could neither protect nor defend her.
Once back at Crompton House, Godwin did the honor of letting out Blythe and her parents at the front door while James remained on his perch at the rear of the coach. He had one last glimpse of her before the coachman drove around back to the mews.
Godwin held a lantern to light the gloomy path through the garden. As they entered the house through the servants’ door, a ball of fur barreled out of the darkness. The head footman yelped and nearly fell.
Minx planted her paws on James’s legs, wagged her tail, and yapped for attention. “I see you’ve learned how to push open the door,” James said, reaching down to scratch her long ears. “Were you looking for me?”
“That creature should be kept in the stables,” Godwin said, wrinkling his fastidious nose. “There will be puddles all over the floor.”
“Miss Crompton gave orders for the dog to live in the house.”
Leaving the head footman to stew, James led Minx out to the grassy area of the garden. While she sniffed and explored, his gaze was drawn upward to the glow of candles in Blythe’s window. He peeled off his white gloves and stuffed them into his pockets. What was the cause of that distressed look she’d given him?
The question nagged at him like a sore tooth.
Minx completed her business and ran back to him. “Good girl,” he said absently. She trotted alongside him as he went back inside. The corridor was dim and deserted at this late hour. Godwin was gone, presumably having retired to his attic bedchamber.
James paused at the shadowy entrance to the servants’ stairs. He was supposed to take the dog back down to the cellar kitchen.
But she provided him with the perfect excuse to visit Blythe.
It took no more than an instant to make the decision. Reaching for Minx, he tucked the dog under his arm and started up the stairs. “You’re to be very quiet,” he told the pup, giving her head a rub. “No yapping or whining. Is that understood?”
Minx gave him an adoring look and licked his hand. Then she looked ahead, clearly excited at the prospect of accompanying him on an excursion into new territory.
A shuttered oil lamp at the landing enabled him to see the narrow wooden steps of the servants’ stairwell. James continued up until he reached the floor where the family bedchambers were located.
There, he peered cautiously out into the passageway. An encounter with George or Edith would be a disaster. They’d want to know why he’d brought a dog up here. Such an incident would draw attention to James when he needed to remain unobtrusive, just another anonymous servant performing his duties.
Happily, their suite of rooms lay at the opposite end of the floor from Blythe’s. And it was, after all, the middle of the night. By now, everyone should be in bed.
Was Blythe?
A keen sense of anticipation spurred James onward. He felt lust, yes, but something more. He enjoyed being in her company, teasing her, making her smile. While playing Prince Nicolai, first at the party and then on the drive through Hyde Park, he’d had the freedom to live in her world. That was the root cause of what had been eating at him all evening. He despised being relegated to the lowly status of a servant. He craved for her to view him as an equal.
Damn! How the devil was he to persuade Blythe to run off to Gretna Green to be married? He didn’t doubt she felt an attraction to him; their hot kiss in her father’s office had proven that. But the Duke of Savoy had the clear advantage. The old coot possessed a pedigree no footman could ever match.
It was one thing for James to charm Blythe with witticisms and gifts. It was quite another for him to convince her to abandon wealth, family, and status. To give up her luxurious world for marriage to a nobody.
A common servant.
But he had to succeed. His need to expose the crimes of her parents depended upon him luring her north to Lancashire.
As he approached Blythe’s chamber, his footfalls barely made a sound on the plush carpeting. With any luck, her maid would be gone by now. It would be best if there were no witnesses to his visit here.
He raised his hand to knock. But before he could do so, the door opened. Blythe started to walk out, then stopped and stared.
So did he. All the blood in his brain rushed to his loins. The candle in her hand illuminated a pale cream dressing gown tied at her slim waist. Her hair was piled on her head in a
careless knot with a few coppery strands hanging loose on her shoulders.
She had never looked more alluring.
“James!” Her startled gaze softened as she looked at the mutt. “Oh, you’ve brought my sweet little darling. I was just now going to visit you, Minx.”
Blythe retreated to set down her candle on a table just inside the bedchamber. Then she took the animal from James and cuddled it to her bosom. Minx squirmed with delight, licking Blythe’s chin.
Laughing, Blythe tilted her head back in an attempt to evade the washing. As she did so, her bodice stretched taut over her breasts.
Her unbound breasts. In the uncertain light, he could just see the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric.
James tried not to gawk. He wanted to be the one held in her arms, pressed to that luscious body. Damn, he was jealous of a dog. Nothing could be more pitiful.
“I thought you might wish to see her,” he said inanely.
“That’s very considerate of you.” Nibbling her lip, Blythe gave him a soulful, serious look. “James, I’m very glad you’re here. I’d like to talk to you. May I bother you to come in for a few minutes?”
Bother him? He held back a strained chuckle. Little did she know, he’d follow her anywhere, even into the fires of hell.
Chapter 25
Leading the way into her shadowy bedchamber, Blythe hugged the sturdy little dog. The animal’s warmth and unconditional love were a comfort. And Blythe needed support after what she’d learned at the party. The news had festered inside her, making sleep impossible.
James closed the door. The welcome surprise of discovering him out in the corridor had been the best moment of her evening. He couldn’t know it, but at that very instant she’d been wondering which of the bedchambers in the servants’ garret belonged to him, and whether she dared to go look for him. She was that desperate.
He was the only one in whom she wished to confide. Not her mother, not her father, not her sisters. Only James.