Princess in Disguise (6 page)

“In the meantime,” she continued, “I wish to know more about you. You intrigue me,
and so few men do.”

He loved the way her flyaway eyebrows lifted when she spoke, like exclamation marks
at the end of an exciting sentence. “You are—”

MacDuffie came through the doorway carrying a large tray filled with steaming bowls,
silverware, and napkins. He set the overloaded tray on the table, then arranged the
settings. “Och, I was afeared I’d spill it all, I was. We’ve porridge and some pig,
a few eggs—the front ones are a bit o’ercooked, so ye may want to eat the back two—and
some toasted bread, and two glasses of ale.”

Alexandra had been eyeing the lumpy porridge with a skeptical eye, but she offered
the landlord a smile. “Thank you. If it’s not too much trouble, I would like some
tea, too, please.”

“Aye, I’ll get some oot to ye soon, miss. First I need to get a tray up to the lady’s
room, fer she’s ringin’ her bell like it were broke.” With a bow, he hurried out of
the room.

Alexandra came to take her seat at the table, and Kintore sat across from her.

He stirred his bowl of porridge. “I must say, you do not have such strict chaperones
in Oxenburg as we have here.”

“Oh, I’m much more closely chaperoned there than I have been here. Countess Baryatinski
is a horrid traveler.”

“You don’t sound sad about that.”

She chuckled. “I’m delighted for myself, although it is quite uncomfortable for her.
She informed me this morning that, though she is still feeling ill and is very tired,
she
might
come down for a couple of hours this afternoon.”

“I’m sure she is tired,” he said. “I’m tired, after listening to her snores all night.”

“You should hear her in the coach. She snores even louder when propped upright. Once,
she snored so loudly that she scared the horses. Doya swears she can throw her voice
like a puppeteer.”

Kintore’s deep chuckle warmed her, and she grinned back.
Time is all we need.
He may have decided they weren’t suited but she wasn’t so easy to dissuade, and her
reactions to his touch—that, she could not mistake
. He wishes to pretend it doesn’t mean anything, but I know it does. I think he fears
that it does, too, or he wouldn’t have decided to leave. So perhaps that was a good
reaction and not a negative one, after all.

She was glad she’d seen the landlord carrying Kintore’s portmanteau back upstairs.
Had she not, she might not have realized that he’d almost fled, nor realized the depth
of her mistake in admitting to him that she was looking for a husband. And yet, despite
his disappointing reaction, she felt as if she could trust him. Oddly enough, she’d
felt that way since the moment she’d laid eyes upon him.

Her grandmother Tata Caterina called it
soarta
. It was like lightning and it rarely struck twice.
I must find a way to reach Kintore’s heart, and I must do it before the snow melts.

It would be difficult, but she would do her best. Perhaps, if he became comfortable
enough, he’d tell her about the portrait she’d found in his watch.

He took a taste of the porridge and instantly sputtered and coughed, grabbing his
ale and gulping down half of it.

“What is it?” she asked, looking at her own bowl. The lumpy porridge seemed only half
cooked and was gray rather than creamy in color. She bent down and sniffed. “Pepper.”

“Too much,” he croaked as he took another drink.

She lifted her spoon and sniffed. “Pah.” She wrinkled her nose.

Kintore replaced his empty glass. “It’s horrid.”

“It is unfit for people,” she agreed. “Dogs, maybe. Pigs, perhaps. But not people.”

He pushed his bowl to the far side of the table and then slid hers to join it. “Let’s
have some of the pig and the eggs. They will be better.” He put some on her plate.

When she couldn’t even cut the meat, and the egg proved so rubbery that she had to
chew it twice as long as normal, she finally dropped her fork onto the table. “That
is enough. I will have the toasted bread.”

The earl nodded. “So will I.” He watched her spread marmalade on two pieces of toast,
accepting the one she handed him. “I fear we will starve before this snow breaks.”

“At least the marmalade is good. Hopefully, Mrs. MacDuffie will feel better soon,
but if she does not, then we will resort to other measures.”

He finished his toasted bread. “I don’t suppose Doya can cook?”

“He has a way with rabbit that is—” She rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed.

Kintore laughed softly and she was pleased that she’d made him do so.

He smiled her way. “You have marmalade on your cheek.”

She put her toast on her plate, picked up her napkin, and wiped her cheek.

“No. It’s farther back.”

She moved the napkin.

He shook his head and took her napkin from her hands. “Hold still.”

She lifted her chin and leaned forward, closing her eyes as she waited.

Kintore lifted the napkin, but before he touched her skin, his gaze locked on her
full bottom lip. She had the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen. Plump and curved,
it made him think of the most sensual things. He wanted that mouth under his, right
now.

His cock hardened and he found himself bending closer to her, the scent of lavender
and rose drawing him in
. Good God, what she does to me. What is it about her that’s so different, so tantalizing,
so—

Her eyes fluttered open, and for a long moment, they stared at one another. Heat swirled
about them. He’d had dozens of sexual encounters, and none of them had caused him
to react so powerfully. It was as if their passion was larger than either of them.
But that can’t be. I can’t let it be.

His thoughts must have shown, for she blinked. Once. Twice. So slowly that he couldn’t
look away. And then, with a flicker of disappointment, she pulled away, took the napkin
from his hand and swiped at her cheek. “I—I hope that got it.” She offered a tight
smile, then rose and went to look out the window, crossing her arms as if she were
chilled. “It’s still snowing.”

He watched her from across the room, so aware of her that he ached.

After a stilted moment, Alexandra turned from the window. “I should check on the countess.
She—she might need some assistance in getting dressed, as we’re without our maids.”

Cursing himself, the snow, and the world in general, Kintore watched her leave, listening
to her footsteps as she climbed the stairs. And then, unable to stand still a moment
more, he grabbed his coat off a peg in the front hallway. He’d visit the stables and
make certain that the stable boy was taking good care of MacIntosh
. It will keep me busy, and God knows I need something to think about other than a
willful princess bent on seduction.

Growling to himself, he went outside, stomping through drifts to the stables.

Chapter 6

W
hen Kintore arrived at the
stables to see to his horse, he discovered that Alexandra’s guards had set up an
encampment.

They’d hung tents over some stalls, which effectively captured the warmth from several
brass braziers. The braziers had been placed on stools to keep them well away from
the straw covering the floor. By opening the adjoining doors between empty stalls,
the guards had made a large room where they’d set up two barrels and some planks to
form a long table.

While he saw to MacIntosh, who was comfortably ensconced in his stall with fresh hay,
the guards sat around their makeshift table playing a card game, telling ribald jokes
and drinking. Doya glowered at him but the others were not so cold, one of them even
asking him to join the game for a hand or two. Other guards quickly joined the call,
pulling up a barrel for him to sit upon.

Kintore knew they were hoping to pluck his pockets. Still, the thought of going back
to the inn, where he’d have to fight his attraction for Alexandra, made him agree.
Why not play a few hands and try their vodka? He wasn’t a man who turned away from
either a challenge or a drink.

He took a seat and a glass, and prepared to either fleece or be fleeced. It took him
an hour or so to learn the game, and he lost heavily at first. But as time passed,
he began to recoup his losses. Although he’d originally planned to play for only a
few hours, the growing competition—and the wonderful vodka—convinced him otherwise.
Several hours passed, and then several more. Food was brought and yet still they played.

Well after the sun set, he was pleased to see that the stack of coins and notes in
front him had grown larger than anyone else’s. As the hours progressed, the pile grew
larger still and the good cheer at the table disappeared as Doya’s anger grew more
palpable.

But Kintore didn’t care; it exactly suited his mood. Life was not fair, and it was
a lesson they all needed to accept.

Finally, flush with his winnings and vodka, he stood. “I fear I must go.” He stuffed
his obscenely large winnings into his pockets. “I would love to take more of your
silver, but I cannot. I brought only one horse, and I fear that that any more weight
in the saddlebags would harm the animal.”

This was met with a surly outcry and, tsking, Kintore bade them a good night and wove
his way to the stable door. He stopped to tighten his coat collar against the cold,
and had just turned the latch when a huge hand landed on his shoulder.

He turned to find Doya threateningly close. Kintore grinned. “Mr. Doya, you do seem
to enjoy sneaking up on people.”

The guard glowered. “I know where you go. You will leave the princess alone.”

Hell, he was trying to do just that. He’d just spent the entire day in a stable with
half a dozen smelly Cossacks, rather than sit in a warm room with a woman who set
his blood afire. What more could this fool want? Kintore jutted out his chin. “I’m
not in the mood for a discussion, so say what you want to say and leave me be.”

Doya slapped his huge hand back on the earl’s shoulder and then squeezed. “She is
not for you, mongrel cur. The king has plans for her, and they do not include you.
You will leave the princess alone.”

Fueled by vodka, sheer fury flooded Kintore. Fury that this oaf should dare tell him
what to do; fury that Alexandra’s king was trying to arrange her life without taking
her wishes into consideration; and fury that there was damned little that he could
do about it.

Well, there was one thing he
could
do. He knocked the giant’s hand from his shoulder. “You may think you’re too big
to fall, but I can assure you, it can be arranged. And I’d be more than happy to do
it.”

“I will shake you like a rag doll,
doystolski
.” The guard’s shaggy brows knit over his furious eyes. He rolled up his sleeves and
then curled his hands into massive fists. “I’m done talking. Now, you will—”

With the biggest swing he’d ever taken, Kintore punched the giant in the jaw.

T
he creaky latch on
the back door awoke Alexandra from where she dozed on the settee. Yawning, she stretched
and glanced at the clock over the mantelpiece.
Ten o’clock.
Shaking her head, she turned toward the door just as the soft footsteps in the hallway
halted.

There was a pause, and then Kintore entered the room. His gaze swept the darkened
room, lit only by the fireplace now that the candles had burned out, and settled on
the now-cold dinner laid out on the table.

Alexandra rose, smoothing her skirts.

He’d been walking toward the table, but he paused in mid-step. “I didn’t see you there.”

Something about his voice wasn’t quite right, but in the shadows, all she could see
was the outline of his figure and the folds in one arm of his coat. “I had dinner
readied at seven. I thought you might wish to eat, but . . .” He hadn’t come. And
every minute she’d waited had seemed like an hour.

She’d thought of going in search of him, but she refused to do anything that would
seem so . . . desperate. Which she wasn’t—although being here when he arrived didn’t
leave her with much in the way of pride, either
. Why did I have to fall asleep?

“It looks as if dinner is untouched. Did the kitchen maid cook again?”

“No. It’s actually very good—roasted duck and turnips.”

“Mrs. MacDuffie must be well again. I’m sorry I missed it.”

“You already ate?”

“We had potato soup.”

“Ah. Vodka.”

He chuckled and walked toward her, his gait unsteady. As he moved, the firelight illuminated
his face.

She gasped. “What happened? Did you—” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Doya.”

“Doya? A tall fellow, rather clumsy? Not very good at getting up from the ground?”
He laughed at his own joke.

He can’t be too injured if he can laugh.
“Why did you fight Doya?”

“Because he said something I disliked. Something about you.“ He swayed and she quickly
crossed to his side.

“Come.” She slipped an arm about his waist and let him lean against her. “Let’s get
you to the settee before you fall down.”

“I can walk myself.”

“Yes, but not in a straight line.”

He chuckled and allowed her to assist him, enjoying the scent of her hair.

At the settee she helped him out of his overcoat, but when she started to remove his
coat, he stopped her. “What are you doing?”

“I need to see where you are injured.”

A sly smile curled his lips. “Ah, I see. You’re trying to take off my clothes so you
can ravish me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You had only to say the word.” He took off his coat, wobbling as he did so.

She took stock of his injuries as she helped him. They weren’t nearly as bad as she’d
thought. His right eye was red, his cheek was scraped, and one ear was swelling, but
that seemed to be it.

He smiled into her eyes. “Doya is not so big when he is on the ground.”

“You won?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.

“He’s not as effective when he doesn’t have the element of surprise. This time, I
got in the first hit. Bam! One, two, three hits, and I left your guard dead to the
world.”

At her alarmed look, he reached down and chucked her under the chin. “Not that kind
of dead, love. Just wake-up-in-a-half-hour-with-a-headache kind of dead.”

He called me ‘love.’
She smiled. “I can see that he managed to land a few hits, too.”

“One. Maybe two.” He touched his ear and frowned. “Perhaps more. I can’t remember.”

“Did he hit you in the stomach or chest?”

He shrugged. “All I remember is that I won. Did I mention that?”

She stifled a smile. “Yes, you did. I should see your stomach and chest to make certain
you aren’t too badly injured.”

“Yes, please do.” He bent so that his lips were even with her ear. “I think I might
have sprained something . . . significant.”

“Mm-hmm. You should sit before you fall.”

“I’m not through getting undressed. I must remove all my clothing.”

“No, no, no. Not all of it—”

He was already unbuttoning his waistcoat, his fingers fumbling as he swayed.

“Let me.” She pushed his hands away and unbuttoned his waistcoat, then helped him
out of it. “Does anything hurt? Your stomach, your ribs, your—”

“No. Three punches, Alexandra. One. Two. Three. And he was down.” He chuckled and
caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “I’m not sure who was more surprised,”
he confided, grinning like a little boy.

Laughing, she gave him a gentle shove and he sprawled back on the settee cushions,
his hair falling into his eyes.

“You’ve mud on your boots. They must come off, too.”

“Then off they come!” He bent and tugged them off, tossing them to one side with such
bravado that she chuckled.

Pleased, he reached out and pulled her into his lap. “I fought your giant, Princess.
I fought him for you.” He lifted a finger and finally managed to land it gently on
the tip of her nose, his voice warm and intimate. “All for you.”

She captured his wrist. “You’re just as likely to poke my eye out as touch my nose.
And stop acting as if you fought Doya for me; you didn’t.”

He pretended to be hurt. “I did, too. I defended you.”

“I don’t need to be defended from Doya.”

Kintore captured her hand and pressed a warm kiss to her palm. “You don’t know what
or who you need, Princess.” His voice deepened. “But I can promise you this—if I am
breathing, I will always fight for you. Every. Damn. Time.”

Each word vibrated with meaning. She shook her head. “What would you protect me fro—”

He leaned in and kissed her with such passion that her thoughts exploded into shatters.
His hands cupped her to him as he turned, tucking her against him.

One moment she was in his lap and the next she was beneath him, her gown rucked up
about her knees as he kissed her over and over, teasing and tempting.

God, she’d missed the taste of heated kisses, the scruff of a man’s unshaven face
against her skin, the feel of a man’s weight as he pressed between her thighs. Fingers
trembling, she undid his cravat and tossed it aside, then tugged his shirt over his
head and dropped it on the floor. His broad, muscled shoulders and arms slid beneath
her fingertips. He was so beautiful, so powerful. She’d known from the second she’d
seen him that he was all sinew and muscle.

His knee slipped between hers as he bent to catch the tie for her gown with his teeth.
Grinning, he tugged it until it gave. With the tie undone, he easily pressed the loosened
gown over her shoulders. She lifted and slipped out one arm, then the other. She started
to push it down, but he stopped her, his gaze roving greedily over the delicate lawn
chemise that barely covered her breasts.

“Don’t move.” Through the chemise, he placed his mouth over her nipple and teased
it to a peak. She gasped and arched against him, her body softening for him with every
flick of his warm tongue.

“Oh,” he breathed against her. “I’ve wanted to taste those buds of yours from the
second we met.” He blew softly on her nipple, the wet cloth cooling and torturing
it to an even harder peak. She moaned with desire.

He turned his attention to her other breast, cupping the one he’d just left, his thumb
circling the teased nipple until she thought she might explode.

He never ceased. She squirmed beneath him, hot and aching as she ran her fingers through
his hair, arching her back and pressing her breast toward him. He moaned against her
skin, his knee moving her thighs farther apart, rocking his hips against hers through
her layers of skirts.

She tried to open her knees but her skirts held her down, and she gave them an impatient
kick.

He chuckled. “Easy, love.”

“No.” She slipped out from under him, stood, and within seconds was naked, her gown,
undergown, and chemise a puddle of black and white silk. She rejoined him on the settee
and slipped back into his arms. He tucked her beneath him and captured her mouth with
his. Each kiss was urgent, each touch full of passion, each piece of his clothing
torn in their urgency—it was a maddening flow of passion that engulfed and swept them
away.

The firelight limned her curves and his cock leapt in response. She opened her thighs
and gripped his hips, his cock pressed against her. “Now,
pashinko,
” she whispered. “Now.”

He pressed forward and entered her. She gasped, arching her back as he pressed all
of the way in. For a moment they both lay perfectly still, absorbing the deep, pulsing
pleasure.

She let out a shuddering sigh and he began to move, slowly at first, but she grasped
him desperately, begging him with a husky voice to hurry. So he took her—primal, and
furious, and desperate; all of the emotions he’d avoided feeling, he now welcomed.
He slid his hands under her bottom and held her firmly as he thrust into her, over
and over, harder and harder.

She welcomed each thrust and, her legs locked about his waist, gave every stroke back
to him, lifting her hips and rocking against him. God, she was so passionate and lusty.
Somehow, though she remained beneath him, she controlled each and every stroke. And
somehow he loved her control, her demanding hands and mouth, the way she urged him
to move faster and harder. She could have anything she wanted if she would just do
this to him for the rest of his life.

She suddenly arched against him, calling out his name as she clutched his shoulders
and shuddered beneath him. Her tremors stroked him until he, too, flew over the edge
of passion, pulling out of her at the last possible moment before he collapsed against
her, panting.

For a while, there was no sound other than their breathing. As the tremors finished
coursing through his body, Kintore slowly became aware of the lavender and rose scent
of Alexandra’s hair, of the sensual warmth of her damp skin against his, of the smoothness
of her thigh against his hip, and of the soothing crackle of the fire in the background.