The Stolen Princess

by Anne Gracie

  “Pooh,” she said. “I had the pistols and you were unarmed and outnumbered.”

  He wanted to throttle her.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  He stepped back, forcing himself to take several deep breaths. She became aware of his expression and bit her lower lip in sudden doubt. Gabe stared at her mouth. It was red and soft and luscious and he hadn’t been able to get the taste of her out of his mind all day.

  He still wanted to throttle her.

  He wanted more than ever to kiss her.

  Most of all, he wanted to bed her.

  He dragged his gaze off her. Behind her stood a small, thin woman brandishing a spade over her head. She, too looked around the room, and the spade fell, along with her face. “My house!” she cried. “All my things!”

  Everybody looked. For the first time Gabe took in the wreckage of the room. Furniture overturned, china smashed and scattered across the floor, pictures askew, some damaged beyond repair…

  Her gaze fell on the tightly trussed men and sharpened. “I suppose you had to use my new sheets for that.”

  “Oops,” Ethan murmured. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he began. “Why don’t I—”

  She shot him a glance that would have felled a lesser man. “Oh, just make yourself a nice cup of tea,” she snapped, and began to straighten the room with brisk movements.

  “You don’t have time for that,” Ethan said. He turned to Gabe. “She says there were seven men originally, so there are at least three others out there.”

  “Then they could return at any moment,” Gabe said. “Miss Tibthorpe, you have three minutes to pack a bag, then you two ladies will leave this place. It is not safe for you.”

  “I would prefer to stay here and defend my home,” Miss Tibthorpe told him in a crisp voice. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “Yes and I will help.” Callie stepped forward.

  “No, you won’t,” Gabe informed her. “Miss Tibthorpe is too sensible a woman not to realize the danger she would be putting you in. She wouldn’t want that, I’m sure.”

  “But I’m the reason there is danger in the first place. Those men are after me.”

  “Exactly,” Gabe said. “Which is why both of you must disappear from this place immediately!”

  Tibby considered his words then looked at her friend. “He’s right,” she said. “Your safety is more important than my things.” She hurried upstairs.

  Gabe turned to his green-eyed thorn. “You will go straight to the Grange, you will not return for any reason whatsoever, and you will take the pistols with you. That is an order, understand?”

  “Yes, but—” She opened the adorable mouth and Gabe could think of only one way to shut it. And it was neither the time nor the place.

  “Do not argue with me, woman,” he roared. “It is an order!”

  “Yes, but I am not in your army, and I take orders from no man,” she said sweetly. But before he had time to say anything she added, “I will do it, because it seems to me the most sensible thing to do, but what I wanted to say is—”

  “Say nothing if you value your life,” he growled.

  She gave him a speculative look and opened her mouth to speak.

  “Or your reputation,” he added and fixed his gaze on her mouth.

  It shut. With something of a snap. And remained pursed in a disapproving line.

  That mouth would be the death of him, Gabe thought.

  Without a word she turned and walked upstairs, head held high, queen dismissing peasant. Her deliciously rounded backside swayed enticingly with every step.

  Once she’d disappeared, Gabe turned back, to find Ethan watching him with a broad, knowing grin.

  “Well, don’t just stand around looking witless,” Gabe snapped. “Let’s get this place cleared up a bit.”

  Ethan nodded. He started picking up overturned furniture. “Gone to a lot of trouble, she has, to make it nice. And keep an eye out for her kitty-cat. She’s worried about it.” He shuddered. “Can’t stand cats, meself. Make me sneeze.”

  Gabe looked around the room and realized Ethan was right. Under the smashed china, the scattered earth and geranium and spatters of gore, the woodwork and floors had been freshly polished and were fragrant with beeswax. Everywhere were small, fussy feminine touches of curtains, ornaments, hand-hooked rugs, framed watercolor pictures, all knocked awry or ruined.

  Gabe hadn’t noticed; Ethan had. Interesting.

  They set to, cleaning up as best they could. First they carried the prisoners and slung them out the back. Three of them had regained consciousness and struggled, spitting abuse in some language he didn’t recognize. One spat at Ethan.

  “That does it,” he muttered, seized a dented brass vase from a shelf, and used it to biff each of them unconscious again.

  Gabe looked at the vase and snorted. “She probably loved that vase, Ethan.”

  Ethan shrugged. “It was ruined anyway.”

  They picked up everything that had been dropped and swept up everything that had been smashed.

  Gabe glanced at the ceiling. “What the devil are those women doing? How long does it take to pack a bag?”

  Ethan shrugged. “They’re women.” He picked a book up and sniffed it. “Leather. Beautiful embossing.” His fingers traced the decoration before setting the book carefully on the shelf. He looked through a few of them, then noticed Gabe watching and closed them with a snap. “No pictures.” He quickly shoved all the books back on the shelves, then went in search of a broom.

  Gabe was righting the upside-down books when the two ladies came downstairs.

  “About tim—er, all set?” He hurried forward. Miss Tibthorpe was carrying a faded carpet bag, and an umbrella and Callie was carrying a large, covered box.

  Gabriel relieved her of it. “Good God,” he exclaimed. “What’s in this? It weighs a ton.”

  “Tibby’s things,” she said in a voice that indicated she thought the question impertinent.

  Gabe grinned. A few minutes in her governess’s company and his avenging angel was turning back into a snippy little duchess. Gabe didn’t mind. He liked her either way. He noticed the pistols and placed them carefully in his pocket.

  “I’ve packed enough for a few days,” Miss Tibthorpe said, “but I’m worried about my dear little Kitty-cat. I can’t find him anywhere.” She went to the back door and called, “Kitty-kitty-kitty!” No cat came forward.

  “You get along to the Grange, we’ll find your cat,” Gabe told her. “We’ll finish tidying up here—”

  “Oh, but I can do that later.” Miss Tibthorpe glanced doubtfully from him to Ethan, who’d been pushing the mop around the floor a bit, leaving smeary marks. He looked like a big ox in the feminine little cottage.

  “Madam, we made the mess, we will clean it up—or rather, I will. Ethan will escort you two ladies back to the Grange and I will bring these villains before the local magistrate.”

  “No, you mustn’t!” Callie gasped. “I don’t want them reported.”

  Gabe frowned. He didn’t like it. “The crime should be reported. Any other action is to invite anarchy.”

  “If you report that foreigners broke into Tibby’s house and held her prisoner, there will be a huge fuss. Count Anton must be staying somewhere nearby. The local constable is bound to speak to him, Count Anton will find out who reported it and where you live—he will know where I am.”

  He stared into her eyes. He read in them fear and determination. “Very well. It goes against all of my instincts, but I won’t report it,” he said, comforting himself with the reflection that no red-blooded man could resist the appeal in those green eyes. “Now come along, let’s get moving. I’ll finish up here and follow shortly.”

  “What about my cat? Kitty-cat doesn’t like men,” Miss Tibthorpe said, looking as though she and Kitty-cat shared the same views. “He will be even more mistrustful now, since that horrid beast kicked him!”

  “I’ll find the blas—I’ll
find the cat.” Gabe told her, trying to mask his impatience. He looked out the front and checked to make sure the coast was clear. “Cats like me, don’t worry. But I can do everything much better once I know you are both safe.”

  “And out of the way,” Callie said in a voice only Gabe could hear.

  “Exactly.” He gave her the sort of smile one gave to a clever pupil.

  She glowered at him.

  “You can glower at me even better from the curricle,” he said. “It’s higher up.” Slipping his free arm around her waist he propelled her toward the door.

  “I can walk perfectly well by myself,” she muttered.

  “Yes, but will you? That’s the question.” Gabe compelled her onward. “Ethan, escort Miss Tibthorpe, if you please,” he ordered over his shoulder. “Now move!”

  “There is no need to shove,” his duchess said snippily.

  “There is every need. Think of it not as shoving, but an affectionate nudge.” He marched her out of the cottage, dumped the box in the back, and lifted her bodily into the curricle. Ethan did the same with the governess, then climbed up, squashing in beside the governess. Gabe handed him the pistols. “You know what to do.”

  “So do we,” said Callie with pursed lips.

  “Hah! I’ve heard that before,” Gabe said and slapped the grays on the rump.

  He watched until the curricle was out of sight. Nobody followed. Gabe started to breathe normally again. He’d fought four men this afternoon and was still standing, but she’d delivered him a blow that had knocked him endways.

  The way she’d come back and burst in the door, pistols waving. To help him. Him. Risking herself to save a man who was more than capable of looking after himself. He’d survived eight years of warfare.

  Crazy female. She had no idea of how it was supposed to be between men and women. He was the one who protected her, not the other way around.

  Gabe checked the men at the back door. They were still unconscious. He was tempted to hand the cowardly swine over to the authorities, but he’d given her his word he wouldn’t. The first time in his life he’d been swayed from doing what he considered to be the right thing.

  He checked the cottage. There was damage to the doors and windows. He’d send a man down tomorrow to effect any repairs needed. He straightened a couple of rugs and some pictures.

  He couldn’t get it out of his head; no woman, ever, had tried to protect him.

  He had no idea how to handle it.

  She had known him a day—less than a day.

  He heard a sound behind him and whirled. Nothing. Then he glimpsed a movement under the kitchen dresser. He crouched down and saw a big, old, ugly, battle-scarred ginger tomcat peering warily back at him from one good eye.

  “You can’t possibly be her dear little Kitty-cat,” Gabe told it. “You ought to be called Cyclops, or Ulysses.”

  The cat glared at him in silence. A bitten-off, sorry-looking excuse for a tail twitched angrily. But the cat, though angry, was very much at home.

  “Come on then, Kitty-cat, you old reprobate.” Gabe reached under the dresser to take the cat and the cat lashed out. Gabe swore and sucked his well-scratched hand. He wrapped a handkerchief around his hand and, uttering soothing noises, he tried again. The handkerchief got shredded and Gabe acquired some more scratches. “Look, you ugly old devil, I’m not going to hurt you, I’m just bringing that poor deluded woman her sweet little Kitty-cat.”

  “Where’s ze princess?” a voice from above him said, and Gabe’s head exploded with pain.

  “Princess? What princess?” he said, groggily. A boot kicked him hard in the groin and Gabe doubled up, groaning and cursing his own stupidity. At least three of them stood over him. He’d been half under the dresser, caught unawares like any wet-behind-the-ears novice.

  The leader, in shiny black riding boots with silver spurs, snarled, “Don’t waste my time, peasant! I want ze princess and her son!”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t know any princess.” Gabe tried to push free, but the heel of another boot stamped down on his hand. The pain was excruciating.

  “Tell us where she is. She and ze prince.”

  “Never seen any princes or princesses,” he ground out. “Saw the king once, afore he went mad.” He tried to look up at the speaker and found a boot planted on his head. He was pinned down and helpless.

  The boot pushed down. “The princess and the boy are all we want.”

  Gabe was a soldier and a realist. There was only one thing he could do. So he swore at the man, insulting him in the worst ways he could think of. Years in the army had given him an excellent vocabulary.

  It had the desired effect; they stopped questioning him and started beating him up, instead.

  The last thing Gabe saw was the cat streaking between a forest of black boots and out of the door…

  “Capt’n, can you hear me, Capt’n?” Cold water splashed onto Gabe’s face. He tried to move and groaned. Every inch of his body ached. He managed to crack open one eye and saw Ethan, anxiously looking down at him.

  “Are you hurt bad, Capt’n?”

  Gabe shook his head and winced. His head felt like it was about to split. “No, just battered. Are they gone?”

  “Aye. Can you move?”

  “Of course.” Gabe moved and swore again. He examined the inside of his mouth with his tongue, checking to see he still had all his teeth. He did.

  “Drink this.” Ethan put a flask of brandy to his lips. Gabe swallowed, then waved him back, coughing, as the fiery liquid burned its way down.

  “What the devil—?” he gasped.

  Ethan grinned. “A little drop of Irish mountain dew, sir—what we call poteen. Good for what ails ye.”

  “If it doesn’t kill you first!” Gabe spluttered.

  Ethan gave him a few seconds to recover, then helped Gabe to stand. “I have the curricle outside. When you didn’t turn up, I got worried. Left the ladies at the Grange and came back. So, what happened?”

  Gabe pulled a wry face. “The blackguards got the jump on me.”

  Ethan’s jaw dropped. “You, Capt’n?”

  “Me,” Gabe admitted ruefully. “Own stupid fault. Worse than the greenest new recruit. They caught me half under that dresser, chasing that blasted cat.”

  He staggered to the front door and looked at the cinder path, at the end of which waited his curricle. “Any more of that blasted Irish firewater?”

  Eight

  The first thing Gabe saw when he and Ethan entered the house was the battered portmanteau and bandbox sitting neatly, side by side, in the entrance hall.

  Callie appeared at the end of the corridor. “Oh no, what happened?” she exclaimed and ran to meet them. She was still wearing his great-aunt’s cloak.

  Gabe staggered and clutched Ethan’s arm, forcing Ethan to look at him in surprise.

  “Are you all right? Can I help?” she asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

  Gabriel immediately put an arm around her shoulders and gave Ethan a little push. “You may see to the horse, Ethan,” he said, guiding Callie’s other arm around his waist. “I shall do very well with Mrs. Prynne’s help, thank you.”

  The Irishman shot him an amused glance. “Oh, I can see that fine,” he murmured.

  She struggled to wedge her shoulder more firmly under his arm. Gabe found the sensation of her squirming and thrusting against him quite delightful. He moaned softly and let his knees sag and his arm curl around her waist. Her arm tightened around his midriff and her other hand came up and pressed firmly against his chest.

  “Ouch!” he said involuntarily. She’d pressed right where that swine’s boot had landed.

  “Oh dear, I am so sorry! Does it hurt very much?” she said. “What happened? I thought you were just tidying up. Did the men get free?”

  “No. Why are you still wearing that cloak?”

  She shot him an indignant look. “I was waiting for you, of course. Oh, your poor f
ace.” She examined his face anxiously. He wasn’t a pretty sight, Gabe surmised ruefully. One eye was swollen shut. It would make a devil of a shiner. And from the way the rest of his body ached and stung, he was a mass of cuts and bruises.

  She, on the other hand, looked so beautiful it made him ache, and not from any bruises. Her lovely green eyes scanned him.

  “What’s the verdict?” he asked softly.

  She bit her lip. “You look, you look…”

  “Heroic?” he said hopefully. “Intrepid? Valiant?”

  “Dreadful!”

  “Oh,” he said, dampened. “So why do you need to wait for me in a cloak?”

  “You didn’t think I’d leave without thanking you, do you?”

  Gabe frowned and tightened his grip on her. “Leave? Leave for where? You’re not going anywhere.”

  She tried to shake off his hand. “Of course I am. Count Anton—my enemy—is here. Those were his men at Tibby’s cottage. I have to leave before they discover me.”

  “Nonsense! Stay here. I will protect you.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “You?” From the look on her face Gabe gathered he was a less than reassuring sight.

  “These,” he gestured to his injuries, “are just superficial.”

  She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him, but was too polite to say so. “Thank you for your offer, but really, it is imperative I leave as soon as possible.”

  She was utterly determined to go, he could see. “Very well, wait until I can get cleaned up. It won’t take long.”

  She jerked her head back and stared at him. Her face was just inches away. “Wait? Why wait, when I can thank you and take my leave of you just as well now?”

  “Because I’m not traveling all bloodied and in a mess, that’s why.” At her look of confusion he added, “You don’t imagine I’m letting you and that boy travel on alone when there is a pack of vicious thugs after you, do you?”

  She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “No, thank you. It is very kind of you, but it’s not necessary. I could not ask you—”