The Stolen Princess

by Anne Gracie

  He’d even had his first ride on a horse that hadn’t ended up with him sprawled painfully on the ground to laughter or, more humiliatingly, embarrassed silence.

  If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the way he’d greeted her this morning, all covered in mud, grinning at her from the back of a giant horse in front of Gabriel, breathless with exhilaration and triumph. And burgeoning confidence.

  He was happy here, happier than she’d ever seen him, and it pained her to tear him away. But it was his happiness or his safety. Count Anton had not pursued them this far to give up and tamely go home.

  She’d had in mind an intimate after-dinner conversation with her son, but Nicky brought his friend Jim with him, and then the men had surprised her by not lingering over their port, and joining her, Tibby, and the boys.

  “Do you play chess, boys?” Mr. Delaney had asked and produced a small wooden box that opened up to become a chessboard. “A grand game to while away a chilly night.”

  Jim was eager to learn, so Nicky hovered, observing quietly. Tibby wandered over to watch, too. Callie smiled. Even Papa had deemed Tibby a worthy opponent.

  Gabe pulled a chair up next to her. He said nothing for a while, just divided his time between watching her pretend to sew and watching the chess lesson.

  “Your son already knows how to play chess,” he commented.

  She glanced at him in surprise. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged. “He’s watching the interaction between the players, rather than trying to learn the mechanics of the game. And since he strikes me as the kind of boy who likes to know things, I assume he already knows the moves.”

  She gave a little nod. “Yes. My father and my husband were keen chess players.”

  “Took it very seriously, too, I’ll wager.”

  She nodded.

  “It’s like watching myself and Harry all over again,” he said after a time. “Harry was just such a wild child as young Jim, and I was probably just as needy as Nicky.”

  Needy? Gabe caught himself up on the word. He’d never thought of himself as ever being needy.

  But watching the young boy’s reserved, intelligent face, his quick, shy responses to Ethan and Jim’s noisy repartee, Gabe suddenly remembered what it felt like to sit on the outer, yearning to be accepted, to truly belong. Grateful for any crumb of approval.

  He’d forgotten he’d ever felt like that.

  He glanced at her face. His words had annoyed her.

  “He’s a fine, spirited boy. He’ll grow out of it,” Gabe told her soothingly. Gabe had grown out of it.

  “My son is not needy, and I doubt you even know the meaning of the word,” she told him.

  It was meant to be a reprimand, but she’d unwittingly offered Gabe an opening he couldn’t resist.

  “Oh, I assure you, I understand what needy means, especially after this afternoon,” he murmured, his voice deepening. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he sighed suggestively. And even though he was only teasing her, the memory of their earlier kiss rose up and he had to battle with his body.

  The color in her cheeks rose. “If you were any sort of gentleman, you would not refer to that incident.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth and stayed there. “It was a particularly sweet incident. As are your lips.”

  “You will not flirt with me here!” she ordered in an undertone.

  “Won’t I?” He gave her a look of faux-innocent surprise. “Where shall we go to flirt then?”

  She narrowed those glorious eyes at him. “We shan’t go anywhere.”

  “You don’t want to go somewhere?”

  “No, I am not budging from this place.”

  “Excellent, I thought you were leaving in the morning,” he said instantly. He raised his voice. “Listen, everyone, the princess says she’s not leaving after all. She has decided to stay on here.”

  Her jaw dropped but before she had time to refute his outrageous misinterpretation of her words, her son came flying across the room and flung his arms around her.

  “Oh, Mama, thank you, thank you! I did want so much to stay, and Jim has told me of a place where we could go fishing and could we go tomorrow please? I have never been fishing and perhaps I could catch you a fish for your supper. Mama, you know how much you like fish!”

  Over her son’s head she glared at Gabe, who hoped he was not looking as smug as he felt. She’d walked so neatly into his trap, and he was rewarded with another day, at least. More if he could persuade her. His letters were speeding on their way.

  “It will be perfectly safe,” he reminded her. “Nobody knows you are here and there is nothing to connect this place with Miss Tibthorpe.”

  He saw her consider his words, biting her lip thoughtfully. He watched, reliving the sensations that had coursed through him as he’d nibbled on that very lip. He could still taste the wild, dark honey taste of her. His body throbbed with remembrance. And need.

  She remembered, too, he could tell by the way she abruptly stopped biting her lip and flickered a self-conscious glance his way. She saw he was watching and flushed even deeper.

  He could also see she was quietly furious about the way he’d tricked her, yet she told her son that very well, they would stay another day, and that yes, if Mr. Renfrew would escort them fishing and guarantee their safety, she would allow it.

  “I’d be delighted,” Gabe said.

  Nicky straightened. “Thank you, Mama, sir.” Scarcely able to contain his excitement, he still managed a creditable bow and ran back to the chess game.

  She gave Gabe a wry glance. “I do hope you enjoy your fishing.”

  He laughed. “No, you don’t.”

  “You’re very rude,” she told him. “How would you know what I think?”

  “I told you, your face gives your thoughts away.”

  “Nonsense!” she retorted. “Nobody else has ever indicated anything of the sort.”

  “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” he murmured.

  Her eyebrows formed a skeptical arch. “Oh? Pray tell.”

  He leaned forward, rather too close for her peace of mind, for she swayed back warily. He scrutinized her face. Then he grinned. “Right now you’re hoping I fall into some very cold, very muddy water—with leeches.”

  She gave him a cool look. “And lots of slimy weeds.” She glanced around the room in search of a new topic of conversation. Something innocuous and dull. Without hidden shoals. There were several paintings; some landscapes, rather dark and gloomy, and a few portraits, years out of date.

  A portrait that intrigued her hung over the mantelpiece. It was of a woman in middle age, sharp-featured and severe-looking. Bright blue eyes glared down at the occupants of the room, along a great beak of a nose.

  Poor woman, to be afflicted with a nose like that. It made her grateful for her own undistinguished snub nose.

  “My great-aunt Gert,” he said, making her jump.

  “She raised Harry and me and left me this house.” He rose to his feet. “Now, since you won’t let me flirt with you, I’ll salvage my pride, take myself off, and offer your son a game. He’s looking a little bored and there’s another chess set in the cabinet there. Would you care to join us?”

  “No, thank you, I have my sewing to do,” she said politely. She watched him cross the room and invite her son to join him in a game. He might have been asking another adult to play.

  She glanced at the portrait of the harsh-featured woman over the fireplace and wondered how an elderly great-aunt had come to raise the two younger sons of an earl, but not the two older ones. And why Harry was a half brother. And a wild child.

  The next morning after breakfast, true to his word, Gabriel took Jim and Nicky fishing. It was a simple breakfast: four maidservants had arrived to start work that morning and Mrs. Barrow was busy directing a joyful frenzy of housework.

  Callie and Tibby took refuge in the octagonal room, taking some sewing with them. Nicky needed new shirts a
nd Callie needed more underclothes, so the two women sat in the warm, sunny room sewing and catching up on the important minutiae of the years they’d spent apart, talking and making plans.

  Around eleven o’clock, Mr. Delaney poked his head around the sitting room door. “Miss Tibthorpe, I was wonderin’…I’m planning to drive over to Rose Bay Farm to see that stallion and, since your cottage is on the way, I thought mebbe you might want to stop off and see if you can find that cat of yours. As long as you don’t mind waiting while I inspect the stallion, that is.”

  “Mind waiting? Indeed no.” Tibby set down the shirt for Nicky she was sewing and jumped up. “Thank you, Mr. Delaney, it’s very thoughtful of you. I’ve been so worried about Kitty-cat. He’s such a sweet little creature and he’s had such a hard life.” She turned to Callie. “You don’t mind, do you, Callie?”

  Callie smiled. “No of course not, Tibby dear. Go. I hope you find your Kitty-cat.”

  Tibby had hurried off, leaving Callie alone.

  She continued her sewing. To tell the truth, she was rather enjoying the peace—for the past eighteen days she’d been traveling, rarely stopping, barely sleeping. It was wonderful to be able to just sit and not have to worry or be alert; her whereabouts were unknown and Nicky was safe.

  He really was safe, she knew, with Gabriel. He was a man she could rely on—in matters of protection, at least. She’d been lucky to have fallen under his protection when she did, to be given this respite before continuing on her way.

  But that’s all it could be—a respite. She hadn’t gone to all this trouble to break out of one sort of prison only to exchange it for another. And it would be a prison, she could see the warning signs. A safe and comfortable one, perhaps, but a prison, all the same. A prison of her own making.

  She had a tendency to want to run her head into the noose.

  It had been the first true lesson of her marriage. Even after so many years, it had the power to fill her with remembered humiliation. What a fool she’d made of herself with Rupert. What a public fool.

  She thought she was over all that, but that kiss in the octagonal room, that amazing, mind-scrambling, sublime, and dreadful kiss had given off warning signs ten feet tall.

  Never again would she place her happiness in the hands of a man. She was older and wiser now.

  She would leave. Protect Nicky, protect herself.

  She took advantage of the privacy to unpick some of the jewels she had sewn into her thick petticoat—not the most valuable ones, just a ruby pin and some pearl earrings—small and easily sold items that would give her ready money for traveling.

  The question was whether to go to some other rural location and live there quietly, or to disappear in London.

  You can’t keep running. Count Anton must be stopped.

  He was right, she knew, but how could she stop Count Anton? The only thing that would stop him was death, and she wasn’t sure she had it in her to kill someone. She tried to list her options, but it kept coming back to just two: Run or kill Count Anton…run or kill Count Anton.

  If Nicky could abdicate…but he couldn’t, not until he was eighteen. And she didn’t want him to, anyway. To be the prince of Zindaria was his birthright.

  Plans and possibilities swirled in her brain. The sun streamed in through the octagonal window. The warmth was heavenly. She folded her sewing on her lap and closed her eyes, just to enjoy it for a moment.

  “Mama, I have had the most splendid time!” Nicky burst into the room chattering nineteen to the dozen. “We caught lots of fish, and we lit a fire on the beach and cooked them and ate them—with our fingers, Mama! And they were the most delicious fish I have ever eaten in my life. And little shells we dug out of the sand and we boiled them and ate them, too. And we met two other boys that Jim knew and they are splendid fellows and I fell in and got wet, but I am dry now because one of the other boys lived in the oddest little hut near the beach and he lent me some clothes while mine got dry. Oh, Mama, you should have been there!”

  By the time he stopped to draw breath Callie was laughing helplessly. “And did you think to save a fish for me, my brave fisherman?”

  “Yes, of course, Mama. I promised I would.”

  “Of course you did, darling. Thank you.” She looked at the tall man who was lounging in the doorway, watching them with a faint smile.

  “Thank you, Mr. Renfrew.” She smiled up at him. “I have not seen Nicky this happy in…oh, forever. It makes everything worthwhile.”

  “Even the delay I foisted on you?”

  “Yes, even that, though…” She scanned his long, lean body. “I don’t suppose you fell in, too, did you?” she asked hopefully.

  He laughed. “Nope.”

  “No fingers or toes nipped by a lobster or a crab?”

  “Nope.”

  She produced a mock sigh. “Oh well, one cannot have everything, I suppose. We must be content with Nicky’s splendid time.” She tried not to smile, but it broke out anyway.

  She ran her fingers affectionately though Nicky’s hair. And saw something. She frowned, and peered closer. “What? It’s a, it’s a—”

  “A nit. A louse,” said Gabriel, looking over her shoulder. “In fact, several lice. See there’s another one.”

  “Lice?” she exclaimed. “My son has lice?”

  He seemed to find her horror amusing. “Don’t worry, they don’t eat much.”

  She stared at him in speechless indignation.

  “You’re not very good with things that wriggle and crawl, are you?” he commented. “Leeches, lice…”

  “No, I’m not!” she snapped, annoyed by his amusement. Lice were horrid, dirty things. Her son had never in his life been exposed to such creatures. “Nicky, how did you—” She broke off. It would have happened when he swapped clothes with that other boy. She looked at Gabriel. “How could you let this happen?”

  He shrugged indifferently. “Nits won’t kill him. You said yourself he had a splendid day. Besides it might even do him good.”

  “Do him good?” She shuddered.

  “Nicky will one day be crown prince of Zindaria. Tell me, who will make the better ruler—the man who has no idea of the daily life and hardships of the ordinary folk, or the man who as a boy, rubbed shoulders—or heads—with the sons of the poor?”

  She closed her eyes. “All right, I suppose I can see your point.”

  “So don’t worry about lice and bangs or scrapes or mud or fleas—”

  She opened her eyes. “Fleas?” she said faintly.

  His blue eyes twinkled. “Bound to be fleas. Mrs. Barrow is well used to dealing with boys and the livestock they can bring home. She’ll whisk Nicky and Jim into a bath, go over them with a fine-toothed comb and rub her special nit cream into their hair—it’s stinky, but efficacious, I promise you. And she’ll boil their clothes in the copper.”

  “How do you know so much about…” She glanced at the lice in her son’s hair and shuddered.

  “I’ve had lice before. They’re a constant nuisance in the army—yes, even the officers get ’em. And when I was a boy Harry and I picked up our share of bodily livestock. We ran wild with the local lads, too.”

  Callie gave her son a little push. “Go on, Nicky, go and show Mrs. Barrow what else you caught today beside the fish.”

  Nicky stood. “I have had leeches and now I have lice!” he exclaimed.

  Both Callie and Gabriel laughed at his apparent pride in his achievement.

  “Indeed, Nicky, and the experience will make you a better prince, someday,” Gabriel said, ruffling his hair as he passed.

  Callie watched him and smiled.

  “I’m glad to see you’ve accepted it,” he said after Nicky had left.

  “Far be it from me to stand in the way of Nicky’s princely development.” She glanced at Gabriel. “I don’t suppose you’ve picked up any livestock, too.”

  “No. Your luck is quite out today.”

  “I’m not so sure,” she sai
d, trying not to smile. “You ruffled my son’s hair just then. And for the past few minutes, you’ve been scratching. Perhaps you’d better see Mrs. Barrow, too.”

  Ten

  Callie was bored. She’d spent the whole morning sewing, and now she wanted a change. The books in the library didn’t appeal—it seemed Great-aunt Gert had disdained frivolous reading matter of the sort Callie and Tibby adored, for there was not one single novel—she had no letters to write and nobody to talk to.

  She’d even offered to help Mrs. Barrow organizing the maidservants, an offer that had been received with horror. A princess, keeping a bunch of useless scatty girls applied to their work? Heaven forfend! And Mrs. Barrow had bustled off.

  The princess, feeling a certain kinship with the useless, scatty girls, dolefully returned to her sewing.

  A shout and the clatter of hooves in the courtyard outside caused her to jump up and run to the window. In the courtyard two horses were walking around in a rough circle, their hooves clip-clopping on the stones. Gabriel stood in the middle, observing, giving instructions.

  Jim clung to the back of the first horse like a little monkey, his face alive with excitement.

  Her son sat on the back of the second horse, pale and straight-backed, his face stiff with anxiety, his hands in the correct position.

  Callie pressed her hand to her mouth. How many times had she watched this scene before, the prelude to the moment when Nicky went crashing on the ground, to lie crumpled and shamed, a failure yet again.

  Gabriel called out something and she saw Nicky stiffen and rein his animal to a halt. His face frozen, he waited as the tall man strode across the courtyard, a frown on his face.

  If he dared to yell at her son…Callie stood poised, ready to fly to Nicky’s defense.

  He stood on the other side of the horse, fiddling with something, and suddenly she realized he was adjusting the stirrup. Callie blinked. She hadn’t even noticed there was a saddle. Every other time her son had been put on a horse it had been bareback.