To Protect a Princess by Jess Michaels
Chapter 9
Ilaria came down the staircase and up the long, winding halls toward the parlor. She was early, which was a miracle in itself. She was never early to anything. Princesses were to be fashionably late, her mother had always said, so their entrance could be seen and enjoyed by those who had come a long way to view them.
She snorted her derision. Perhaps that was why she had insisted on being early tonight. To thwart her mother. Or maybe it was that she couldn’t sit still and needed to move, so she had rushed June in her preparations.
Whatever the reason, she only knew she felt out of sorts. Uncomfortable. She kept thinking of that kiss with Jonah, sitting on the bed at a bawdy house. She kept thinking of how he’d refused her. How much that hurt, even if she pretended it didn’t.
“Foolish girl,” she grunted to herself as she entered the parlor.
She had expected it to be empty yet, but as she stepped inside she was shocked to see the very subject of her angry musings standing at the fireplace, staring up at a landscape hung there.
“Jonah,” she gasped, and he turned toward her, his eyes as wide as her own. She cleared her throat and quickly gathered herself. “Captain Crawford, good evening. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Nor I you, Your Highness,” he said, his voice rough.
She arched a brow. “You did not expect me in my own house?”
“I didn’t expect you to be down so early,” he corrected.
“And yet you are here abominably early, Captain,” she said, glancing at the clock on the mantel pointedly. “Were you raised in a barn?”
“No, madam,” he said, his lips twitching like he wanted to laugh. Suddenly she wished he would. “In a middle-class home in central London.” His cheek tightened and his gaze got a little darker. “Occasionally in a barrister’s office.”
She blinked, for he had just given her a glimpse into his past that she had never thought to explore. Now, though, she wanted to know more about him. What had made the man who stood before her, so handsome in his formal attire, every auburn hair in place, gray eyes boring into her?
She cleared her throat. This man had rejected her the night before. She really had to attempt a little decorum. Just a little.
She sniffed and pivoted to the sideboard. “Drink?”
“Yes,” he said.
She felt him watching as she poured herself sherry and the same for him. When she handed the drink over, his fingers lightly brushed her own and she caught her breath despite herself. Lunging for control, she said, “So, my brother invited you to his little pony show.”
He said nothing, but continued watching her closely.
She shrugged. “I wonder if Grantham would be so solicitous if he knew about that kiss.”
Now his jaw twitched. At last she had elicited a response. “Ilaria.”
The way he said her name, almost a low growl, made heat sluice through her. Settle in the most inappropriate places. She forced a smile. “Jonah,” she said. “Don’t worry yourself. I won’t tell him. I would hurt myself more than you by doing so.”
He snorted before he took a long drink. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do,” she insisted. “Grantham is in no mood for me as of late, I assure you.”
Jonah’s brow wrinkled. “He must manage a great deal.”
She sighed. “Yes. I know.”
Jonah took a small step closer. Such a tiny distance, and yet she suddenly felt very close, very hot. She looked up at him and her breath disappeared. It was like the previous night when he’d kissed her. Suddenly he was all that mattered.
“You know some of it,” he said softly.
She drew back, the spell between them somewhat lifted by that odd statement. “What does that mean?” she asked.
Before he could respond, there was the bustle of people entering the room. She turned and somehow manage to smile. Sasha was laughing with Remi, the queen was on Grantham’s arm. Behind them came a small collection of guests, and suddenly Ilaria recalled she had been meant to meet them in the foyer. Judging by her mother’s pointed glare, she would pay for that distracted mistake.
She stepped away from Jonah and glided toward the newcomers to welcome them and smooth the feathers she had ruffled. It was only when she reached the parlor door that she realized the last guests into the chamber were the Earl of Bramwell and his mother.
She sighed and cast one last glance at Jonah, who was standing in the middle of the room just watching her. It was obvious it was going to be a very long night. One she would have to smile through and hope she would not break and make things worse.
* * *
Jonah had watched Ilaria all night. It had been a challenge, for the gathering wasn’t particularly large and it was too easy for someone to catch him staring at her. So he’d glanced from the corner of his eye, positioned himself to be able to see her over someone’s shoulder as they talked, moved himself to and fro just to catch a glimpse.
She always had a smile on her face, but he was coming to realize how often that expression was false. It hadn’t reached her eyes at any time during this long night. He’d observed her talking, laughing, and yet he’d heard the strain in her voice. Seen it in the way her hands fisted at her sides, opening and shutting over and over.
And when she was alone? When she thought no one was observing her? That was when he saw how very close to the edge she was. She shuddered every time she spoke to the Earl of Bramwell, even though no one could ever accuse the man of being anything but decent. And Jonah knew many considered him handsome. There was no denying that was true. But when Ilaria looked at the earl, it was clear she saw him as nothing more than a trap ready to spring shut and hold her forever. Her future was slipping through her fingers, and as the night wore on, Jonah began to realize just how dangerous that was.
Ilaria had already flung herself out of a window and raced alone to a sex club in order to escape her future. What else might she do if her desperation rose?
He didn’t want to find out, so as the dwindling crowd milled around the parlor, he moved toward her and stepped up beside her. She glanced over at him with a questioning look on her face. “Good evening again,” she said softly. “I thought you would avoid me all night. And yet here you are.”
“Here I am,” he drawled, wishing his heart weren’t beating so damned fast. Could she hear it? “Ilaria, I’ll help you.”
She wrinkled her brow. “I’m sorry?”
He sighed and looked around to ensure no one was listening to them. “You want a taste of freedom, you said. You want a little escape before the inescapable, yes? A moment before the cage is fully locked and you cannot escape what you believe is inevitable?”
She pivoted to fully face him now and her eyes had gone wide, her mouth dropped open. “You’ll help me?”
He shook his head at her lack of decorum in the half-full room. “If you create a scene now, you’ll make this harder on yourself, you know.”
She snapped her mouth shut and gripped her hands before herself, but she was practically vibrating as she repeated herself, this time on a whisper, “You’ll help me?”
“Yes, but there will be a few rules,” he said.
She nodded. “Of course.”
“We will disguise you any time you are out. Your family doesn’t deserve censure and I think you would agree about that.”
“They don’t,” she said, and glanced toward her mother. “I know they are trying their best, even if I don’t like the methods. What else?”
“You must listen to me when we are out. I don’t want to argue for ten minutes with you about what is safe and not safe and then have you hurt or worse.” He arched a brow. “Do you understand?”
She extended her lower lip in the prettiest pout. One he wanted to nip with his teeth until she sighed against him like she had last night. He pushed those thoughts away as she nodded.
“Finally,” he said, hearing how rough with desire his voice now sounded. He hoped she couldn’t hear it. “You will not go out by yourself in some misguided attempt to go wild. You will allow me to protect you.”
She stared up at him silently, but he didn’t need words. He saw her desire flare in her eyes, felt it in the way her breath caught just a fraction, in the way a little pink entered her cheeks. Whatever her thoughts were, they were not chaste. Heat sliced through him at that realization, settling in places where he would soon not be able to hide it. He quickly thought of anything else to keep himself from humiliation in the King of Athawick’s parlor.
“Whatever you say, Jonah,” she said softly, and then she slowly licked her lips.
“Don’t play with fire, Princess,” he said. “You might not like getting burned as much as you think you will.” He noted that Grantham was watching them, so he inched back a fraction. “We can’t talk about this here. I’ll meet you tonight at one in the alleyway behind your home. Do not, and I mean this, do not climb out your window. Slip into the garden from a door.”
She tilted her head. “How did you know I came out a window before?”
He caught his breath. He was so wrapped up in this woman, he was forgetting himself. “Lucky guess. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
He turned away and went about the business of goodbyes to the rest of the royal family. But as he stepped out and motioned for his horse, his hands began to shake with anticipation. He had just made what he knew would likely turn out to be a huge mistake. But it was done now. So it was time to make his plans, both on what the next move was, and how to keep Ilaria from crawling even deeper beneath his skin.
* * *
The night was utterly still when Ilaria and Sasha stepped from the servants’ entrance and into the garden. Ilaria looked around, though she was certain there would be no one outside. If they were going to get caught in this endeavor, it would have been in the hallways. And yet her heart throbbed.
Sasha caught her hand before she could move farther and Ilaria turned back. Her friend was worrying her lip as she looked out into the dark garden. “Ilaria, this cannot be a good idea. Sneaking out once was trouble enough, but doing it again, this time to meet with a man in the alley…even a man we know…”
Ilaria shook her head. She hadn’t told Sasha about her encounter with Jonah at the Donville Masquerade earlier. How could she? And reveal what she’d seen? Reveal that passionate kiss and how he had denied her afterward?
No, she couldn’t say that, even to her best friend. Her sister, for all intents and purposes.
“Captain Crawford won’t let me come to any harm, Sasha. I can guarantee that. And no, it might not be the best of ideas, but I need this.” She clasped Sasha’s hand tighter. “I need it, Sasha. I feel like I’m going to come out of my skin every time I have to shake another hand, smile another smile, pretend I’m fine with being used as chattel for my brother’s ambitions.”
Sasha’s expression softened. “I know it’s difficult. I know this isn’t what you want.”
“No,” Ilaria whispered. “But I’ll do it, won’t I? In the end I will have no choice, not unless I wish to destroy my brother’s hopes. But until that moment comes, can I not have just a tiny escape? Just some small pleasure for myself before all of my pleasures are ripped from me.”
“That is a little dramatic, love,” Sasha said.
Ilaria bent her head. “Perhaps it is. But it feels so very real to me that I can hardly breathe.”
Sasha leaned forward and bussed her cheek. “Then go with him. But promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will,” Ilaria said.
“I’ll try to stay awake and look for your return,” Sasha whispered as Ilaria raced into the twisting maze of the garden. The gate hidden in the high wall took a moment for her to find, but she managed and turned the rusty handle to hurtle herself into the alleyway.
She looked around in the darkness for any sign of Jonah, but before she could call for him, he stepped from the shadows. A cloud blew away from the moon in that moment and the light fell on him. She caught her breath. He looked like some fallen angel. Wicked and beautiful, a temptation embodied that would drag her to hell.
But oh, what a journey it would be.
“Ilaria,” he said softly. “Come.”
She blinked at the order and the double meaning of that little word. He tilted his head when she didn’t move and motioned to the phaeton parked just up the alleyway. She jumped, pulled from her thoughts. “Oh, yes,” she whispered.
She followed him to the vehicle and stared up at it. Somehow when she pictured Jonah making his way around London, she hadn’t ever put him in a rig like this. It was sleek and modern with its big back wheels on swan-necked leaf springs and its body mounted daringly high. The body of the phaeton had been painted a bright, lemon-yellow with shiny black highlights that glistened in the moonlight.
She let out a whistle. “This is a thing of beauty.”
He gave a half-smile. “Thank you. I do not often wish to race around London streets, but tonight seems the time to be dangerous.” He held out a hand to help her up.
She grasped his fingers. “Yes.”
After she had settled herself in, he took the driver’s seat and they trotted off toward the street. For a while, they were silent. He seemed comfortable in that quiet, she was less so. She simply couldn’t think of anything to say to a man who so confused her. He kissed her, he refused her. He watched her, he told her he would help.
The man was a riddle, that was certain.
“Where…where are we going?” she asked when it felt like a lifetime had passed.
He gave her a side glance as he turned down yet another street and then motioned his head forward. She followed the flick of his chin and caught her breath. The Donville Masquerade was just before them.
“There is a mask on the seat,” he said softly.
She grabbed for it and tied it on with shaking hands, even as she asked, “Why?”
The vehicle slid to a smooth stop and he set the reins down. Pivoting in his seat, he faced her full on.
“You want to play, Ilaria? Then let’s play.”