To Protect a Princess by Jess Michaels
Chapter 24
Jonah gazed across the carriage at Ilaria. She looked the part of a cool, sophisticated princess, in one of her most beautiful gowns and her hair done to perfection. She wore a mask that matched the fabric of her dress and it was wound carefully into her hair so it rested against and accentuated her high cheekbones.
Yes, she looked the part, but he felt the nervousness coming off of her in waves.
“We’ve prepared for this night for three days,” he said softly, and her attention shifted to him. “Rivers has everything in place. Most of those in attendance tonight will be there for your protection. I will be at your side the entire time. And your brother took our advice and kept this plan a secret from almost everyone in his employ.”
She nodded. “And it is my plan, after all. I should not be fearful of it.”
He pursed his lips. “You are risking yourself, risking everything. You have every right to be anxious.”
She was quiet a moment, and her gaze snagged his. “I haven’t been alone with you since we returned to London.”
He swallowed hard. As if he hadn’t counted every hour, every moment since he’d last touched her, last kissed her. Last taken her and made her his, even for just a moment.
“We’ve been together,” he said.
“Alone, Jonah,” she whispered. “As we formulated this plan it was always with others. Do you know how many times I wanted to go to you? To put my hand in yours and just…”
He leaned across the carriage and took her hands at last. They were as soft as he remembered, as warm against his fingers as he could hope. He had only meant to do that, to comfort her in this simple way, but now that he’d touched her, he couldn’t stop.
He leaned across the space and she met him halfway. She let out a great, shuddering sigh as their mouths met, and then she was moving, coming into his lap, winding her arms around him as the kiss deepened, slowed, became ever more powerful.
She released him only when the carriage slowed, and moved to her side of the vehicle again. “I know I shouldn’t have,” she whispered. “It only makes me want—”
“Don’t say it,” he said, turning his face from hers. “Please.”
She nodded, and both were silent as the carriage door was opened. He went first and helped her down, keeping a close eye all around them for danger. She really had created a good plan. The Donville Masquerade was public, and if she were attacked here and word got out, it offered a bit more scandal to go along with the message her attackers would send. But it was also a limited space—they could control it thanks to Rivers’ generous agreement to what they wished to do.
“You’ve given us every advantage with this plan of yours,” he said softly as they entered the antechamber. “And I’m with you.”
The man at the door didn’t ask them questions tonight. He merely inclined his head as the doors to the main room were opened. It was the middle of the week, a detail Rivers had suggested because it was a naturally slower time for the club. There were half the number of attendees as had been there the times they came before. And it was early enough that most were still gaming. Only a few were tangled together, kissing or touching playfully, rather than in a purely sexual way.
Still, Jonah’s reaction was almost reflexive. He passed into the room and he wanted Ilaria. He had to push those desires aside and carefully watch as all eyes turned to the newcomers. No one stayed particularly curious, though, and went back to their games.
“You’re so tense,” Ilaria said softly. “Calm yourself and let’s get a drink. We can’t rush this.”
“When did you get so wise?” he asked as he guided her through the crowd toward the bar in the distance.
She glanced up at him. “I spent a great deal of time in the country with a wise man.”
“Sounds old and boorish,” he teased as he motioned to the barkeep.
She laughed. “Only a little.”
He glared at her playfully and ordered them each a drink. As they waited, he looked across the room again and found that Marcus Rivers and his wife, Annabelle, were coming across the room toward them. Although both were heavily involved in this scheme, neither looked in the least troubled or nervous.
“Good evening, friend,” Rivers said. He smiled at Ilaria. “And Miss.”
She smiled back and then reached out to touch Annabelle’s hand. “Thank you again for your help in all this. I know it puts you out.”
“Not in the slightest,” Annabelle reassured her. “This is traditionally the club’s slowest night. It was easy enough to fill the room with friends and employees who we trust entirely.”
“Is the back room prepared?” Jonah asked softly.
The drinks arrived and Rivers waved off the barkeep, indicating they weren’t to be charged for their libations. Jonah raised a glass to his friend and took the smallest sip. He needed to appear casual, but not lose his head. This night was too important.
“We aren’t allowing anyone into the viewing hall,” Rivers said.
Beside him, Ilaria shifted. Jonah wondered if she were thinking of the night they’d watched the lovers in the bedroom in that hall and he had pleasured her for the first time. God knew he thought of that night often enough.
“Will that be suspicious to those who might know the normal workings of the hell?” Ilaria asked, her voice rough.
Annabelle shook her head. “We often close the hall when it becomes too busy. If someone asks, they will be told that it is full and to return shortly. In reality, it is too full.”
“Full of my guards,” Marcus murmured.
Annabelle smiled up at her husband. “Some of whom are likely very much enjoying the show until our guests here take their places.”
“They earned a bit of fun before the action,” Rivers said with a shrug. “They’ll be ready when it’s truly time.”
“Then I suppose all there is left is to take our places,” Ilaria said softly.
Annabelle leaned forward and brushed a hand to Ilaria’s again. “You are a strong woman, Your Highness,” she whispered. “With an equally strong partner. You’ll be fine. We’ll be watching.”
Jonah saw how much those words meant to Ilaria. How her shoulders relaxed a fraction and some of the tension went out of her perfectly formed lips. “Thank you.”
“When this is over,” Annabelle continued, “we’re going to have a stiff drink and a very long talk.”
“I look forward to it.” Ilaria turned toward Jonah and looked up into his eyes. She nodded slightly, and when she next spoke it was louder, meant for listening ears, not just for their group. “Come, I want a more private party.”
She caught Jonah’s hand and flitted across the room, drawing him behind her as her hips twitched provocatively beneath her gown. It was for show, of course, just in case some blackguard was watching. But his body didn’t care. After so many days without her, her confident display set him back on edge. Wanting her, loving her, needing her.
But right now was about saving her. And that was a sobering thought, indeed.
They reached the entrance to the private rooms and she tilted her head playfully at the guard there. “What’s available, sir?”
The man smiled at her and held up two fingers. She patted his cheek as she passed by, all flirtation and bravado until they moved down the sparsely lit hallway. Then Jonah felt her grip on his fingers relax and she sucked in a harsh breath.
“It’s hard being here with you, knowing we can’t…we can’t be together,” she whispered, low enough for only him to hear.
“I know,” he said. At the door to the second room, he caught her elbow and turned her back. “But at least in the show we get to pretend.”
With that he cupped her cheeks and pressed her against the door for a long, deep kiss. When she relaxed against him, he pushed the door open, steadying her as they backed into the room. Once inside, he released her and shut the door, looking toward the place where others could watch. Guards were there, he knew. So there could be no reality to this show.
Ilaria moved to sit on the bed. Jonah was torn back in time once again to that first night when they had come here and he had sat next to her and kissed her. Wanted to do so much more than kiss her, tried to ignore that he already loved her and had for a very long time.
Now he didn’t want to deny those things.
“Can they hear us?” she asked as he sat down beside her and took her hand. She rested her chin on his shoulder and looked up at him, those beautiful brown eyes filled with sadness that echoed his own.
“Not unless we’re very loud in our passions,” he said.
“I love you,” she whispered. “And I wish we could just stay in this room forever and make love and talk and never go back to a world where our various duties make a future impossible.”
“I know.” He smoothed a strand of hair away from her cheek and smiled. “But perhaps one day we can be friends.”
She snorted. “One thing I shall never be, Captain, is your friend. There will never be enough time or space to pass that will let that happen. I’ll pretend it well, though. It was what I was raised for.”
They sat together in silence for what felt like a very long time. At last he glanced at his pocket watch and sighed. “A moment or two more and then you can make your grand exit.”
She stiffened at his side. “You won’t wait long to follow?”
“Not long at all.” He smoothed his thumb over her lower lip and she shivered before she stood up and paced across the room. She stood that way for a long moment, her back to him, her shoulders tight and lifted like she was tense. Then she glanced back.
“I never trained to be an actress,” she said as she moved to the door. “So you’ll forgive this poor performance.”
Then she winked at him and headed out into the hallway, hands clutched before her, for all the world looking upset and abandoned, bait for a trap he could only pray would snap shut on the people who threatened her.
* * *
Ilaria could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as she fled down the dim hallway and back into the brighter light of the main hall. She glanced around, trying to look desperate and upset. It wasn’t a stretch considering everything going on in her life, considering what would happen if she failed and if she succeeded.
She staggered forward, purposefully tripping over her feet and righting herself, shaking her head, creating as much of a scene as she could without being too melodramatic. She moved toward the exit, praying those in the crowd who were part of this farce were watching, that Jonah would come soon and watch her, as well. Because her plan or not, the danger she felt was real and she was terrified of how it could play out.
She was almost to the door when there was a gentle touch on her elbow. “Miss, are you well?”
She pivoted at the dark richness of a male voice and turned. She caught her breath. She was staring up into the eyes of a tall man. Eyes she’d seen before, though he was dressed far differently, his hair styled differently, his mask different. But he was the same man who had approached her here before, frightened her, called her princess.
“Miss?”
She shook her head and remembered herself. “Oh, it’s nothing, thank you. You are too kind. My—my…a gentleman…it was just…”
The stranger’s fingers tightened around her elbow. “A cad hurt you, did he?”
She nodded slowly. “He tried.”
“Even with the rules, some try things they should not.” He motioned her toward the door. “Perhaps I could escort you to your carriage, miss. For your protection?”
She shifted. Here was the moment. “Oh yes, that would be wonderful. I would feel better with a decent man as my escort.”
She could barely say those words since this man was clearly not decent. He was a blackguard bent on destroying her to send a message to her brother, to destroy what they had always been told was his birthright. Why? Well, that remained to be seen.
They moved toward the door together and she was proud of the fact that she didn’t look over her shoulder to find Jonah. He would follow. She trusted that. He had never let her down, nor would he.
“You don’t belong in a place like this,” the man at her side was saying, and she focused on him as they exited the building back onto the street.
Here was where the plan was tricky. If she had played her cards right, she hoped he would see an opportunity to make a public statement in front of her carriage, in the busy street where many would be watching.
“My carriage is this way,” she said, motioning him toward the rigs lined up in the distance. Just a little farther and she could make the signal and bring a dozen men swarming.
But he didn’t take her that way. Instead, he caught her around the waist and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. With no warning, he darted across the street, toward the docks in the distance.
She let out a scream at the sudden and unexpected action. Certainly Jonah and those who were part of this plan must have seen what he did, but it was not something they had planned for.
“You think you can trick me, princess?” he hissed. “You think all this planning is going to culminate with my end and not yours?”
She kicked him in the shin, and he grunted but didn’t stop moving. A fog had begun to rise from the water ahead of them, and she glanced back. Men were coming, but they were at a distance. If this person dragged her into the fog, they could be lost.
“Let me go!” she screamed, as much to alert the others to her location as to ask for reprieve. She didn’t expect it, after all. “Why are you doing this?”
They were in the fog now. She heard the shouts of those in pursuit, but the bastard who held her crouched behind some barrels, pressing his hand to her lips so she couldn’t cry out.
“I suppose I’m to tell you for rebellion. For Athawick,” he said. “Does it really matter? You won’t be alive to see the consequences of what I’m going to do to you. You won’t be alive to see the rewards or the punishments.”
She bit him then, sinking her teeth into his finger as best she could. He let out a yelp and tugged his hand away. She was pleased to see she’d drawn blood just before he hauled back and hit her with the back of the same hand.
“Little bitch! He said you were a fighter. Not much longer.”
He shoved her down on her back against the rough wooden planks of the dock. She kicked at him, pushing against his hand, but he was stronger than she was by far—he had more leverage. She tried to scream, but this time he pressed his hand down over her nose and her mouth, cutting off her air. She gasped against what little she had left and watched in horror as he reared back, this time with a knife in his hand.
But before he could slam it into her body, end her life, a shadowy figure hit him with full force and he was thrown off of her.
She pushed herself back in horror. It was Jonah, and now he and the man were grappling together on the dock. She screamed, calling out for the others as she staggered to her feet. Jonah had had the upper hand, but her attacker rolled on top. Their masks were both cockeyed, but she didn’t recognize the stranger, only his intentions.
He slashed with the knife and Jonah held up his arm. The blade cut into his coat and, from his cry of pain, deeper. With another scream, Ilaria launched herself onto the attacker’s back, clawing at his eyes, beating at him with her fists, pulling him back by his nose to get him off of Jonah.
It was a surprising enough attack that it seemed to throw the stranger off. His knife, slick with Jonah’s blood, slid from his hand, clattered onto the dock, and he fell backward, half pinning Ilaria behind him.
But it was enough. Jonah grabbed him, and three other men ran in from the fog. In moments the attacker was subdued. He glared at Ilaria.
“It will never be enough, not for those who want you dead,” he murmured. Then he twisted his mouth and seemed to bite down on something. His expression changed, as if he were in sudden pain. With a gurgling moan, he slumped in the arms of those who held him.
Jonah pivoted back to Ilaria and offered her his hand. She was pulled up, and they stared. “What is wrong with him?” she asked.
One of the guards tugged the stranger’s head back and it was a sickly color, bright red, and foam was coming from his mouth.
“He’s…he’s dead,” the man breathed.
Jonah steadied Ilaria and then released her, moving to check for the attacker’s heartbeat himself. “Poison,” he said, holding up the other man’s hand. There was an empty packet there, clenched in lifeless fingers. “Somehow he managed to get whatever was in this into his mouth and eat it. He killed himself rather than be caught.”
“Oh God,” Ilaria breathed.
Jonah turned back to her. “Are you injured?”
He touched her face where she had been struck, but she brushed his hand away. “I’m fine, but you were cut. Let me see.”
He glanced toward the gathering crowd and reached up instead to adjust her mask and cover her face. “Not yet,” he murmured. “You lot take care of this.”
“They will.” It was Rivers who answered. He was coming out of the fog to join their group. “I’ll send word when it’s done, and anything else I can determine.”
Ilaria moved toward him, this tall, stern man who had come to her aid without ever asking for anything in return. “Thank you, Mr. Rivers. And thank Annabelle, as well. I look forward to that long conversation with her soon.”
He smiled at her. “Good evening…Miss Crawford.”
She jolted at the use of the pretend name she had given. Jonah’s name, and now it stung because with the threat to her at least temporarily assuaged, that meant their time together might be at a permanent end.
If he felt the same, he didn’t say it. He simply wrapped an arm around her and guided her away to the carriages. He opened the door for her, and as she stepped in, she gasped.
Grantham was seated there already, his face long and serious. As Jonah stepped in, they nodded to each other.
“What—?” Ilaria began.
“King or not, I am your brother first,” Grantham said softly. “And I wasn’t about to let you come to this place, to do this thing, without being here to protect you if I could.”
“I’m fine,” she whispered. “But Jonah’s arm…”
Jonah peeled his jacket off gingerly, and Ilaria gasped. His shirt arm was soaked with blood. Grantham let out a curse and swiftly removed his cravat. Together they bound the wound, and Grantham pounded on the wall of the carriage to urge the drive to go faster.
“It’s fine,” Jonah said. “A flesh wound, nothing more.”
“That remains to be seen,” Grantham said. “I’ll have the doctor sent for as soon as we get home. For both of you.” He cleared his throat. “I was prevented from following once that blackguard disappeared into the fog.”
“Good, then Rivers did his job,” Jonah said.
“If he were my subject, I would have him flayed,” Grantham retorted.
“No you wouldn’t,” Ilaria said with a shake of her head as she continued to apply pressure to Jonah’s wound. “You’d give him a medal.”
“I still should at that, for all he did for us,” Grantham said. “But first I need to deal with the man who attacked you. Will he be brought to us or to the English authorities?”
“He’s dead,” Ilaria said. She swiftly explained what had happened and what his last words had been.
Grantham wrinkled his brow. “Odd words.”
“Yes. But I can tell you he was the only man I ever saw during this nightmare. I would have recognized those eyes anywhere. What if he was acting alone?”
“I’m not entirely willing to accept that,” Grantham said. “Nor to dismiss that he is part of the rebellion against me. We’ll increase your guard and have to hope that if he was the leader of an uprising, perhaps his death will send a message. I’ll make sure word of it spreads back to Athawick. Blairford can make those arrangements. But for now, we go back to the house here in London. The rest can be worked out.”
Grantham looked from one of them to the other. “All the rest.”