To Protect a Princess by Jess Michaels

Chapter 7

Two Years Before

The Island of Athawick

Jonah stood on the terrace outside the glittering ball, staring up at the stars. In the three weeks since his arrival on the island, he’d had little time to himself. The party always seemed to have something to do, somewhere to be and it was unfailingly tedious. It never amounted to anything but those with power showing off for each other. So far removed from his world.

And then there was the other problem with this visit. The one that had sent him dashing from the ballroom as much as the ridiculous speeches and grandiosity of the regent and the king.

Ilaria.

He shut his eyes as he thought of her, as if that would block out the stirrings of his heart rather than make them all the stronger. After all, the woman haunted both his dreams and his every waking moment.

Three weeks and he had spoken to her beyond a polite greeting all of six times. And yet each one was seared into his mind. He could picture every smile that had flitted over her face, every time their eyes had met, every word of every conversation. They never delved into anything too personal, nor too deep. Sometimes he felt like they danced around reality, but Ilaria never allowed them to jump over the edge. Still, he liked her, with the fire in her eyes and the slightly wicked tilt to her smile. Liked her too much. Which was why he’d left the ballroom, because he couldn’t stop staring at her in her pale pink gown with a sparkling diamond tiara perched amongst the perfectly arranged brown curls.

At some point, someone was going to notice.

“Captain?”

He tensed, his hands fisting against the terrace wall edge. It seemed someone already had.

He turned toward the voice and barely kept himself from catching his breath. Ilaria stood a few feet away, hands clasped before her, a small smile on her face.

“Your Highness,” he said softly. “Good evening.”

She inclined her head. “Are you hiding, Captain?”

He swallowed hard. “I am not a very good dancer, I’m afraid. So I was hoping to avoid being dragged into humiliating myself.”

She tilted her head. “That is disappointing. There are a great many ladies who were looking forward to taking a turn around the dancefloor with you tonight.” She moved a little closer. “Including this lady.”

His lips parted. Her face was still utterly serene as she said those words and perhaps she only meant them in a friendly way. Still, the idea that she would want to do something so intimate as dance with him was thrilling.

She smiled as the strains of the music drifted out onto the terrace around them. “Ah, this is my favorite,” she said, and held out a hand. “Will you dance with me now?”

He blinked as he stared at the outstretched fingers. “Here? On the terrace?”

“If you truly fear your skills being judged, then the terrace seems the best place to test them. No one is looking. That is a rare enough thing in this place.” She flexed her fingers toward him. “I am not accustomed to being refused, Captain Crawford.”

He took her hand, barely holding back a shiver when her fingers tangled with his, even though they were both wearing gloves. “No one could ever refuse you, Your Highness.”

He drew her closer, catching a whiff of the lilac fragrance of her hair as he pressed one hand into her hip and they began to turn. She smiled up at him after he had maneuvered her in time to the music for a moment. “You are not so bad a dancer as you advertised, sir.”

He found himself chuckling. “Underselling is always best, I’ve found. Then I can only impress later.”

She broke into a wide grin that was unlike any other he’d ever seen grace her expression. It made him realize just how false those other smiles had likely been these last few weeks. This one was very real and it lit her up like a dozen candles. It made him want so very desperately to know what those ruby lips tasted like.

She must have sensed that desire, for the smile faded and her gaze locked with his for far too long. They slowed their movements, out of time to the music now, only dancing to their own rhythm. She turned her face toward his a touch more, lifting her lips as if offering them.

He might have done something foolish like draw her closer, like duck his head and kiss her, but the door to the terrace opened and she tugged away, spinning toward the terrace edge, her cheeks bright with color. It was her father who came upon them, and the king did not look particularly pleased as he moved toward them.

“Ilaria, you cannot neglect your guests,” he said sharply.

She tossed Jonah a quick look before she smiled at her father, another of those very false expressions. “I am not, for as you see, Captain Crawford is here. I came out to get some air and was very pleased to chat with him a moment.”

The king inclined his head toward Jonah. “Well, I think the good captain has been blessed with enough of your time. Go back inside, now, and find out who your mother has put on your dance card.”

Ilaria gave Jonah another brief look and then nodded. “Of course. Good night, Captain.”

“Good night, Your Highness.”

She slipped away, back toward the ballroom doors, and Jonah expected the king to follow her. But he didn’t, at least not immediately. He simply stood where he was, staring at Jonah. And then, he slowly shook his head. He said nothing, but the message was entirely clear as the king pivoted on his heel and stalked after his daughter, leaving Jonah with no doubt as to his place.

And it was not kissing a princess on a terrace.

* * *

1817

The Donville Masquerade, London

Jonah hadn’t meant to let things go so far. When he realized Ilaria’s carriage had stopped at the Donville Masquerade, he had thought to try to stop her before she entered the hall. But a cart had blocked his way so he could not stop her from entering, and when he reached the entrance, the doorman had kept him from following her, as was the custom, to protect each member’s identity.

But when he got into the hall, there was no mistaking her reaction. Her full lips were parted, her dark eyes darting from one delight to the next. The way she squirmed ever so slightly, the way her hands shook. He knew she was intrigued by what she saw. Aroused.

And it drove him to the edge of madness. But he’d also seen something else: the way the eyes of the entire hall had shifted to her. He didn’t think anyone recognized her thanks to the plain gown she was wearing and the mask covering the top half of her face, but that didn’t mean she was safe.

The men and women in this room were hunters. They wanted to play, to catch, to devour. How in the world could Ilaria react to such a thing? How could her innocence about the world not be changed by seeing what she was seeing…or even seduced into doing some of what she saw?

If he had been charged to protect her, he was damned well going to do it.

Which was why he had rushed forward and demanded she come with him. It was evident she recognized him, even though he, too, had donned a mask that had been provided at the door. Perhaps it was his voice or his eyes, it didn’t really matter. She was allowing him to guide her through the room, away from as much of the debauchery as he could manage. The back rooms at Donville were quiet. They were private, as long as one was careful.

They were the perfect place to escape with a lover. Not that that was his intent. They were also the perfect place to have a conversation with a recalcitrant princess.

He nodded to the guard at the back hallway and lifted his hand in the signal for what he wanted. A flash only members knew. The guard nodded back and made the sign for five with his fingers.

Jonah hustled Ilaria to Room Five and slammed the door behind them. At last he released her, shaking out his hand in the hopes he would stop feeling the heat of her, the softness against his skin. She stared at him as he stormed across the room and flicked shut the peephole that allowed guests to watch the activities of those in certain rooms.

When he pivoted back, Ilaria’s mouth had dropped open. “Was that…?”

“Yes,” he snapped out as he tugged off his mask and threw it aside. “Now explain yourself.”

“Captain Crawford…I…what are you doing here?” she asked.

He lifted both brows. “Right now I think we’d best deal with you. Stop stalling and out with it.”

Now her shock faded from her face and he saw her shift back into royal mode. She lifted her chin and looked at him with ice in her stare. “You can’t talk to me that way. I am Princess Ilaria of Athawick.”

“Say it louder so everyone can hear,” he snapped. He was pleased that at least her cheeks heated, so she was taking this somewhat seriously. “And please, spare me the indignation. You snuck out of your home and took yourself to a notorious sex club.”

She stared at him a moment. “How—how did you know I snuck out?”

He cleared his throat. He hadn’t meant to say that. It seemed she was not the only one who needed to be more prudent in this situation. He shifted as he tried to come up with an excuse. “Your mother and brother cannot possibly know you are here, and given that it is very late, one must assume you snuck out,” he said at last.

“Oh,” she said softly. He saw the starch go out of her. Saw her shoulders roll forward a fraction.

He moved toward her a step, even though he shouldn’t. He’d brought her back here for privacy, but they were in a bedroom. Next to a bed with satin sheets. The walls were covered with erotic art from all places in the world. This was an entirely inappropriate situation, especially considering the thoughts he sometimes had about this woman.

“What are you doing, Ilaria?” he asked, softer this time. More gently.

She paced away from him, worrying her hands before her for a moment before she let out a great sigh and sank down on the edge of bed. His throat tightened, because now the situation was even more precarious. It would be very easy to lower her back against the mattress and show her what coming here entailed.

He wasn’t going to do that. But it would be very easy.

She slid a finger beneath her mask and took it off, mussing her hair slightly in the process as she set it aside. “I…I don’t want to marry. Not this way.”

He nodded slowly. He already knew that. But the pain of how she said it was new. Honest. Heartbreaking. “So you came here to, what, Ilaria? Trade your virginity?”

She glanced up at him. “Not my virginity.”

He shook his head. “You see, that is what makes this so frustrating. You came here without thinking it through. It would be difficult to leave this place without trading your virginity, Ilaria. Sex is currency at Donville.”

“I can’t trade it because I no longer have it,” she said softly. Not with embarrassment. She didn’t look embarrassed in the slightest.

“I…oh.”

“There is no sad story, which is what I think you assume from your facial expression. I know a woman’s hymen is of great interest to men of this country.”

He flinched at the directness of that statement. “It is not in Athawick?”

“If a person is careful not to produce illegitimate offspring, why should one not indulge a little? That is how we view things in Athawick, for either men or women.”

“Very progressive,” he said.

She arched a brow. “Do you wish to judge me for having disposed of the construct of my innocence before wedlock? Despite the fact that men are expected and encouraged to do so?”

“I have no place to,” he said, though his mind was still reeling at the casual way she discussed this subject.

She stared up at him, dark eyes wide and holding his steadily. “And what if you did? What if you had a reason to care about that sort of thing? Not generally. When it came to me.”

He swallowed. She was treading in extremely dangerous waters now. He could not allow her to drag him in just as deep. Not if he wanted to get out of this without betraying a friend. Without betraying his own sense of honor.

“I happen to like the idea that every person should have control over their own body and what they do or do not do with it,” he said, wishing his voice didn’t have the slightest tremble.

“Very open-minded of you, Captain Crawford,” she said softly. “But while I may have not been judged for youthful dalliances in my country, my body is certainly not my own to control. Not really. Not for the long term.”

“I know you feel trapped,” he said, and stepped closer. She inched to the side, and he realized she was leaving him a place on the bed next to her. With a sigh, he took it, carefully perching so he didn’t touch her. “But Ilaria, this is not the best route to escape.”

“Isn’t it?” she said on a long sigh. “I just wanted to…to forget. I wanted to forget that I can’t fight what’s going to happen. I could fight them forever and I’ll still lose.”

He felt her desperation like acid on his skin. “You truly think you could never learn to love anyone you were matched with? The Earl of Bramwell…he really is a good man and—”

She held up a hand with a humorless laugh. “Don’t become my matchmaker, Captain. Not you.”

He wrinkled his brow. “Why not me?”

“You know why.” She worried her hands in her lap before she glanced up at him. “I know why. We can pretend it away all we like, but we both felt it when we saw each other again here in London. We felt it in Athawick, too, all those years ago.” He drew in a breath, but she shook her head. “Don’t deny it. I was on that terrace, too, that night. I’m not a fool.”

He clamped his lips back together and didn’t say those hollow words. “No, you’re not a fool.”

She turned a little and examined his face in the sparkling firelight. “What is your first name?”

He blinked down at her. “What?”

“I’ve only ever called you Captain Crawford,” she explained. “I’ve only ever thought of you as Captain Crawford. But if we’re going to talk about my virginity and admit that we want each other, desperate as this may be, I would like to know your first name.”

He swallowed hard. “Jonah,” he said.

“Like in the Bible?” she asked, blinking.

He choked on a laugh. “Though I’m not a particularly godly man, especially in this moment…yes. I do believe that is what my mother named me after. Seems fitting that I was drawn to the sea. Though I’ve never been swallowed by a whale.”

“Why are you not godly especially in this moment?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “Because I’m sitting on a bed in a sex club next to you, Ilaria. And we’ve already determined that you and I desire each other. It’s difficult to think of anything pious under these circumstances.”

She stared at him for what felt like a lifetime as the room got hotter and smaller, then she leaned a little closer. He felt her breath brush across his chin, warm and soft and sweet.

“Then why try to be pious, Jonah?” She said his name and it was like nails raking across his naked back. Wicked. “I don’t want you to be.”

She leaned up, cupping his cheek. He felt the weight of every one of those soft fingers, pressing into his skin, burning him like a brand. Time slowed until it meant nothing—the only thing with meaning was how she was leaning up into him. Closer and closer, inch by inch until there was no distance between them anymore. At last she pressed her lips to his.

He caught her upper arms as she did so, intent on pushing her away. Only he found he couldn’t. It wasn’t possible when her mouth was like heaven on his, impossible when she parted her lips slightly and whispered his name against his mouth, impossible when her tongue darted out and traced the crease of his lips.

He opened to her instead of turning away, tugging her even closer as he forgot his promises to himself and to her brother, forgot that this was wrong, forgot everything except the never-ending drumbeat of desire that roared through his veins.

She felt it too. That was clear in the way she sucked his tongue as he breached her mouth. She lifted into him, clenching his lapels with both hands as their mouths collided harder and faster and with less and less control. His entire body thrummed with need, and he recognized he had very little time left to pull away before he was going to be swept into the sea by her. Lost to her.

If that happened, there would be no going back.

* * *

Ilaria had been kissed before…or at least she thought she had. This moment was making her question that fact, along with everything else in her life. Kissing Jonah had been a curiosity that had haunted her for two years, but also a way to retain the control he wanted to strip away.

Thatwas a colossal failure. There was no control in this moment of clashing lips and tongues and teeth. No control in how she lifted to him, her body aching for more, begging for more. There was no control in any of this, and for one of the first times in her life, she didn’t care. If she could feel this man move inside of her, she would trade all the control in the world.

But he had different ideas. With a curse that was muffled against her lips, he yanked away from her, pushing to his feet and striding across the room to the fire. He stood there, back to her, shoulders lifting and falling with his panting breaths.

“I can’t do this,” he said without looking at her.

Her heart sank, far more than she wished it to. She folded her arms as if she could shield herself from the disappointment, from the rejection. “You mean you won’t.”

He turned at that and his gray gaze pierced through her, held her in place with an ease that frightened her. “Same difference,” he choked out.

She got up and shook her head. “No, it isn’t. And you know it.”

He let out an exasperated exhalation and ran a hand through his thick, ruddy hair. She could see his frustration, how close he was to coming undone. It was a crack in that façade of perfect, military precision and she longed to see what he would become if she shattered it. What was under there? What kind of beast would be unleashed?

“What do you want from me, Ilaria?” he barked.

She met his stare and moved toward him, hoping she looked more confident then she felt. He didn’t move, but tracked her as she crossed to him. He watched as she took his hand and lifted it, resting it against her breast. His fingers flexed just the slightest, but enough to send a shock of awareness through her.

“I want you to do exactly what you want to do.”

They stood like that for what felt like a lifetime, and she thought he might bend to her. Break for her. But instead he pulled away, tugging his hand away from her body and flexing it at his side. “We both know that’s impossible.”

“Why?” she pressed.

He shook his head. “I’m not the match for you, Ilaria and I never have been. That’s all that matters now.”

She flinched at his reminder. “Repeating the party line for my family, I see. You should be on their payroll.”

Now he was the one who flinched and his gaze darted away. But he didn’t move toward her. He didn’t touch her.

“What just happened mattered to me, Jonah,” she said softly. “Just so you know.”

He glanced at her. “Ilaria—”

She turned away this time. She had already been rejected once—she didn’t feel like repeating it. She straightened her spine and tried to make herself as cold as possible as she lifted a hand to silence him. “You needn’t tell me twice, Captain. You don’t want me…or you do want me but you’re too cowardly to pursue it. Either way, I’ll find someone else who isn’t so concerned about propriety.”

She moved for the door with those words, but he lunged for her, catching her elbow in a surprisingly gentle, if firm, grip. “You cannot stay here,” he said, his voice rough.

She arched a brow. “I have no intention of staying, Captain. My night has been ruined and I’m in no mood to play. But understand something, you can’t thwart me forever. No one can.”

With that, she pulled her arm from his hand and exited the room. She almost expected him to catch her again, to try to stop her, control her. But he didn’t. Though she felt him watching her, following her at a safe distance, she supposed to insure that she did, indeed, leave this place.

Out in the main hall, the crowd was still writhing, and she caught her breath. After that kiss with Jonah, after all the pleasure it had implied, the activities of the attendees felt even more powerful. They made her already edgy body react even further.

The music felt so loud, and every time the crowd jostled her she almost couldn’t breathe. She moved toward the door and had almost reached it when she felt something scrape along her side. She jerked her gaze down and then looked around for who or what had touched her, but the room was too close and busy to determine it.

She made it to the door and exited into the antechamber with a gasp. The same man who had helped her earlier looked up from his paperwork. “Ah, hello again, Miss Crawford.”

She almost tripped. She’d used Jonah’s name for her false identity—she’d almost forgotten. If he found out…

“I-I need my carriage,” she whispered.

“Of course,” the gentleman said, and moved to the front door where he said something to the guard outside.

She followed him, and within moments her vehicle was sliding to a stop before her. The guard helped her up and off they sped, back toward the high walls of the fortress where her brother and mother wanted her to stay. Far from the crowd and from the man who tempted her to more.

She smoothed her hands along her gown as if that movement could soothe her discombobulation, and that was when her fingers caught something in the fabric. She glanced down in the dimness of the carriage and saw that there was a large tear in the folds of fabric across her midsection. A clean cut, as if not torn but sliced. She pushed the silk away and found a slight scratch across her stomach beneath.

“What in the world…?” she mused, running her finger along the light abrasion. It had to have happened when she felt that very area touched as she exited the club, but what could have made such a mark was beyond her. All she knew was that Sasha was going to be cross, indeed. This was one of her favorite gowns.

Ilaria pursed her lips. All she’d managed to do tonight was rip a gown and annoy a friend. The whole evening was wasted, after all.

Well, except for that kiss. She couldn’t regret that, even if her time with Jonah hadn’t ended as she’d wanted it to. Even if he was frustratingly determined to keep her from getting what she wanted. What she needed.

Which meant he was just one more person she’d need to subvert to do just that.