Princess in Disguise

by Karen Hawkins

  Kintore’s lashes slid down, hiding his expression. “For a mere commoner, you are very bossy.”

  She mistrusted his tone as much as his look. “What is this ‘bossy’? I have not heard of this.”

  “You order people what to do, almost like”—his gaze locked with hers—“royalty.”

  She started, and would have dropped the ice had he not steadied her hand with his own.

  “That’s what you are, isn’t it?” The earl spoke softly, his mouth curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aren’t you, Princess?”

  Chapter 4

  Alexandra started to rise, but the earl held her in place, his hand tightening over hers. “I heard that bear of yours call you ‘princess.’ ”

  “You are mistaken. Now let me go; I am done holding the ice to your jaw.” She tugged her hand, trying to free it.

  “If I let you go, I may never find out who you really are.”

  She tugged harder. “Kintore, please, I cannot—”

  “Yes, you can.” He scooped her up and plopped her into his lap, his arms like bands of steel. “There. Now we will talk.”

  She was instantly aware that his manhood was directly under her bottom, separated only by her skirts and his breeches. He smelled of Scotch and starch, mingled with the faintest hint of cologne. The heady mixture instantly made her wish to burrow against him. “Let me up. You should not— This is uncalled for!”

  “I will have answers.” He plucked the handkerchief full of ice from her hand and tossed it on a table, then shifted her so that her bottom settled more squarely on his powerful thighs. “And I will have answers now.”

  There was no way to free herself. Kintore’s arm, wrapped around her waist, was as powerful as she’d imagined, and she was so much shorter than he that her feet were too far off the ground to get any purchase.

  She lifted her chin. “I will not answer any of your questions like this.”

  “Oh?” He put his lips to her ear and whispered, “Perhaps I should seduce your answers from your lips.”

  Her traitorous skin tingled in anticipation.

  “I know you desire me, Princess, just as I desire you. A few kisses”—he pressed his warm lips to her ear just long enough to set off a maelstrom of shivers—“and you would tell me everything you know.”

  She couldn’t disagree. Her body had flared to life beneath his touch, her heart fluttered in anticipation, and her skin tingled as if he were already touching her intimately.

  No man had ever awakened her body so thoroughly and instantly. She didn’t wonder what it would be like to make love to this man; she knew. And she ached with a longing that almost made her shudder in despair.

  As if he knew her weakness, he smiled, his eyes darkened by passion. “Come, Princess. Tell me who you are.”

  She desperately tried to obtain some control over herself. “Or? I am the one with guards, not you. If I yell—”

  “Then your Doya will come running,” he agreed.

  “Which you do not want,” she pointed out.

  “Nor do you. If he finds you in my lap, he will never again leave you alone with me.” Kintore bent closer, his warm breath brushing her cheek. “You and I would both dislike that.”

  It took a strength she didn’t know she possessed, but she crossed her arms. “Nyet.”

  “Very well. You’ve asked for it.” Kintore gently nipped her ear, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin of her lobe. Instantly, her thoughts scattered. She gripped his coat with both hands, gasping as he teased her.

  Kintore slid his hands to her hips and she leaned into his embrace. As he bent his head to kiss her, she slid her lips to his cheek and then to his ear. She was not a woman who only took. With a soft moan, she did as he’d done, nipping and kissing until he gripped her urgently.

  Unable to wait a second longer, he held her face and captured her mouth with his, kissing her over and over until neither of them could breathe.

  She moved wildly against him, trying to get closer, her bottom warm against his thighs. She traced her tongue over his teeth, lightly teasing him before she slipped a hand over his broad chest, down his flat stomach to—

  “No!” he gasped, grabbing her wrist and tugging it back to his chest. “That would be an error, with your ill-tempered guard near.Good God, you are a witch. A delightful, delicious witch.”

  Alexandra chuckled, pleased and relieved that she was not the only one affected. Her body humming from his touch, she leaned against him. “Lord Kintore, can I trust you?”

  “Yes. With your life.”

  The quiet intensity of the words stole her breath.

  Kintore’s brows knit as if he, too, were surprised.

  She sighed. “I will admit all. You are right; I am a princess.”

  A gleam of satisfaction lit his eyes. “I had to kiss it from you, but there it is.”

  “If I must face an interrogation, that would be the manner of interrogation I’d choose.” She looped her arms about his neck. “So Doya gave me away, despite all of his warnings through our journey not to betray our secret.”

  “The Russian word for ‘princess’ sounds very similar to the one used in your language.”

  “Ah, and you speak Russian?” When she said “Russian,” it had a round “oo” sound that made her lips pucker enticingly.

  “Some. Enough to pick out a word here and there. Your languages are similar.”

  She shrugged. “Somewhat. The history of Oxenburg is not far removed from that of our Russian sister.” She tilted her head to one side. “How do you come to speak Russian? Not many in your country do.”

  “At one time I imagined myself going into politics and serving at an embassy. But then . . .” He shook his head and leaned back, putting more space between them. “That was a long time ago. A foolish dream for a foolish man.”

  “Why is that a foolish dream? It sounds like a fascinating career for a man with address, unless— Ah. You inherited your title, and then could not commit to the travel.”

  “Yes. I had duties here, the house and lands to look after, and . . .” His lashes dropped again, a sudden tightness to his face. “There were other things, too.”

  Like the woman of the locket? Is that the part that truly troubles you? “You would have been an excellent ambassador. It is a pity you were unable to follow your heart.”

  He gave a mirthless laugh. “If you knew me, you’d understand why such a career was—and is—an impossibility, whether I had other obligations or not. I’m not the sort to sacrifice for my country or anyone else.”

  “You expect too much. Most of us have generous moments, not lives. I’m certain you are far more generous than you think.”

  “How little you know me,” he said coolly. “But it matters not, for the opportunity is gone, and now my Russian is as rusty as my manners—neither of them fit for the public.”

  “Kintore, perhaps you could—”

  “No. There is no ‘perhaps.’ What’s important is now—and I have just realized that we, my love, have never been properly introduced.” He pressed his lips to her fingers, looking into her eyes as he spoke. “I am James Keith, Earl of Kintore. How do you do, Princess—?”

  Her hand curled over his, her palm warm against his fingers. “I am Alexandra Petrovna Romanovin, Princess Menshikov.”

  Alexandra waited, watching his expression from beneath her lashes. Her chest was uncomfortably tight and her palms suddenly damp. It was silly to be so concerned. Her title was what it was, and she couldn’t change it. Unfortunately, there had been many men to whom her title had meant more than she did. Thus, if she was going to consider this man as a candidate for her next husband, then she had to be bold and fearless and discover his true mettle.

  And oh, how she wished to consider him thusly. He was everything she’d dreamed of in a mate—powerful, well educated, handsome, and sharp-witted. On the surface, at least, he was her match, kiss for kiss.

  Strange at it was, in
some ways she felt that she already knew him. Even now, just looking into his eyes, his every thought whispered to her. He was intrigued and . . . disappointed.

  She frowned, but before she could ask, he said, “Princess Menshikov, it is very nice to meet you.”

  “It is very nice to meet you, too, my lord.”

  “I cannot believe I’m talking to a real princess.”

  She shrugged. “My titles came to me after I married into the royal family. I am a minor member, now that Dmitri is gone. I am happy for that. There are things that are unpleasant about such a connection. In fact, that is why I was traveling under a different name: my uncle feared someone might abduct me.”

  “Your disguise needs some work.”

  “Doya should not have called me ‘princess’ in front of you.”

  “Actually, I knew you were more than you said, even before I heard your guard’s slip.”

  That, she hadn’t expected. “I thought we were being so discreet.”

  “Not when you travel with a squadron of Cossacks under your command. In our country, ladies and lords travel with grooms and coachmen, and perhaps a few outriders if the road is dangerous. They may be armed, but they are not military men.”

  “Ah. You can tell that Doya and his men are from the royal army.”

  “Very much so. Here, only the royal family rides with a military escort. And no one has personal guards who dress and talk like Cossacks.”

  “I thought we were blending in rather well.” She sighed. “I told my uncle that I didn’t need so many guards.”

  “How many are there?”

  “There are fifteen.”

  He whistled. “Are they all the size of Doya?”

  “He is the biggest. But not all of them are here, as one of our carriages broke an axle and most of them are staying with it until it’s fixed. We are awaiting them at this inn.”

  “The snow will stop travel for several days at least.”

  “So it seems.”

  He eyed her thoughtfully. “I’d say you’ve been causing quite a stir as you traveled.”

  “More than I was aware, apparently. So if the noblemen here do not employ guards, then who protects them from wolves and Gypsies, and land squabbles, and—”

  He laughed and held up a hand. “Wolves? We have no wolves. They have all been hunted.”

  “Ours are big and a pack can take down a horse.”

  “Even I would be glad to have Doya with me, then. What are these ‘land squabbles’ ?”

  “They are common in my country. For example, long ago, Count Gagarin—he’s one of our great military leaders from the Austrian conflict—found some old documents that suggested that his neighbor, Prince Kilkov, had at some point moved the markers for one of their adjoining fields, moving a spring from one property to the other. Though presented with the evidence, Kilkov refused to shift the markers to the spot the count had determined to be the correct position, saying it was just a ploy to gain access to the springhead.”

  “Was it?”

  “I do not know. Gagarin is not famous for his truthfulness, so it is possible that the prince was correct in his assumptions. On the other hand, there are those who say they’ve seen the old deeds and that Gagarin’s claims are legitimate.” She shrugged. “However it may be, that started a fight that has continued for four decades now. Sadly, the fight sometimes spills onto the roads, so that even common citizens must ride with guards.”

  “Bloody hell. Are many people killed?”

  “Not often. It usually ends with a good round of fisticuffs.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “Then the man who delivered the death blow must pay a fine to the family of the person killed. The fines are very, very steep, too.” She grimaced. “Doya says facing surprise attacks keeps our men sharp, so he often travels through troubled areas just to give our men extra training in case we should be attacked for a more serious reason.”

  “Things are very different in Oxenburg.”

  “It’s very beautiful there.”

  “I’m sure it must be.” He traced the band of black lace at her wrist. “These clothes . . . they are widow’s weeds.”

  “My husband died two years ago. He was older than I, but very strong. He took a fence with a new horse that balked at the last moment, and . . .” She opened her hands. “It was unexpected. We—” She stopped. “I don’t know why I tell you this.”

  Kintore gestured to the window, where the snow was making icy decorations on the panes. “What else do we have to do?” He smiled and traced his fingers along the neckline of her gown. “Unless you have a better idea . . .”

  She had hundreds of better ideas. Breathless at her own thoughts, she said in a rush, “Dmitri and I were married less than a year.”

  “No children?”

  “Nyet. We had hopes of a family, but it was not our destiny.” She peeped at Kintore from under her lashes. “And you? Have you ever been married?”

  “No. I have no wish ever to be married.”

  So the portrait is not of his wife. Who could it be, then? A lost love? A fiancée who died after an illness? Or someone else he loves and misses?

  “Princess M—”

  She threw up a hand. “Please. Call me Alexandra.”

  “Ah, we are throwing all propriety out the window, are we?”

  “Why not? As you pointed out, we are here, isolated and far from civilization. Why would we welcome the restrictions of society that we dislike here, where no one knows us or sees us?”

  “You are a rebel.”

  “So Doya tells me.”

  He laughed. “Alexandra it is, then. Please call me James.”

  She pursed her lips and he instantly thought of kissing them. “That is a good name for you,” she said, “but I will call you Kintore. It suits you.”

  “You may call me whatever you wish, Alexandra.” He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb over her soft bottom lip. “I have only one more question for you, and then I wish to kiss you again. Over and over.”

  She flushed, a pleased smile touching her lips. “Yes? What do you wish to know?”

  “Why are you here, in Scotland?”

  She turned to place a kiss in the palm of his hand. “It is simple, Kintore. I came to find a husband.”

  He pulled back, his passion cooled as thoroughly as if he’d been dowsed in snow. Surely she’s teasing. He eyed her carefully. She met his gaze without blinking. “Good God, you’re serious.”

  She slid her hand over his cheek. “I wish to find a man of much strength who will breed good, strong sons.”

  He shook his head. “You are a bold woman to admit that openly, but it changes things. I’m not the sort of man to marry.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Good God.” He set her to one side and then stood.

  Brows lowered, Alexandra sprang from the settee. “What are you doing?”

  “I, madam, am going to my bedchamber.”

  “But it’s early yet. They haven’t yet brought tea or dinner or—”

  “I’ll have dinner in my room.” He took a step toward the door.

  “Wait!” She stepped in front of him. “I don’t understand. You asked why I was here in Scotland and I told you. Would you have rather that I’d lied?”

  “I’d rather you weren’t in the market for a husband. Alexandra, I’ve no wish to marry. Ever. And you are serious about it.”

  “I want to marry again, yes, but if it bothers you so, then we will not mention it again.” She shrugged. “We will leave marriage to the fates, eh? Meanwhile . . .” She placed a hand on his chest and slipped her fingers under his waistcoat. “We are stranded here. You amuse me. I like your kisses and I know that you like mine. Can you think of a reason not to enjoy each other?”

  He could think of several: chief among them, discovering that he’d gotten a princess—a princess, by God—with child, or being pummeled by her guard for daring even to look her way. “I can’t take tha
t risk.” He shook his head. “Would that you really had been a Gypsy.”

  She pouted. “And if I had?”

  “Then I would not hesitate to seduce you. But knowing who you are and what you desire, I must refrain.”

  “Pah, that will make no one happy.” She stepped closer, her pale blue eyes darkening with promise as she pressed her soft curves against him. “Come, pashinko. Let us enjoy what time we have. If it makes things easier, I am more than willing to pretend I am a Gypsy.”

  “That would be a very dangerous game.”

  “But fun, nyet?” She wrapped her arms about him. “I should warn you; I am a determined woman. What I want, I get.”

  “That’s very princess-like of you.”

  “It is how I am. No matter how much you wish to resist, I have every intention of seducing you.”

  In his dreams, if a woman said such a thing to him, he wouldn’t hesitate. And this woman, with her sensual voice, generous curves, seductive accent, and startling eyes, would have made the encounter memorable.

  It was a pity, for he could think of nothing he’d enjoy more than spending a few days locked in a snowy inn with Alexandra. But he’d be a fool to indulge himself. He had seen too many of his friends fall into this particular trap, and the better connected the lady’s family, the more tightly bound the hapless male became.

  Fortunately the memory of those wretched friends cooled his ardor and wiser, calmer thoughts prevailed. He untwined her arms from his waist and stepped away. “Pardon me, Your Highness, but I must leave.”

  And with that, he bowed and left without looking back.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, Kintore shrugged into his coat in the front hall, wincing when the collar brushed his tender jaw. “Damn you, Doya,” he muttered.

  He’d gotten no sleep last night as some cruel imp of fate had put him in the bedchamber next to Alexandra’s. As he’d tossed and turned, he’d heard her murmur a goodnight to someone—Doya, perhaps?—and then climb the stairs, his imagination lingering on every possible sway of her hips, every breath she took. When she’d approached his door, she’d hesitated.