Princess Charming (22 page)

“Given the scandal, Your Grace, I do not think the match would have been to my stepsisters’ advantage.” Lucy dug the toe of her slipper into the carpet, idly drawing a map of the East End in the rich nap. She marked the location of Spitalfields by making an indentation with her heel. After her humiliation at Carlton House, she had known that it was pointless to try to assume her place among the
ton.
No, she had been right before to believe that her home was among the common folk, and from now on, among them she would stay.

The duchess lifted her fan and gave it a few weak waves. “The scandal, as you call it, would have been allayed if you had only accepted Prince Nicholas. You tricked me, Lucy Charming. Placing the engagement announcement in the
Times
before I had any knowledge of your underhanded dealings. Mr. Whippet has no money and only limited connections—nothing of use to my girls.”

Lucy stiffened. “I kept my word, madame. I agreed to accept an offer of marriage, and so I did. In the end, you will have your share of my marriage portion, as you desired when you bargained with Mr. Whippet. Surely that is some comfort.” From the hall, the casement clock chimed the quarter hour. If she could not escape from the drawing room soon, she would be late for the reform meeting. It was a considerable distance to Spitalfields, at least on foot, but though Lucy had listened to the rousing speeches of Sir Frances Burdette and William Wilburforce, she had never heard the famous Orator Hunt. She did not mean to miss him this day.

“Money is no comfort,” the duchess moaned. “No comfort at all. If those reformers had ever returned, I would have locked them in the cellars until the Runners came, and you along with them.” She paused and took a large swallow from the glass of port that rested on the low table next to her. Her eyes narrowed. “You have made some sort of bargain with Mr. Whippet, have you not? He has been strangely absent for a newly engaged man.”

If her stepmother only knew. “No doubt he has been out spending my dowry,” Lucy said as she rose from her chair. “I must beg you to excuse me now, madame. There are matters that require my attention.”

With a curtsy, Lucy slipped from the room. It was nearly time for Nick to ring the doorbell again, and his presence would only open a new round of complaints of ill-use from the duchess.

Lucy hurried up the stairs and toward the luxurious new bedchamber her stepmother had given her in hopes of tempting her into accepting Nick. The large chamber’s embroidered curtains and bed hangings were by far the finest in the house. Lucy let herself inside and disappeared into the adjoining dressing room.

She reemerged a few moments later, clad in the breeches and shirt she’d been given by Madame St. Cloud. Her curls were tucked up in the leather cap. She paused to check her appearance in the mirror and frowned. Too pristine. Too feminine. She crossed to the fireplace and rubbed her fingers across the coal in the scuttle. Back at the mirror, she smudged her face until she resembled an overgrown climbing boy. “There.” She smiled with satisfaction, admiring her artistry. No women would stare now, and any men who ogled her would be thought very strange indeed.

Her route was a familiar one, so routine she paid little attention to her surroundings as she slipped out of the kitchen door. Lady Belmont’s garden was quiet as
well, but even so she was careful to walk lightly on the gravel path. She opened the small door—the very door that had been the cause of her recent troubles—and peeked out into the street beyond.

The normal foot traffic of servants and tradesmen bustled by, but Lucy saw no sign of lurking Santadorran guards or government spies. When a large dray rumbled past, she darted out into its wake. Soon she was far enough from home that she could turn back toward the east and Spitalfields.

In her haste, Lucy failed to hear the sound of pursuit until it was almost too late. The heavy footfalls drummed behind her with the rhythmic precision of one of His Majesty’s regiments. Her heart raced, dreading what was to come. Crispin might have launched two of Lord Sidmouth’s spies to the colonies, but there were always men willing to do the Home Secretary’s bidding.

Without glancing over her shoulder, she spun about and darted down an alley. The footsteps behind her increased in speed, and very quickly she was running flat out. Drat and double drat. She would never be on time now. The alley took a sharp, narrow twist and then came to a dead end. Lucy gasped and stopped short, glancing about for a place to hide. No casks or boxes of rubbish lay strewn about. Resigned, Lucy turned and prepared to confront her stalker, only to find Nick standing in front of her, dressed in his gardener’s attire and smiling with an irritating satisfaction. The sight of him did nothing to slow the pounding of her heart.

He bowed, mocking her. “Lady Lucinda. Very kind of you to receive me. Strange, but your butler believed you were not at home.” He glanced around the alley. “But, then, perhaps this might be more accurately characterized as your home away from home.”

“Go away.” Lucy saw no need to be polite. She stepped forward, thinking to slip past him, but he moved in front of her, blocking her way. Lucy went still as she fought the urge to lower her guard. He made her want to relinquish control, to give her fate into his keeping, much as she had surrendered control to him that night in the maze.

“Your Highness, I weary of these games.” Her heart was beating wildly, but not from fear. No, her pulse raced because he was there, standing in front of her, looking at her with those chocolate eyes and speaking to her with those supremely kissable lips. And in his eyes was a look of concern, so seductive in her loneliness, but concern she must do without. Being caught in his embrace by his father and the Regent had been embarrassing enough, but the weakness he made her feel was the most humiliating thing of all.

He didn’t reply, merely reached out—he was breathtakingly close—and traced the tip of his finger across her cheek. When he pulled his hand away, she could see the black stain there, and she blushed. She had forgotten about that part of her disguise, but it was too late for vanity. Indeed, it was too late for a great many things.

“I can assure you, Lucy, that I am not playing games.” Of course he wasn’t. She heard it in his voice, saw it in the stiffness of his spine as he stood before her. He was a man with a reputation for pleasure-seeking, but he appeared dead serious as he stood before her now.

“Can you not accept a ‘no’ when it is given to you, Your Highness? Do you think when someone declines your offer of marriage that she is not sincere?”

“Oh, no, madame, I believe you to be all too sincere. That is the problem.”

Lucy wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. He made her feel childish, when really she was only being sensible. Could he not see that? “We are not compatible, Your Highness. Surely you understand that as well as I. We would make each other miserable within a fortnight, if we even managed to be civil for that long.”

“Would we?” He raised one dark eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t agree. True, we are very different, but one of us might change.”

Lucy snorted. “And you intend for that person to be me.”

He paused, a look of consternation spreading across his face. “Well
 . . .
that is
 . . .
I hadn’t thought of it quite like that.”

“But you have, Nick.” His name came out, unbidden, but Lucy pressed on, hoping he would not notice the slip. “You have as
much intent to reform
me
as I have to bring change to England. But I have no intention of changing, so there is no need to press your suit. I absolve you of all guilt and will sort out my own life.”

It was a brave speech and would have been much more compelling if her palms had not been sweating and if she had not been acutely aware of how she longed to fling herself into his arms. The seductive lure of a hero could weave its spell around even her jaded heart. To depend upon him. To be safe. To have one’s cares and worries taken away, as if by a magic spell. But it was an illusion, for all that it was an attractive one. Lucy had learned that lesson at her father’s death.

“You will not change your mind, then?” he asked quietly. He seemed rather nonchalant for a man determined not to be spurned.

“Definitely not.”

He smiled then, that sinful, delicious smile that made her feel as if she were standing too close to a roaring fire. “Then I propose a wager,” he said.

“A what?” Lucy blinked.

“A wager. One I think will be of some interest to you.”

Her skin tingled, showers of sensation traveling over her body. He was too clever by half, and she would do well to be wary of princes offering wagers. “What is this wager?” she asked cautiously.

“It is a matter of my education.” He was looking smug again, a sure indication that her wariness was not unwarranted.

“Your education?” She laughed. “Have I not heard that you took honors at Oxford? I perceive no lack in your education, Your Highness, only in your manners.”

He stepped closer, if that were possible, until the only thing between them was a few inches of air. “Ah, but I am sadly lacking, my dear, in some important knowledge. Apparently there are compelling reasons for the cause of reform of which I remain blissfully unaware.” He leaned toward her, almost whispering. “But perhaps if someone might educate me
 . . .
”

“This is not amusing.” Lucy stepped back. He had no right to be so attractive and so unfeeling at the same time.

The teasing light left his eyes. “I don’t intend to amuse you, Lucy. I am quite serious.”

“Then what is your wager?” It would be too outrageous, too preposterous for her to even consider it, but perhaps if she heard him out he would leave, and she could be on her way to Spitalfields.

He smiled, much like a cat toying with a mouse. “If within the next fortnight you can convince me that reform is a noble and worthy endeavor, not mere rabble-rousing by treasonous malcontents, then I shall grant you your heart’s deepest desire—at least as far as it is in my power to do so.” He stopped, leaving her in suspense.

Lucy was skeptical. “What could you know of my heart’s desire? What very great thing might you do that would entice me to accept this wager and to sacrifice my freedom?”

He leaned forward again, his smile already tinged with victory. “If you win the wager, princess, then when I am King of Santadorra, I shall grant universal suffrage within my realm.”

For a moment, the only sound was the bustle of wagons and carriages from the street beyond. Tears pricked Lucy’s eyes. Nick’s words stung, and not just her pride. She wearied of people laughing at her dreams. “Your jokes fail to amuse, Your Highness.” She brushed at her eyes and tried to slip by him once more, but his tall frame blocked her way again.

“My dear Lucy, I am not being droll.” His hands gripped her shoulders. “If you can convince me to change my mind about reform, then you will be responsible for thousands of men receiving the right to have a voice in their own government.”

She looked into his face, searching. “Can you do such a thing?” Surely it was not quite as simple as all that.

“I don’t know why not. I will be king, after all. Not all royal powers have been usurped by the parliament—at least, not yet.”

Lucy eyed him dubiously. Clearly this was just another stratagem to try and win her agreement to his offer of marriage. “And if I cannot?” she prompted. “What forfeit must I pay?”

His eyes darkened, if that were possible. “If you cannot convince me of the worthiness of your cause, then you will jilt the good vicar and become my wife—agreeably, and without delay.”

“What guarantee would I have that you would do as you say? Or for that matter that you would not lie and deny reform even if I convinced you of its value? There is no advantage on my side.”

He glared at her. “Is my word of honor insufficient for you, Lucy Charming? I am no liar, and I honor my debts.”

“With gentlemen, I am sure, but I am a mere woman.”

The sharp crack of his laughter echoed in the alleyway. “My dear Lucy, I would shoot any man who so questioned my honor. Would putting a bullet through you convince you of my sincerity?”