Someday My Prince

by Christina Dodd

  “I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can. It works.” Dulcie sighed in exasperation and with the patience of an instructing parent said, “This is your last chance, Laurie. You’re the princess. You can’t go fooling around after you’ve picked a husband, but no one will notice if you take a lover now. My God, do you think I’m the only one slipping away for a quick spike?”

  Laurentia wanted to cover her ears.

  “If he turns out, keep him. If he doesn’t, there are others here willing to audition.” Dulcie pried the mangled handkerchief from between Laurentia’s fingers, then stood up and stepped away. “And don’t forget, you could always take dear ol‘ boring Francis.”

  Even the thought of Francis failed to bring Laurentia back into a sensible frame of mind. “Francis wouldn’t have me if I’ve been wanton,” she said feebly.

  “Francis might huff a bit if you draw it to his attention, but if you don’t tell him about it, he will politely turn his head and pretend he didn’t notice a thing. The man is riddled with ambition. I’ve never had him, but let’s face it—he would be a bore in bed.” An odd note sounded in Dulcie’s voice, and she ruthlessly straightened her skirt and brushed at her hair. “Do I look presentable?”

  “You look fine,” Laurentia said. “You always look fine.”

  Dulcie tapped Laurentia’s cheek. “Don’t be bitter, dear. You’re quite attractive yourself, with a betraying freshness about you. Men find naiveté fascinating, and you should learn to use it to your advantage. In the meantime, think about what I said.”

  Digging her gloves out of her cleavage, she pulled them on and buttoned them up, then climbed to the path and strolled away, elegance and femininity personified.

  Dulcie was fearless, a wicked widow with an insatiable taste for men. Laurentia wasn’t like that, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Dulcie’s advice.

  Sleep with Dom just for the experience? Keep him if she wished, toss him aside and try another if she didn’t. It sounded good, but Laurentia couldn’t see Dom accepting her rejection and moving on. No, if she took Dom as a lover, he’d expect things. Marriage. A title.

  Yet... he would be a magnificent lover, just the man to introduce her to the complexities and pleasures of mating. So why shouldn’t she have a fling? Just a little one. And with a man who reeked of experience. Oozed sexuality. Radiated the kind of appeal she could warm her hands by. And more than her hands if she were lucky. There had to be a way—

  A twig snapped. She snatched up her pocketbook and twirled.

  Not fast enough. A black cloth descended over her head. Strong arms wrapped her up like a package for transport. And in a nightmare repeat of last evening’s abduction, someone lifted her. Flung her over a broad shoulder. And carried her away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dom climbed the mountain at a steady pace, taking care not to limp, seeking a private place in the forest in which to wreak his vengeance. Inside the black cloth, Laurentia wriggled.

  He supposed she was uncomfortable, draped across his shoulder. Hell’s fire, he hoped she was uncomfortable. Never had any woman made him as furious as Princess Laurentia of Bertinierre. The damned woman had the gall, the gall, to sit down for a gab when she knew she should return immediately. And she’d been talking about him, listening as one of her lecherous friends described him— him!—as the original easy ride.

  He couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t heard much—he couldn’t get close enough—but he’d heard enough, and good women didn’t talk that way. Dulcie had a lot to answer for.

  Blasted Laurentia, giving him a scare, making him search the hillside. He’d even gone into the ladies’ convenience and that high-voiced, incensed old bat had insinuated he was some kind of satyr. Explaining he sought the princess certainly hadn’t appeased her. If anything, it had made her more indignant, and he’d left with her fulmination burning his ears. She would report him to Princess Laurentia’s bodyguards, she said.

  But that was him, and for the first time since he’d been hired, he’d lost the princess.

  He winced. In less than twenty-four hours, he’d lost the princess.

  She had to have been hiding from him. She had to have been. That pig who had tried to snatch her before couldn’t have slipped past him. He’d inspected the surroundings before he’d let her walk alone. There had been only Dulcie and her paramour.

  In the end, Dulcie’s voice led him to Laurentia. Laurentia, sitting demurely as she pleased, chatting about taking a lover.

  Dom didn’t like to admit to panic. Didn’t like it, but had to.

  The little she-devil’s disappearing act had brought him to a fever pitch of worry. He wanted to catch her in his arms and hold her, kiss her, and make her cling to him.

  He wanted to teach her a lesson she’d never forget.

  And he couldn’t hold her and kiss her. Not while he was in a passion. It had to be done coldly, deliberately . . .

  Damn her!

  So he’d gone and bought a long sack full of clean rags and, much to the peddler’s puzzlement, dumped out the contents. Returning, he’d waited while Dulcie gave her parting advice and left. Then he’d sneaked up behind Laurentia, threw the bag over her head and down her arms, and kidnapped her, intent on giving her the scare of her life.

  She was quiet now, not moving, and he hoped she hadn’t fainted. That would diminish the authority of his lesson, and besides, that would make him sorry. He didn’t want to be sorry, he wanted to be angry. Anger made it easier to deal with a woman like Laurentia.

  He moved off the path and into the deep forest. Here the trees muffled the sound of the crowd in the meadows far below. Sunlight sifted through the tangled branches. Pine boughs littered the rich brown dirt, and a stream babbled nearby. In this lonely place, no one could hear Laurentia scream.

  This was a good spot.

  Gingerly he stood her on her feet, supporting her until he realized she could stand. Beneath the cloth that dangled almost to her knees, he saw her hand move. Good; she was awake, aware, frightened, ready.

  Quickly, he jerked the bag off.

  And saw the small, neat, shiny pistol pointed at his chest.

  He dove sideways as she squeezed the trigger. He ate dirt as he slid, and pine needles rained on him.

  “Dominic?” She shrieked his name in disbelief and horror.

  “Damnation!” Sitting up, he touched the abrasion on his cheek, and his fingers came back bloody.

  Her eyes were round and horrified, and she took a step toward him. “Are you all right?”

  “You shot at me!”

  She waved the pistol, empty of its single bullet. “I tried to miss when I realized it was ... you.” Then she looked at the bag, rumpled on the ground, and looked at him. “You!”

  Rubbing his hip—it hurt now—he staggered to his feet.

  “You kidnapped me. You scared me to death?” The weapon dangled from her fingers; her pocket-book dangled from her wrist.

  “What the hell are you doing with a pistol?” He inarched over to her, so furious he made a conscious effort to tower over her. It wasn’t difficult—she was tiny.

  And fierce. Doubling up her empty fist, she punched him in the sternum hard enough to knock the breath out of him. “You kidnapped me. You dimwit, you scared me. What do you think you were doing?”

  He rubbed his chest and exulted when she shook her aching fingers, wincing as if she’d cracked every knuckle. “I was teaching you a lesson.”

  “A lesson? What kind of idiot would throw a bag over my head and carry me up a mountain to teach me a lesson?”

  “The kind of idiot who is your bodyguard and who lost the princess he was supposed to be guarding.” Grabbing the hand with the pistol, he wrestled it from her grasp.

  “You didn’t lose me.” She jerked her pocketbook off her wrist and threw it to the ground. “I was right there on the hill.”

  “Hidden from sight. Having a nice little conversation with that trollop!”

 
; “Don’t you call her that!”

  “Why not? That’s what she is.”

  “Well... don’t you call her that.” Her hair had tumbled from its chignon and hung loose around her face, and she shoved impatiently at the importunate locks. “I thought someone was kidnapping her.”

  “That’s ludicrous. Why would anyone kidnap her?”

  “I heard her scream.”

  “That’s because—”

  “I know why it was. I went to rescue her!”

  “Wait.” He took a breath to calm himself. It didn’t work. “You heard a woman scream, you thought she was being kidnapped, and you went to help?”

  She glared up at him, not at all intimidated, fearless and implacable. “Of course. Someone might have been assaulting her. Or raping her. Or—”

  His temper snapped. He dropped the pistol. He grabbed Laurentia’s shoulders. “Or murdering her? Someone might have been killing one of your friends—”

  “I didn’t know it was Dulcie,” she said hotly. Then she must have seen something in his face that gave her pause, for with a good deal less vehemence she said, “And sometimes we have an acrimonious friendship.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me for help?” He spaced the words deliberately, giving her a chance to consider her answer before she replied.

  She didn’t consider. She didn’t give the right answer. “You were clear down the hill. She was screaming then.”

  “You are small and delicate, you’re pampered and spoiled, you’re the princess—and you’re my responsibility.” Her shoulders were so slight of muscle and bone he could cup them in his palms, and the knowledge of her vulnerability, and her valiance, made his voice rise again. “If you ever come upon trouble again, you’d better run like a scared rabbit. Let someone who knows what he’s doing handle it.”

  She snorted.

  Snorted. A vulgar, unladylike snort. As if his dictates meant nothing to her. As if she was big enough and tough enough to take on every villain between here and Transylvania. The top of her head reached only to his chin, and she made him want to hold her and take her and make her so vibrantly aware of her vulnerability she would never again chance her own life.

  She needed that lesson. She needed it now, because of him, and what he had been hired to do.

  Deliberately, he allowed a slow smile to curl his lips, the kind of smile he used on those few warriors who had ever dared to challenge his authority. “Princess Laurentia of Bertinierre.” He used her whole title, savoring each syllable. “Once upon a time I would have given anything to hold a princess of royal blood between my two hands.” He slid his palms down her back.

  He felt her stiffen beneath his touch, and that gave him satisfaction. His first taste of satisfaction.

  “And for no benevolent reason ... Your Highness.” Although her feet dragged, he pulled her closer, giving her no choice although she tried to wedge her elbows between them. Her petticoats whispered as he crushed them between their bodies. “I’m a mercenary, and I understand why a man would want to abduct you. For money, of course, but with you there would be something wicked added. You’re easy on the eyes, not big enough to hurt me if you struggle. Some men take pleasure in taming fiery women, and you are certainly that.” He saw the moment alarm turned to dread.

  He was glad; that had been his plan, to replace her rash self-confidence with some common sense.

  But he didn’t like seeing her proud chin tremble or the apprehension that filled her wide eyes. For one moment, she looked like a woman who had learned humiliation at a master’s knee.

  Why? Why did she look like she knew about fear?

  Despite Dom’s royal blood, he wasn’t an aristocrat. He didn’t believe some people were inherently better than others, or that some should be protected from the realities of life while others suffered in their stead. Yet he loved Laurentia’s fearlessness, her sense of invincibility, and that odd air of innocence no woman of her age and experience should possess. Amazingly, he wanted to protect Laurentia.

  Hastily he counted the lesson of prudence well taught. She was frightened. She knew herself defenseless. She would be aware.

  No, he would not frighten her further, but still, she’d frightened him. He’d been terrified on her behalf, and while he didn’t understand it—it wasn’t the same, after all, as having his professional abilities cast in doubt—he felt the need to make her pay.

  Smoothly, he switched tactics. Leaning back, he examined her face with every appearance of sobriety. “So. From what I overheard, your friend thinks I would be a likely lover for you.”

  Laurentia jerked in his grip, and guilt brought swift color to her face. “You heard? How much did you hear?”

  “Enough.” He let her know he baited her by his tone of voice. “A stud, I think she called me.”

  “Is that all you heard?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  She studied him hard, then had the nerve to look relieved.

  He tried again. “A stud with good teeth and strong legs.”

  Anger sparked in her eyes as she pushed away her uneasiness. “She said so, not me.”

  He liked this better, this indignation and embarrassment. It meant... “You thought it.”

  She had, for she broke into a frenzy of motion, trying to escape him, looking everywhere but at him, shoving at his chest. He had caught her out.

  Pleased and for some reason relieved, he laughed and caught her wrists. He held them out, up and over his shoulders, forcing her full against him.

  She felt... good. When he made love, he usually managed a fair amount of coherence. He’d learned a few essential phrases to be repeated in the heat of the moment, and the women loved it, God bless them.

  But right now, in this stilted, tantalizing embrace, all he could think was that she felt... good. And he could not think of one thing to say.

  She, however, was not so encumbered. “You ... you scurvy knave,” she hissed, giving her best imitation of an outraged princess who had never been soiled by a man’s touch. “You let me go.”

  “Scurvy knave?” He pretended astonishment, pleased he had showed her the danger without crushing her spirit, half his mind and all his senses intent on the impression of warmth and life she exuded. “Is that the best you can do? I will teach you how to swear.”

  “You’ll teach me nothing!”

  His merriment died. He didn’t plan it, hadn’t thought beyond giving her a taste of him. But her arrogance touched something inside him. He would show her what manner of man she disdained.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dom looked down at the princess until she realized his change of mood. Her breath began to hitch as she stared up at him, her dark lashes a tangle, her mouth full and rich and trembling.

  Languidly, as if they had all the time in the world, he brought her hands down, slid them behind her waist, and leaned to her. “Laurentia,” he whispered. Her scent wafted up from the tumble of her hair, a rich combination of cinnamon, roses, and her. “Little princess.”

  He held her tenderly, as if he could break her with the least of his strength. Her flesh glowed with the subtle shade of peach he’d seen only once before in the fragile twirl of a Venetian glass goblet. Her lips parted, showing the gleam of pearly teeth and making him want... want.

  If she had said, “No,” or even wrinkled her nose at the suggestion such an unworthy should kiss her, he would have drawn back. He would have laughed at the thought that he wished to share passion with a princess, and repeated his warning that she take care.

  She did no such thing, and that compliance sealed her fate. He pressed his lips against hers, savoring the freshness of her. Obviously, she hadn’t been with a man since her husband’s death, and she didn’t pretend a deftness she hadn’t retained. Nor did she mask her curiosity; her eyelashes parted, then closed, then parted again as if his proximity confused her.

  “Open your lips,” he said.

  Her eyelids fluttered again. Then she nodded and
opened her mouth with the resolute determination of a woman facing her first tooth extraction.

  He couldn’t help it; he smiled at her again. “You are adorable.”

  She shut her mouth with a snap. “Just don’t tell me I’m precious. Short women are always precious. I’m going to be a hundred years old and still be precious.”

  He tilted his head and studied her. She was right. She was precious, and age would not dim that. But perhaps the term had been overused in her praise. “You’re charming. Defiant. Brave. Stupid. Achingly beautiful. And you need to learn how to kiss.”

  “I’m trying to learn.” For the first time since he’d taken her into his arms, she smiled at him, a siren intent on seduction. “But you won’t shut up.”

  He chuckled.

  Yet.. . yet when she looked at him like that, she knocked the breath out of him. Yes, she was beautiful, but more, she challenged him with every weapon in her arsenal, and he was too much the mercenary not to take the challenge.

  The taste of her fanned his desire to a roaring blaze. When he probed her mouth, he was inside her. This wasn’t an imitation of intercourse. It was intercourse. Wet, intimate, so good it brought tears seeping into the corners of his eyes. And when she touched her tongue to his ...

  He let her wrists go. He wanted to raise her skirt, lower his trousers, and release the tyrant that had given him such trouble since the first moment he’d laid eyes on Laurentia. Laurentia, who had leaned against the marble rail and smiled over the moonlit countryside as if it were her only lover.

  If he held her, he would take her, and if he took her in this kind of a passion, he would never let her go.

  But if he let her go and she turned away...

  For one long second, he released her from the kiss. She took a gasp of breath and glanced aside. Then she gripped the sleeves over his upper arms, and lifted her face to him again.

  He backed her up against a tree, crowding her, holding her with the urgency of his body against hers. He reached around her, one hand on either side of her waist, and clenched the bark as if the long, rough ridges could keep him sane. The ends of her unbound hair brushed the backs of his fingers, teasing him with each touch.