Princess Charming (33 page)

“Nick.” She whispered his name, although it sounded like a shout to her own ears. Drawing himself up, he covered her body with his own. She had been afraid that she would feel diminished or overpowered. Instead, she felt a thrilling sense of freedom and purpose as she pulled him closer. His hands urged her knees apart until she was completely open and vulnerable.

“I’m sorry for the pain.”

She wanted to tense against what would happen next, but his hand returned to its wicked rhythm against her core, and she could only arch into the undulating pressure. He kissed her, hard and long, and then she felt the length of him, foreign and unfamiliar, press inside.

NICK TRIED NOT to panic. He’d never made love to a virgin. God, was he even doing it properly? It was too fast, but she must be ready. Her body gave too much evidence for him to be mistaken about that. Lucy Charming let him in at last, and he slid into her until he felt the barrier of her maidenhead. Knowing she was not the sort of woman who would want to be coddled at such a critical juncture, he surged ahead. The sensation was exquisite. Even as Lucy gasped in pain, Nick could not hide the pleasure of finding himself deep inside her. She was peace, recompense, absolution, and tears stung his eyes. She was his wife.

“I’m sorry.” He traced the rim of her ear with his tongue and blew softly on the faint wetness. Perhaps he could distract her from the discomfort. Her fingers dug into his shoulder blades and her legs wrapped around his own. She was no whimpering maiden, his princess. Despite her inexperience and her discomfort, she clutched him as fiercely as a warrior would his sword. Slowly, tentatively, he withdrew and then settled back into her. She cried out, pain mingled with pleasure. “I’ll stop,” he whispered in her ear. “Tell me, Lucy, and I’ll stop.”

“No.” Her legs wound more tightly around his own. She was a woman who gave no quarter, and so she asked none. “I want this. I want you.” She whispered the fierce words against his neck, and he would have given anything to see her face, to look into her eyes. This was more than passion. It would have to be, he realized with a shock, for Lucy to allow him such intimacy. She could call it wifely duty, or she could say she was simply bowing to the inevitable, but only a woman in love clutched at her husband as if she were drowning, and he was her lifeline.

The realization both thrilled and terrified Nick. He loved her. He’d known that for some time now. And here was proof that she loved him. He moved inside of her, rocking back and forth, attentive to signs of her discomfort. Two people in love. Was there ever such a recipe for disaster?

Nick couldn’t maintain his tender pace for long. The tiny moans she made kept him from focusing on anything but the needs of his body. With a grunt, he increased his pace, working swiftly toward his release. Lucy arched beneath him and cried out in fulfillment. When Nick’s release came, it struck with a blinding intensity that swept away thought and allowed him to sink into blessed oblivion.

LATER, WITH A satisfied sigh, Lucy nestled closer to her husband’s sleeping form. She’d fallen asleep herself, and from the slant of light through the small window, they’d both slept for some time now. She wanted to stretch, but more than that she wanted to preserve this momentary idyll. The future loomed large and uncertain, and she had no desire to face it just now. No, much better to hug this precious moment tightly, because it would be wrenched away soon enough.

Nick mumbled a few words in his sleep and then, to Lucy’s dismay, rolled away from her, taking the bedclothes with him. She shivered and reached down beside the bed, capturing her chemise with her fingers. She pulled it over her head and let it settle around her hips. Not wanting to disturb Nick, she left the bed.

A pitcher of water and a cracked basin rested on a low, rickety table. A small amount of much-mended linen sat beside them. Thankful for a sleeping husband and a modicum of privacy, Lucy washed away the evidence of their coupling. The cool water soothed her skin, and she could not help but smile with satisfaction. She had never expected to lose her virginity to a husband whom she loved. For the moment she would allow herself to think of nothing else. Humming softly, she dressed.

The jingle of harnesses in the inn yard accompanied her low tune. Lucy marveled that the rest of the world would remain ignorant of the momentous event that had occurred in this room. She felt older now than she had when she’d entered the bedchamber. One of life’s great mysteries had been solved, and her new knowledge made her feel powerful. She refastened the hooks that held her bodice in place and settled on a nearby footstool to straighten her stockings and don her half boots. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, and she decided to go in search of food. With deft hands, she bundled her hair at the nape of her neck and anchored it with hairpins. Surely the cook would spare her some bread and cheese. When Nick awoke, she would have a tray waiting for him.

She descended the stairs and entered the taproom. The low-ceilinged structure, much older than the bedchambers, held only a few travelers and a handful of locals. The innkeeper stood behind a long bar, filling mugs with dark brown ale.

“Pardon me.” Lucy spoke in a low voice, hoping to remain inconspicuous. The innkeeper looked up, his bland face filled with disinterest.

“Miss?” He slid the mug he had finished filling down the length of the bar to a waiting customer. The man caught it and slid a coin back in return.

“Could I trouble you for a small tray of bread and cheese? My husband and I
 . . .
” Lucy stopped, fumbling for an excuse. “That is
 . . .
”

“Wore him out, did ya, lassie?” The graying workman at the end of the bar roared with laughter, and Lucy felt herself go red to the roots of her hair. “Best keep up his strength, then, my dear, for it’s not dark yet. If he fails ye, call for Old Jedidiah, and I’ll be happy to stand in for ‘im.”

The other men joined in the laughter, and Lucy wanted to sink through the packed earthen floor. She scanned the room, afraid she might see a fellow reformer. As the daughter of the late duke, she had a wide acquaintance among both the gentry and the peasantry of Nottingham.

The outside door swung open and slammed against the wall. Lucy turned to find Mr. Selkirk and Tom silhouetted in the opening. Sweet heavens, now her embarrassment would be complete. Behind them lurked another figure, a faintly familiar one.

“Lady Lucy.” Mr. Selkirk looked relieved as he crossed the room. Tom’s face lit up at the sight of her. “We’re not too late, then.”

At the revelation of her identity, the good-natured laughter in the taproom died away, leaving an uncomfortable silence. The trio in the doorway moved closer, and in that instant, Lucy recognized the third member of the party. She would never forget his face, not when she’d swung a scythe so close to his crooked nose.

“Tully,” she breathed the name.

“At your service, miss.” He smiled, an expression that sent prickles of unease down her spine. Hadn’t Crispin put him on a transport ship? And what was he doing with Mr. Selkirk and Thomas?

“Is your husband still here?” Mr. Selkirk asked, and Lucy blushed.

“Yes. Above stairs. Whatever is the matter?”

“You’d best come with us, Lady Lucy.” Mr. Selkirk extended his hand. “We’ve something to tell you.”

“It’s too late, Jack,” Old Jedidiah called from the end of the bar. “He’s already had his pleasure of her. You can tell from her blushes.”

“Quiet, you fool,” Mr. Selkirk barked. “Do you know who this is?”

“No,” Lucy protested. “Please, let’s step outside.”

She led them toward the door. Outside, the inn yard was eerily quiet. Lucy crossed it with trepidation. When they reached the hedgerow that bordered one end, Mr. Selkirk stopped. Lucy eyed Tully with suspicion and distaste, but she was safe enough. Her friends would forestall any nefarious designs the thug might have on her person.

“Do you know this man, Lady Lucy?” Mr. Selkirk asked.

Lucy grimaced. “I do, indeed. But I had thought him bound for the colonies, or Australia. He is one of Sidmouth’s men.”

“Aye, but he is one of us as well.”

Lucy’s mouth opened, but no words emerged. Mr. Selkirk nodded. “It’s true, my lady.”

The world tilted beneath her feet. “I don’t believe you. He followed me that day, from the meeting, and he planned to take me from my stepmother’s home. His loyalty is to Lord Sidmouth,” she insisted.

“No, my lady. He might take Sidmouth’s gold, but he believes in the cause of reform as much as you or I. Ain’t that so, Tully?” The thug nodded in smug agreement.

Lucy shook her head. But how? It made no sense. “Then why did you attack my husband? Why did you follow us to Madame St. Cloud’s and then to Lady Belmont’s?”

Tully scowled. “After the way you defended ‘im, I figured your friend the gardener must be key to the reformers.” His resentment of Nick flared in his eyes. “Who was to know that the Crown Prince of Santadorra ‘ad dressed ‘imself up as a servant?”

Lucy still refused to believe the evidence Mr. Selkirk was offering. “How did you escape transport? Lord Wellstone saw you safely aboard a ship.”

Tully’s grin emphasized his missing teeth. “And the captain saw me just as safely ashore again when I made meself known to ‘im.”

Lucy turned to Mr. Selkirk and Tom, chilled. “Do you believe him?”

Mr. Selkirk removed his cap and scratched his head. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but Tully is my cousin on my mother’s side.”

Lucy’s empty stomach pitched. There had to be more to their presence than simply revealing Tully’s identity. “There is more, is there not?”

“Yes, my lady. I am afraid so.”

“Well, tell me then.” She braced herself for their news.

“Tully appeared shortly after you and Prince Nicholas left. Thanks to him, we’ve discovered who informed Sidmouth of the rally,” Mr. Selkirk said.

Lucy’s shoulders sagged with relief. This was good news, then. She had been afraid that—Well, it really wasn’t worth thinking about, was it? She’d been wrong.

“Who is the traitor?” She felt sorry for the man, because his life would no longer be worth much in Nottingham. He would be forced to flee in disgrace, all for the price of the paltry number of guineas Sidmouth would part with.

“My lady
 . . .
” Mr. Selkirk’s voice trailed off, and Tully showed his evil grin.

Tom kicked the dirt with the scuffed toe of his boot, and then, as if he could contain himself no longer, the words burst forth. “It was your husband, my lady. He was the informer. His treachery brought the dragoons.”

Lucy’s head swam. “No.” A giant weight pressed against her chest. Nick was not sympathetic to the work of the reformers, but even he would not coldheartedly bring troops down upon them. “You must be mistaken.”

“No mistake,” Tully growled and spat on the ground. “I ‘eard ‘im tell Sidmouth meself.”

“If my husband had seen you, sir, he would have told me.”

Tully laughed. “‘Twas in the anteroom of Sidmouth’s office, waiting for me purse.”

It could not be true. The man was lying to even the score with Nick. “And you have a grudge to bear against him.” Lucy turned, appealing to the Selkirks. “Nick bested him twice. He is lying.”

Mr. Selkirk shifted uneasily. “I don’t believe he is, my lady, but there’s one way to find out.”

Lucy’s stomach sank. Despite Tully’s unsavory character, his words had the eerie ring of truth.

“You will wait here for me,” Lucy ordered the three men, her heart in her throat. Tom started to protest, but she waved away his words. “My husband will do me no harm, and I’ll quickly have the evidence to disprove this man.” She shot a look at Tully.

“All right, then, my lady,” Mr. Selkirk answered. “We’ll wait, but only for a quarter hour. If you don’t return, we’ll come to find you.”