The Prince (44 page)

A diamond glimmered in Wesley outstretched hand.

Nora’s eyes widened at the sight of it.

“Wesley?”

“Everything you see down there is mine. Or will be. I hate being called the Prince of Kentucky, but only because it’s kind of true. I have a kingdom and that’s it. And there’s nothing in the world more beautiful…except you.”

“Wes…you…”

“Stay with me, Nora. Stay here. Forever. Everything you see…I can give it to you. And you can love it and keep it, or hate it and burn it to the ground. I don’t care, as long as you’re here with me and you never go back to him. I know he can give you things I can’t—loneliness and pain and shame and humiliation. But I can give you a few things
he
can’t. Marriage. Kids if you want them. No kids if you don’t. A life together out here in the sun, where everyone can see us. You’d never have to hide if you were with me, or pretend. You’d have the whole world. You’d never have to work again. You wouldn’t have to even write another book if you didn’t want to. Or you can write until your hands fall off, and I’d hire the best doctor in the world to sew them back on. You can name all our horses, like you name your characters. You can drive my parents crazy by making riding crop and pony jokes every single day of your life. You can…” Wesley’s voice faltered. Bob grew restive underneath him. Drawing a breath, Wesley took Nora’s hand in his and held it tight, the diamond ring pressed into her palm. “You can be safe and no one will ever hurt you again. I won’t hurt you and I won’t ever let anyone else do so. Not now. Not ever. Not even if you go crazy and decide you want them to. I’ll make you happy. I’ll keep you safe. Just please say yes or no before these damn horses bolt and kill us both.”

Nora stammered and shook her head. “—I don’t know, Wes. I mean, are you asking what I think—”

“Dammit, Nora. You always have to make things harder than they are. Will you marry me? That’s what I’m asking. Yes? No? Maybe?”

Nora pulled her hand away from his, but took the ring. He waited, praying she’d put it on her finger. Instead, she only stared at it.

“It was my great-great-grandmother’s on my mom’s side. It would have been my sister’s had I had one. Lucky me—only child.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“They said my great-great-grandmother was the most beautiful woman in all of Georgia in her day. She had men fighting duels over her. I thought that was the craziest thing—two guys killing each other over a girl. Then I met you and I swear the thought of seeing Søren’s body being dragged through the streets behind Farewell to Charms made me smile like nothing else.”

“I’ve had the same thought a few times,” she said with a nervous laugh. “But, Wesley—”

“No buts. You don’t have to answer. You can think about it if you need to. I hope you don’t need to, but if you do…then you do. Actually, don’t answer. Don’t say anything about it. Just think about it. You can tell me yes, no or maybe when we get back to the barn. Okay?”

Nora took a shallow breath as she studied the ring in her palm. Wesley didn’t know much about it other than his mom had once said something about ten carats and two million dollars.

“Okay…” Nora wrapped her hand tightly around the ring and held it close to her chest.

“We’ll head back. We shouldn’t talk on the way down, anyway. It’s pretty steep.”

“Lips are sealed.”

Wesley watched as Nora slipped the ring onto her thumb—close enough to her ring finger to give him hope—before taking up her reins again. They started back down the hill, the only words spoken between them the occasional “watch out there—big rock” and an “I see it.”

A half hour later they made it back to the stables. The return trip had been torturous with waiting, and yet Wesley loved Nora enough not to panic her or push her.

He forced himself to go slow with the horses, to take his time. He unsaddled them carefully and brushed them both down—actions that calmed his racing, waiting heart. He wanted to rush, to get it over with and find out Nora’s answer. But he feared the answer as much as he wanted it, and so went as slowly as he could, delaying what he feared was the inevitable.

“Good girl,” Wesley said to Nickity as he put her back in her stall and offered her a fistful of oats.

“Nice to have such a pretty girl eating out of the palm of your hand, isn’t it?” Nora asked as he ran his hand down the horse’s long nose.

“She’s really not the girl I’ve got my heart set on.”

“Too bad. I hear she’s kinky.”

“Let me guess—she likes riding crops and pony play?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Nora…”

Nora sighed and raised her hand to Wesley’s face.

“Goddammit, I missed you while we were apart. I wish you knew how much.”

“I know how much I missed you, and never want to feel that way again. And I know we never have to. Just say yes. You know he can’t give you the life I can. You know he can’t…Nora?”

Nora’s eyes had left his face and now looked over his shoulder. Wesley glanced back and saw nothing but shadows in the corner of the stable.

“Nora?”

She said nothing, but Wesley saw fear in her eyes. Fear? Of who? Of what? They were alone apart from the horses. Did the thought of marrying him scare her that much?

“Nora, please. What—”

“Yes.” She looked up at him as she wrenched the diamond off her thumb and shoved it onto her ring finger. “Yes, I love you. I’ll marry you. Let’s go tell your parents so they can start the freaking out immediately.”

Wesley nearly collapsed into the straw. His relief trumped even his happiness.

“Thank God.” He started to drag her into his arms, but Nora pulled away.

“Now. Let’s go tell the fam. Come on.” She grabbed his hand and started to yank him forward.

“I don’t even get to kiss you—”

And the world went black and stayed black for a long time. A few minutes, a few hours, he didn’t know and couldn’t tell. When he woke up, all he knew was pain.

Pain, such pain…he’d never known pain like this before. Wesley slowly forced his eyes open and found himself facedown in the straw, still in the stall. Everything hurt…maybe. His head ached so violently he couldn’t even be certain the rest of his body still existed.

“Nora?” Her name came out with the force of a cough. Wesley heard no answer. Pulling himself to his hands and knees, he looked around and found the usually flat, trampled down straw a mess, as though someone had wrestled in it.

He called Nora’s name again as he lifted his hand to the back of his head. His fingers came away red and sticky with blood.

“Oh, shit…” Wesley nearly vomited at the sight of his own blood. Someone…someone had hit him in the head. But where was Nora?

Two parallel lines in the straw led from Nickity’s stall to the stable door. Someone had been dragged, the heels of their boots cutting through the bedding.

Dragged…blood…the fear in Nora’s eyes…

Wesley half ran, half stumbled toward the door. He had to get out, get his parents, call the police...

He had to find Nora.

But he stopped before he touched the door. In the wood someone had carved five words—the five most terrible words Wesley had ever read, even though he couldn’t read them. And he knew he couldn’t tell his parents, couldn’t call the police, could do nothing but pull his cell phone out of his pocket and dial a number he wished he didn’t know. His instincts, however, told him this was the only number he should call.

The phone answered on the first ring.

“Søren…it’s Wesley.” He choked on the words. He’d throw up any minute now. But he had to get it out. He stared at the words carved on the stall door.

“Wesley? What is it? Where’s Eleanor?”

“
Je vais tuer la salope.
What does that mean?”

“It’s French,” Søren said, sounding both furious and deadly. “It means ‘I will kill the bitch.’ Wesley…where is Eleanor?”

“I don’t know. Someone has her.”

“What do you mean, someone has Eleanor?”

As a small child Wesley had heard the phrase “the wrath of God” in church, and sat and wondered what that meant, what that sounded like.

Now he knew.

“Søren…she’s gone.”

* * * * *

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I keep forgetting that I’m allowed to put acknowledgments in my books. It’s only after I send off the final that I remember, “Oh, shit, I forgot to thank all those people who helped me.” So forgive me for putting three books’ worth of acknowledgments into one short page. My brain is so often lost in my fictional world I forget the real world is full of people even more wonderful.

First, thank you to my parents for being so surprisingly supportive of your unrepentant smut-peddler of a daughter. Thank you to my sister Alisha for being my biggest cheerleader.

Thank you to Patricia Correll, Robin Brecht and Jeff Hoagland for being my first ever beta readers and whipping, nay flogging,
The Siren
into shape.

Thank you to Karen Stivali for being the most eagle-eyed of all my beta readers.

Thank you to Team Awesome and my fearless editorial assistant Alli Sanders, otherwise known as ED.

Thank you to Sharon Biggs Waller, brilliant writer and horse expert, who told me everything I got wrong and how I could make it right. I love horses, and I have nothing but respect for the Sport of Kings. I only wish the racing drama in
The Prince
was a work of pure fiction and not based on actual tragedies and crimes that the few bad apples in the racing industry have committed (sadly, it is). If I get stuff right about horses in this book, it’s thanks to Sharon. If I get it wrong, I take the blame.

Bless you, Sara Megibow, my visionary agent, who three years ago saw the potential in my weird, twisty world and, against the advice of experienced others, took me on as a client. Boss—L’Chaim!

Most profound thanks to my editor, Susan Swinwood, who saw the magic of Mistress Nora three years ago and somehow knew the world would be needing the services of a young, smart, fearless kinky woman. Susan lets me get away with murder in my books. Okay, maybe not murder but everything else (and I do mean everything). I had a vision for my Original Sinners series, and I prayed at night I’d find someone who would trust my vision, would trust my judgment and let me put my guts on paper. I found the answer to every writer’s prayer in my editor. Thank you.

And thank you to Andrew Shaffer for coming into my life just when I need you even though I didn’t realize it at the time. Thank you for bring my editor, my other agent, my manager, my graphic designer, my best friend, my other half, my reason for coming to bed at night, my reason for not wanting to get out of bed the next morning and for being the most important thing of all—my Sir. I love you, Sir.

ISBN: 9781459248953

THE PRINCE

Copyright © 2012 by Tiffany Reisz

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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