Three Weeks with a Princess

by Vanessa Kelly

“They’re practically falling off your feet. When was the last time you got a new pair?”

  She glanced down negligently. “I just wear these when I work in the garden. Now, would you please stop worrying about such silly things and sit down? You can be such an old biddy sometimes.”

  He snorted. “Well, that’s a first. Nobody’s ever called me an old biddy before.”

  She grinned. “They don’t know you as I do.”

  “You mean you think you know me. Now, would you like me to ring for something to eat?”

  She shifted and sat up in her chair. “Thank you, but I think not. I don’t have much of an appetite, as it turns out.”

  He studied her face, noticing the shadows under her eyes and the tight set to a mouth that was normally generous, lush, and tilted up in a smile. She looked worried and nervous. But Lia had never been nervous with him—not once that he could remember. It sent a faint chill of warning up his spine.

  “That bad, is it?” he said, forcing a light tone.

  “You have no idea,” she said with a sigh.

  “Then I suppose there’s no point in putting it off, is there?” He took his seat.

  It seemed odd to be sitting across from her like this— the all-powerful lord of the manor at his desk. It still felt awkward, and he wondered if the feeling would ever fade.

  Lia was staring down at the floor, her arms resting on her knees and her hands clasped in a tight knot. “I don’t know where to start, Jack.”

  “You know I will always do anything I can to help you, my dear.”

  She flashed him a rueful smile. “Like that time you rescued me from the chimney?”

  When she was six years old, she’d taken it into her head to become a chimney sweep. She’d wedged herself into the flue in her grandmother’s bedroom and gotten stuck. Jack had been terrified that she’d hurt herself, but she’d begged him not to tell her grandmother or run for help. He’d finally managed to extract her with only a few scrapes and bruises, but she’d emerged covered with soot and her clothes more or less in tatters. She’d simply giggled uproariously, chalking the whole episode up as a grand adventure.

  Lia nodded. “I know. You’ve always been my best friend. No one could ask for a better one.”

  Her words set off a pang in his chest. Other than the servants on the estate, Lia had no friends, and no confidants besides her grandmother and him. In so many ways, she’d existed in an odd sort of isolation—not alone, but without the relationships any normal girl in a country village should have.

  He forced aside the weight of guilt that pressed down on him. No matter what it took, he would do right by her. Lia could never be just an obligation to him. Yes, he’d rather neglected her these last several years, but she mattered to him in a way that few people in his life ever had.

  “Good,” he said. “Now that we’ve agreed that I’m a perfectly splendid fellow, why don’t you tell me what Aunt Rebecca is worried about?”

  “It’s not that she’s worried exactly. It’s something she, er, wants you to do.”

  It wasn’t like Lia to hedge. “Pet, we haven’t got all day. Just spit it out.”

  She sighed. “Very well. But please do remember that it wasn’t my idea.”

  “I give you my word.”

  Sitting up straight, she met his gaze. “Granny wants you to become my protector.”

  That was a puzzling choice of words. “Of course I’ll protect you. Didn’t I make that clear yesterday?”

  “Yes, but not my protector in a general way. She means protector in a rather specific way.”

  The vague conversation began to frustrate him. “I’m not sure what else I can do to address her concerns, other than to say that I will provide for anything you need.”

  She looked over at the window, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.

  “Perhaps you could clarify what she means by specific,” Jack suggested.

  Lia finally looked at him, her checks blazing as red as apples. “Granny wants me to be your mistress, you nodnock. She wants you to be my lover. Is that clear enough for you?”

  Jack probably looked like a fish who’d landed on a bank, stunned and gasping for breath. And the entire time he stared at her, Lia glared back at him, looking furious and embarrassed. And anything but loverlike.

  He finally marshaled the few wits that hadn’t been stunned into insensibility. “Clear? It’s insane. Take you as my mistress? How your grandmother could come up with such a ridiculous notion is beyond me. It’s simply laughable.”

  He felt as if someone had knocked him on the head with a brick. And even more appalling, now that she’d put the idea into his head, some part of his brain—well, not his brain actually—thought there was some merit to the notion. How could it not, when she looked as she did now, her cheeks flushed, her gorgeous eyes snapping with fury, and her pretty breasts pushing up over the simple trim of her bodice with each indignant and huffy breath.

  Get a handle, you idiot. He would no more take Lia as his mistress than he would don minstrel’s garb and caper about in Hyde Park.

  When she crossed her arms under her chest, the movement pushed the plump white mounds up even higher over her bodice. Her scarf had slipped aside, and Jack fancied he might even see the edge of one nipple peeking out from behind the narrow band of lace. That lascivious hint sent a bolt of lust thrumming through his body to settle in his groin.

  Argh. He’d never thought of Lia in that way and he was utterly horrified by his reaction.

  He forced his gaze up to her face. The fury and hurt he saw in her eyes immediately dampened any misplaced ardor on his part.

  “I’m sorry you find the notion so repugnant,” she said tightly. “Of course I realize I can’t hold a candle to all the fine ladies you’re accustomed to consorting with in London.”

  “Good God. I don’t consort with fine ladies,” he exclaimed. “What sort of man do you take me for?”

  “The regular kind. And don’t pretend you’re a virgin, Jack, or that you’ve never had an affair or slept with, well, you know.” She paused, suddenly looking uncertain. “You aren’t a virgin, are you?”

  He dropped his forehead into his hand. “Lia, this is an entirely demented conversation.”

  She let out a horrified gasp. “You are a virgin. Oh, dear. I’m so sorry, Jack. This must be thoroughly embarrassing for you. Please forgive me.”

  He looked up with a scowl. “It is embarrassing, but not because I’m a virgin. I am not, by the way, though that is beside the point.”

  “The point seems to be that you find the notion of me as your mistress hideous beyond imagining,” she said with irritation. “Well, let me tell you that I’m not exactly thrilled by the notion, Jack Easton.”

  “Why the hell not?” he asked before he could stop himself. “Never mind, don’t answer that. And just to be clear I don’t find you repugnant in the least. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  She blinked. “Then there is a chance you would consider taking me as your mistress?”

  “Christ, no!”

  Lia tucked her chin down and winced. “There’s no need to yell, Jack. I’m not deaf.”

  He gripped the edge of his desk and took several deep breaths, trying to steady himself. Then he pushed himself out of his chair and stalked over to the drinks cart. He poured a splash of whiskey into a crystal tumbler and tossed it back. The burn hit his stomach like a gunshot, but the jolt of heat cleared his head.

  “I could use one of those,” Lia said.

  “I am not giving you whiskey before you’ve had anything to eat,” Jack growled. He refused to look at her before he got himself under some semblance of control. He felt as if he’d fallen asleep and woken up in a madhouse.

  “Spoilsport,” she muttered.

  He tugged at the hem of his waistcoat and then turned around to face her. Lia was now twisted around in her chair, arms crossed and shoulders hunched in a sulky pose. But because she never sulked, he suspected it was
a defensive posture to cover up the pain of his unintentional insult.

  Whoever would have thought that refusing to take Lia as his mistress would count as an insult?

  “Now, let us start over again and try to speak to each other like rational human beings,” he said.

  “I’m perfectly rational. You’re the one who’s acting like an escapee from Bedlam.”

  He reached for his patience, now thin as a gossamer thread. While he rummaged his brain for something sensible to say that would lower the temperature in the room, Lia sighed and pushed herself to her feet.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. That was rude of me. And I don’t mean it, of course. It’s just that—”

  “I hurt your feelings,” he said gently.

  She gave him a sad smile that made his heart cramp. “You did, rather. I know that makes me sound like a coxcomb, and it’s not as if I truly want to be your mistress. But you made it sound like the most ridiculous thing one could imagine—as if I’m utterly repugnant, despite your claims that I’m not.”

  “Don’t be silly,” he said gruffly. “It’s just that I don’t think of you that way.”

  She tilted her head like an inquisitive puppy. “Just how do you think of me, Jack?”

  His mind blanked again. This should not be a difficult question to answer. “Almost like a little sister, I suppose. Someone I grew up with.”

  Her eyes narrowed, as if the answer didn’t please her. “I’m not your sister, Jack.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Lia.”

  “I am not in any way related to you.”

  “Yes, I know.” He was going to crack one of his back molars if he didn’t stop clenching his teeth. “What is your point?”

  She reached a hand up to rub the center of her forehead, as if she was developing a headache. He knew the feeling because he was beginning to think someone had dropped an anvil on his head. The whiskey, in retrospect, might have been a mistake.

  “I seemed to have lost it, actually,” she said. “Perhaps you might try looking for it.”

  “Gladly.” He went to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, gently nudging her down into her chair. Then he went round the desk to his. “Why don’t we start over? I understand Rebecca’s concerns about the future, but how did she come up with this scheme in the first place? On a practical level alone, it doesn’t make a lot of sense because I’m not exactly flush with funds. Taking on a mistress is not on my list of priorities.”

  “I told her that,” she said in a gloomy voice. “But she says if you’re willing to keep supporting us at Bluebell Cottage, there’s no reason you can’t take me on as your mistress. Formalize the relationship, as it were.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Draw up a contract outlining terms.”

  “Again, that makes no sense. I’m willing to do that without imposing . . .”

  “Conditions?” she finished dryly.

  “For lack of a better term, yes.”

  “It’s merely a guarantee against what will happen in the future, Jack. A form of protection for us, at least financially,” she said in a tone that suggested he wasn’t very bright.

  Not that he could blame her. He was feeling remarkably fuzzy at the moment, and not from the whiskey. “What’s going to happen in the future?”

  “You’re going to get married of course,” she said in a flat tone. “If I have a formal contract of, er—”

  “Conditions?”

  She nodded. “Then you can’t throw us out, willy-nilly. Or at least your wife can’t anyway.”

  Jack wanted to thump his head down on the desk. That would probably hurt less than the headache roaring behind his temples. “As I explained a few moments ago, I have no immediate plans to take a wife.”

  His mother would have something to say about that as, strictly speaking, it would be the easiest way out of their financial mess. But as far as he was concerned, that was a weapon of last resort. Jack had no desire to rush into a marriage that wasn’t grounded in genuine affection and respect. His parents’ battling had taught him that lesson.

  “What a disaster,” he murmured.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. What was that?”

  “I said, I have no intention of getting married any time soon.”

  “Yes, but you will someday,” she said patiently. “And when you do, you can hardly expect the Marchioness of Lendale to tolerate a pair of scandalous females in residence just down the lane.”

  He started to protest, but she held up a restraining hand. “It’s ridiculous to assume otherwise and you know it.”

  “I would never abandon you or Rebecca,” he said.

  “I know you wouldn’t want to, but you might not have much choice.”

  It felt as if she’d just jabbed a long, cold needle into his heart. Did she truly have so little faith in him?

  “Let’s set that aside for now,” he said. “But let us be clear on two things. The first is that you will remain at Bluebell Cottage for the indefinite future and the second is that I will not be taking you as my mistress.”

  She nodded. “I assumed as much of course.”

  He waved his arms with exasperation. “Then why the hell are we having this conversation in the first place?”

  She rounded her eyes at him. “Because otherwise Granny would have. And she’ll probably still try to speak with you about it.”

  “And I’ll tell her exactly what I just told you.”

  “She’ll simply present you with another idea if you shoot down her first plan.”

  “Which I already have,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “I’m not an idiot,” she said. “You don’t have to keep beating me over the head with your rejection.”

  “I’m not beating you . . . oh, never mind. Do you know what this other plan is likely to be?”

  She shifted in her chair, looking a bit squeamish. “Granny thinks that since you’re so well-placed in the Ton, you’re bound to know lots of important, rich men. So, if you can’t be my patron, she wants you to help me find a suitable candidate for the position. Sponsor me, as it were.”

  Once again he could feel his eyes bugging out. “You’re joking.”

  “Yes, ha-ha. That is exactly the kind of thing I like to joke about,” she said sarcastically.

  Jack placed his palms flat on his desk and came slowly to his feet. He glared down at her, as if trying to impress her with the full weight of his authority. Lia simply stretched out her legs, crossing them at the ankles, then propped her interlaced fingers on her stomach. She ticked up a decidedly unimpressed eyebrow, waiting for him to speak.

  “Let me be very clear on one thing,” he started.

  “Just one?”

  “Lia . . .” he said in a warning voice.

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Sorry. It’s just that I’m not used to you going lord-of-the-manor on me. It will take some getting used to.”

  “Then you’d better get started, because I want you to hear very clearly what I’m about to say. You are not embarking on a career as any man’s mistress or becoming a courtesan.”

  “Well, of course I’m not, Jack. Do you really think I want to follow in my grandmother’s footsteps?”

  He was trying very hard not to lose his temper. “Truthfully, I don’t know what you think at this point. I assume you made your grandmother aware of your position?”

  “I did, for all the good it accomplished. Because, as Granny so cogently pointed out, the original problem remains, which is that we can’t rely on you to support us indefinitely. So I’ve come up with another plan, one I feel confident will work.”

  How many mad schemes had she and Rebecca conjured up? “Which is?” he warily asked.

  “I’m going to London to join my mother’s acting troupe,” she said triumphantly. “That way, I can support both myself and Granny. And I’ll be with my mother and her husband. It’s exceedingly respectable, so even you can’t object.”

  He fo
ught the impulse to tear around the desk, haul her up, and shake some sense into her head. Either that or pull her into his arms and keep her safely there forever, protecting her from all the dangers that seemed to be springing up in her path like weeds. While he didn’t have the right to claim her like that, he’d be damned if he stood idly by while she rushed out into the world to ruin herself.

  “Absolutely not,” he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. “You know as well as I do that actresses are viewed in much the same way as courtesans. Your family history should serve to confirm that.”

  Lia pulled herself up, her back ramrod straight. She regarded him with a degree of haughtiness that would do a princess proud.

  “If you’re referring to my mother, she has been respectably married for ten years. My stepfather is a well-regarded businessman whose conduct is above reproach.”

  “In the theatrical world, yes. But society still looks askance on those engaged in that particular business and you know it.”

  “But—”

  “And let’s not forget that your mother came rather late to domestic respectability,” he continued. “We both know she was considered as notorious as your grandmother in her day. For you to join her company as an actress, even under the protection of your stepfather’s good name, would invite exactly the type of attention from exactly the type of men you’re trying to avoid. I absolutely forbid it.”

  That brought Lia to her feet in a flash. “You forbid it? May I remind you, sir, that you have no right in that regard?”

  “Legally, perhaps not. But I’m responsible for you nonetheless. Aside from your grandmother, I’m the closest thing to family you have—which you just pointed out only a few moments ago.”

  “You seem to be forgetting that I do have a mother—and a stepfather,” she said with a lethal glare. “And I said you were my best friend. I’m starting to doubt that particular relationship at the moment, given your wretchedly selfish behavior.”

  “Good God, Lia, my behavior is anything but—”

  “So, let me be perfectly clear, your lordship,” she said, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You are not my brother, my father, or anything else that gives you the right to command me. I am a woman grown and I have proven time and again that I am more than capable of making sensible and rational decisions. And given the extremely precarious position in which my grandmother and I find ourselves, my plan is without a doubt the most sensible course of action.” She gave her head a dramatic toss. “You, Lord Lendale, have nothing to say about it.”