Her Majesty My Love - eBook - Final, Page 2

  “What is your name?” he asked, a little too much interest flashing in his dark eyes.

  She tensed once more when she caught him glancing over at the men who stood a distance away. Suspicion heightened her senses, and she studied this stranger intently. He was far too well dressed to be with these men. His overcoat parted to reveal the expensive cut of his waistcoat. Smooth breeches encased muscular thighs and polished Hessians gleamed in the bright sunlight. His crisp British accent held more aristocratic tones, surely a step up from the thugs who watched her in the distance. But her instincts screamed that he was every bit as dangerous, even as he smiled warmly at her.

  “My name is B-Beth,” she said, hating herself for stammering over the lie.

  His eyes narrowed, and he pushed a lock of dark brown hair over his left ear. It was an impatient gesture as if he in no way believed her.

  He stared hard at her. “Well, Beth, it is simply something my conscience will not allow, to leave a woman in distress. If you will pardon my forwardness, it appears as though you could do with a good meal and a warm fire. My home is not far from here. I will see to it that you have both.”

  Fear quickly overshadowed any curiosity she had felt toward the man who had appeared from nowhere. She swallowed hard against the panic that constricted her throat. “That isn’t necessary.”

  “I insist,” he said mildly, though the set of his jaw told her it was more a command than a courtesy.

  She could not make a scene. Could not draw unwanted attention. She drew in a shaky breath.

  “Or would you prefer to wait and see what the two men coming this way have in mind for you?”

  Anger, hot and jagged, ripped through her. No, this was no ordinary passerby. But how much did he know? And did he intend her harm? “How do I know you aren’t with them?” she bit out in an attempt to stall him until her muddled brain could form a plan of action.

  She compared the stranger in front of her to the two men who stood at a distance, watching her intently. He was taller and more muscular than both the men in question, but he was only one. And one was always better than two. Even if she managed to make him leave without her, she would still have the other thugs to contend with.

  The man in front of her ignored her question and, to her surprise, took her arm and guided her away from the ominous looking characters.

  She stiffened, fully intending to rip her arm from his grasp but thought better of it when the two men to her right started forward. Firming her resolve, she forced herself to relax and allowed the man to escort her away.

  If he suspected her to be a pathetically weak female in dire need of assistance, he was wrong. Dead wrong. But she would act the part if it suited her purpose. Then she would strike when he least expected it.

  She had escaped far more serious situations than this, and she hadn’t come this far and survived the impossible only to fail now.

  Simon’s heart beat thunderously as he led the princess toward the street. He held up a hand to hail an oncoming hack and waited as it pulled off.

  Luck had been with him this day. A tip from a street informant had led him to a run-down tenement deep in the rookery. As he had arrived, the princess had been leaving the building on foot.

  He had shadowed her the entire day, curious to see if she was meeting anyone and waited for the right opportunity to approach her. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one to have an interest in her judging by the other two men following her, and he had moved quickly to ensure her safety.

  He glanced down at her, noting the tightness of her face. Her wrist felt thin in his grasp, and he took care not to apply too much pressure. She had to be freezing, but something about the set of her chin made him refrain from offering his coat to her. Perhaps it was the defiant pride even in the shadow of thinning clothes and undeniable discomfort. If her appearance was any clue, she hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks.

  He assisted her into the carriage, and she perched gingerly on the edge of her seat. As they bounced and swayed down the busy streets of London, he watched her intently.

  She alternated between staring out the window and down at her hands. Everywhere but into his eyes. He could feel the tension emanating from her in waves, and he felt the insane urge to comfort her in some way. He frowned and continued his assessment of her.

  She was beautiful. Hauntingly so. Her soulful eyes reflected the weight of an entire lifetime. Soldiers returning from the war on the continent didn’t have such torment in their faces.

  Her dark hair provided a dramatic backdrop for eyes that looked like the blue-green waters of a tropical bay. Long, black eyelashes fluttered and rested against her cheeks as she briefly closed her eyes. He had the distinct impression she was fighting tears, yet when she opened them again stared straight at him, all signs of distress were gone.

  He quickly looked away, irritated that she had managed to discomfit him. The feelings she elicited within him were not a luxury he could afford. He had a duty to perform, and no one, not even a fragile, sad-eyed beauty would interfere.

  The driver circled Simon’s house as instructed, and Simon kept a close eye out the window to make sure they weren’t followed. After the third pass, the carriage ground to a halt outside his modest brick townhouse. He climbed out then helped her down the steps. She shrank from his grasp as soon as her feet hit the cobblestone street. She glanced furtively around, her lips compressed into a grim line.

  “This way,” he said, directing her up the path to the door. She appeared as though she would take flight at any time, and he had little desire to chase anyone down in this wretched cold.

  Once inside, Simon ushered her into the sitting room where a fire burned brightly in the hearth. “I apologize that I have no suitable maid to offer you assistance,” he said. “I don’t employ a full staff. I am sure my housekeeper will assist you in any way, however.”

  The princess ignored his statement as she warmed herself by the hearth. Her slender hands stretched out toward the fire, and her eyes didn’t waver from the dancing flames.

  “Would you prefer to take a meal here in front of the fire, or would you like to adjourn to the dining room?”

  She turned, pausing a moment before she spoke. “It isn’t necessary that you provide me with a meal. You’ve been far too kind already. I really must take my leave.”

  It was the most she had said at any one time, and he absorbed the lilt in her voice. Though she appeared to be attempting an English accent, the sing-song Leaudorian accent, almost Irish-sounding, was very evident in her speech. Maybe it was why she said very little.

  “I won’t hear of you going before you’ve had a proper meal.”

  Something indiscernible flashed in her eyes. Was it anger? She quickly tempered her reaction and adopted the bland expression he was already growing accustomed to. She showed remarkable discipline over her emotions.

  “Very well, I’d like to take it in here.”

  He nodded then rang for the only other servant he employed, Timmons, his butler for the last nine years. “Bring the small table from my office to the fire so that we may dine in front of it,” he directed the portly man. Then in a lower voice so the princess would not overhear, he instructed Timmons to have the guestroom prepared.

  “Right away, my lord.”

  At Timmons’ address, the princess jerked around and stared at him in surprise. “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “Simon Rothmore, Earl of Merrick, at your service,” he said with a sweeping bow. “My apologies for not introducing myself sooner.”

  She didn’t look pleased by his announcement at all. She drew her lips together and turned promptly back to the fire.

  A few moments later, Timmons set up the table and pulled two chairs over so they could sit. He then summoned Mrs. Turnbull, who came bearing trays of steaming soup, warm bread and a plate of beef.

  Simon pulled out a chair and gestured for the princess to sit then walked around to
take the seat across from her. He hoped this position would afford him the opportunity to study her more thoroughly. This game they played sorely tried his patience. She clearly intended to ignore the fact he knew she had been in danger and play the whole thing off as him being charitable toward a woman in need of a hot meal. Not that she couldn’t benefit from one.

  She sat down with grace that contradicted her shabby appearance. Her hands shook as she took up the spoon to sample the soup. He frowned when he imagined the last time she’d had a good meal. It could very well have been before her parents were assassinated.

  He watched her eat in silence. She was quiet. Too quiet. It didn’t seem that she said anything that wasn’t carefully measured. He needed her to talk if he was going to gain her trust.

  “Tell me…Beth. From where do you hail? Your accent is quite intriguing.”

  Her spoon clattered to the table, and she looked up in consternation. “Does it matter?”

  “No, no. Of course not. I was just curious.” His attempt to bait her had merely agitated her further. She wasn’t going to freely offer any information.

  She put her palm down on the table and rose from her seat. “I really should take my leave now. I’ve imposed on your generosity quite enough.”

  “Nonsense.” He got up and smoothly curled his hand around her elbow, moving her toward the door before she could protest further. “You look as though you could do with some rest. I insist you retire at once to a bedchamber I’ve had prepared for you. There is a fire already lit, so you should be comfortable. We will talk more when you have rested.”

  Once again she stiffened, and he could see the wheels turning in her mind, much like the spokes on a runaway carriage. Her expression became glacial, and she merely nodded her acquiescence. Truly, he had never come across another person who spoke as little as she.

  He showed her into the bedchamber at the opposite end of the hallway from his. He gave brief explanation to where she could find things she needed and backed from the room. Withdrawing a key from his pocket, he quietly locked it from the outside, hoping she didn’t hear the soft click. She would be furious if she tried the door, but he could not lose her now.

  He strode back down the stairs, intent on sending word to Kirk.

  “Timmons, I need you to send out a message at once,” he called out as he hurried to his office.

  He sat down and hastily jotted a message then affixed his personal seal and thrust it at the waiting butler. Leaning back in his chair, he placed his hands behind his head.

  Finding the princess filled him with a huge sense of relief. But she wasn’t yet safe. He shuddered to think what may have happened to her today if he hadn’t intervened on the bridge. The two men following her didn’t appear to be the sort to handle her gently.

  Pictures of her younger brother filled his mind as Simon imagined her lying in the snow, blood matting her hair and her beautiful eyes locked in death.

  Not if he could help it. Too much rested on her survival. The fate of his own country could well rest with the reestablishment of the Leaudorian monarchy.

  He rose from his chair and walked over to stand in front of the window. He stared out at the street remembering his conversation with Kirk on the day the prince’s body was found. Was Kirk right? Should he give thought to retiring from His Majesty’s Secret Service?

  He had devoted his entire adult life to protecting England’s interest. To quit now, to embrace his position as earl left a bad taste in his mouth. It’s what his father would have wanted.

  A scowl creased his face at the thought of his father. Not now. Not ever would he allow his father to dictate his course in life. He was well beyond the age of trying to please his sire. Not that it had ever done any good.

  But just as his duty to England was at the very forefront of his every thought, his duty to his title loomed like a harbinger of doom. A duty he never wanted or expected. “Damn you, Edward,” he muttered. “How could you have done it?”

  A flash of movement from the street caught his attention, and he saw Kirk descend a carriage and stride up the walk to Simon’s door.

  A few minutes later, Kirk strolled into Simon’s study, his expression expectant. “Where is she?”

  Simon put a finger to his lips. “She’s in the guest room. I don’t want to disturb her.”

  “How did you find her? We’ve looked everywhere it seems.”

  “I received a tip from one of my informants this morning. She’s been staying in a rented room in a decidedly dangerous section of the city. I’m amazed she’s survived this long.”

  Kirk nodded. “What now? Will you bring her to the palace to see the Regent? He will likely offer his protection and safe passage back to Leaudor with a contingent of English soldiers. He’ll be quite eager to restore stability to the Leaudorian throne.”

  “I think you are correct in your thinking. I’d like you to go to the palace and arrange the meeting with the Regent. It will buy me some time to try and learn as much as possible from the princess. But the main thing is, she will be safe at the palace.”

  “And off your hands,” Kirk said with a grin. “Then perhaps you can take a much needed break. Hole up at that estate of yours for a while and do some hunting.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to deny owning an estate. Old habits die hard. He was unused to owning much in the way of anything. His life as an operative wasn’t conducive to having more than the basic necessities.

  But he knew Kirk referred to Simon’s father’s estate. The one Simon had grown up on. And left as soon as it was possible to do so. A move he had never had cause to regret until his brother’s suicide.

  He couldn’t put it off forever, though. Perhaps Kirk was right. Maybe he would take a break and return to the place he had once called home. But first he had to deliver the princess to the palace.

  “Go on to the palace,” he directed Kirk. “Tell His Majesty that I will deliver the princess at his convenience.”

  Kirk disappeared through the door and Simon slowly made his way to the stairs. It was time to come clean with the princess.

  He paused a moment outside her door, deciding on the best course of action. He was a direct person, and there wasn’t a reason to deviate from that now. It would be better just to come out and let her know he was aware of her identity then go from there.

  That is if she wasn’t ready to cosh him over the head for locking her in the room.

  He unlocked the door and swung it open. A rush of cold air hit him directly in the face. “What the hell?” he muttered as he stepped further into the room. His gaze skirted around the now-empty room to the open window by the bed.

  Had the fool woman jumped from a second story window? He rushed over and looked down, half expecting to see her lying on the ground below. But all he saw were small footprints leading away from the window out toward the gate that lead out of the garden.

  She was gone.

  Chapter Two

  Isabella dropped from the window to the soft ground below, wincing when she felt a twinge in her ankle. Quickly recovering, she hurried across the small garden and let herself out the gate leading to the alleyway.

  She stepped to the curb and waved frantically at an oncoming hack. The last of her money would have to be spent on the fare. The meal she had just eaten would sustain her until she could think of a way to replenish her funds. She hurled herself inside and urged the driver forward.

  She stared blindly out the window, the passing traffic a blur. Her fists tightened beside her, her nails digging painfully into her palms. Relief lessened some of the tension entrenched in her chest, but she knew she still had far to go.

  How close had she come to disaster? And who was this man who had thrust himself so arrogantly into her path? She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed in consternation. This Englishman could have close ties to the British crown, and if he did… Her thought trailed off, anger clenching her teeth tigh
ter on her lip. The sharp, metallic taste of blood spread on her tongue, and she relaxed her jaw.

  Why else would he, an earl, offer assistance to a lowly common woman? Could he know who she was? The idea sent a fresh surge of fright scurrying over her.

  There was much about the earl that simply did not add up. Why did he not live in a more fashionable area? Isabella’s knowledge of London was limited, but even she knew the majority of peers lived in Mayfair or St. James. And why did he not employ a full staff? Such a fact suggested to her that he spent little time in residence.

  She shook her head, angry that the earl had intruded so rudely on her top priority.

  She must go back home. Now that Davide would not be meeting her in England, the responsibility for her country rested squarely on her shoulders. She was the sole heir to the throne, and if she was unable to return to take the crown, Jacques’ path to rule would be unimpeded.

  Her only hope was he would be unsuccessful in the quest, but then she couldn’t count on him upholding the traditions of her country, which had been in place for centuries. He had already proven he would do whatever necessary to attain his goal. What was circumventing the sacred journey into the marble cliffs when he had done far worse?

  Her stomach rolled as fear briefly paralyzed her. What if she was unable to complete the quest? She closed her eyes. Failure was not an option. To contemplate such would be admitting defeat.

  A fingernail snapped, and she released her fingers from her steely grip. Under no circumstances would she allow a murdering traitor to upend everything her father had worked for.

  When the carriage finally halted, she scrambled out and dashed into the building where she had rented a room. She quickly took stock of her sparse belongings and gathered only the things she could easily carry.

  Not giving a care to the fabric, she ripped the clothing from her body then reached under the bed and brought out the pair of breeches she had secured there. She thrust her legs into pants that resembled those Davide had been wearing the last day she’d seen him. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, and she angrily dashed them away. Her grief staggered her, but she could not give in to the overwhelming pain building within her. Her life depended on the actions she took right now, this moment.