To Protect a Princess by Jess Michaels
Chapter 20
Jonah rolled over on his side and found Ilaria flat on her back, gorgeous breasts uncovered. He slung his arm over her stomach and tugged her a little closer. She murmured, some empty sound of pleasure and connection as she curled farther into his chest.
It had been three days of this. The only time he left this bed was to get them food or deal with matters when Mrs. Williams came to bring him mail and supplies. Or when he went to fetch water to fill the tub.
Otherwise, he was in this bed, with this woman, and it was heaven. One he’d soon be forced to leave, but he was trying not to think about that at present.
“What time is it?” Ilaria muttered without opening her eyes.
He glanced on the clock by his bedside table. “Almost ten. Not too early.”
“Nor too late,” she said, turning on her side and pressing a hand flat against his chest. Her fingers flexed, tracing little patterns there that made his blood run hotter. It was unbelievable how much she set him aflame. It was like he was a green young man when he was with her, always randy and ready to have her.
“I know you got up earlier,” she said. “Did you receive a letter from my family?”
He shook his head. “No. It was Mrs. Williams with eggs. No letter this morning, but the afternoon post could change that. Are you so eager to escape this prison?”
She glanced up at him. “This is far from a prison and you know it. If I could stay here with you forever, I would, but only if I also knew my family was safe and happy.”
He stroked his hand along her back gently. “But that’s a fantasy.”
“So you keep saying any time the subject comes up,” she said with a sigh.
He shifted slightly. “Because it’s true. It would be too easy to get wrapped up in the idea that we could stay here, that we could be like this for more than a few days. It’s for myself that I say those things, as much as for you.”
Her expression softened. “Are you saying you would want to stay here with me if you could?”
He drew in a long breath. He’d said too much, revealed too much, but what else could he do?
“I can’t, Ilaria.” He tried to say it as gently as he could when it tore a hole in his heart. “So what I want doesn’t really matter.”
She frowned, and some of the light went out in her dark eyes. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling above the bed for a few moments, silent. He wanted so much to fill that space between them, to explain his heart and how much it broke with the idea. But that would only make it worse for both of them. And once he told her that he loved her, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to let her go. Not ever. No matter the consequences that would tear them both apart.
“And all of that is because of who our parents are,” she said slowly. “My royal ones…and yours. That you’re a by-blow.”
He tensed. This was a subject she had danced around but never fully addressed. He’d been anticipating it, though. The closer they got here, the more he knew she wanted to hear about his life, his past. He hadn’t offered the information because it opened so many more doors to his true feelings.
But perhaps if she heard the truth, she would more fully grasp why a future together was impossible.
“Yes,” he said softly.
“Will you tell me?” she asked, turning back on her side and propping herself up on her elbow so she could really look into his eyes. She reached out a hand to trace the line of his jaw and he let his lids shut as he reveled in her soft touch.
“It’s not something I generally talk about.”
“Not even with friends?” she asked.
He shrugged. “What would be the point? No one can change the past, can they?”
“But they can commiserate, support,” she said. He opened his eyes and stared deeply into hers. There was an oasis there, someplace warm and safe. A place he wanted to go to with all his heart. She shifted slight. “I won’t push you. But I’d like to know, given that you know so much about my life.”
He cleared his throat. “Did you do any digging into my life over the years?”
She tilted her head. “No. I’m certain my brother did, but I don’t really care about your past, except for how it has affected you. Changed you. But your bloodlines don’t mean anything to me. I have seen many a man with an impeccable pedigree turn out to be a rotter and those with little respectability to recommend them turn out to be the best of men.”
“It remains to be seen where I fall on that spectrum.”
She sat up fully and stared at him. “No, it doesn’t. You are the best of men, Jonah Crawford, and no story about your past or your lineage will change my opinion on that matter.”
She meant it, he could see that. Her acceptance was pure and deep, without conditions placed on it or him. And he loved her even more desperately in that moment than he had in the hundreds of moments before.
So they would do this. He scrubbed a hand over his face and drew a shaky breath. “My father was a solicitor in London. He and my mother had married the same year I was born, and they ultimately had three more children together in the years that followed.” He tried so desperately not to go back in time, but it was difficult. “We were middle-class people, with enough to be comfortable, and I should have no complaints about my growing up.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Except?”
He didn’t speak for a moment as images of his father leapt into his mind. That coldness to his eyes, the cruel tilt his mouth had sometimes taken.
“He hated me.” He said the words out loud and felt them all the way to his soul.
Ilaria blinked. “Who?”
“My father. He despised me. There was never warmth between us, never gentleness. And that distance didn’t exist between him and my siblings, Alec, John and Olive. He was a proud and joyful father to those three. So I knew he hated me, but I didn’t understand why.”
She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Jonah. That seems an impossibly cruel thing to do to a child.”
“It was,” he said softly. “He would bring them all gifts when he came home from work. Not me. He would take them to the market, but leave me behind.”
She flinched. “Jonah,” she said softly, only just a whisper of his name, but it was filled with such empathy, such pain for him.
“When I was eight,” he continued while he still could, “my mother took me to a fine house in London and introduced me to a man named Harlen Grisham.”
“Harlen,” she repeated. “Like the name you give at the Donville Masquerade.”
Jonah winced. “Yes. He was the youngest son of Viscount Grisham. It was important to him that I know that. He gave me sweets and looked me over and was generally jolly and friendly. As we were going home, my mother kept telling me not to tell my father, never tell my father.”
Ilaria shook her head. “Oh no.”
He sighed. The path was so clear, she could already see it. They could walk down it together to the moment that had changed his life. “He already knew. When we got home, he already knew where we’d been,” he said softly. “And he exploded. I’d seen him be cold, even cruel, but never violent. But he grabbed my mother and he was shouting and shaking her. I tried to intervene, to step between them.”
Ilaria lifted a hand to her mouth. “At eight?”
“He hit me so hard my ears rang,” he whispered, his father’s red, enraged face rising up before his eyes like it was yesterday. “And that was when he told me Mr. Grisham was my…my real father.”
“Jonah,” she breathed, and reached out to catch his hand. Her touch centered him, brought him back to his safe room with this woman he loved.
He cleared his throat. “After that, everything changed. Norland Crawford let me keep his name, but he made no effort to pretend to be a father to me. Nor was he careful about who he let know the truth. My parentage became common knowledge and the judgments about it followed. The only good thing was that I was suddenly allowed to visit Grisham. Twice yearly, just the two of us.”
Ilaria tilted her head. “He was welcoming?”
“Yes, very.” He pursed his lips. “He had not been allowed to marry my mother, you see. She wasn’t elevated enough for his family.”
“So they were separated by circumstance. That is very sad,” Ilaria said.
He snorted out a laugh. “Don’t create too romantic a story for them. By the time I was visiting him, Grisham had long since fallen out of lust or love or infatuation. Sometimes he would call her Franny—not her real name, Fanny, because he couldn’t remember it.”
“Oh.” Ilaria wrinkled her nose. “Yes, far less romantic than I had pictured.”
“Life went along, but I longed for acceptance. For a real father. And after a particularly unpleasant exchange with Crawford when I was thirteen, I ran away. I went to Grisham and begged him to let me stay there. But all that jovial warmth and fun he showed disappeared in an instant. He reminded me I was nothing but a bastard and there was no place for me in his hallowed halls.”
“No,” Ilaria said.
He nodded. “Our relationship wasn’t the same after that. Though Crawford did become a little less cruel, so I have to assume my real father paid some coin or made some threats to mitigate the pain I experienced at home.” He shrugged. “When I was sixteen, Harlen Grisham bought me a commission in the Royal Navy. And I went. I suppose it was a way to dispose of his duty to me, but I could never repay him because it changed my life.”
She smiled slightly, watching him as he became more animated with the subject. “It was evident when you came to Athawick that you loved your role in the military.”
“I did. I fought in many battles, I made bonds with the men around me that can never be broken. I moved up in the ranks. I found my purpose and I intended to serve for the remainder of my life. And then…”
He broke off because now they were coming to a pain that was so near, so close that it still stung as if the wound were fresh.
“Grisham died,” he whispered. “My father, my real father, died.”
She covered his hand and clung there. He felt her pouring her strength into him, and it was like a light that glowed inside of him. The feeling was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and he stared at her in wonder at what she was capable of creating with just a look or a brush of her hand.
“That was why you inherited,” she breathed.
He nodded. “He never had any legitimate heirs, and he was hell-bent on enraging his own father, the viscount who has never acknowledged me. Grisham’s small estate and his London townhouse were not entailed. They were free and clear inheritance, and he left them to me. Along with all his numerous debts.”
She swallowed. “You had to resign your commission.”
“Yes.” His voice was thick now, heavy with the regret this story inspired. “To settle with his creditors and get the estate back into some kind of manageable state. There were dozens of people who depended on it. Depended on me now. What could I do but take care of it? Even if it meant…”
He trailed off, and a tear slid down Ilaria’s cheek. “Even if it meant losing your own dreams.”
He was quiet for a moment, trying to gather himself so his voice wouldn’t break. “Yes.”
She scooted closer to him on the bed and wrapped her arms around him. She threaded her fingers through his hair and gently guided it to rest on her shoulder. They sat like that for a while, and then she sighed. “Jonah, I’m so sorry.”
He lifted his head and shook it. “You needn’t be. This is my life now. I must accept it.” He met her gaze and held it there. “We must accept all these things we cannot change.”
Her lips trembled for a moment. “I suppose we must.”
She pushed from the bed and walked away to the fireplace. Her naked curves would have normally been the sweetest distraction, but right now all he could see was how sad she was.
For days, he had been feeling something when they were together. Something he tried to suppress and deny and ignore, pretend away. But now there was no way to do it, it was just too obvious. She loved him. He felt that as keenly as he felt the same emotion toward her. She loved him, and the reason she was hurting was because his story further proved that she couldn’t have him. That whatever future she longed for, he longed for, it could never be theirs because of his class, because of the expectations around her marriage…because he was a bastard.
“You know,” she said without looking back at him. “I think I’m getting a little tired of being trapped within these walls.”
“You wound my masculine pride,” he said, hoping that teasing would draw her back to him, even just a fraction.
She smiled at him over her shoulder, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, come now, Captain, you know you have been a fine lover these past few days.”
He arched a brow. “Fine?” he repeated.
She blinked at him innocently. “Very nice.”
“Nice!” He pushed out of the bed and folded his arms, trying to suppress a laugh at her needling. “I think I’ve been better than nice. Your squealing and writhing makes me believe I’ve been spectacular.”
“God’s teeth, the ego on this one,” she said with a shake of her head. “Fine, if it makes you feel better, you were…amazing. Spectacular. Far above average.”
He puffed out his chest. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.”
“But I’m tired of you now,” she said, and giggled when he grabbed for a pillow and pitched it at her. “And I want to go for a walk.”
He glared at her playfully for a moment and stroked his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “So you do wish to be released from this prison.”
“Oh yes, please, sir. Only for a while.” She clutched the pillow he’d thrown in front of herself and gave him the most adorable innocent look.
Which made him think not particularly innocent thoughts.
“Why don’t we make a bargain?” he suggested, coming toward her and tugging the pillow from her arms to toss it behind him. “You come back to that bed with me for just a while longer so I can prove to you once more that I am spectacular in bed.”
She swatted his chest as she giggled. “And then?”
“And then I will take you out of this house for a while.”
She eased closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. She lifted on her tiptoes and kissed him. “That, Captain, is a bargain.”
He stood there for a moment, reveling in the warmth of her, the joy of her, the absolute connection between them. And then he leaned forward to kiss just the tip of her nose. “Carefully, Your Highness.”
She blinked up and him and some of her teasing faded. “Very carefully,” she promised, and then tugged him in for a kiss once more.
And for just a little while longer, he allowed himself to forget everything but her.