Princess in Disguise (4 page)

“I asked him to bring it so that you might put some snow on your chin. Sadly, it is
more ice than snow.”

“That’s quite all right. I don’t need—”

“
Nyet.
You will try it.” She went to the tray where she’d set the ice ball. Lifting the
brass candlesnuffer from the table, she whacked the ice ball sharply to break it into
large pieces. “Do you have a handkerchief?”

He reached into his waistcoat pocket and removed a neatly folded and starched handkerchief.

“Thank you.” She wrapped it about the larger pieces of ice, her fingers cold from
the contact. “Now come and sit. I will hold the ice to your injury.”

His gaze narrowed. “My jaw is fine and there’s no need for ice.”

However she might feel about his pigheadedness, she loved his soft Scottish burr.
It brushed every word with a flavor that made her think of his kisses.

She gathered her thoughts. “Come, Kintore. I know much about bruises and lumps. My
cousins were forever falling off their horses and wrestling one another, and I’ve
tended many such injuries.” She patted his arm and then pointed to the settee. “So
sit.”

“I don’t need—”

“Lord Kintore, enough!” Her tone was as cold as the ice in her hand as she drew herself
up and pointed. She looked as disdainful as a queen.

It was tempting to argue, but the truth was that his jaw did ache. “Fine.” He did
as he was bid. “But the ice won’t help anything.”

“Pah.” She sank onto the settee beside him, tucking her leg under her so that she
could face him. “Now lean back and I will hold it to the bruise.”

“I can do that myself if you’ll just—”

“Nyet.”
She pushed him back, his head tilted against the cushions as she pressed the ice
to his jaw.

“Ouch!”

She removed the ice. “It will hurt worse later if we do not ice it now.” She looked
at him, her brows lowered. “This is all my fault, and the only way I can make things
better is to reduce the swelling a little.”

He hesitated, touched by her earnest expression.

“Please?”

Caught by her accent, which was more intriguing by the moment, and the faint pout
of her full bottom lip, he found himself nodding. “Oh, damn it, very well.”

“Thank you.” She carefully replaced the handkerchief.

It hurt, but after a few moments, the ice cooled the hot swell of his jaw and the
dull ache began to disappear.

Kintore found himself staring at her bottom lip again. No longer pouting, it was still
as red as a cherry.
And just as tasty.
The memory of their earlier kiss warmed him, and he wondered if he should kiss her
now or wait until the pain had completely subsided.

“Better?” she asked, trying to read his expressions.

“Much. I must admit that I am surprised.”

Alexandra smiled happily. “You shouldn’t be surprised; ice cures many ills.” She sat
back a bit, her head tilted to one side. “I’m sorry if I made you angry before, but
Doya’s actions are my responsibility, as much as mine are his.”

Kintore’s lashes slid down, hiding his expression. “For a mere commoner, you are very
bossy.”

She mistrusted his tone as much as his look. “What is this ‘bossy’? I have not heard
of this.”

“You order people what to do, almost like”—his gaze locked with hers—“
royalty
.”

She started, and would have dropped the ice had he not steadied her hand with his
own.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” The earl spoke softly, his mouth curved into a smile
that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aren’t you,
Princess
?”

Chapter 4

A
lexandra started to rise, but
the earl held her in place, his hand tightening over hers. “I heard that bear of
yours call you ‘princess.’ ”

“You are mistaken. Now let me go; I am done holding the ice to your jaw.” She tugged
her hand, trying to free it.

“If I let you go, I may never find out who you really are.”

She tugged harder. “Kintore, please, I cannot—”

“Yes, you can.” He scooped her up and plopped her into his lap, his arms like bands
of steel. “There. Now we will talk.”

She was instantly aware that his manhood was directly under her bottom, separated
only by her skirts and his breeches. He smelled of Scotch and starch, mingled with
the faintest hint of cologne. The heady mixture instantly made her wish to burrow
against him. “Let me up. You should not
—
This is uncalled for!”

“I will have answers.” He plucked the handkerchief full of ice from her hand and tossed
it on a table, then shifted her so that her bottom settled more squarely on his powerful
thighs. “And I will have answers
now
.”

There was no way to free herself. Kintore’s arm, wrapped around her waist, was as
powerful as she’d imagined, and she was so much shorter than he that her feet were
too far off the ground to get any purchase.

She lifted her chin. “I will not answer any of your questions like this.”

“Oh?” He put his lips to her ear and whispered, “Perhaps I should seduce your answers
from your lips.”

Her traitorous skin tingled in anticipation.

“I know you desire me, Princess, just as I desire you. A few kisses”—he pressed his
warm lips to her ear just long enough to set off a maelstrom of shivers—“and you would
tell me everything you know.”

She couldn’t disagree. Her body had flared to life beneath his touch, her heart fluttered
in anticipation, and her skin tingled as if he were already touching her intimately.

No man had ever awakened her body so thoroughly and instantly. She didn’t wonder what
it would be like to make love to this man; she knew. And she ached with a longing
that almost made her shudder in despair.

As if he knew her weakness, he smiled, his eyes darkened by passion. “Come, Princess.
Tell me who you are.”

She desperately tried to obtain some control over herself. “Or? I am the one with
guards, not you. If I yell—”

“Then your Doya will come running,” he agreed.

“Which you do not want,” she pointed out.

“Nor do you. If he finds you in my lap, he will never again leave you alone with me.”
Kintore bent closer, his warm breath brushing her cheek. “You and I would both dislike
that.”

It took a strength she didn’t know she possessed, but she crossed her arms.
“Nyet.”

“Very well. You’ve asked for it.” Kintore gently nipped her ear, his teeth scraping
over the sensitive skin of her lobe. Instantly, her thoughts scattered. She gripped
his coat with both hands, gasping as he teased her.

Kintore slid his hands to her hips and she leaned into his embrace. As he bent his
head to kiss her, she slid her lips to his cheek and then to his ear. She was not
a woman who only took. With a soft moan, she did as he’d done, nipping and kissing
until he gripped her urgently.

Unable to wait a second longer, he held her face and captured her mouth with his,
kissing her over and over until neither of them could breathe.

She moved wildly against him, trying to get closer, her bottom warm against his thighs.
She traced her tongue over his teeth, lightly teasing him before she slipped a hand
over his broad chest, down his flat stomach to—

“No!” he gasped, grabbing her wrist and tugging it back to his chest. “That would
be an error, with your ill-tempered guard near.Good God, you are a witch. A delightful,
delicious witch.”

Alexandra chuckled, pleased and relieved that she was not the only one affected. Her
body humming from his touch, she leaned against him. “Lord Kintore, can I trust you?”

“Yes. With your life.”

The quiet intensity of the words stole her breath.

Kintore’s brows knit as if he, too, were surprised.

She sighed. “I will admit all. You are right; I am a princess.”

A gleam of satisfaction lit his eyes. “I had to kiss it from you, but there it is.”

“If I must face an interrogation, that would be the manner of interrogation I’d choose.”
She looped her arms about his neck. “So Doya gave me away, despite all of his warnings
through our journey not to betray our secret.”

“The Russian word for ‘princess’ sounds very similar to the one used in your language.”

“Ah, and you speak Russian?” When she said “Russian,” it had a round “oo” sound that
made her lips pucker enticingly.

“Some. Enough to pick out a word here and there. Your languages are similar.”

She shrugged. “Somewhat. The history of Oxenburg is not far removed from that of our
Russian sister.” She tilted her head to one side. “How do you come to speak Russian?
Not many in your country do.”

“At one time I imagined myself going into politics and serving at an embassy. But
then . . .” He shook his head and leaned back, putting more space between them. “That
was a long time ago. A foolish dream for a foolish man.”

“Why is that a foolish dream? It sounds like a fascinating career for a man with address,
unless
—
Ah. You inherited your title, and then could not commit to the travel.”

“Yes. I had duties here, the house and lands to look after, and . . .” His lashes
dropped again, a sudden tightness to his face. “There were other things, too.”

Like the woman of the locket? Is that the part that truly troubles you?
“You would have been an excellent ambassador. It is a pity you were unable to follow
your heart.”

He gave a mirthless laugh. “If you knew me, you’d understand why such a career was—and
is—an impossibility, whether I had other obligations or not. I’m not the sort to sacrifice
for my country or anyone else.”

“You expect too much. Most of us have generous
moments,
not
lives
. I’m certain you are far more generous than you think.”

“How little you know me,” he said coolly. “But it matters not, for the opportunity
is gone, and now my Russian is as rusty as my manners—neither of them fit for the
public.”

“Kintore, perhaps you could—”

“No. There is no ‘perhaps.’ What’s important is now—and I have just realized that
we, my love, have never been properly introduced.” He pressed his lips to her fingers,
looking into her eyes as he spoke. “I am James Keith, Earl of Kintore. How do you
do, Princess—?”

Her hand curled over his, her palm warm against his fingers. “I am Alexandra Petrovna
Romanovin, Princess Menshikov.”

Alexandra waited, watching his expression from beneath her lashes. Her chest was uncomfortably
tight and her palms suddenly damp. It was silly to be so concerned. Her title was
what it was, and she couldn’t change it. Unfortunately, there had been many men to
whom her title had meant more than she did. Thus, if she was going to consider this
man as a candidate for her next husband, then she had to be bold and fearless and
discover his true mettle.

And oh, how she wished to consider him thusly. He was everything she’d dreamed of
in a mate—powerful, well educated, handsome, and sharp-witted. On the surface, at
least, he was her match, kiss for kiss.

Strange at it was, in some ways she felt that she already knew him. Even now, just
looking into his eyes, his every thought whispered to her. He was intrigued and . . .
disappointed.

She frowned, but before she could ask, he said, “Princess Menshikov, it is very nice
to meet you.”

“It is very nice to meet you, too, my lord.”

“I cannot believe I’m talking to a real princess.”

She shrugged. “My titles came to me after I married into the royal family. I am a
minor member, now that Dmitri is gone. I am happy for that. There are things that
are unpleasant about such a connection. In fact, that is why I was traveling under
a different name: my uncle feared someone might abduct me.”

“Your disguise needs some work.”

“Doya should not have called me ‘princess’ in front of you.”

“Actually, I knew you were more than you said, even before I heard your guard’s slip.”

That, she hadn’t expected. “I thought we were being so discreet.”

“Not when you travel with a squadron of Cossacks under your command. In our country,
ladies and lords travel with grooms and coachmen, and perhaps a few outriders if the
road is dangerous. They may be armed, but they are not military men.”

“Ah. You can tell that Doya and his men are from the royal army.”

“Very much so. Here, only the royal family rides with a military escort. And no one
has personal guards who dress and talk like Cossacks.”

“I thought we were blending in rather well.” She sighed. “I told my uncle that I didn’t
need so many guards.”

“How many are there?”

“There are fifteen.”

He whistled. “Are they all the size of Doya?”

“He is the biggest. But not all of them are here, as one of our carriages broke an
axle and most of them are staying with it until it’s fixed. We are awaiting them at
this inn.”

“The snow will stop travel for several days at least.”

“So it seems.”

He eyed her thoughtfully. “I’d say you’ve been causing quite a stir as you traveled.”

“More than I was aware, apparently. So if the noblemen here do not employ guards,
then who protects them from wolves and Gypsies, and land squabbles, and—”

He laughed and held up a hand. “Wolves? We have no wolves. They have all been hunted.”

“Ours are big and a pack can take down a horse.”

“Even I would be glad to have Doya with me, then. What are these ‘land squabbles’
?”

“They are common in my country. For example, long ago, Count Gagarin—he’s one of our
great military leaders from the Austrian conflict—found some old documents that suggested
that his neighbor, Prince Kilkov, had at some point moved the markers for one of their
adjoining fields, moving a spring from one property to the other. Though presented
with the evidence, Kilkov refused to shift the markers to the spot the count had determined
to be the correct position, saying it was just a ploy to gain access to the springhead.”

“Was it?”

“I do not know. Gagarin is not famous for his truthfulness, so it is possible that
the prince was correct in his assumptions. On the other hand, there are those who
say they’ve seen the old deeds and that Gagarin’s claims are legitimate.” She shrugged.
“However it may be, that started a fight that has continued for four decades now.
Sadly, the fight sometimes spills onto the roads, so that even common citizens must
ride with guards.”

“Bloody hell. Are many people killed?”

“Not often. It usually ends with a good round of fisticuffs.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then the man who delivered the death blow must pay a fine to the family of the person
killed. The fines are very, very steep, too.” She grimaced. “Doya says facing surprise
attacks keeps our men sharp, so he often travels through troubled areas just to give
our men extra training in case we should be attacked for a more serious reason.”

“Things are very different in Oxenburg.”

“It’s very beautiful there.”

“I’m sure it must be.” He traced the band of black lace at her wrist. “These clothes . . .
they are widow’s weeds.”

“My husband died two years ago. He was older than I, but very strong. He took a fence
with a new horse that balked at the last moment, and . . .” She opened her hands.
“It was unexpected. We—” She stopped. “I don’t know why I tell you this.”

Kintore gestured to the window, where the snow was making icy decorations on the panes.
“What else do we have to do?” He smiled and traced his fingers along the neckline
of her gown. “Unless you have a better idea . . .”

She had hundreds of better ideas. Breathless at her own thoughts, she said in a rush,
“Dmitri and I were married less than a year.”

“No children?”

“
Nyet
. We had hopes of a family, but it was not our destiny.” She peeped at Kintore from
under her lashes. “And you? Have you ever been married?”

“No. I have no wish ever to be married.”

So the portrait is not of his wife. Who could it be, then? A lost love? A fiancée
who died after an illness? Or someone else he loves and misses?

“Princess M—”

She threw up a hand. “Please. Call me Alexandra.”

“Ah, we are throwing all propriety out the window, are we?”

“Why not? As you pointed out, we are here, isolated and far from civilization. Why
would we welcome the restrictions of society that we dislike here, where no one knows
us or sees us?”

“You are a rebel.”

“So Doya tells me.”

He laughed. “Alexandra it is, then. Please call me James.”

She pursed her lips and he instantly thought of kissing them. “That is a good name
for you,” she said, “but I will call you Kintore. It suits you.”

“You may call me whatever you wish, Alexandra.” He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb
over her soft bottom lip. “I have only one more question for you, and then I wish
to kiss you again. Over and over.”

She flushed, a pleased smile touching her lips. “Yes? What do you wish to know?”

“Why are you here, in Scotland?”

She turned to place a kiss in the palm of his hand. “It is simple, Kintore. I came
to find a husband.”

He pulled back, his passion cooled as thoroughly as if he’d been dowsed in snow.
Surely she’s teasing.
He eyed her carefully. She met his gaze without blinking. “Good God, you’re serious.”

She slid her hand over his cheek. “I wish to find a man of much strength who will
breed good, strong sons.”