The Stolen Princess

by Anne Gracie

  Callie turned, not much liking being called a little foreign widow. Looking down at her was a statuesque blonde whose dress of gold satin seemed to have been molded to her body. She was very beautiful.

  “I beg your pardon?” said Callie. “Have we met?”

  The blonde held out three languid fingers. “Lady Anthea Soffington-Greene.” She scrutinized Callie with an air of faint, dismissive amusement. Callie bristled.

  “Gabriel’s marriage has thrown the ladies of the ton into mourning,” Lady Anthea drawled. “Not me, however.” She glanced at Callie’s gown, smirked, and smoothed her own gold satin over her hips. Her dress was cut extremely low; her large, full breasts were almost wholly visible, rather like two large blue-veined cheeses, Callie thought.

  She reminded her of the Valkyrie.

  Lady Anthea added, “A small thing like a hasty wedding won’t change what’s between Gabriel and me.” She smiled knowingly.

  Callie’s fists curled in their lace gloves. She wanted to scratch the woman’s eyes out. “My husband is taken,” she said fiercely, looking the woman in the eye. “However, his brothers are free.” She glanced across the room to where Harry stood, tall and handsome, surrounded by women and flirting shamelessly. He didn’t dance, she noticed, perhaps because he was embarrassed by his limp.

  Not one of the women was an unmarried girl, she realized with shock. They were all young, glamorous matrons. They could be hunting Harry for one reason only.

  Lady Anthea tittered. “You mean Harry the Crippled Bastard?”

  Callie stiffened. “If you are referring to my brother-in-law, Mr. Harry Morant, how dare you refer to him as a cripple in my presence! And I’ll have you know he was born in wedlock!”

  Lady Anthea arched an eyebrow and said in a suggestive tone, “So the wind sits in that quarter, does it? Harry is a handsome devil, I grant you, but Gabriel is more my kind of meat. The thumbs say it all.”

  Callie saw red. Gabriel’s thumbs were hers! “My husband is not on your menu, Lady Anthea! If you need servicing, I suggest you approach Mr. Morant. He’s kind to animals, I know. He may even take pity on an underdressed bitch in heat!”

  Lady Anthea, her eyes glittering with rage, drew herself up with a hiss. Callie braced herself, ready for battle, but Gabriel came up behind her and slid his arm around her waist.

  “Lady Anthea, is it not?” he said smoothly. “How do you do? You must excuse us, my wife is needed elsewhere.” And before Callie could say a word he steered her firmly away.

  “Gabriel, do you know that woman?” Callie demanded.

  “Yes, I know her, but not, my love, in the biblical sense,” he said as he led her out onto the terrace. He turned her around to face him, his face alive with amusement. “And here I was elbowing my way through the crowd in the rudest way because I thought you might need defending from one of the most poisonous harpies in the ton.”

  Callie scowled suspiciously at him. “You think she’s a poisonous harpy?”

  “I know she is.”

  His words pleased her, but she wasn’t finished yet. “She’s quite beautiful.”

  He nodded. “Very beautiful, yes, she is. For an underdressed bitch in heat.” His eyes were dancing.

  She narrowed hers at him. He hadn’t needed to add on the very. “She talked about your thumbs,” she accused.

  He smiled and cupped her cheek with his palm. “She may have seen my thumbs, but I promise you that’s all she’s seen of me. I wouldn’t touch that woman with a barge pole, let alone with, er, anything else.”

  “Never?”

  “Never. Never in the past and certainly not in the future. Besides, my body is wholly and exclusively dedicated to you—or had you forgotten those vows I made in church the other day?”

  Mollified, she relaxed. His arm slid around her waist and the hand cupping her cheek moved to the back of her head. One long, strong finger stroked the nape of her neck, sending delicious shivers down her spine. “She was horrid about Harry,” she told him.

  His face hardened. “I’m not surprised. She’s a vicious creature. Harry was once hopeles—” He broke off. “But that’s in the past and besides, it’s Harry’s tale to tell, or not. Would you care for some supper?”

  “In a minute,” she said. She wasn’t quite finished. “Lady Anthea told me all the ladies were in mourning since you got married.”

  He gave a smug smile. “Well, of course they are. I’m a very charming fellow. Quite good-looking, too, I’m told.”

  “Not as handsome as your brothers,” she said dampeningly.

  “Yes, but they all feel sorry for me now, knowing I’m firmly under the thumb of a shrew.”

  “A shrew?” she said indignantly.

  “Yes, but a very beautiful one, and she wears me out so that I am not the least use to any other women.”

  Strangely pleased by his words, she kissed him.

  After a very satisfying interlude, he murmured, “Besides, she’s a very jealous creature and all the other ladies will be too frightened to cross her.”

  “Jealous? I am not jealous!” She stared at him shocked. “And nobody is ever frightened of me.”

  “Tell that to Lady Anthea,” he said and kissed her again.

  After that Callie was walking on air as well as dancing on it. She’d never enjoyed a party more. Gabriel didn’t precisely hover, but he was never more than a few paces away and she was aware of his eyes on her throughout the evening.

  Rupert used to watch her, too, waiting for her to make some gaffe, or drop something, or say the wrong thing. She was never comfortable with Rupert watching. This was different.

  Gabriel watched to make sure she was having a good time. When her glass was empty, he would appear to have it filled. If she hovered between groups of people, not sure who to talk to next, he would appear and introduce her to someone. Or if she was being bored to death, Gabriel would come to rescue her.

  Nash, Luke, and Rafe danced with her, and they and Harry were all very attentive, making sure she had whatever she needed, that she wasn’t bored or feeling lonely in this crowd of people she didn’t know. It was wonderful to have such tall, handsome men watching out for her. Callie had never felt so cared for at a party before. She was not on trial. Her only job was to enjoy herself.

  She smiled and nodded at the most recent bore, a hunting-mad lord whose name she had forgotten. He’d pontificated for ten minutes now about the delights of hunting and the various horses he owned and all their interesting foibles and she hadn’t been able to escape. He was impervious to hints and excuses. At last, she thought as she saw her husband threading his way toward them. Rescue was at hand.

  “But there,” said Lord Hunting-Mad, “I’ve been goin’ on about my own mounts when really what I’d like to hear about are yours, Princess. I hear the horses of Zindaria are something quite special.” He nodded genially as Gabriel arrived and said, “How do, Renfrew. The princess here was about to tell me about her favorite mount.”

  Gabriel, his eyes dancing, said suavely, “Really? Do tell, Princess.”

  She looked him straight in the eye and said, “I ride often, of course, and find it a most stimulating form of exercise. But not horses. Never horses.” And with a sweet smile at his lordship, she sailed away, leaving Gabriel choking on his champagne.

  “Not horses?” she heard Lord Hunting-Mad demand. “What the devil does the gel ride then?”

  Callie paused to hear what her husband would say, knowing full well the only creature she ever rode was himself.

  “Camels,” Gabriel said when he had recovered his composure. “She’s very fond of riding camels.”

  Lord Hunting-Mad turned and peered at Callie in astonishment. “Camels? Well, bless my soul, how dashed peculiar!”

  Callie was still laughing when Gabriel caught up with her. “Minx,” he said. “I think the Lady Anthea victory has gone to your head.”

  No, thought Callie, it was Gabriel Renfrew who’d gone to her head. She was
bubbling, as though she had champagne in her blood.

  She pretended to consider him, scanning him from head to toe in a thoughtful manner. “You are rather like a camel,” she began and then froze as a movement over his shoulder caught her eye. Her fingers bit into his arms.

  “Count Anton!”

  As she spoke, the count spotted her from across the room. He bowed elegantly, enjoying her discomfiture.

  Callie clenched her fists. “How dare he come to our wedding party!”

  “My fault, I’m afraid,” Nash said, coming up behind them. “I notified the Foreign Office and the Zindarian Embassy of your marriage straight away. I should have guessed that the count would find some way to gain entrance to this party.”

  “I don’t want him here. Can’t we throw him out?” she asked Gabe.

  “Not without making a scene and mortifying Aunt Maude,” Nash said quickly, seeing that Gabriel looked quite willing to do just that. “The count is the guest of the Austrian ambassador. He escorted the ambassador’s wife here, Princess Esterhazy, a very influential leader of the ton—she’s one of the patronesses of Almacks. If you tossed the count out, she would be mortally offended and take it out on Aunt Maudie.”

  Callie scowled. “Then I will tell him to leave—very politely—and you don’t need to look so worried Nash, I am the soul of politeness—”

  “Lady Anthea will vouch for that,” Gabe murmured.

  Callie looked daggers at him. “Count Anton is no joking matter.”

  “No, I know,” Gabriel said soothingly. “But remember, he can do nothing to you here. We’ve stopped his legal move to have Nicky handed over and he’s surrounded by some of the most influential people in England. And I’m here, and Harry and Rafe and Luke and Ethan and Nash.” He gestured to where Harry and Rafe had positioned themselves on either side of the count—not obviously, but with clear intent to protect. Ethan, as Callie knew, was upstairs with Tibby and the boys.

  Gabriel slid an arm around her waist. “We won’t let him touch you, so there’s no need to be afraid.”

  “I am not afraid of that snake,” Callie declared, and suddenly realized she meant it. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Not since that moment when Gabriel had handed her the sword stick. And then offered to kill him for her.

  She took a deep breath and said with dignity, “I merely wish not to have my party spoiled by his vile presence.”

  She stalked across the room toward the count.

  Harry stepped out in front of her. “Time for supper, is it? I shall escort you.” He offered her his arm.

  Callie blinked at him in surprise. “No, thank you, Harry, I have eaten,” she told him and made to step around him.

  Again he stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “Then will you dance?”

  She stared at him. “But you haven’t danced a single dance all evening.”

  “Yes, well, I feel like dancing now,” he said coolly. “A dance with my lovely sister-in-law. To celebrate the wedding. You can’t deny me that.”

  “Harry, are you perhaps trying to stop me from talking to the count?”

  He gave her an opaque look. “Why would I do that?”

  “I have no idea. Oh look, here comes Lady Gosforth with a young lady for you to dance with.” His head snapped around and she took advantage of his momentary distraction to skip around him and make a beeline for the count.

  “Princess Caroline,” the count purred as she reached him. He gave a perfectly correct bow that somehow managed to be insolent. “I am informed that you have found someone to marry you. A younger son, I am told, and of paltry fortune.” He smiled.

  She was aware of Gabriel at her back. And Harry and Rafe and Luke and Nash. She was deeply moved by their immediate and unquestioning support.

  She gave the count a cold look and said simply, “That is correct, you may felicitate me before you leave.”

  He arched an incredulous eyebrow, as if surprised by her daring. “May I? I believe the so-called felicity remains to be seen.”

  “Which do you doubt? My happiness or that you are leaving? There is no doubt of either,” Callie said serenely. She had no doubt in the world of her happiness now. She looked at the count and said clearly, “Good-bye.”

  He flushed a little, aware that people were craning to hear the conversation. It was obvious from her attitude as she faced him that something was going on, not to mention the five men standing protectively at her back.

  His lip curled. “Look at you in your fine feathers, flaunting that stupid tiara with its paste jewels—it’s pathetic! What would all your elegant friends say if they knew it was a worthless piece of—”

  Her hands flew to her tiara. “How did you—” she broke off.

  “Know?” He sneered. “From Rupert of course. He used to laugh about it—we all did.”

  Gabriel stepped forward. “Then he was a fool. You all were. This tiara, like the woman wearing it, is unique and priceless.”

  “Priceless,” Count Anton scoffed.

  “Don’t you think a younger son with a paltry fortune would check up on that sort of thing before he married its owner?” Gabriel said in a hard voice.

  Callie looked at him in shock.

  The smile died on Count Anton’s face. He looked from Gabriel to the tiara, to Callie and back to Gabriel.

  Gabe rested his hands on Callie’s shoulders. “She might tell people the diamonds are paste and that it’s worthless, but I am not so easily gulled. You may take it from me, this tiara is priceless.”

  The count glared at him.

  “Now,” Gabriel said softly, “my wife asked you to leave. Good-bye.”

  Balked, aware of the eyes on them, the count had no alternative but to go with as much grace as he could muster. He gave them a supercilious smile. “I will go then, since you behave so boorishly, but you’ll find soon enough that Count Anton is not so easily defeated.”

  They watched him go. “I don’t like the look of that smile,” Gabriel said.

  “I don’t like the look of anything about him at all,” said Harry. “Little golden weasel.” They all laughed.

  He heard them, too, turning back to fling them a glance filled with vitriol.

  Later in the evening when they were alone for a moment, Callie said to Gabriel, “I didn’t lie to you about the tiara, it really is paste.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “But—then, why did you say it was priceless?”

  “Because your mother’s tiara is priceless to you. And if it is to you, it is to me. Now, would you like a drink? It’s been quite an eventful evening. I think another champagne is called for.”

  Callie stared at him. He had no idea how much his words meant to her. And that he simply took it for granted that he would support her. “Gabriel,” she said as he was about to go off and fetch her a drink.

  “Yes?”

  She kissed him. “I cannot wait for this party to end.”

  He looked surprised. “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

  “Oh, yes, I am. It’s been wonderful. It’s just that I am so looking forward to…um…” She blushed.

  His eyes danced. “Chess?” he said gently.

  “Yes.” And telling him she loved him.

  It could not be said that the rest of the evening dragged, but Callie was glad when finally people started to leave. It was very late. The party had been a great success. She stood with Lady Gosforth thanking and farewelling people; she smiled and smiled and wished them gone.

  Finally it was over. “I’ll just pop up and look in on Nicky,” Callie told Gabriel. “I won’t be long.”

  He nodded. He was used to the routine. She checked on her son last thing every night. She hurried up the stairs to the third floor and tiptoed into Nicky’s room, so as not to wake him.

  The room was empty. Callie stared disbelievingly at the sight of the two beds with the covers pulled back, the window open, and her son gone. She felt the sheets. Cold.

  She flew
to the adjoining rooms—first to Harry’s, then to Ethan’s. No sign of Nicky. She ran across to Tibby’s room and found her and Ethan poring over a book. “Where is Nicky?” she gasped.

  “In bed, asleep,” Tibby said. “Why?”

  “He’s not there. Neither of the boys are. And their beds are cold.”

  “But they must be,” Tibby said, shocked. “I checked both boys at about eleven. They were sound asleep.”

  Callie looked at the clock. It was now after two.

  She ran back to the boys’ room and screamed “Nickyyyy!” out of the window. But there was no response. Her son had disappeared.

  At the sound of her scream, Gabe hurtled up the stairs two at a time. Harry and the others followed.

  “What is it?” But the cold, empty beds and Callie’s distress said it all. He peered out through the open window and found a dangling rope hanging from the roof.

  Harry, who was standing beside the wardrobe, heard a faint sound. He unlocked the door and a bundle fell out. It was Jim, bound and gagged and wrapped in a quilt. Harry quickly freed him.

  “They took Nicky!” Jim gasped the moment he could spit out the gag. “We was asleep and by the time I was awake I couldn’t say nuffink.” His sharp face crumpled as he looked at Callie. “I’m sorry, ma’am, real sorry. I let you down—”

  Callie shook her head. She was beyond words, Gabriel saw.

  “Who were they, Jim, did you get a look?”

  “Two men. Foreigners. They tied up both of us, then one passed Nicky through the window to the other, and then I got shoved in the wardrobe.”

  Gabe glanced at the rope. “They must have taken him across the rooftops. But why?”

  Callie moaned. Gabe grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen to me! If they’ve taken Nicky, they must mean to keep him alive!”

  She stared at him blankly. “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but it would have been easier to slit both boys’ throats while they lay sleeping. They didn’t, so they want Nicky alive.”

  Faint color stole back into her cheeks.

  Gabe hoped to hell he was right. He turned back to Jim. “How long ago was it?”