The Princess and the Pea

by Victoria Alexander

  So far, Jared had said nothing about her driving the motorcar. She’d caught a few considering glances tossed her way and she’d responded to each with an innocent smile. But she had little doubt he would broach the subject eventually. Her gaze fell on the automobile standing alone like a cocky warrior who had defeated a powerful enemy, and she grinned to herself. It was nice to learn the way to truly disarm a man was to allow him to believe you were in serious danger, or better yet, dead. Relief appeared to wash away any vestige of anger at one’s actions. Perhaps it was a trick that would not work every time, but it was useful knowledge to have.

  Lady Olivia was still in the vicinity somewhere. She was the quintessential lady of the castle today, lending assistance and support with words of encouragement and gratitude. Cece could not help but admire her.

  “Are you ready to go home?” A thoroughly grubby Jared trudged toward her. “There’s nothing more to be done here.” He and Quentin both had joined in fighting the blaze, and the man now standing before her was a picture of soot-covered weariness.

  She laughed softly. “You look as bad as the stables.”

  He arched a brow and tossed her a tired grin. “I would not cast stones, my love. Perhaps you’ve forgotten your own state?”

  She glanced down at the charming frock she had donned only a few hours earlier. The pale apricot dress was streaked with grime. A long tear exposed her no longer white slip. Her hands were black with smoky grit and she suspected her face had not fared much better. “We do make a pretty pair.”

  Jared wrapped a strong arm around her. “We do indeed.” They started toward the castle. He heaved an exhausted sigh. “Let’s go home.”

  Home. The castle. It struck her that it would indeed be home soon. Her home and his and, someday, their children’s. The thought was as warm as the arm around her.

  Slowly they walked down the lane, a content silence between them.

  “Your lordship.” A voice called from behind and they turned. A pair of servants tramped toward them, a small weasel of a man gripped between the two.

  Cece gasped. “Sinclair.”

  Jared threw her a puzzled look, then turned to the men holding Sinclair. “What is this all about?”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, milord.” Cece recognized the taller man as one of the servants who had played the fiddle. Andrew, she thought. “We found this bloke skulking about. He tried to make a break for it, but we caught him.”

  “Right after the fire started, it was, milord,” the second man said. “He looked suspicious, so we thought we’d bring him to you.”

  “We’re nearly certain”—Andrew threw Sinclair a disgusted glare—“he started the fire.”

  Jared’s eyes darkened. “Is this true, Sinclair?”

  Sinclair shook off the hands gripping him. The servants took a short step backwards. Sinclair straightened his jacket and glared coolly as if it was Jared, and not he, who was in the wrong. “It was an unfortunate accident. My apologies. I will, of course, make financial restitution for the loss.”

  A muscle ticked in the clenched line of Jared’s jaw. His voice was icy, calm and dangerous. “What were you doing at the stables? On my property?”

  Sinclair’s beady, ratlike eyes narrowed and he stared at Jared for a moment. His oily gaze slipped to Cece, and she shuddered. This was indeed a wicked creature doubtlessly here to steal the carburetor. What was he going to say? Fear caught her breath. Surely he would not tell Jared about his arrangement with James?

  A slow, hateful smile creased Sinclair’s face and he nodded at Cece. “Ask her.”

  “Me?” Her voice squeaked.

  Jared’s eyes hardened, his gaze still on Sinclair. “Why?”

  Sinclair cocked an insolent brow.

  “Jared…” Cece said, a rising note of concern in her voice.

  “Why?” Jared repeated sharply.

  “Why?” Sinclair leered. “Why, my dear sir, because she knows my purpose here.”

  “I doubt that your presence has anything to do with legitimate matters,” she snapped. Misgiving flashed across his face, as if he had just remembered her threat of legal prosecution. She suspected he would not take that risk.

  Sinclair shot her a spiteful glare, the look of someone who realizes he’s lost. Then his eyes widened, as if a new strategy had occurred to him. Apprehension gripped her with an iron grasp.

  “And who would know better than you about legitimate matters?” He sneered with pure malice. His vile gaze lingered on her, but he directed his words to Jared. “Did you know she paid me off?”

  Cece gasped.

  Jared slanted her a quick glance of surprise but returned his attention to Sinclair. His voice was deceptively mild. “I find that extremely hard to believe.”

  “Believe it or not, as you wish. But your charming little American fiancée indeed paid me three hundred pounds.” Sinclair shrugged. “She wanted to make certain your automobile would beat mine.”

  “That’s not true!” Cece said with indignation.

  “It is quite farfetched, Sinclair,” Jared said. “Your machine has never been the equal to mine. If Cece wanted to ensure my success, there are far better competitors to bribe than you.”

  “Perhaps I was mistaken then.” Sinclair smirked at Cece. “Are you saying you didn’t give me three hundred pounds?” He patted his waistcoat. “I could have sworn I had the bank draft on me here somewhere.”

  “Cece—” Jared said, a warning in his voice.

  She wanted to lie through her teeth and deny everything, but she couldn’t contradict one part of Sinclair’s statement without admitting to the other, and the disgusting little man obviously had the proof still on his person. If she told Jared she had paid Sinclair, she would also have to tell him why. It was best for him to be angry with her, rather than know the truth about his brother.

  “Jared, I…” She stared, powerless to defend herself.

  The emotions that flickered through the stormy seas of his eyes nearly broke her heart. Disbelief. Shock. Disappointment. Anger.

  A controlled fury underlaid his words. He turned to the servants and jerked his head toward Sinclair. “Remove him at once and deliver him to the proper authorities. Make sure he’s charged with something. Arson, trespassing, I don’t care.”

  Sinclair cast them a smug smile of triumph and turned to accompany the servants, as if he was leaving of his own accord. He had distorted the truth just enough to put her in the position of destroying Jared’s faith in his brother or his faith in her.

  Jared turned and stalked toward the castle. She scrambled to catch up with him. “Jared!”

  He ignored her and continued. She reached out her hand and grabbed his arm. “Jared, please.”

  He stopped and turned to face her. His midnight eyes glittered like dark jewels on a winter night, cold and hard and unfeeling. He studied her for a long moment and her heart sank. “Tell me the truth, Cece: Did you pay him three hundred pounds?”

  She stared helplessly and struggled to find an answer. Nothing came to mind. No clever rejoinder. No keen evasion. Not even an intelligent, outright lie. She pulled a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “Why?” He spat the word as if it were obscene.

  Again defenselessness washed over her. She could only shake her head mutely.

  He seized her arms, his gaze boring into hers. Betrayal shone in his eyes. “I thought you believed in my machine. In my aspirations. In me.”

  “I do, Jared, I do.” The words came from the depths of her heart, and she prayed he’d believe her.

  “It would seem your actions contradict your words. If you had faith in me, you would not find it necessary to resort to paying off a scoundrel like Sinclair. Really, Cece.” He released her and cast her a look of disgust. “If you were going to squander good money on my behalf, you might at least have found a more worthwhile competitor than Sinclair.” His eyes narrowed. “Or was he the only one willing to take your bribe?”

  “It wasn’t
that way at all,” she said, a beseeching note in her voice.

  “Wasn’t it?” He ripped the air with a short, bitter laugh. “I find the irony in all this quite amusing.”

  “Amusing?” She stared in disbelief.

  “Indeed.” Sarcasm weighted his words. “I find a great deal of amusement in the fact that you, who are so fond of regaling me with the American appreciation of ingenuity, would bypass that process altogether and simply purchase victory. Although, I suppose”—he shrugged—“depending on one’s point of view, and tossing aside all thoughts of morals, standards and basic honesty, it could be considered extremely clever.”

  “Jared!” She gasped. “That’s not—”

  “Not what?” He arched a scornful brow. “Not funny? Oh, but it is, my dear. And it’s not the only thing.

  “There is something exceedingly humorous in the delightful way you have gone on and on about how a man shouldn’t marry for wealth. How a man should earn his money. Yet, you are willing to spend a small fortune on deceitful methods to ensure my success. Is that how this marriage will work, Cece? You will spend your resources behind my back to guarantee my triumphs?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “That’s not it at all.”

  “Then what is it?” He stared angrily. Fury battled desperation in his eyes, and she couldn’t bear the anguish she saw there. She wanted to tell him everything, all about Sinclair and James. But the pain that gripped him now at her perceived treachery was nothing compared to how the truth about his brother would tear him apart.

  She placed a hand on his arm. “Jared”—she dropped her hand—“I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say something, Cece.” His gaze was hard, his jaw set, his fists clenched. “Say anything.”

  She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. “I…can’t.”

  It was as if the warm flesh of his face changed to stone, as if a shutter snapped shut over the simmering depths of his eyes, as if he closed himself off from her. He stared with a cold disdain that chilled her blood. He nodded sharply.

  “Very well, then.” He swiveled to leave, hesitated, then abruptly turned back. “When I did not meet you in Paris, when I sent you that note, I thought I had lost something rare and precious. Oh, certainly, I expected I would find an heiress eventually and marry. But the woman I left waiting at the Eiffel Tower had claimed my soul and I knew my life would never be the same.”

  His voice was low and intense and held her spellbound. “You see, she had not fallen in love with the Earl of Graystone or a respected position in society or even a castle in the country.” For a moment the mask over his eyes lifted, and they burned with the anguish of betrayal. “She wanted Jared Grayson, an impoverished inventor. And for the rest of my days I would cherish the memory of that one woman who loved not the title but the man.”

  “What are you saying?” She squared her shoulders and fought the tremor in her voice.

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of exhaustion. “I suspect we would have all been better off if I’d settled for your friend from Chicago. Multiple chins aside, I was prepared for a marriage based on my family’s need for funds. I was prepared to accept my responsibilities to my heritage. I was even prepared to cast aside all thoughts of automobiles.” His gaze meshed with hers, and she could hardly breathe for the deep sorrow simmering in his eyes. “But I was never prepared…for you.”

  “I love you, Jared,” she said quietly.

  “No, my dear, it’s just as you’ve said before. Love”—a bittersweet smile quirked his lips—“has nothing to do with it.” He turned and strode toward the castle.

  She watched his retreating figure, struck numb by shock and the certain knowledge that he might never forgive what he perceived as her betrayal.

  “No, Jared,” she whispered, “love has everything to do with it.”

  “How could you?” Lady Olivia’s indignant voice rumbled behind her.

  Cece heaved a weary sigh and turned around. A glowering Lady Olivia stood beside Emily and Quentin. She arched a brow. “Forgive me. I didn’t know we had an audience. Did we speak loudly enough for you?”

  Olivia shot her a cutting glance. “Sarcasm is not becoming in a countess.”

  “Oh?” It might have been her tone, it might have been the look in her eye or it might simply have been the end result of the long, tiring hours just past and her devastating confrontation with Jared, but something deep inside Cece snapped. She glared at the woman who might, or might not, become her mother-in-law. Cecily Gwendolyn White had had just about enough of Lady Olivia and her tests.

  “And what else is not becoming in a countess?” she said sharply. “Is there a list somewhere? An instruction manual I could study? Or is it just one of those learn-by-experience sort of things?”

  “Rudeness is not acceptable under any circumstances.” Lady Olivia’s voice was icy.

  “I see.” Cece glared, too tired to think before she spoke, too worried about Jared to care. “But placing the woman who has the nerve to wish to marry your son in humiliating and embarrassing and possibly even dangerous situations in some arrogant test of worthiness is acceptable? What would you have me do next to prove myself to you?”

  Lady Olivia’s eyes widened with obvious shock at Cece’s outburst.

  Cece plunged ahead, her thoughts rushing forward without restraint, as if a pent-up dam of emotion had finally burst. “What else is in your little book of tricks? Must I scale a mountain? Swim an ocean? Slay a dragon?”

  “I had thought a simple pea under your mattress would suffice,” Lady Olivia murmured.

  “What?” Cece pulled her brows together in confusion.

  “She said a ‘pea,’” Emily said helpfully. “Under your mattress. Just like in the fairy tale. You remember?” Emily smiled her encouragement. “The princess and the pea?”

  “Yes, of course I remember, vaguely.” What was this nonsense about a story? What did it have to do with anything?

  “It’s a charming tale,” Emily said.

  “It’s always been one of my favorites.” Lady Olivia nodded her agreement.

  Cece glared in disbelief. Quentin shrugged and rolled his eyes heavenward, as if to remove himself from this ridiculous conversation altogether.

  “We are not talking about some silly story here,” Cece snapped. “We are talking about your actions, Olivia—”

  “It’s Lady Olivia,” Emily said under her breath.

  Cece narrowed her eyes. “Well, I for one have had more than enough of ‘lady’ this and ‘your lordship’ that. We don’t have such nonsense in my country.”

  “Pity,” Olivia said sweetly.

  “Bravo!” Quentin grinned his approval.

  Olivia cast him a quelling glance and returned her gaze to Cece. “Nevertheless, when you and Jared marry you will be ‘Lady—” Olivia shuddered—“Cece.”

  “Personally, I think ‘Lady Cecily’ sounds ever so much better,” Emily said in an aside to Quentin.

  “Quite.” He nodded. “It has just the right touch of upper-class British snobbery.”

  The thought of “Lady Cecily” jerked Cece back to the matter at hand. For a brief moment the absurd conversation had distracted her. Now the very real possibility that she had lost Jared forever loomed ahead, and pain ripped through her.

  “How could you?” Olivia said again.

  Cece’s gaze met hers, and the younger woman was surprised at the sympathy she read there. “It’s not what you think.”

  “My dear child,” Olivia said quietly, “it matters very little what I think. It’s what Jared thinks that counts. And there are several things you must remember about my son.

  “He has always believed his older brother to be more competent and capable than he. Perhaps it was true when James was alive, but since his death I have seen a change and growth in Jared I never expected. He is quite remarkable.”

  She drew a deep breath. “However, because of
his feelings about his brother, this automobile nonsense has become far more important to him than perhaps is warranted. He sees it as the one thing in life that is truly his accomplishment.”

  Cece stared in surprise. “I didn’t think you knew about his motorcar.”

  “I have known nearly from the beginning.” Olivia smiled benignly. “I am his mother.”

  Cece and Emily traded swift glances. Olivia continued without interruption. “From what I overheard just now, it appears you gave a considerable amount of money to a competitor in the race to ensure Jared’s victory.”

  Cece opened her mouth to protest, but Olivia waved her aside. “No, please, I do not wish to hear the details. I simply have some advice. Should this situation ever arise again—not that I would encourage such activity, mind you; still I can see the temptation—choose where you put your money wisely. For goodness sakes, Cecily, if you are going to spend that much money, make certain Jared wins.”

  “Olivia, I—”

  Olivia held up a firm hand. “I am not finished yet. Secondly, never, ever, under any circumstances, let the boy find out what you’ve done.” She leaned toward her, as if to share a confidence. “Men are so much happier believing they know everything than when they actually do.”

  Quentin snorted in disgust. Emily grinned.

  Cece stared at Olivia and at once realized the woman had just given her approval, and more, her support. But was it too late? Now that she had the respect of the mother, did she have nothing more than contempt from the son?

  “You have to tell Jared the truth,” Quentin said quietly.

  “I don’t know.” Cece shook her head. She couldn’t seem to think past the searing ache that enveloped her every time she remembered the devastating look of betrayal in his eyes. She clasped her hands together and noted the black soot still covering her skin. Her state of disrepair had completely slipped her mind.

  “I can’t, Quentin.” She cast him a tired smile. “That’s the one thing I do know right now.” She held her hands out in a gesture of dismay. “I also know that I am nothing short of a disaster. So, if you will all forgive me, I shall return to the castle in hopes of finding a hot bath and clean clothes.”