Princess Charming (11 page)

Mutiny rose within her, but evidently Nick was wise enough to forestall her rebellion by the simple expediency of reclaiming her lips with his own. As the tingling shock of his kiss turned her bones to porridge, her control slipped away. The intimacy of the contact frightened her, but the pleasure of it made her arms steal around his neck as his mouth pressed more firmly against hers. When she felt the tip of his tongue brush against her lips, her knees gave way entirely, and his arms came around her to hold her upright.

It was like the bonfires she remembered from the country fairs of her childhood, warmth that began with a small flame and grew with each passing moment until one must back away or be singed. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her body flamed with awareness. He opened his mouth, slanting it against hers, and Lucy welcomed the deepening of his kiss. He pulled her closer, and she gasped at the contact. It was far too intimate, and yet every part of her felt that it was right, this conflagration that Nick had started within her.

“I should stop,” he breathed against her ear when he’d deserted her mouth to trail kisses down the sensitive skin of her neck, but Lucy didn’t want him to, could no longer remember any reason why he should. She could have kissed him forever, or at least as long as he managed to hold her upright. Her body felt at once strong and weak, as though he had cast some magic spell over her limbs. As if in response to her thoughts, he settled her more closely against his chest, and both of his hands sank lower until they clasped her bottom.

Lucy froze.

Fear, stark and bold, coursed through her, dousing the flames of passion. He was so close she could have crawled inside his skin, and what frightened her was how much she wanted to do just that. Not because he was handsome or strong, but because he was Nick. Lady Belmont’s gardener. A man who would rout villains or even wear a bodiced petticoat on her behalf. Oh, heavens.

“Lucy?” His hands slid upward to catch her shoulders, and he stepped back. She forced herself to look at him even as she pushed away the feelings his touch evoked. Longing was futile, as was desire. There was no place for such things in her life, even less since yesterday’s disasters.

“I have to go.” She only just managed to keep the words from sounding as
desperate as they felt.

“And I should be happy to oblige you, but I’m afraid, for whatever reasons, Crispin has other ideas.” He was looking at her carefully, and Lucy knew he was no fool. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and moved back. “Perhaps I should say I regret what just happened, but, at the moment, I find myself unable to mouth such falsehoods.” His eyes were still fixed on her, and they burned with the same intensity that his touch had carried.

Why did he have to have those beautiful, beautiful eyes that were the exact shade of chocolate? “I have to go,” she repeated, rather like some dull-witted parrot.

“Yes, I believe you mentioned that.”

Lucy forced her feet to move somewhere, anywhere. Without thinking, she walked backward into the coal cellar and came to a stop in the middle of the room. She spun around, once, twice.

And then the light from the window fell on her, and she saw her escape.

With a practiced eye, she judged the distance to the window, as
well as
its dimensions. She would never have made it in a skirt, but wearing breeches, she stood a chance. If Nick would help her.

Nick had followed her into the room, and he now leaned against the door frame, his chest and shoulders only a few shades lighter than the wood. “Lift me up.” She gestured toward the window. “If it latches from inside, I can get through. Then I’ll come back through the house and unlock the door.”

She saw him eye the window, mentally measuring as
she had done. “It will still be a stretch, even if we manage to get you on my shoulders,” he countered. “And it will take the skill of a climbing boy.”

“I can manage. Besides, it’s better than waiting for Lord Wellstone to return.”

She could tell by his annoyed expression that she’d somehow hurt his feelings, but she hadn’t meant to. Surely he had no more desire to be trapped with her than she had to be trapped with him. Except, of course, for that kiss. There was entirely too much desire in that kiss.

He moved away from the door and came toward her. Her heart raced, but she resolutely willed herself to stand still.

“I’ll strike a bargain with you, Lucy.”

Why did his mouth have to be so intriguing? Why couldn’t his shoulders have been stooped and narrow, instead of strong and broad? And why, oh why did her heart pound like heavy summer rain on the stable roof whenever he said her name?

“A bargain?”

“Yes. You tell me why those two ruffians were following you, and I’ll be happy to lift you up to the window.”

Lucy’s stomach sank. “That’s not a bargain. That’s blackmail. Besides, it’s none of your—”

“Don’t say that this is none of my affair. It became my affair the moment you struck me on the head with Lady Belmont’s garden door.”

She paused. He did have a point, but, still, the truth was not something to be shared lightly. Most reformers had prices on their heads, and in these desperate times when a single loaf of bread cost half a week’s wage, the lure of money could turn the noblest of working men into informers.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to wait here until Crispin returns. Perhaps, when I escort you home, I can share our little adventures with the duchess. I’m sure she would be most interested to know how you passed the night.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, indeed, I would.”

She hated smug men. They crossed their arms across their muscled chests, smiled with self-satisfaction, and watched one dangle like a worm on a hook.

“Very well.” She paused, uncertain where to begin. “What do you know of the Luddites?”

“Rabble-rousers,” Nick replied shortly, his brow furrowed in disdain. “Framework-knitters in Nottinghamshire who terrorized their employers when they would not meet their outrageous demands.”

Of course it had been too much to hope that he would see beyond the propaganda the government had spread. “Good, honest men,” she shot back, “who starved while their employers engaged in ruinous speculation and destroyed the quality of their work.”

Nick frowned. “There was no excuse for their lawlessness. The militia were called out, and the dragoons. They disturbed the public peace, and if they were treated harshly, it was no more than they deserved.”

“Their children were starving!” Maybe it was better that he didn’t comprehend the justice of her cause, since his lack of sympathy for the poor rendered him far less attractive. A thick heaviness settled in her stomach.

“What have you to do with the Luddites?” His frown had disappeared, to be replaced with a look of doubt.

“Nothing. The fictional Ned Ludd is long departed, but there are some who still believe in reform. If Parliament can be brought to see the need for universal suffrage—”

His jaw dropped. “Allow every field laborer and vagrant the vote? We have only to look across the Channel to France to see the consequences of that.” He began to pace in front of her, and Lucy felt a strange lurch in the vicinity of her heart. She had been right, after all, to put a stop to his kiss.

Lucy took a deep breath as she marshaled her arguments. “Every man should have the right to participate in the government that rules over him. You, of all people, should understand that. Lady Belmont will probably sack you once she discovers what has happened.”

His face had gone white, but Lucy didn’t wonder at his response. Sometimes the strongest opposition to reform came from the very people it was intended to help.

“I don’t believe you.” His words were clipped, his spine straight and unyielding. “Even those crackbrained reformers would never allow a young woman to put herself at such risk. Suffrage is the prerogative of men. Why would you fight for rights you will never share?”

Her answer was little more than a whisper, a wish locked so deep in her heart she rarely ever let herself dream it. “Perhaps one day I will.”

“You are a fool.” He said the words as calmly and as plainly as if he were commenting on the weather. “Reform can never succeed, not until human nature changes. Reform is merely a clever word to conceal the real purpose—revolution.”

His contempt was better for her purposes, she knew that, but it hurt nonetheless. She struggled against the need for his good opinion. He was a means to an end, nothing more. She couldn’t allow him to be more. Lucy glanced toward the window and then at Nick again, refusing to cry. She hated that she felt disappointed in him. “We will never resolve this, and you did make a bargain.”

Small white lines fanned around his mouth. “Yes. I suppose I did.”

When he came toward her, it was as if he could barely stand to be in her presence, and though she knew his distaste shouldn’t hurt her, it did. He moved next to the wall and laced his fingers together, reluctantly offering her his help. “I’ll boost you up. If you can open the window, then we can be rid of each other that much sooner.”

This time when Lucy stood next to him, she felt no anticipation, no tingle along her spine, just a deep sadness. She placed her foot in his joined hands but held back from touching him elsewhere.

“You’ll have to put your hands on my shoulders,” he pointed out, his voice detached and almost bored. Resolutely, Lucy did as he said, and he hoisted her up. Her fingers scrambled for the lock on the window and flipped the catch. With a shove, she lifted the sash.

“Can you lift me higher?” She needed only another six inches or so.

“On the count of three,” he instructed, his voice still cold. “One, two—”

It was like flying. She managed to duck under the sash, but her momentum scraped her shoulders against the window frame. She ignored the pain and pulled herself through the opening. When she stumbled to her feet, she found herself near the service door where she’d entered the house. No one was about on the street above. She turned back to the window and knelt. Nick had moved to the middle of the room, and she could see him clearly framed in the morning light.

“Can you find your way back round?” he asked. From that height, he looked smaller and much less formidable. “I can only hope that Crispin left the key in the lock.”

“It’s of no account,” she said, and he looked up in surprise.

“Of course it is of some account. I’ve no desire to remain in here any longer than necessary.”

“No, I mean it’s of no account, because I’m not coming back for you.” She watched his face as her words registered.

“You little—”

“I’m sorry, Nick. But given your feelings toward the reformers, it’s time we parted ways.” She paused, wanting to say something, wanting to take away the sting of what she knew she had to do. “Thank you, though, for everything.”

It was a feeble peace offering and one he brushed aside. “Lucy,” he warned, his hands clenching into fists, “don’t do this. You’ll regret it. I swear you’ll regret it.”

This was the second time she had cried since the day before, and she never cried. “Good-bye, Nick.”

She looked at him one last time, taking in the memory of his face as if she were drawing her last breath of air. Something shifted deep within her, something breathtaking and important, but Lucy refused to analyze the feeling. She stumbled to her feet and ran, but even the pounding of her half boots on the stairs did not drown out the deep voice furiously calling her name.