My Fair Princess

by Vanessa Kelly

  He sat on the edge of his desk, reaching back to grab the letter on his blotter. “We have a great deal to discuss, including plans for our wedding, but there was something else I wanted to show you first.”

  “Our wedding. Oh, yes, of course. I’d forgotten about that.”

  He froze for a second. “You’d forgotten about that?” “Not really, but . . . never mind, I’m just being silly,” she said, flapping a hand. “Did you want me to see that letter?”

  Gillian was obviously still ruffled at the notion of becoming his duchess. He could think of a number of pleasing ways to soothe her nerves, but this matter, unfortunately, had to come first.

  “Yes,” he said, handing it to her. “It’s a report from Joshua Andris, the runner I hired. As I mentioned to you earlier, he’s currently in Lincoln. I’m sorry to say he’s not making a great deal of progress in tracking down your jewelry.” He crossed his arms over his chest, watching the range of emotions flickering over her expressive face. She’d switched her focus to the letter, apparently reading it through twice before handing it back.

  “I’m not entirely sure I understand. Why is he so certain the jewels aren’t in Lincoln? Did you not say it was the most likely place to find them?” She grimaced. “I hope they haven’t already been taken to London. Surely they would be lost if such were the case.”

  “Andris is quite certain that such is not the case. He’s cultivated some promising leads on identifying the gang who robbed us. It would appear that they operate out of Alford and deal exclusively with pawnbrokers based in Lincoln. There’s no evidence to suggest they took the goods to London.”

  Gillian perked up. “So if our jewels haven’t shown up in Lincoln yet, that means the smugglers still have them.”

  “Likely so.”

  She leaned forward in her chair. “How far are we from Alford?”

  “Seven miles.”

  She jumped up. “Is there an excise officer there that we can contact? Failing that, we can begin making enquiries ourselves, don’t you think?”

  Charles stood and rested his hands on her shoulders, gently urging her back down. “Not so fast, my love. I’ve instructed Andris to do just that. We should have a report from him within a few days.”

  “But the smugglers could take our jewels to Lincoln in the meantime. They could even start pulling the stones out of the settings, and then we would never recover them.”

  “I understand your concern, but Andris and I believe this is the best way to proceed.”

  “I don’t agree,” she said with an emphatic shake of her head. “I don’t see why we can’t at least discuss this with the authorities. It’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”

  When he hesitated, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Charles, what aren’t you telling me?”

  “I can’t be entirely sure, but it would appear that the excise officer for that area is not entirely dependable.”

  “Do you think he might be taking bribes to look the other way?”

  “Very possibly.”

  “How appalling,” she said indignantly. “How do you know this? I thought you only spoke to the authorities in Skegness?”

  “I also had Scunthorpe follow up with the excise officer in Alford. He thought it suspicious that the officer displayed so little interest in the case.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, scowling at him.

  “Because I didn’t think it would help. And you were already upset enough as it was.”

  “That is unacceptable, Charles. We’re to be married. You shouldn’t be withholding information from me.”

  “I don’t mean to be overly precise,” he said in an apologetic tone, “but we were not formally engaged at the time of our initial discussions of this topic, if you recall.”

  She silently fumed for a few moments. “Very well. I concede the point. But in the future, I expect you to discuss everything with me. Is that clear?”

  He placed a hand on his chest. “I will be an open book to you, my love.”

  Gillian scoffed. “Trying to charm me into compliance? It won’t work, Your Grace.”

  “It was worth a try,” he said. “Now, what else would you like to know before we leave this matter in the runner’s capable hands.”

  “I don’t agree that we should leave everything up to him. And I want to know why you didn’t report your suspicions about the excise officer to his superiors.”

  Charles throttled back an exasperated sigh. “Gillian, I have absolutely no proof that the officer is taking bribes. I will not ruin a man’s career based on my estate manager’s vague feelings, which might be entirely wrong.” He held up a hand when she started to protest. “And that is exactly why I’m asking Andris to investigate this officer and see what he can uncover.”

  She mulled that over a bit, then gave him a nod. “Very well, I accept that. But I still don’t see why we can’t make a little visit to Alford. Poke around, as it were. See what we come up with.”

  “Ah, yes. The Duke of Leverton and his fiancée poking around the local tavern and shops, making thinly veiled enquiries about smugglers and stolen jewelry. That couldn’t possibly get the wind up.”

  “There’s no need to be sarcastic. I wasn’t suggesting that we ride into town in the ducal carriage and commence interrogating the locals. We could go in disguise. Just a farmer and his wife, perhaps.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “I would be recognized on sight, since I am fairly well-known in these parts. Nor can I imagine myself playing the role of farmer with any degree of credibility.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you are a very important man, after all. I’m sure all of England would recognize you on sight. Very well, you stay home, and I will go in disguise. No one will know who I am.”

  Charles propped his hands on his hips. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. It’s entirely unacceptable.” He knew he had little chance of intimidating Gillian simply by looming over her with a fierce scowl, but he didn’t expect her to regard him with something that looked remarkably like indulgence, either.

  “On the contrary,” she said. “I’ve done it a thousand times before, and I’m very good at it.”

  “Your days of playacting are over,” he said. “This isn’t Sicily, Gillian. It’s England, and young ladies don’t go running about the countryside in disguise, trying to break up smuggling rings and recover stolen goods.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and gave a haughty little sniff. “I wouldn’t be forced to resort to such tactics if you would listen to me. But since your staff—and the runner— are apparently incapable of doing the job, it appears I must do it myself.”

  “They’re entirely capable. And may I remind you that it’s my job to take care of problems like this, not yours.”

  “You’re not doing a very good job of it either, Leverton. I simply refuse to sit by and allow those thieves to make off with something that means so very much to me and to my mother.”

  “And I refuse to allow my future bride to make a spectacle of herself.” As soon as the words escaped his lips, Charles knew he’d made a colossal blunder. Still, he couldn’t back down. He could not allow Gillian to risk both her reputation and her life.

  She met him toe-to-toe, her slender figure practically vibrating with outrage. “That’s what this is really about—your blasted ducal pride. Let me tell you something, Your Grace.” She made the honorific sound like the worst sort of insult. “If you don’t want a wife prone to making a spectacle of herself, you shouldn’t be marrying me.”

  “You do have control over your actions, Gillian. You can choose to behave in a more circumspect manner, or allow others to act on your behalf.”

  She jabbed him in the cravat, demolishing it. “Sometimes the situation demands direct action. I refuse to sit around like some milksop miss and let others do for me what I’m perfectly capable of doing for myself—and better, I might add.”

  Charles studied her tight,
angry expression, his frustration growing. She had to learn to accept his help, and also to recognize that her life was about to change in significant ways. “My dear, you’re going to be a duchess. Along with the obvious benefits of that position—”

  “You mean marriage to you?” she interrupted, her words dripping with sarcasm.

  He ignored the barb. “The benefits are matched by the responsibilities. And a certain, shall we say, code of conduct.”

  “Like that of my natural father and uncles?” she asked. “Is that how dukes and duchesses should behave?”

  “I hope you won’t put me in the same category as that lot,” he said in a mild voice.

  His response brought her up short. She hesitated, then gave him a reluctant nod. “Of course not. And I don’t intend to embarrass you, at least not on purpose. But I also won’t pretend to be less than who I am.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to, my dear. I have every confidence that you’ll grow into the role and learn to conduct yourself with an appropriate degree of decorum.” He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “I’ll continue to do my best to guide you, of course.”

  “How very decent of you. I hardly know how to thank you.”

  Charles couldn’t help mentally wincing. He knew he’d sounded a tad pompous.

  “What I truly want from you,” she went on, jabbing that lethal finger at him again, “is for you to take me and my concerns seriously. That means helping me recover what was taken from me.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. I’m sorry, Gillian, but you’ll simply have to be satisfied that I know what’s best, and leave this issue to me to manage as I see fit.” He dredged up a smile. “Trust me, love, everything will turn out just fine.”

  She studied him with evident disappointment before giving a grim little shake of the head. Then she spun on her heel and marched toward the door. Halfway there, she stopped and turned back to him. “Do you know how many people have said that to me over the years? ‘Trust me. Just do what I say and everything will work out fine.’”

  “Gillian—”

  “Do you know who I’ve learned to trust over the years?” She tapped her chest. “Me. That’s whom I trust to do what is right for my family. And if you can’t accept that I’m more than capable of doing so, then we have a problem. A large one.”

  Christ. “Could you be more specific?”

  “Very well. I’m saying that we probably don’t suit.” Then she let out a bitter laugh. “Probably? No, of course we don’t suit. I was a fool to think we ever did.”

  Charles was in front of her before he even realized he’d moved. Her eyes widened in dismay, but she held her ground. “Let’s be very clear on one thing,” he said from between clenched teeth. “We will be getting married.”

  “Is that so? I take it, then, that you’ve changed your mind and will go with me to Alford?”

  He could barely keep his jaw from dropping open. “Are you really trying to blackmail me by refusing to marry me?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t see it that way, but I must do as I see fit.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Gillian, you’re an extremely intelligent young woman. For once, please put those brains to good use instead of acting like an impetuous chit.”

  Her gaze flung thunderbolts at him. “Thank you for that piece of advice, sir. I’ll commence doing so immediately by telling you that, regretfully, I cannot marry you.”

  She turned to head for the door, but he clamped a hand on her shoulder and spun her back.

  “I do not accept your refusal,” he thundered.

  “And I do not accept your refusal of my refusal,” she shouted.

  They’d clearly descended into farce. Charles couldn’t remember the last time he’d so thoroughly lost control of his emotions. He made one more effort to throttle back his temper. “I’m sorry, Gillian, but the die is cast in that regard. After what happened between us last night, I should think that would be abundantly clear.”

  Her defiant little chin ticked up another notch. “I will not be coerced into marriage, Leverton. Not by you or by anyone else. Let go of my arm, you great lout, or I’ll be forced to do something dramatic.”

  He stared at her, dumbfounded for a moment, before his brain lurched back into action. “If we don’t get married, then something dramatic will happen—the complete ruination of your reputation, which already hangs by a thread. I will not stand accused—even in my own mind—of taking advantage of you.”

  “I’m not an innocent, you stupid man,” she said in a tight voice. “Or have you forgotten that fact?”

  “Gillian, I will not allow you to make the same mistake as your mother, or allow you to be labeled a . . .”

  “A doxy?”

  The ugly word she flung at him brought him up short. He took in her flushed cheeks and glittering eyes, bright with unshed tears.

  What the hell was he doing?

  “Good God.” Charles gently smoothed his hand down her arm. “I’m sorry, Gillian. I should be horsewhipped for talking to you in so callous a manner.”

  Her gaze darted off to the side. “Yes, you should. I’ll be happy to help with that, if you like.”

  “Perhaps later, after we’ve had a chance to talk this through.”

  A few moments later, her gaze returned to him. She’d regained control. “May I ask you something first?”

  Her cool manner sent prickles of warning down his spine. “Of course.”

  “Do you love me?” She used the same tone that one might employ to ask do you like chess or did you eat the last lobster patty?

  “I might ask you the same question,” he replied, stalling for time.

  “I asked you first.”

  Damn. He never employed that term anymore, not after Letitia. He’d been madly in love with the bloody woman, and that reckless emotion had all but ruined his life. That was not what he wanted with Gillian. He wanted something better, but he couldn’t seem to find the words to describe it.

  He reached up to cup her cheek. “Sweetheart, you know how very fond I am of you. How much I want to be with you. I showed you how much last night.”

  She calmly removed his hand from her face. “At least Pietro was honest with me. Charles, why the devil do you wish to marry me, anyway?”

  “I simply do. Is that not enough?”

  She grimaced. “That’s the best you can offer?”

  Apparently, it was. Gillian was right—he was stupid. He’d just never known it until now.

  “When you come up with the answer,” she said, as he stood there like a great dolt, “perhaps you’ll be good enough to share it with me.”

  And on that blighting note, she swept from the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Gillian sat on her bed, tailor style, ignoring the elegant little tea tray Mrs. Peck had sent up to coax her into eating. Since she was supposed to be ill, the kind woman had prepared some delightful little ginger biscuits and a bland pudding. Unfortunately, an enormous lump had taken up residence in her stomach after her argument with Leverton. Gillian had been so rattled by their verbal brawl that she’d spent the rest of the day in her bedroom, pleading a vague digestive complaint that probably fooled no one, especially her reputed fiancé.

  During their epic screaming match, even Charles had lost his famously even temperament. Ordinarily, that might have constituted quite an achievement on her part, but now it felt like a hollow victory. Her dreadful behavior had no doubt made it abundantly clear that she was the last sort of woman he should wish to take as his wife.

  “And isn’t that what you wanted?” she whispered to herself.

  She’d always thought so, especially if it meant she could return to Sicily. No doubt Charles would now be thrilled to put her on the boat, so Gillian simply had to recover the stolen jewels and then she and Mamma could book passage back to Palermo. They could retire to a little villa outside the city. Gillian could take care of her mother, and . . . well, Mamma would f
ind something to do.

  There was just one blinding flaw in her plan. She’d discovered that she didn’t want to go anywhere, at least not without Charles. The notion of life without him now struck her as so appalling that she could think of nothing better to do than hide out in her room, trying to sort out where everything had gone wrong.

  So far, the answer eluded her.

  Gillian slid off the bed, thoroughly sick of her own company. Until she could sort out what to do with Charles, she might as well do something about recovering her stolen property. As she’d made clear to him, she had no intention of sitting around while the thieves smuggled her jewels out of Lincolnshire. If nothing else, she could head down to the beach in the faint hope that they might make another run. If they did, she’d follow them. She’d familiarized herself with most of the paths running across the estate and would be back to the manor before anyone knew she was gone.

  With a little luck, she might soon have solid evidence to present to Charles about the smuggling activities on his lands. Even better luck would yield information on where her jewels had gone.

  As she rummaged in the tall cupboard for her boots, a gentle knock sounded on her bedroom door. Since it was after ten o’clock and she’d already told the maid she was going to bed early, she wondered if it was Charles, coming to apologize. Gillian let out a small snort at the notion. She suspected he was no more inclined to apologize than she was, which meant they’d reached an impasse.

  Ignoring the melancholy triggered by that thought, she shoved her boots back into the cupboard and took a flying leap for the bed, scrambling under the covers.

  “Come in,” she called out in what she hoped was a pathetic voice.

  Lady Filby peeked in. “Hello, my dear. May I come in for a minute?”

  “Of course,” Gillian said, repressing a sigh. She’d managed to fob off Mamma with her Banbury tale of an upset stomach, but the countess would not be as easy to fool.

  Lady Filby walked over to the bed with a kind smile on her elegant features. “I saw the light under your door. How are you feeling, my dear?”