by C. J. Archer
He reached across the table and took my hand. His touch was warmer without gloves, and more thrilling. "They have no real power over me, Charlie, or you. If we want to marry, it's nothing to do with them."
"Not directly, I suppose."
The committee members considered me a danger. They claimed evil people would want to use my power, and although I hated admitting it, they were right. Twice now, mad scientists had tried to capture me and use my necromancy. But it wasn't only my attraction to those people that the committee feared. It was the amount of time and effort Lincoln had wasted to keep me safe. It was my distracting influence on him they didn't like. As the leader of the ministry, he couldn't afford such a distraction. It didn't help that part of me agreed with them, and I worried about that very thing too.
"Charlie." His quiet purr coaxed a small smile from me. "I'm in charge and always will be while I am alive. They have to accept my decisions."
"Can they remove you from the leadership?"
"They wouldn't go against the prophecy. There may be consequences. Supernatural ones."
I'd forgotten about the prophecy. A seer who lived many centuries ago foresaw Lincoln would become the ministry's leader. When the man in the prophecy was linked to baby Lincoln, he'd been taken in by General Eastbrooke and given tutelage in a wide range of subjects as he grew up. Now that I thought about it, the committee had invested quite a lot in him without really knowing how he would turn out. Clearly they were very certain they had the right person.
"You've told me so little about the prophecy," I said. "Now that you are to be my husband, will you tell me more?"
He glanced toward the window and the street beyond, where well-heeled Parisians hurried between shops to get out of the cold. "I'll tell you everything I know, but not here and not now. The weather is turning. I'd like to see the jeweler then return to the hotel. You don't have a warm enough coat to be out in this."
"I'm used to the cold." I'd survived bitter London winters in clothes so thin they were worn out in places and with one coat to share between a dozen boys in my gang. We'd huddled together in our bunker for warmth and somehow survived. At least some of us had. Those days had passed, thank God.
At my shiver, he rose and held out his hand. "You'll never be cold again." He drew me into his side, where it was warm and safe and felt so very good. So right.
He paid for our meal before we headed back outside and strolled along the Rue de la Paix to a fine jewelry shop. I ordered a diamond—diamond!—ring, and Lincoln insisted I also needed a sapphire necklace and earrings "to match your eyes." He wanted to take me back to the hotel, but I insisted we finish our shopping today to leave us the rest of the week for sightseeing. We continued on to Worth's, where I was measured and prodded until the small army of modistes were satisfied they had enough to assemble a new wardrobe of day gowns, riding habits, evening dresses and a fur-lined coat.
Upon our return to Le Grand Hôtel, I flopped onto the sofa and removed my boots. "Is this real?" I murmured to the ceiling as I lay back on the cushions. "Surely I'm dreaming."
Lincoln's face appeared above me. He stood behind the sofa, his arms resting on the back. One dark, twisting strand of hair tumbled forward, having escaped from the tie. The muscles in his face relaxed so that he no longer looked like the formidable gentleman who'd had the modistes running hither and thither with a mere look.
"Are you tired?" he asked.
"Not at all. I feel like I could climb that new tower I keep seeing everywhere I turn."
"Eiffel's Tower, they're calling it. We'll visit it tomorrow, weather permitting."
I sat up and caught the front of his shirt as he went to move away. He'd discarded jacket and waistcoat already and looked delectably casual. "Kiss me," I murmured.
He cupped my face in both hands. His long fingers teased the hair at the nape of my neck, and his lips touched mine in a light, lingering kiss that promised more would come.
But it didn't. He drew back and let me go with a heaving sigh. "I need to exercise."
I caught his hand before he could pull away from me entirely. I rose to my knees on the sofa and tugged him back. He offered no resistance. Only the sofa back separated our hips, and nothing but a few layers of fabric separated our chests. My heart thudded against his, strong and erratic.
I went to kiss him, and whispered against his lips. "Lie with me."
The muscles around his mouth tightened and the sharp focus of his eyes returned. He drew back. Shook his head.
"I don't see why we can't," I said, holding onto his shoulders so that he wouldn't walk away. "We're engaged now."
"Charlie." My name rumbled from the depths of his chest. He unclasped my fingers and held them in front of him the way an uncle would his niece. It was all very civilized, when I wanted to be anything but. "Don't."
"You're a cruel man."
"You're the cruel one for teasing me like this when you know I want you." He walked off toward the door that led to his adjoining room.
"Then take me!"
"You can be sure that I will," he tossed over his shoulder. "When we are wed."
I slumped down onto the sofa, my nerves twitching and jangling. He was being unnecessarily and unfairly protective of my so-called virtue. It was ridiculous, considering my background. While I might be a virgin, I was no innocent flower. I knew there were ways of pleasuring one another that didn't involve actual coupling.
I padded over to his door and flung it open, only to stop dead upon seeing him entirely naked. I'd already seen his body, back when he thought I was a boy, but now all of him was on display as he faced me. And he didn't bother to cover himself up. He merely stood there with his feet a little apart, his hands by his sides. Only his impressively muscular chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing.
"You should have knocked," he said, as calmly as ever.
My face flamed, but I couldn't look away from his, er…masculine parts. "I'm rather glad that I didn't. I'm sure you'll admonish me now, but I really don't care."
His low chuckle rolled around the bedroom. I dragged my gaze up to his face to see what he looked like when he laughed, and was rewarded with a flash of white teeth and a gleam in his eyes. I'd never seen him look so happy. I lowered my gaze again. Nor had I seen him look so magnificent.
He prowled toward me with the powerful grace of a lion. If I really were a virtuous woman, I ought to run from the room, or at least avert my gaze. I had no intention of doing either.
He closed the gap between us and kissed me. Thoroughly. Completely. It was the sort of kiss we'd shared in London—heated and possessive and more intoxicating than champagne. He scooped one arm around my waist and I clung to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other shamelessly grasping one muscular buttock. Part of me couldn't believe I was touching him there. The other part of me couldn't believe how silken his skin was and how firm the muscle.
He suddenly let me go. It wasn't until that moment that I realized he'd lifted me up and deposited me on the other side of the door. I'd been too distracted to notice.
"Out, vixen, before I break my vow and give in." He stepped back, smiled the most wickedly delicious smile, and shut the door in my face.
"That wasn't fair!" I called out, hands on hips.
"That's the pot calling the kettle black. You haven't played fair since the moment you walked into Lichfield."
"I never walked into Lichfield. I was dragged there, kicking and screaming, right after you almost suffocated me."
As soon as I said it, I regretted it. Lincoln's methods to capture me and keep me at Lichfield still troubled him, even though I'd forgiven him, and he didn't like talking about it. When he didn't respond, I worried that I'd offended him. I didn't want him thinking I still harbored a grudge.
"Lincoln?" I said to the door. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up. It was a silly joke and—"
The door opened and he stormed past me. "Don't apologize." He dragged the sofa to the window and
moved one of the occasional tables to the wall. "Go and change. It's time to resume your training."
"Here? Now?"
"Yes."
"You were going to tell me about the prophecy."
"I will, after training."
With a sigh, I headed to my bedroom and changed into my exercise clothing of loose men's pants and shirt. We exercised together until my skin became slick. Lincoln didn't look like he'd lifted a finger, whereas I had to gulp in every breath.
"Good," he said, with curt indifference when our session ended. "But you require more practice. We'll set aside time every afternoon."
"Even while in Paris?"
"Why waste the opportunity?"
"But I want to see as much of the city as possible. I may never come back here again."
"If you wish to return, we'll return." He strode to his bedroom and shut the door. The lock tumbled.
After I washed and changed into evening clothes, we headed to the hotel dining room where I felt quite under-dressed. The French ladies all wore gowns in the height of fashion, with jewels dripping from their ears, fingers and throats. My blue and white striped dress was reasonably pretty but quite ordinary by comparison, and I wore no jewelry.
Lincoln asked for a secluded table and we were led to an unoccupied corner. After ordering wine, he brought up the topic of the prophecy without prompting. "You know that I was chosen to be leader because the timing of my birth was right, and because of who my parents were," he said with a lift of his brow.
"Yes, but I know little about them except that your mother is a gypsy seer and your father is someone important. Is he a nobleman?"
"He is more than that."
"More?"
"Do you remember that night I went to the ball?"
"Very clearly. You were in a foul temper when you returned." We'd argued, but not about anything in particular. He'd wanted to pick a fight, and I'd simply been there at the wrong time.
His gaze shifted to the white tablecloth. "I was drunk and angry after seeing him there."
"Your father?"
"I only know that my mother is a gypsy because of that pendant she gave me. Like you, I researched it and discovered the eye was a symbol the gypsy clans use to ward off curses."
"What pendant?" I said weakly.
His gaze narrowed. "I know you found it in my desk drawer, Charlie. I also know you read all about it in my books."
"You do? Why didn't you tell me you knew I'd seen it?"
"I hoped you would come to me of your own volition and ask me about it."
"Oh. Right." I cleared my throat. "I…I suppose I should have, but I didn't want to be chastised for it."
His silence drew my gaze up to his. He was watching me with unnerving intensity. "Was I that bad?" he murmured.
I reached for his hand and gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "That's in the past. Let's move forward."
His fingers clutched mine. "The point I'm trying to make is that I knew my mother was—is—a gypsy. I'd learned her name from my file in the ministry archives and learned that she still lives. The night of that ball, I had not seen my father in a long time, and never up close. When Julia told me he would be there, I couldn't help myself. I had to go. Not because I thought I'd get close enough to speak with him, but because I…" He shook his head. "I suppose I just wanted to see what he was like."
I remembered Lady Harcourt had manipulated Lincoln into going to the ball so that he could meet eligible young ladies. Knowing he hated balls, she'd needed another incentive to get him there. But I couldn't recall who she mentioned would be attending in particular.
"What I learned about my father that night is the reason I returned home angry. He knew my mother, his lover, was a gypsy. He must have known. And yet he disparaged them cruelly to his friends that night, all for a few laughs."
"What did he say?"
His eyes turned hard, cold, and not even stroking his hand chased the dark shadows away. "He said the women were all whores and the men their minders."
I winced. What a horrid thing to say, particularly since he must have cared for one of the women enough to bed her. Or…perhaps he hadn't cared for her at all. Perhaps he'd tricked her by pretending he had. Or perhaps he'd raped her.
I felt sick. "Oh, Lincoln. No wonder you were furious." His emotions must have been boiling over by the time he got home and he was too inexperienced to suppress them, and so he'd simply let them out.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to confine my anger to him. I should never have made you suffer."
Our wine arrived and we let go of one another's hands and waited for the waiter to leave again.
"Our mothers had something in common," I told Lincoln. "Both got themselves into trouble with men who didn't love them." I sipped my wine and watched him over the rim of the glass. I was very aware that he had not yet told me his father's name. It couldn't have been a committee member if he needed to attend a ball to see him. "Who is he?" I asked, setting my glass down.
His fingers tightened around the wine stem. "Albert Edward Saxe-Coburg-Gotha."
"Bloody hell," I said a little too loudly. One of the ladies three tables away shot a flinty glare my way. I lowered my voice. "The Prince of Wales!"
He nodded.
"Are you sure?"
"It was listed on my file in the archive, and the prophecy states that the leader of the order would be the son of a king. He'll be king when his mother, the queen, dies."
"That's why your name is Fitzroy." It was so obvious now. I couldn't believe I hadn't put the pieces of the puzzle together before. "It means son of the king. Who named you?"
"The committee. Lincoln after Lincolnshire, the county where General Eastbrooke lived as a child, and Fitzroy for the reason you stated. When I saw his name on my file, I confronted the committee and they told me it was true. I was the son of the prince, but I wasn't to tell a soul."
"I suppose a scandal like that would undermine the monarchy."
"I'm not so sure it would be much of a scandal now. The Prince of Wales is well known for his philandering. His relationship with my mother—if it could even be called that—occurred before his marriage, when he was only your age, but that is no excuse to speak of her or her people dishonorably. I was extremely disappointed that night. I'd hoped he'd loved her—or at least cared for her. After hearing him say that, and worse, I knew he hadn't."
"How did the committee members learn about you?"
"I suspect they had spies watching the prince. From the dates in the prophecy, they could be quite certain he would father the ministry's future leader. It was only then a matter of watching the women he consorted with. Being with a gypsy seer would have certainly raised their interest. It fits with the prophecy."
I digested his news as we ate, but by the time it came to return to our rooms, my mind still reeled. Royal blood flowed through Lincoln's veins—and he wanted to marry me.
"If he acknowledged you as his son," I said as we approached our suite, "you would be accepted into the highest, most exclusive circles."
"You know that doesn't interest me."
"But it's your birthright, Lincoln."
"The ministry is my birthright." He opened the sitting room door and followed me inside.
"You would be introduced to powerful people from all over the world. Opportunities would come your way that you could never gain otherwise."
"I want none of those things." He frowned and closed the door. The click sounded loud in the heavy silence. I turned away, but he caught my arm and gently pulled me against him. "Charlie, I know that look. Tell me what's wrong."
"You're a prince, Lincoln."
He grunted. "I am nothing of the sort. The man who fathered me is a prince."
"But it changes everything!"
He stroked my hair back. "It changes nothing. I've known for some time, and decided after the ball, that he's not a man I want to get to know better. Even if he did acknowledge me, it still changes nothing. I
will always be the leader of the ministry and you will be my wife."
"But…I'm a gutter rat."
"You are my gutter rat."
I spluttered a watery laugh and lay my head against his chest. He enveloped me in a hug and kissed the top of my head. "You're overwhelmed," he said. "The journey was long and tiring, and we've been busy since our arrival."
"Not to mention I got engaged to the man I fell in love with some months ago."
"I'd like to remind you that we've been engaged since the evening we rescued Buchanan from Bedlam."
"Not to my mind."
I felt him smile into my hair. "We'll slow down, now that everything is settled."
"Does that mean no more training?"
"Your training will continue in the afternoons. The way your saddle was cut worries me, and I want you to be as prepared as possible for whatever may come when we return." His arms tightened. "Finding who cut it will be my priority."
"Our priority. You do not work alone."
"You won't be helping if your life is in danger."
I sighed. I'd been expecting that response ever since he'd found the strap on my sidesaddle had been cut in the days before we left London. While the sabotaged strap had been easy to spot, it didn't mean the attacker wouldn't try again. Although Lincoln hadn't mentioned it since, I suspected it had been playing on his mind. Returning to London would see a return of the steely ministry leader who'd all but disappeared since arriving in Paris.
He pulled away first and set me at arm's length. "Goodnight, Charlie."
"Not even a goodnight kiss?"
He considered this for a moment then leaned in and pecked my cheek. "That will have to do."
I sank into a curtsey and lowered my head. "As you wish, your highness."
"I wondered how long it would be before you mocked me."
I straightened and squared up to him. His lips quirked but did not break into a smile. "If only the others knew what a good sport you were."
"They wouldn't believe you. Besides, I wouldn't allow anyone but you to mock me."
"I feel so fortunate."
"Goodnight, Charlie."