From Kiss to Queen (15 page)

Reynard said nothing as they gained the foyer, then stopped once more and turned to her, a small, sad smile on his face. “I would expect as much from Oswald. I believe he rules his employees with an equally heavy
hand.” He silently stared at her again, then asked very softly, “And so you are an avenging angel tonight?”

Jane shook her head. “I won't make a scene. I won't even open my mouth. It just made me mad. Like I said before, weak men use their fists, and I have no respect for those who do.”

“And neither do I,” Reynard agreed. “And I wouldn't dream of asking you to keep your opinions to yourself. You have my approval to say anything you wish to Oswald.”

“I won't make a scene,” Jane repeated. “But if he talks to me, I shall . . . snub him? Is that acceptable?”

Reynard laughed again. “It's going to take more than that. Oswald will merely assume you're worried about his daughter winning the race.”

“What race?”

“Why, to the altar, my dear Jane. Oswald will think you're jealous and being spiteful because you want Markov to marry
you
, not his daughter.”

It was Jane's turn to laugh. “Then maybe I'd better wait until after dinner to give him my opinions. So there won't be any misunderstanding.”

“Not alone. Is that understood?” Reynard said rather firmly.

Jane sobered. “I'm not afraid of him.”

He started walking again. “No. And that's the problem,” he muttered.

They finally made it to the dining room and it was Jane's turn to halt their progress. She stopped just inside the door, stared at the room full of people, then pinched her escort on the arm. “There are over twenty people here,” she hissed. “I thought it was just your family and
this businessman and his daughter.” She took a determined step back. “I'm not staying. I'll eat in my room,” she said, shooting daggers at him. “You set me up.”

“I did not. This is a normal dinner,” Reynard calmly countered, tugging on her good arm. He finally just grabbed her elbow, towed her into the room, and led her to the foot of the table. “We must entertain ambassadors and our own countrymen regularly. It comes with the job,” he whispered, pulling out her chair with one hand while still holding her securely with the other. “And you will embarrass me if you run off now,” he added, grinning at her glare that told him she knew just how low he was hitting.

“Do you happen to know, Your Highness, how to sleep with one eye open?” Jane asked sweetly, sitting down.

Reynard Lakeland boomed with laughter again, leaning down and kissing her forehead right in front of the twenty people all staring at them.

Jane wondered how embarrassed he'd be if she crawled under the table.

“Pants! She's wearing pants,” Alexi blurted out, smiling devilishly. “No one has worn pants to dinner since Mother.”

Jane looked halfway down the table and glared at him through her reddening face. “I believe, Your Highness,” she told the rascal prince, lifting her chin, “that it's impolite to mention a woman's dress, inappropriate or not, unless it's to compliment her.”

Alexi looked momentarily startled, then gave her an unrepentant grin. “My apologies, angel. I am duly chastised,” he said, bowing formally.

Jane wanted to run up and kick him in that bent-over
position. Instead she smiled sweetly, making sure she didn't look at anyone else at the table. She could tell only the Lakelands were laughing.

“I'm not your angel,” she muttered. What in heaven was she doing here, making an ex-king sit at the foot of the table beside her and reprimanding royalty like Mother Superior?

“No, you are not. You are merely a woman who likes to fly out windows,” the cad growled, obviously having heard her. Which meant everyone else probably had, too. Alexi suddenly gave her a whimsical smile. “But if I throw myself into the sea, will you fly to my rescue and give me the kiss of life?”

“No, I believe I would give you a rock.”

Shocked silence and then laughter erupted around the table. Jane placed her napkin on her lap while smiling down at her plate for putting the now-frowning prince in his place. No matter that she'd embarrassed herself, Reynard, and probably Mark in the process. But she made the mistake of glancing at Mark, sitting at the opposite end of the table, causing her smile to vanish.

“I believe it's also bad manners to point out bad manners, is it not, Miss Abbot?” Mark asked, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Jane lifted her chin. “I believe you're right, Your Highness. I, too, am duly chastised,” she agreed, widening her smile. “And good day to you,” she tacked on to cover her blush.

“Good day, Miss Abbot. I'm sorry to have missed you earlier. You went for a walk, I gather. After, that is, escaping my brothers. Feeling back to your old self?”

“Oh yes. I've discovered the less time I spend with you, the healthier I feel.”

Several gasps followed that salvo. Mark merely looked at his father and arched a brow.

She probably shouldn't have spoken that way, especially in front of these strangers, but she refused to let any of these Lakelands make her feel inferior, especially Mark. And the sooner he realized that, the better. Still, Jane politely stayed mute after that embarrassing opening and concentrated on enjoying the wonderful food and committing everything to memory. Because really—when was she ever going to sit at such an elegant table again?

Well, she remained mute until the businessman made some stupid remark about women in his family being meek and seldom heard from as he darted a glance in Jane's direction.

Jane set her fork down.

Reynard did, too. Then he gave her a wink and addressed his son's guest. “Just today, a very smart angel told me that only weak men rule by domination. I believe this angel is right,” he softly added, disgust apparent in his voice.

Oswald glanced at Jane then back at Reynard. “This angel was a woman, I gather?”

Jane raised her chin and decided to speak for herself. “I was told I would get to meet your daughter this evening,” she said, making a point of looking at the empty chair beside him. “Was she not feeling well?” She narrowed her eyes at the red-faced man. “And I agree that any man who strikes a woman is a coward,” she said
softly. “I wonder if he'd be so quick to strike someone equal to him in strength?”

Jane continued glaring at the now obviously angry businessman through the long, stunned silence, not even looking to see if Mark was equally angry at her for speaking so bluntly in front of his guests. It was Oswald's son who broke the tension when he jumped up from his chair.

“Are you calling us cowards?”

Feeling secure sitting at a table full of Lakeland men, Jane simply nodded.

“In our family you would be beaten for your insolence,” the young man snarled, ignoring his father tugging on his arm.

“You could try,” she whispered, giving him a nasty smile.

Jane suspected the young man was sorely tempted to do just that. But his father forcibly tugged him into his seat when Mark slowly started to rise from his chair. The father, however, was no more willing to let the insult pass than his son and glared at the again-seated prince.

“Who is this woman that you let her speak so freely at your dinner table?”

“My fiancée,” Mark said softly but quite distinctly.

Jane certainly heard him. And so did every single person in the room. She would have gasped if she could have found her voice. And Reynard Lakeland, bless the unholy Majesty, was suddenly squeezing her hand—which she took as a sign she wasn't supposed to dispute the host in front of his guests.

Well, by heaven, she intended to dispute him later.

Fiancée. Hah! She'd dig ditches before she'd marry Markov Lakeland. Jane tried without success to pull her hand free from Reynard's grasp.

“Your fiancée?” Oswald sputtered, his eyes bugged out as he gaped at Mark.

Mark nodded.

“But . . . but I thought . . .”

“Shelkova has no desire—or need—to align itself with a manufacturing dynasty, Mr. Oswald,” Mark quietly told him, “as we are quite capable of turning our timber into finished product ourselves. And I happen to agree with the lady's opinion of brutes.”

Looking ready to explode, Oswald pushed back his chair and stood, roughly grabbed his also-angry son, and left—his exit leaving a silence so complete the bubbles could be heard rising in the champagne flutes sitting in front of all the stunned guests.

Sergei clapped Mark on the shoulder, stood up and walked to the foot of the table, then leaned down and kissed Jane on her mortified cheek. “Welcome to the Lakeland tribe, sister,” he whispered. “I can't wait to see what you have in store for us in the future.”

Jane managed to shake off her shock enough to give him a good glare. He simply chuckled and kissed her again before returning to his seat.

Alexi picked up his champagne and waved it at the people at the table. “A toast, then, to my brother's wisdom,” he said. “And his choice of a bride.”

Finally coming out of their own shock, all the guests grabbed their glasses and raised them in salute, then drained them to the bottom.

Jane still hadn't gotten her hand back. Reynard was holding it hostage, apparently afraid she'd throw her champagne at his smugly smiling son. Wow; it would appear His Majesty had come to know her quite well in a very short time.

A
re you insane?” Jane shouted at Mark as he negligently leaned against the mantel in the library, a drink in his hand and a satisfied smile on his face.

“No, I don't believe so,” he answered calmly. “But then, I did suffer a blow to the head a couple of weeks ago.” He sighed, pushing himself away from the hearth. “And I haven't been the same since.” He smiled tightly. “I've been seeing angels, even in my sleep.”

Jane tried to cross her arms, found her sling was in the way of doing so effectively, and contented herself with placing her free hand on her hip. She glared at Mark, then turned her glare on the four other Lakeland men, all of whom were calmly sipping drinks. She'd been offered one, too; an after-the-meal-from-purgatory drink, but had refused on the chance she might be pregnant. Not that
she needed it anyway, as she was more than ready for battle.

She turned her attention to Mark again. “I am not marrying you.”

“Yes, you are.” Mark moved to stand by the glass doors leading onto the terrace, his back to her. “In two weeks.” He turned at her gasp. “The day of my coronation. I will be crowned king of Shelkova, we will be married, and then I shall crown you
queen
of Shelkova.”

Jane lifted her hand and let it fall back against her thigh. “Do I look like a queen to you?”

“Yes.”

Her mouth opened but nothing came out. She took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts, then suddenly smiled. “Even your father knows I'm nobody.”

“What!” Reynard shouted.

She looked at him and then at Mark. “Your father had me sit at the foot of the table, because he knew that's where I belonged.”

Alexi, Dmitri, and Sergei broke into laughter. Reynard gaped in shock.

Mark nodded agreement. “He did know. You sat at the second most honorable place, Jane; the hostess's seat. It is where my mother would have sat had she lived to see the reinstatement of the Lakelands to this house. The queen's seat.”

Jane felt her own jaw slacken and snapped it shut. And then she sighed. “You don't know who I am,” she whispered. “You don't know
what
I am.”

“And what is that, daughter?” Reynard asked.

She turned to him. “I'm an orphan with less of a
pedigree than the horses in your stables. I don't even have a real name.”

“Jane Abbot sounds real to me,” Mark said, drawing her attention as he stepped toward her. “And you are standing before us now; therefore you must be somebody. You're alive and breathing the same air we are.”

She dropped her gaze from the intensity in his. “My full name is Jane Doe Abbot.” She looked at the obviously confused men sitting around the room. “In America, when a person is found and nobody knows who they are, they're given the name Jane or John Doe. And Abbot is the name of the town where I was left on a hospital's steps.”

A thoughtful silence greeted that revelation. Until Mark started cursing—in both English and Shelkovan—about the evils of unfeeling social workers. He was soon joined by four disgruntled Lakeland men.

Jane squared her shoulders and glared at the five of them. “Stop looking at me with pity. I have a good life in Maine. And I'm going back there and getting myself a baby, and then I'm going to keep on walking the next time a plane falls out of the sky.”

Reynard stood up. “Jane,” he said thickly, going to her. “No place is it written that you must have a . . . pedigree to be a queen. All you need to be is the woman my son wants to marry. And that, Jane Doe Abbot, is good enough. Your history made you the person you are today; the courageous, charming, beautiful, compassionate, intelligent, mischievous angel that I want for a daughter in a very bad way.”

Try as she might, Jane couldn't keep a grin from tugging at the corner of her mouth. “All that?” she whispered to the golden eyes gleaming at her. “No more? Not troublesome, foolish, impertinent, opinionated, and stubborn?”

“Mischievous covered most of those, I think.”

“It's settled, then,” Mark interjected, walking over and grabbing her right hand, then dragging her toward the doors leading outside.

“It is not settled,” she hissed, pulling free. “I'm not marrying you. You're a rat.”

“Ah, yes. I seem to remember being likened to a rat after our first night on the
Katrina
.”

“You crawled into my bed.” She poked him in the chest. “You took advantage of my being sick and confused and tired,” she continued, gathering steam and poking him again. “Didn't you,
just Mark
?” She tucked her right arm under her trussed-up left arm, her toe tapping the floor. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“That I can't wait to do it again?” he asked back, crossing his own arms over his chest and spreading his feet in a challenging stance. “And that I intend to do it again very soon?” He bent down at her gasp and looked her directly in the eyes. “You gave yourself to me, Jane Doe Abbot. And you were a virgin. Now you're mine.”

She took a step back, feeling her face heat up as she glanced at the other Lakelands to find them all grinning, all nodding agreement.

“I'm twenty-seven years old,” she whispered tightly, glaring at Mark and lifting her chin. “I'm not . . . I'm . . . I was
not
a virgin.”

*   *   *

C
ompletely stunned, Mark could only stare at her. She was actually lying to him about her virginity! He would have laughed had he not realized she was serious. “I was there, Jane, and I distinctly remember taking your innocence.”

“No, either you were mistaken or it grew back.”

Mark halted his glass halfway to his mouth. “Excuse me?”

A chorus of chuckles rose from the couch, and Jane spun around and stepped toward them, her eyes sparking and her hand reaching for her empty glass on a nearby table. Mark threw his own drink first, hitting the wall behind his brothers and making them instantly sober.

Jane stopped in mid-throw and blinked at the mess he'd made.

Mark gave his brothers a look that sent them scrambling to their feet and out of the room. Reynard regally followed, his shoulders shaking.

“Virginity, Jane, does not grow back.”

Obviously knowing her outrageous claim wasn't going to work, the woman apparently decided to change tactics. “Do you think you're the first man to ever want to have sex with me?”

Mark suddenly understood and instantly relaxed. “What I think is that I'm the first man
you
wanted to have sex with.” He grinned. “And I hope that, like me, you're looking forward to doing it again—also very soon.”

“Don't hold your breath,” she snapped, apparently back to being angry. “I merely decided it was time I found out
what all the men who asked me to be their mistress claimed I was missing.”

Mark's amusement just as suddenly vanished. “
All
the men?” He stiffened. “How recently? Is that why you were running off to the coast?”

“That's not important. What's important is that you don't have to marry me just because we had sex. Even though
you
crawled into my bed, I take full responsibility for my own actions that night.”

“Does that not contradict what your nuns taught you?” Mark drawled, walking over and fixing himself another drink. It was either that or throttle the woman.

“What nuns?”

“Those dear sisters in the orphanage who so lovingly named you.”

“They were good to me! And the hospital staff are the ones who called me baby Jane Doe. I didn't actually go to Saint Xavier's until I was a month old, because of my ankle.”

“And did the nuns not tell you what happens to people who lie?”

“They told me what happens to people who swear,” she countered.

Lord, as long as he lived he would thank the Lord for dropping him into this woman's lap. “And were you ever tempted to become any man's mistress, Jane?”

She avoided looking at him by glaring down at her toes instead, and mumbled something unintelligible.

“Excuse me?”

“I said that's none of your business.”

“I see.” And he did. Jane was embarrassed to be caught a virgin at the ancient age of twenty-seven. He sighed dramatically. “Too bad,” he said, turning to her in time to catch her worrying her lower lip. “Because I prefer an experienced bride in my bed.”

She lifted her chin. “Then I hope you find one.”

“Why not you?”

“Because I don't belong here,” she said, now sounding exasperated as she waved a hand to encompass the palace.

Mark closed his eyes to gather his patience. They'd come full circle and were back to
belonging
. He was beginning to hate that word. “Jane,” he said, his eyes still closed.

“I'm going home tomorrow.”

That certainly opened them.

“I shouldn't stay here any longer,” she whispered. “I won't go back to the mountains,” she quickly assured him. “Or even to Bar Harbor. I'll head south to Portland or something. Those men will never find me, assuming they're still around. It has been eleven days, after all.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “And I really am good at taking care of myself.”

“And if you're pregnant?” he asked, trying to think quickly.

“Then I'll write and let you know what I had, a boy or a girl. I . . . I won't ask for anything from you, Mark.”

“Would you give me until the coronation in two weeks?” He forced himself to smile. “At least stay and watch me become king.”

She had to think about that, apparently. Mark turned to the window, but instead of looking out, he studied her
reflection in the glass. And then he very nearly fell to his knees at the look of yearning on Jane's face as she stared at his back. “Just two weeks,” he got out hoarsely, still facing the window.

“O-okay,” she whispered, her shoulders slumping as she slowly walked out of the room.

Mark opened the door and stepped onto the terrace. He walked to the stone rail and looked out over the sea, then lifted his arm and threw his drink for the second time that night.