The Princess and the Pea

by Victoria Alexander

  “Do you?” Her blood pounded in her ears.

  His solemn nod belied the twinkle in his eyes. “I do.”

  “And will I suffice?” Her heart caught in her throat.

  He pulled her into the warmth of his arms, against the hard, broad expanse of his chest, and she marveled at her own urge to melt against him. “I should think you’ll do very nicely, my dear; quite nicely indeed.”

  “Excellent.” Were his eyes getting bluer, darker? “In that case…” she couldn’t seem to quite catch her breath “…perhaps it would be acceptable if you were to…shall we say…what I mean is…”

  “Kiss you?”

  She gazed up at him, her reply little more than a sigh. “Indeed.”

  He bent his lips to hers and she lost herself to the rich, warm currents coursing through her. Her arms slipped around his neck and she met his embrace with an eager need that would have shocked her had it not seemed so natural, so wonderful. He pulled her tighter and her breath mingled with his, and she reveled in a passion she’d thought she’d never know again or, perhaps, never really had.

  He pulled back and stared down at her, the surprise on his face mirroring her own. “My—”

  “—goodness,” she said, her usual serenity only a dim memory. “That was certainly…most definitely…”

  “Most definitely.” He nodded firmly and kissed her again.

  “I had no idea,” she murmured, “no idea at all.”

  Robert laughed. “Neither did I. Believe me, my dear, had I even suspected this was a possibility I would not have waited so long to return home. What a great deal of time we have wasted.”

  She pulled her brows together in a frown of concern. “You don’t think we are too old for this kind of…”

  “Passion?” He trailed his lips along the side of her neck and she shuddered with unexpected plea sure. “No, I think we are both just about perfect. It is such a shame to waste passion on the young.”

  “Robert?” She pulled back to lock her gaze with his. “About Phoebe; have you truly put your feelings for her behind you?”

  “I spoke to her earlier today, and we have finally resolved everything between us. It simply took me some time to realize it.” He smiled ruefully. “She called me an arrogant son of a bitch.”

  She reached up and brushed his fair hair away from his face. “But my darling Robert…” Olivia cast him a teasing look and brushed her lips against his. “You and I both know she was very probably right.”

  Cece was nowhere to be found. Servants confirmed she had left the castle, but her belongings remained in her room. Good, she had obviously not taken it into her head to return to London—or worse, to America. She could not have gone far.

  Emily had not seen her. The maids said she was not with her parents, who had retired to their rooms for a rest before dinner. Odd; Henry White did not seem the sort of man who required a late afternoon rest.

  Jared checked with the stable boys and the grooms. Cece had not taken a horse. He stifled a rising sense of panic. Where could she have gone? There were few places on the estate with which she was familiar.

  The answer struck him abruptly and he cursed under his breath. Of course: the ravaged stables. No doubt that was where he would find her. For the second time that day he set off for the distant site with a speed driven by apprehension and concern.

  What would he say when he found her? His pace slowed with the thought. This would be the most important speech of his life. The proper words and phrases ran through his head like so many birds scattering at the approach of a vehicle.

  “Cece.” His voice echoed on the lonely trek. “I have been a fool.”

  Excellent way to begin. She would no doubt agree with that admission. He nodded and continued with renewed confidence. “I was wrong not to accept your actions without question. I should have known better. I was a complete fool.”

  No, no; he shook his head in irritation. He had already called himself a fool once. It was not necessary to belabor the point.

  “Cece,” he began again, “I believe—” His words caught in his throat. The ruined stables stood in the distance, a sorry sentinel against the setting sun. The scene appeared precisely as it had earlier in the day with one notable exception.

  His automobile was missing.

  “Bloody hell!” He picked up his step and sprinted toward the site. Perhaps he had simply forgotten precisely where the car had been left? He searched the area to no avail and strode to the shed where the petrol was stored. His worst fears were confirmed; several cans were missing. His stomach tightened and his fists clenched. The blasted woman had taken his motorcar.

  He struggled against the immediate impulse to return to the castle stables, saddle a horse and pursue her. The urge was useless; he had no idea in which direction she might have headed. There was nothing to do but wait. He only hoped he would not have to wait long.

  He sank down beneath an ancient oak and rested his back against the bark. Fear and anger boiled within him. It was fast growing dark, and anything could happen to her alone on the road. What if the automobile broke down? What if she were accosted by thieves, or worse? What if she never returned?

  He would not lose her. If—no, when she came back, he would get down on his knees and beg her forgiveness if necessary. He would even—he swallowed dryly at the thought—allow her to drive his machine whenever she wished, now that she obviously knew how. And he would vow to return to her country and do all in his power to make his automobile a success.

  His gaze traveled over the fields spread out below the ridge, painted gold with the last rays of the sun, an artist’s feast for the eye and soul. His heart tripped at the sight. How could he leave this behind? He was the steward of this land, entrusted to him for safekeeping by a legacy stretching back through the centuries. He gritted his teeth in determination and pushed the odd ache that stabbed him aside. It was high time to give up the past in favor of the future, in favor of progress.

  What would his brother have done? The unbidden question surprised him. He’d had no time to ponder James’s action since his mother’s startling revelation. Considering his brother now, he was more saddened than angered at his treachery. It appeared James was not as competent as Jared had thought. The disloyal idea had grown within him for some time, and this discovery only solidified his opinion. A strong sense of relief flowed through him. He was at least the man his brother was. It was such a shame he hadn’t realized it when James was alive.

  Jared’s anxious gaze searched the long lane stretching into dusk and beyond. Where was she? Bloody, impulsive, unthinking American. Would he have to spend the rest of his life mad with worry about what she might be getting into? Lord, he certainly hoped so.

  Night fell with the soft, satisfying comfort offered only by a late summer eve. He sat for hours, gazing into the strange shadows of the night, grateful that at least the full moon filled the evening with its white-blue brightness.

  Fatigue plagued him, and he struggled to remain awake and alert. He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept—long before the revelations of the day and the morning spent battling the blaze at the stables. Concern for Cece’s safety sparred with his own emotional and physical exhaustion. He started time and again at the scamper of rabbits or the screech of a night bird. Finally he dozed, a fitful, restless sleep, and when he dreamed he dreamed of her. Of dark hair and darker eyes. Of full, lush lips made for him and him alone. Of a spirit of independence and a soul of passion…

  The unmistakable sound of his motorcar jerked him to his senses. He shook his head to clear his mind and staggered to his feet. Relief surged through him at the sight of Cece driving toward him. She was whole and well, and he wondered how long he could restrain himself before he was compelled to wring her lovely neck.

  He stood straight and tall and folded his arms over his chest, knowing full well that the rising sun behind him would obscure his features and he’d appear as an appallingly stern silhouette. As gratef
ul as he was to see her unharmed, as determined as he was to beg her forgiveness, he could not let her think he condoned her shocking and dangerous behavior. It would not be the best way to begin a marriage.

  The motorcar puttered to a surprisingly smooth stop a mere few inches from his feet. His gaze narrowed. Not only did the woman have the nerve to take his automobile but she wore his duster, gloves and goggles. Yet, even with the oversized garments Cece stepped from the vehicle with the grace and ease of one who’d been driving all her life.

  “Good morning,” she said coolly, pulling her goggles from her face and stripping off his gloves.

  “Where have you been?” He ground out the words.

  She shrugged off his coat and tossed it into the automobile. “I simply went for a little drive.”

  “A little drive? Hah!” He glared with irritation. “You’ve been gone all bloody night.”

  “It did take longer than I thought.” Her manner was infuriatingly casual. “But once I was on the road I found myself on the way to Bath.”

  He gasped with disbelief. “Bath?”

  She nodded. “Indeed. I have a knack for remembering routes and had no problem navigating the journey.”

  “Bath.” Was the woman truly deranged?

  “You said that, Jared.” She frowned with annoyance. “As I was saying, taking into account the difference in distance between here and London, I believe I made the run in a bit better time than the competitors in the actual race.”

  “You did?” She was truly mad.

  She heaved a sigh of irritation. “If you plan to comment on everything I say, we shall never complete this conversation.”

  He clenched his teeth in surrender. “Please, do go on.”

  “Thank you,” she said primly. “It was quite enjoyable, but I did notice that noise you mentioned. I believe one of the chains is loose.”

  “The chain? Possibly that would account—” He frowned sharply. “I don’t care about the blasted chain. You are evading the subject.”

  “Am I?” she said innocently. “And just what is the subject?”

  “The subject?” What was the subject? The woman had muddled his mind as surely as she’d muddled his heart. “The subject is your taking off, without a word to anyone.”

  “Oh, that.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I had a great deal of thinking to do.”

  His heart stilled. “And what conclusions did you reach?”

  “First of all, I believe you owe me a rather extensive apology.” He opened his mouth to speak. “No, please, allow me to finish. You ranted quite a bit about trust and faith, but you have had neither in my case. You had very little faith in my intelligence, my abilities and my principles.”

  “Cece, I—”

  She threw him a stern glance. “In addition, you did not trust that I would never do such a thing as Sinclair accused me of. And you failed to understand that your dreams are as precious to me as my own. If for no other reason than that they are your dreams.”

  She pulled a steadying breath, and at once he realized his confident American was more than a bit nervous. “Furthermore, I would never betray you. And if I cannot always explain my actions fully, there is a very good reason. Trust, Jared, goes both ways.”

  She stared at him, chin held high and shoulders squared, as if daring him to dispute her words. Lord, he loved her.

  “I know, Cece,” he said quietly.

  “Know what?” Caution hung in her voice.

  “I know about James.”

  “Oh, dear.” Her expression crumpled. Sympathy shone in her eyes. “I am so very sorry. I did not want you to find out. Did Quentin tell you?”

  “Quentin?” Did everyone know about James except him? “No, it was my mother.”

  “Your mother? How very interesting,” she said thoughtfully.

  “And you’re right, you know.”

  “I am?” She drew her brows together in a puzzled expression.

  “Indeed.” He nodded. “I do owe you an apology and much more.”

  She smiled. “An apology is sufficient.”

  “No.” He shook his head ruefully. “It is not nearly enough. I too have been doing my share of thinking.”

  He stepped closer and took her hands in his. “I have decided to spend the rest of my life making you happy. To do that, I need to be the man you first fell in love with. The man you kissed in Paris.”

  “Paris?” Confusion clouded her eyes.

  “I have decided,” he drew a deep breath, “to return with you to America, where I can pursue development of my automobile. Furthermore, I shall give up my title and all claim to the estate.”

  For one stunned moment she stared, speechless. Shock washed across her face. She jerked her hands from his and stepped back sharply. “Don’t be absurd!”

  “Absurd?” Wasn’t this what she really wanted?

  “Absurd! Insane! Ridiculous! I cannot believe you would even suggest such a thing!”

  “But I thought—”

  “Obviously you have done what you have so often accused me of doing. You didn’t think at all.” She stepped closer and glared into his eyes. “Think now, Jared. This is your home, your heritage. You belong here. You would not be happy anywhere else.”

  “What about your happiness?” he said softly.

  Her expression eased. “I would be happy anywhere with you.”

  At once a weight lifted from his shoulders, and he realized how very much he did not want to leave. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Then we shall stay.”

  She nodded happily. “And you shall still work on your dreams, and my money will restore the estate and—”

  “No,” he said firmly.

  She gazed at him with surprise. “Whyever not?”

  He groaned at the words he was about to say. “Because, my love, a man should not marry for wealth. He should have to make his own fortune.”

  “Jared!” She grinned with plea sure. “I am impressed. Obviously I have already been an excellent influence on you.”

  He quirked a brow. “Obviously.” He shook his head. “It will certainly not be easy, but we will continue to sell off the family heirlooms and hopefully, someday—”

  “Someday,” her eyes sparkled, “we’ll have a motorcar in front of every manor house and cottage in En gland.”

  He laughed. “God help the British.” He bent to touch his lips to hers, then abruptly stopped. “I do feel, though, that I am asking you to give up a great deal for me, and I have little to offer you in return.”

  “Jared,” she chided, “you offer me love.”

  “Indeed, still…I simply wish there was something more I could give you. One thing I could sacrifice for you.”

  “You do mean that, don’t you?” There was astonishment in her eyes.

  “I do,” he said solemnly.

  “Very well,” her words were measured and thoughtful, “in that case, if you are certain?”

  “I am.” He nodded.

  “I should very much…” Her eyes twinkled, and the corners of her lips quirked upward “…like to be the proud owner of my very own…automobile.”

  “My automobile?” he said, shocked by the very thought.

  “Indeed.” She bobbed her head. “It is the one thing you can offer me that would mean something.”

  “It is technically half Quentin’s, you know,” he said hopefully.

  “Quentin will not care.”

  “My automobile.” Surrender crept through him.

  “Your automobile.” Even the teasing light in her eye could not vanquish the sinking sensation in his stomach. He shrugged. “Then, my love, it’s yours.”

  “Thank you.” She snaked her arms around his neck. “Kiss me, Jared, and then,” she grinned, “I’ll take you for a drive.”

  He laughed and his lips met hers, and he knew for now and forever he would drive off into the sunset with this American princess who could hold her own with everyone from scoundrels to interf
ering mothers. And he further knew, and perhaps had always known, or possibly just hoped, that the true test, the final challenge, the real pea beneath the mattress…was love.

  Epilogue

  “I think you’re being ridiculous.” Emily glared at Quentin. “Why, there is no reason on earth why women are not just as capable as men of handling such a craft.”

  “It’s far too dangerous for a woman,” Quentin said loftily. “And altogether improper.”

  “For goodness sakes, Quentin, it’s 1905, and your ideas of what is proper and improper for women are positively antiquated.”

  “I think I tend to agree with him, my dear,” Jared said dryly. “Although I will admit I was once wrong about the abilities of women to drive motorcars, this device is a far different matter.”

  “Jared.” Emily turned her ire to her brother-in-law. Cece laughed to herself and continued past the knot of friends and family arguing the virtues and dangers of that fascinating new invention, the flying machine.

  The scent of roasting beef drifted on the wind. Since that first party a decade earlier, this evening of outdoor entertainment had become an annual tradition at Graystone Castle.

  Odd how life turned out. She’d always thought she was the adventurous one, the one to climb mountains and conquer frontiers. But, in truth, it was Emily who ultimately slashed through the years with high spirit and a reckless disregard for what was expected and proper. The family had been stunned when she’d fled to Paris to seriously try her hand at painting. Then there had been her disastrous, though thankfully short, marriage to the person the family had only referred to as “that dreadful man.” Perhaps, at long last, she and Quentin would now find each other. Quentin had never married, and Cece always suspected Emily was the reason why.

  Dear Quentin. He had not taken well to the demands of producing motorcars, selling his share of the company to Jared within the first year of operation. There still wasn’t a Graystone Motor Car in every driveway in England, but it was the country’s favorite.