To Protect a Princess by Jess Michaels
Chapter 6
Ilaria sat at her dressing table watching in the mirror as Sasha gently brushed her hair. Though she could have asked her maid to do so or done it herself, she and Sasha had long done so for each other.
“You have been very quiet about the garden party earlier today,” Sasha said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Ilaria pursed her lips. “My mother misses no opportunity to shove me into the faces of any eligible man of a certain rank and situation. This afternoon it was Lord Bramwell again.”
Sasha hesitated in her strokes, and in the mirror Ilaria saw her gaze lift. “The Earl of Bramwell?”
“The very one.” Ilaria shook her head. “He seems a nice enough man and he’s not unpleasant to look at, but there is no spark there whatsoever.”
“That’s too bad,” Sasha said, and returned to her brushstrokes.
“He said the funniest thing, though. He said that he saw you on the terrace the night of the welcome ball.”
The brush clattered to the floor and Ilaria pivoted. “Are you well? You are pale.”
“I’m fine,” Sasha muttered as she bent to pick up the brush. “Just tired, I suppose.”
“Well, sit down,” Ilaria said, waving her toward the settee. She got up from her dressing table and joined her friend, searching her face. “Is it because I mentioned Lord Bramwell?”
“Of course not,” Sasha said, her tone unexpectedly sharp. “I have no connection to the man. He happened to come outside the night of the welcome ball and found me there. I tried to put him off the idea that I might be your double, but he is too clever for his own good. We talked for but a moment—there was nothing else to it.”
Ilaria wrinkled her brow. “If you say so.”
“I do,” Sasha said. “And you are changing the subject.”
“Was I?” Ilaria asked. “I thought the subject was the garden party this afternoon.”
Sasha tilted her head. “I’ve known you since we were girls, Ilaria. I can see you’re holding something back. What is it?”
Before Ilaria could answer, there was a light knock on the chamber door. Sasha shot her a look that said the conversation was not over and got up to answer. She spoke softly to whoever it was in the hall and then returned to Ilaria with a few sheets of folded paper in her hands.
“From Darby,” Sasha said with an arched brow as she handed the message over.
Ilaria’s heart skipped as she leapt to her feet and snatched the papers. She paced off, reading through the notes, face heating with every word she wrote.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Sasha asked, placing her hands on her hips like she was ready to scold.
“Nothing,” Ilaria said absently as she clutched the papers to her chest.
“Are you truly going to lie to me?” Sasha asked. “I grew up the same way you did—I know Darby is the servant all of us turn to when we want discreet information for a price. And your expression gives you away even if I didn’t know that. What are you up to, Ilaria?”
Ilaria swallowed hard and met Sasha’s gaze. She would need her help for her next step, so she couldn’t be coy. “Do you swear you will not tell another living soul what I am about to share with you?”
Sasha’s brow wrinkled. “I suppose.”
“Remi told me about this wicked club here in London, the Donville Masquerade. I wanted to know more, so I asked Darby for the information.” She handed over the papers.
Sasha read for a moment and then she gasped as she jerked her head up. “Ilaria, this is a…a sex club. Where people can have masked…encounters.”
“Yes,” Ilaria said. “Which makes it a perfect place for me to visit, as I’ll be masked, as well, and no one will ever recognize me.”
Sasha stared, mouth agape. “You’re going to go to this place.”
Ilaria nodded.
“Why?” Sasha asked. “Masked or not, it is a great risk to take. Why do you feel you need to do such a thing?”
“Because…” Ilaria bent her head as exhaustion flooded every part of her body and soul. “Because I’m not so foolish to believe I will be able to escape my family’s plans. I can fight all I want, but they will win and I’ll end up leg shackled to Bramwell or some other man just like him.”
Sasha flinched but didn’t interrupt, for which Ilaria was pleased. As she said those words, she felt the sting of unshed tears in her eyes, the catch of her breath. She didn’t want to break down because she feared if she did, she would never be able to fully pull herself together again.
“When Remi talked about this place I was…intrigued,” she admitted. “Because it seems utterly out of the line of the duty I’m expected to fulfill. And I want to…I want to go there.”
“For what?”
“Just to see,” she said. “And maybe to have one last little moment that is just for me. Just about me.”
Sasha bent her head. “But is that wise, Ilaria? In your position—”
“My position should not be any different from that of my brothers, who are allowed to do such things, provided they are discreet about it.”
Sasha closed her eyes. “You’re right. And yet this is not the way of the world, especially this one. What will you do if you’re caught? Or threatened? Or…”
“I won’t be caught,” Ilaria said. “I’ll be sure of it. And you read the information. The owner of the club is named Marcus Rivers, and he seems to be a highly cautious man and protective of his business and clients. There is not even one report of bad behavior in his walls. It is likely safer than walking through a park in London.”
Sasha let out a long, heavy sigh. “You can’t be talked out of this, can you?”
Ilaria smiled. “No.”
“Then how can I help?”
Ilaria rushed to her and enveloped her in a hug. “First, we have to find something for me to wear that won’t be recognized. And a mask. Oh, and a carriage.”
Sasha laughed as she motioned Ilaria back to the dressing table so she could arrange her hair, and she practically danced back to her place. This was going to happen! Tonight! And she couldn’t wait.
* * *
Jonah sat on his horse in the narrow alleyway behind the house the royal family was occupying. Grantham had arranged it so that his armed guards were aware of Jonah’s presence. When one of them came around, they nodded toward him in the darkness and he acknowledged them back just as silently. But his attention was always drawn back to the window two floors above. Ilaria’s chamber.
The curtains had been drawn there an hour before, and he could have simply accepted that she’d gone to bed and returned home, but something in the back of his mind tickled.
He’d watched Ilaria, probably far too closely, at the garden party. He’d felt her tension increase with every moment. Oh, she looked serene enough. She talked to the always-swarming guests who were drawn to her power and beauty and influence. She smiled and laughed as she should. But there was something beneath that surface. An ever-increasing dissatisfaction about her circumstance that he’d seen a glimpse of when he spoke to her.
And he feared she would soon break under the weight of that and perhaps do something…foolish.
As if conjured by his expectations, the curtains to the bedroom opened again. Behind them he could see Ilaria as she moved about the room with her companion and body double, Sasha Killick. From this distance, they did look a great deal alike—he could see why the young woman had been brought into that duty.
But he could easily tell them apart. There was something about the way Ilaria moved. About the way she used her hands to talk. The way she tilted her head just so. Now, why he had memorized these tiny details, he did not wish to explore. But there they were, burned into his mind as he watched her.
By God, but she was beautiful. Up close, from a distance, none of it mattered. She was a flame and he was always drawn to her, impending burns be damned. Which was exactly why he should not have suggested he become her secret bodyguard.
In fact, what he ought to do was go around to the front of the house, knock on the door and tell Grantham he would not be able to perform this role. Suggest that he find some other arrangement and then stay away from Ilaria for the remainder of the family visit, even if that meant going back to his estate along the Welsh border and hiding there until this temptation had passed.
And perhaps he would have done that. Perhaps he would have packed up his inappropriate feelings and desires and done the right thing, only just as he moved to do so he noticed Ilaria step up to the window. She looked out, down toward the alley, as if she were looking for something. He backed his horse farther into the darkness, uncertain if she could see him. Only it wasn’t him she was looking at. She said something over her shoulder, likely to her companion, and pointed farther up the narrow lane.
He frowned. A carriage unmarked by the royal crest was parked there now.
What was going on?
He glanced up at the window and watched in utter disbelief and creeping horror as Ilaria raised the sash and then delicately stepped out onto the narrow ledge. She eased along it and then stopped. She drew a few breaths before she grasped the flimsy trellis near the window.
It was mightily impressive, actually, to watch her make her way down the wall. She didn’t hesitate, but made slow and steady progress as her companion watched from above, her nervousness as clear as Jonah’s.
For a moment, as she neared the ground, she wasn’t visible behind the high walls that surrounded the small estate.
He waited, holding his breath, hoping what he guessed was about to transpire was incorrect. But then a hidden gate along the wall opened and Ilaria stepped into the alleyway and bolted to the carriage. She was helped up by the driver, who retook his place, and they began to drive away toward the main street in the distance.
“Bloody hell,” Jonah muttered, then urged his horse to follow.
The woman would be the death of him. He just hoped she wasn’t about to do something that would be the death of her.
* * *
Ilaria set the mask on her face and secured it as best she could with her hands shaking. She was practically bouncing in the carriage as a thrill worked down her very bones.
Oh, she had snuck out before, back in Athawick. Often she slipped from the oppression of the palace down to the lake on the property. Without watchful eyes, she could swim naked in the cool water to clear her mind. It was heavenly.
Never had she made an escape in a strange city to go do something as wicked as she was about to do. Her heart throbbed at just the idea, though her mind had not yet formulated a plan to go along with this impulsive decision.
Would she just look around? Would she participate? She didn’t know. And the lack of a plan made her both nervous and excited. She’d had every moment of her life planned for so long.
The carriage began to slow, and she peeked out to see a nondescript building with an elaborately carved door before her. The vehicle rocked as the drive stepped down and opened the door for her. With a little extra blunt slipped into their pockets, there were a handful of servants who were willing to help the royal family’s children. Darby was one of them. The driver, Nicholson, was another.
She took his hand and stepped out. She looked up at the building with a shiver of excitement.
“I’ll wait, Your H—”
She lifted a hand to stay his words. “Perhaps we ought not use formalities in this situation, Nicholson.”
“Of course. I shall wait for you,” he said with a bow.
She nodded her understanding and then turned to the door. It was drawn open by a perfectly liveried servant who did not seem curious about or surprised by her appearance here. She acknowledged him silently as she passed through the door into an antechamber where another finely dressed gentleman stood by at a podium which contained a large book.
“Good evening,” he said as she slipped inside. “May I have your membership name?”
She blinked. There had been something about this in the notes Darby had given her. Memberships were attached to a false name so that no one would ever suspect those who wished to remain anonymous.
“I-I have heard a nonmember may purchase a night here?” she said.
“Of course, madam.” He wrote something on a slip of paper and handed it over.
When she unfolded it, it contained the sum she must pay. Luckily she had been prepared by the recognizance of her servant, so she carefully pressed the notes she had brought with her into the paper and handed it back.
“Excellent. What name would you like to use for the evening?”
That was the one thing she had not fully decided. To go incognito was such a thrilling thing and she wanted to find something that would fit.
When she didn’t answer immediately, the gentleman smiled with indulgence, as if he saw this sort of thing all the time. And she supposed he likely did. “It can be a last name or a first name. Often people choose the name of a friend, slightly altered, of course.”
She swallowed because as she stood at the precipice of this adventure and all the passion it could bring, she could think of only one name. Only one man.
“Miss Crawford,” she whispered.
“Very good,” he said, scribbling the name down. “Please leave your mask on at all times. To remove it is at your own risk of exposure. Do not ask any other guest to remove their mask. They may do so only of their own volition. If you are told no by another guest, you must cease whatever you are doing. If you say no at any time, your partner or partners must do the same. Mr. Rivers vets his membership very well, but if you are ever in need to aid, tap your cheek three times with your forefinger. Guards are on the lookout for that signal from ladies. You may also say the word ‘chestnut’ to anyone who works here and that is also a signal that you need assistance. Do you have any questions?”
She swallowed hard. “No.”
“Then welcome to the Donville Masquerade.” As he said it, he moved to the door and swung it open to reveal a huge room. She stepped forward in wonder and stared at the brightly lit hall filled with people laughing and dancing and gambling…and also kissing and touching and even more.
“Oh…” she whispered, moving forward like she was being drawn by a magnet.
She was no innocent, but this was far more than she’d ever been exposed to. Women and men ground together in passionate displays, naked bodies were visible. In the distance she saw a stage where a fully nude woman was doing an erotic dance as men and women alike applauded and left coins on the stage for her.
Ilaria’s breath hitched, her body tingled and it felt like she was in a dreamy fog as she glided forward to see and feel even more. But before she had made it even a few steps, she felt the grip of fingers against her elbow.
She jerked to face the person who had been so bold, only to find herself staring up into gray eyes she knew well. Gray eyes that were dilated and hard with anger and concern…and something more. Something heated.
“C-Captain,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying.
He shook his head slowly. “Princess, I think you’d best come with me.”