Marry the Man Today (20 page)

Oh,
that
princess! The one who had given up her whole kingdom for the love of her life. At least that had been the gossip at the time. A full two years ago, and she still looked radiant.

Elizabeth began to sweep into her best curtsy, but the princess had already taken her hand, as though to terminate the gesture.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss Dunaway. So very pleased. We both are. This is Lady Hawkesly." She handed off Elizabeth to the other grinning woman.

"Truly delighted, Miss Dunaway." Lady Hawkesly drew her close as she shot a glance up over her shoulder at the imposing man behind them. "Ross claims that he's told us everything he knows about you and the Abigail Adams. But he's a man; and you know how men are."

She was beginning to know how this particular man was. His smile, the deep, deep brown of his eyes.

"He didn't tell us you also owned a bookstore, did you now, Ross?"

"A woman of initiative." Lady Hawkesly winked at Elizabeth, her smile dazzling. "And utterly beautiful as well! How did you manage, Ross?"

Manage?
Elizabeth rarely found herself speechless, but she was completely without words at the moment. With a wad of evidence in the abduction cases stashed in her pocket, a supply of
French letters
hidden in the storage room, a princess and company treating her like a long-lost sister standing in her bookstore. Her three steadfast companions cowering together behind the counter.

And Blakestone, looking quite pleased with himself through all the teasing, following her every move, the heat of his glance slipping into the thrum of her pulse.

"I'm very glad to meet both of you," Elizabeth finally managed, beginning to feel her old spiky self again. "Lord Blakestone told me he had friends, but frankly, I didn't actually believe him until now."

The women laughed and Lady Wexford nudged the stoic Blakestone in the ribs. "Take care, Ross. She's miles ahead of you."

"Leagues and leagues, Princess." There was that smile again, cocky and wry and clinging too tightly to her heart.

Lady Hawkesly was scanning the shelves now. "Caro, just look at these titles. All the Brontës, both the Brownings, Shakespeare, children's books."

"Shelves of Dickens and Trollope and every magazine imaginable. Even writing cases and a lovely collection of tortoiseshell pens."

And while the two amazing women converged at the counter and swiftly put her three assistants to work with their requests to see this book and that teapot, Elizabeth could feel Blakestone's presence at her back, warm and rousing, reaching out to her.

"I knew you managed a bookstore, madam," he whispered above her head. His breath steamed against her hair, his broad hand shaped intimately against her waist. "But you told me nothing of being the proprietor as well."

"I didn't think I needed to, Blakestone.
"
She turned slightly, whispering up at him. "After all, you knew about my aunts, and my financial status. The color of my favorite stockings. My slipper size. I assumed you knew everything about me."

"
The more I learn about you, Miss Dunaway, the more I realize that I don't know a thing. But that's not the point. I told you I don't want you traveling anywhere without a bodyguard."

"Don't be ridiculous."

He spun her easily to face his frowning anger. "Good God, woman, how many times a day do you cross that very busy street to come here to the store?"

"Two or three." More, but she didn't want to alarm him further.

"Don't you see the danger? A kidnapper who is bent on eliminating the Abigail Adams by eliminating you has merely to study your methodical movements, wait for the perfect moment, and then snatch you into his black carriage on your way across the street and you're never seen again."

For the first time she could see the genuine fear in his eyes. Intimate, caring.

Oh, what a shameful spot to put him in. Allowing him to do battle against a phantom that she had conjured herself.

"It won't happen, my lord."

"It already has. Three times."

Not exactly.
She was in complete control of the kidnapping situation.

Though she was quickly losing control of her heart, her sense of guilt. The remarkable earl had taken on the case with an uncompromising ferocity. Leaving no stone unturned.

No clue undiscovered, no question unasked.

Her heart tangled up in the tailings, while she planned still another kidnapping.

She could only hope and pray that he would never catch the perpetrator. Because he didn't seem inclined to compassion for those who deceived him.

And she was doing just that. Openly. Freely.

He probably despised such people to the depths of his soul, and that would be impossibly difficult to bear.

Because under all that bluster, beneath that fierce scowl, was a good man with an unyielding sense of honor.

"What I do know, madam, is that every lead I've followed in these three kidnapping cases, every speck of evidence, has come to an absolute dead end."

What a great relief.
But
fo
r reasons so di
ff
erent than she ever could have imagined.

"As though these women never existed after the moment they were abducted."

Even better.
Because he'd never have to discover the extent of her falsehoods. As long as she remained clearheaded in her decisions and meticulous in her methods.

"What do you think that means, my lord? Professional kidnappers?"

"It means that once you've been taken, madam, you'd be gone for good, just like the others." He held tightly to her upper arms, nearly growling at her, his voice low and coming from deep inside him. "And by God, I wouldn't like that one damn bit."

She was about to ask him why, when she heard Skye come beside her, whispering,

"Miss Elizabeth, may we give the two ladies samples of the creamy chocolates from Coraleigh
'
s Confections? Nothing like word-of-mouth advertising to help Miss Cora find steady customers."

Elizabeth turned and nodded, a bit dizzied by the earl's intensity. "A fine idea, Skye, please do."

"Delicious!" The candy disappeared in a flurry of female whimpering that left her haunting exchange with Blakestone unfinished, her heart wanting more of him.

"And now, Miss Dunaway," the princess said, her eyes twinkling as she handed her brown-wrapped paper bundle to Ross, "about this ladies' club of yours...."

"Yes, yes, how do we join?" Lady Hawkesly stuffed her package under Ross's free arm.

"Join? You?" Why would either of these highly accomplished, so obviously independent women need to belong to a scandalous ladies' club?

"I don't think that's wise, my ladies." Blakestone frowned down upon the room.

"Why?" Lady Hawkesly shot back, her chin thrust at him.

"Because . . . wel
l
..." He looked suddenly wordless, sheepish as they stared hard at him. "Shouldn't you consult with your . .. never mind."

"Oh, pish-tosh, Ross." The princess waved him off in a playfully regal way and hooked Elizabeth's arm with her own. "Now, Miss Dunaway, if you don't mind, we'd love to see the Abigail Adams for ourselves."

They were out the door a moment later and plowing across the street like the prow of a great galleon, the traffic miraculously coming to a complete stop in the wake of the ex-Princess Royal of Boratania and her entourage, including the ta
l
l, brooding earl and his leagues-long stride, pulling up the rear.

The royal tour of the Abigail Adams included nearly every inch of the club, except the cellar and the guest room floor, finally ending in the foyer, where they had left Blakestone behind in the visitors' parlor, where he'd taken up residence like a palace guard.

"You've done a perfectly wonderful job, Miss Dunaway," the princess said, "with everything. A true home away from home."

"A den of revolutionaries." Ross hadn't meant to speak aloud, but now every female head had turned to him in the doorway of his cave, as though he had just tossed his boot into their punch bowl.

"What I mean, ladies, is ... a place where you can kick off your shoes and exchange . . . never mind." He'd been about to say recipes, but decided he would rather live.

More silent scrutiny. Kate had begun to slowly shake her head at him.

Miss Dunaway raised a tolerant brow at him. "Thank you, Lord
B
lakestone."

Then they all went back to their animated discussion, as though he hadn't spoken at all.

Which was just fine. He had plenty of things to do before his meeting with the Lord High Admiral.

He had just decided to leave his two charges to the princess's burly driver and the carriage that was parked in the drive up when Hawkins burst from his little side room and threw open the front door to block the way of two men.

"Sorry, sirs, but this is a ladies' clu
b
—"

"You were right, Jared, they're still here!" Drew and Jared both stalked past the befuddled Hawkins and into the foyer, then went straight to their wives.

Jared lifted Kate's hand to his lips. "Have you forced the women's vote on Parliament, my love?"

"Tomorrow, sweet. Afternoon session."

"Don't tell me you're checking up on us, Drew," Caro said as her husband collected her into his arms for a quick waltz around the floor.

"Never more, my dear. I had enough of watching your every move two years ago to last me a lifetime."

Bloody ballocks, Ross thought. The man was, and always would be, a hawk when it came to his princess and their new little son.

And damned if he wasn't beginning to understand why. Even now he found himself intently watching Elizabeth, who was herself closely watching the two effusive couples in their own
Unbridled Embraces.
A smile of wonder in her brilliant eyes, a softness to her brow.

Happiness in marriage, my dear rebel. It's possible.
He'd seen it. Felt it in his dreams.

And as though she had heard his thoughts, she turned her head and met his gaze, a worried smile now caught between her teeth, her eyes glinting like emeralds. His heart stuttered at the sudden intimacy, dancing sideways before it righted itself.

"Hey, Ross! This came for you at the Huntsman." Drew left Caro with the others long enough to hand him a message, a serious cant to his brow. "From the Foreign Office."

"A declaration of war, do you suppose?" Ross asked wryly as Jared joined them, weary of the tangle of personalities as he thumbed open the envelope and gave the message a quick scan. "Ah, not quite yet. Merely a few tempers to soothe."

"The Austrians?" Jared asked. "Or the French?"

"The Russians this time." Ross tried to read Clarendon's dashed-off message, but the man's hand was nearly inscrutable. "Apparently one of their diplomatic couriers was knocked down this morning in Euston Station by someone who wanted his attaché case badly enough to try to grab it in broad daylight as he stepped off the train."

"Please tell me the Russian courier is alive."

"Apparently alive and kicking, Drew," Ross answered to the group now gathered around them. "Now, if you'll excuse us, ladies, Drew and I have to pay an official visit to the Russian Embassy."

But Caro persisted, the most doggedly curious woman in the world. "Did they get the attaché case, Ross?"

"Apparently not, madam." Ross folded up the note and stuck it into his pocket before the woman could decide to join the hunt. "Come, Drew. And no, Princess, you can't come along."

"But I can help. I know Brunnov's weaknesses. He's terrified of spider
s
—"

"That's why Ross said no, my love. Jared and Kate will see you get home safely."

Drew gave his wife the smacking good kiss that Ross suddenly wished he could give to Elizabeth, and a very few minutes later he and Drew were on their way in a hackney to the Russian Embassy to forestall a political scandal.

"So, Ross, why exactly are we racing over to the embassy? No harm's been done. Making more of the confrontation than it actually is will only aggravate the situation."

"A diplomatic mission. Clarendon's request."

"Ah, we're to soothe Brunnov's temper. Maybe we should have brought Caro."

"The ambassador's blaming Aberdeen's government."

"For a simple robbery attempt?"

"He's making noises about an intentional act of sabotage by the British Foreign Office."

"That's absurd."

"But it's got everyone dancing to his music. He's demanding that Scotland Yard and the Foreign Office investigate the assault. And insists upon an apology not only from the prime minister, but Victoria herself."

"That's not going to happen any time soon." Drew leaned back against the coach seat, his longtime distinction as the queen's favorite diplomat granting him an invaluable insight into the woman's personality. "At least not an apology from the queen."