To Protect a Princess by Jess Michaels

Chapter 12

Ilaria sat in the parlor, staring out at the garden behind the estate. Well, not the garden, exactly. The alley she could barely see behind it. That was where she had last seen Jonah a few days ago. She had been unable to think of anything else since.

When she went to some stuffy reception, her mind turned to the pressure of his lips on hers. At state suppers? Jonah’s hand on her back. And at night, as she slid beneath her sheets? Her hand always stole between her legs as she tried to recapture the pleasure his tongue had given.

“Ilaria.”

She jolted as her mother entered the room. Queen Giabella’s dark hair was pulled back in a simple style and she wore a plain gown. In that moment, she was more Ilaria’s mother than queen. And yet she held herself regally and with a confidence Ilaria had always envied.

“Mama. You look very pretty,” Ilaria said, pushing thoughts of Jonah from her mind.

“Thank you.” Her mother sighed. “I admit it is nice to have an afternoon away from all the pomp and circumstance. These state visits can be exhausting.”

Ilaria stood and motioned her mother to the settee she had abandoned. “Allow me to fetch you tea, then, and you can relax.”

Her mother gave her a strange look, but took the seat she had been offered and settled in with a sigh. “I’m surprised you would be so solicitous, Ilaria, considering how at odds we’ve been these past few weeks.”

Ilaria sweetened her mother’s tea and then brought the cup over. She sat and shook her head. “I can be…frustrated by what you desire and still care for you.”

Her mother sipped her tea and then set the cup aside. “But you don’t understand me.”

“Nor you me,” Ilaria said, and tried not to sound as defensive as she felt.

Her mother bent her head. “No, I completely understand.”

There was a moment of silence as Ilaria took that statement in. “Because you were also forced to wed.”

Giabella nodded. “I was offered no option when the arrangement was made between Alastair’s father and my own. Athawick was a treasured trade partner to Everlay and my country wished to make a stronger alliance.”

“And look at how it turned out,” Ilaria said softly.

Her mother flinched and set her jaw. “We made a family—it was a success.”

Ilaria tilted her head. “Mama.”

The pain that flowed over her mother’s expression was instant and powerful. “What do you want me to say, Ilaria? Will going over the facts help you in some way?”

“Perhaps,” Ilaria said. “I saw how it was, Mama. I saw how unhappy he made you, how…cruelly he could treat you and us by extension. I know you did your best, I know you had no choice once it was done. But didn’t you ever wish for…for more?”

Her mother’s gaze flitted to the door, and Ilaria followed it. Nothing was there, but it was like her mother was seeing something or someone.

“I was not taught to wish for more,” she said softly. “The marriage with your father was arranged from the time I was very young. I accepted it because I never knew anything different. It wasn’t until later—much later—that I began to long for something else. But what good did it do me? What good does it do anyone to fantasize about a past that cannot be changed?”

“The good it does to help you understand why I’m resistant. When you told me you and Grantham expected a marriage to be made for me here so that you could solidify an alliance, it was as if someone tore a piece of me away.”

“Ilaria, you don’t need to be dramatic. You knew at some point you would need to marry. And you must have guessed there might be a political element to it. You’re the only daughter of a king.”

Ilaria closed her eyes. “Yes. That had come up. Father brought it up regularly. Told me again and again how it was my only value as a woman.”

“I am sorry about that,” Giabella said softly. “That is not how I feel.”

“But when Grantham took over, all the talk died. And I thought…I thought I might be allowed to make my own choices. For…” Ilaria shook her head as she trailed off. She could not say the next word, not when images of Jonah were sliding into her mind. Taunting her.

“For love,” Giabella said for her, and there was such a longing on her face that Ilaria drew back.

She nodded. Her mother slid over on the settee and covered Ilaria’s hands with her own. “I realize what we’re asking might seem cruel. But I have purposefully chosen gentlemen for your consideration who are not cruel. Who have interests in common with you. Who I think you could be happy with if you would just stop—”

“Stop what?” Ilaria whispered.

“Stop mooning over a man you cannot have,” Giabella said. When Ilaria sucked in a breath, her mother raised a hand to stop her from speaking. “I like Captain Crawford. I do. And there is no denying he is very attractive. But his history…his connections…they will not be enough. And your brother needs this. Our country needs it. It isn’t fair, Ilaria, and I wish I could make it be so. But…” She shook her head and tears filled her eyes. “Sometimes things just aren’t fair.”

Ilaria winced. “Are things so very bad for Grantham?” she asked.

Giabella nodded. “Worse than I think he wishes us to know. I’m not certain of the particulars, but Dash—Mr. Talbot has given me some information that leads me to believe it is a harder transition than he has allowed.”

Ilaria worried her lip. She loved her brother. She loved her country. And for the first time this request…this order that she sacrifice herself made more sense.

“I will try, Mama,” she said softly.

The relief that crossed her mother’s face was so powerful that Ilaria gaped at it. She hadn’t fully grasped the queen’s fear until that moment.

“Thank you, love.” Her mother released her hands and stood, pacing the room. “There is an opera tomorrow night. I’d like you to go with the Earl of Bramwell, along with his mother and me. Do you understand?”

“To be seen on such a public outing will make the intentions very clear, I think.”

“Yes.”

She thought of the earl. He was handsome, there was no denying that. He seemed kind enough. She liked his sister and her husband very much, from the short time she had spent with them. And his mother was also friendly and inviting. If she put aside the fact she felt absolutely no attraction to the man at all, it wasn’t the worst idea.

She cleared her throat. “Then I will do my best to get to know him better during this outing. I won’t fight you anymore, Mama. You may tell Grantham the same.”

Her mother stared at her. Ilaria had expected even more relief, perhaps even the tiniest of celebrations. Instead, there was a sadness to the queen.

“Thank you,” her mother said softly. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Look at the time. I have yet another engagement tonight, so I must ready myself. You and Remi are staying in, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Ilaria said, wishing her voice wasn’t so broken. “A quiet night.”

“Enjoy it. I think it is the last one for a good while.” Her mother squeezed her hand as she passed by, and then she was gone.

And Ilaria placed her head in her hands, and fought the urge to sob.

* * *

Two Years Before

The Island of Athawick

Jonah stood at the edge of the dock, watching as the last trunks were loaded onto the ship. It was a funny thing. He had been anxious about this trip, uncertain if he wished to be part of an honor guard for something so frivolous. And yet now he felt melancholy that within hours he would be leaving this place forever. He had tried to tell himself that his regrets were only about how beautiful the island was, or the friendly acquaintance he had developed with Prince Grantham, who was a serious man of intelligence.

But it wasn’t either of those things that made him cast a glance back up the hill toward the palace glimmering in the sunshine.

“Captain Crawford?”

He jolted at the very familiar voice that did not belong here at the dock. He looked around and noted a slim figure in a long, pale blue cloak standing beside a pile of pallets off to the side of the dock.

He wrinkled his brow. “Is that—?”

The figure pushed the cloak back a fraction and his heart lurched. It was indeed Ilaria, and she motioned him to follow her with just a jerk of her head. He did so, looking over his shoulder to be certain they were not being followed.

“What are you doing?” he asked when they had walked away from the dock and down the lane that led to the sandy beach along the shore. With every step, they got a little farther away from town and watching eyes.

She didn’t answer until she glanced around and seemed satisfied that they weren’t being observed. “You’ve been avoiding me these last few days.”

He drew back. He’d been trying to be subtle about that fact, but it seemed he had failed. Still, one didn’t just have a conversation like this. With a princess. Especially one who looked like a wood sprite who could easily draw him away to some kind of fantasy land.

“Are you going to deny it?” she asked, and he realized he’d just been staring at her, not speaking.

“No,” he said softly. “I respect your intelligence too much to do such a thing. I have been avoiding you, I thought it was best after…after…”

“The ball,” she finished.

He nodded. She stared at him a long while and then pivoted and paced up the beach a few steps. She pushed the cloak away from her head and gazed out at the sea, toward his destination, away from her home.

When she looked at him again, her frustration was clear. “Did my father say something to you?”

He drew back. “No.”

“Oh. He did to me.” She folded her arms but he saw the pain and disappointment behind the shield she created, sharp and undeniable in the fraction of a moment before she covered it. “He has plans for me, I know. So I assumed he made it clear I was not someone you could ever trifle with.”

Jonah tilted his head. “He didn’t say that, but if he did I would…I would have to agree with him, Your Highness.” When her lips parted as if she would argue, he held up a hand. “You are a beautiful woman, a person would be a fool to deny that. But you have a life that most men could never touch. To pretend otherwise would be folly for all parties involved.”

Her nostrils flared slightly, as if that statement stung her. It certainly stung him, even if he knew it was true. He sighed. “And I’m leaving at any rate.”

“I suppose you are,” she said. “And you’ll forget me soon enough, as you believe I will you.”

He nodded, though he doubted what she said would ever be true. “It would be best, I think, to do just that.”

Her expression went a little harder. “I’m glad my father didn’t cause you any grief. That was all I wanted to say to you. I have already said my farewells to the rest of the party, so I doubt I will see you again, Captain.”

She held out a hand, arching a brow as she waited for him to take it. He did, gently and leaned over it, pressing his lips to the silk of her glove for all-too-brief a moment. When he glanced up at her, her pupils had dilated and her breath was short.

“Goodbye, Captain,” she whispered as she tugged her hand from his and hurried away back toward the palace, yanking her hood up as she went.

“Goodbye, Ilaria,” he whispered. Then he turned back to the sea that had been his home for so many years. She would welcome him back. She would help him forget any other desires.

She had to.

* * *

1817

London

Jonah eased his way through Fitzhugh’s Club and took a seat by the fire. A precisely liveried servant approached with cigars, but Jonah waved them away and picked up the paper that had been left on the table beside his seat. Splashed across the front was a story about the Athawick royal family. Something about King Grantham’s latest meeting with the courtiers for the prince regent. There was an accompanying cartoon that depicted Grantham as larger than life and beautiful as a Greek god while the courtiers were small and feeble at his feet.

“That should play extremely poorly in the palace,” Jonah muttered. He glanced up and caught his breath. Coming across the room was Jonah’s old friend Nicholas Gillingham and Gillingham’s brother-in-law, the Earl of Bramwell. He lifted a hand to wave and stood to greet the men as they joined him.

Gillingham switched his cane to the opposite hand before he shook Jonah’s. “Good to see you, Captain.”

“Gillingham,” Jonah said with a genuine smile. One that dimmed as he extended a hand to Bramwell, as well. “My lord. Won’t you two join me?”

He didn’t really want to sit with the man who was being groomed to be Ilaria’s future husband, but there was no way to avoid the societal expectation of politeness without making a scene.

The men took the seats beside him and for a while the talk was general and uneventful. He was somehow able to control his countenance as he chatted amiably with the man he knew was in contention to marry Ilaria. The fact that he was a good man was at least helpful.

But the idea of him having Ilaria, falling in love with her, making a life with her…it was physically painful.

“It seems like it’s been an eventful Season thus far,” Gillingham said. “My brother, the Duke of Roseford, tells me he hasn’t seen anything like it. But you know, Thomas—you are at the heart of this royal family situation.”

Bramwell smiled but the expression was tight. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes. Every party is truly a crush and half the people in attendance have snuck in just to get a look at the Athawick party’s gowns and hair. And the rumors run rampant. I think I’ve been featured five or six times in barely blind items in the Scandal Sheet.”

“Are the items true?” Jonah asked quietly, gripping his chair arm just a little harder.

“Some of them, yes, but you know that rag. It’s nonsense more than half the time.” Bramwell rolled his eyes. “I shudder to think what they’ll say after tomorrow.”

Jonah straightened up. “What is tomorrow?”

“The opera. It’s the performance of the year, people say. The regent will be there—there are rumors Princess Caroline will make some other move against him. And my mother and I will be sharing our box with Princess Ilaria and Queen Giabella.”

Jonah’s heart sank even as Bramwell continued talking casually about the arrow he had just flung directly into Jonah’s heart. Such a public outing would, as Bramwell implied, set the gossips off. Because it meant something. The circling of the two families was entirely clear. And the end result was predictable.

“You’re really going to do this, are you, Bramwell?” Jonah asked, interrupting the earl in the middle of his sentence.

Bramwell appeared taken aback and shook his head. “Do…what?”

“Marry her,” Jonah said, as quietly as he could.

Gillingham’s eyes went wide and he slid to the front of his chair as if he sensed he might have to intervene between the two men. Which made Jonah wonder how wild he looked, since Bramwell appeared entirely calm.

“I…” the earl said, and then bent his head. “I suppose the intention is not a secret, especially since you are so close to the family, I’ve heard. There are overtures being made in that arena, yes.”

Jonah couldn’t believe how unmoved this man seemed to be about this subject. He was talking about marrying Ilaria, who was beautiful and sharp-witted and frustrating and wonderful. A woman one couldn’t help falling in love with.

Jonah blinked. He had fallen in love with her. Not just in the past few weeks when they’d been reunited, but back on Athawick two years before. He had loved her then. It seemed painfully obvious in this moment.

And this man would marry her. This man who didn’t seem to give a damn.

“Is that what you want, Thomas?” Gillingham asked gently, his attention fully shifted to Bramwell now.

Bramwell hesitated for far too long, and then he shrugged. “I…sometimes what we want cannot be taken into account in these situations. We must do what is right. What is beneficial to both her family and my own.”

Jonah shook his head and growled past gritted teeth, “Ilaria is a person. You understand that, don’t you? A woman with desires and dreams, not just a political pawn. Would you crush that for the benefit of your title?”

Now Bramwell’s expression hardened and he looked at Jonah as if he truly understood him for the first time. “Why do you want to know so much about it, Captain Crawford?”

Jonah leaned forward in his chair, but before he could respond, Gillingham pressed a gentle hand against his chest. “Steady now, both of you,” he said softly. “We are not in some private hall where you two could spar over…over what we both know this is over. We’re at Fitzhugh’s and half the men of the ton are watching you.”

Jonah blinked and shook his focus off of the man across from him. It was true that eyes had slid to them as they talked. He supposed it made sense, given their individual proximity to the family of the day. If he swung on Bramwell, it would do no good. He would attack a man who didn’t deserve it, it would change nothing about Ilaria’s future, and it would cause nothing but trouble for all parties involved. He didn’t want that.

He pushed to his feet. “My lord, Gillingham, please accept my apologies. I am out of sorts and I clearly need to take some air. Good afternoon.”

The men both said their goodbyes, but he hardly heard them as he walked out of the club. He felt the eyes on him—he didn’t care. All he could care about was the one constant refrain in his mind. One drumbeat.

He needed to see Ilaria.

Because if it was true that tomorrow she and Bramwell would make a first public outing where their arranged attachment would be obvious, everything would change. So he had to see her now, tonight. Because he loved her. That was a fact. He would lose her, another fact.

So he had to cling to whatever moments he could have now before they came crashing down around him.