The Stolen Princess (17 page)

Gabe dipped the quill in the ink and began writing.

D
inner that evening was served in the small breakfast room and once again, Mrs. Barrow used the boys as waiters, only this time she sought Callie's permission.

She'd feed the boys in the kitchen first, she explained. “Young Jim's manners not being fit for company, Your Highness. Your Nicky now, he's that correct a little gentleman that it practically hurts to watch him, so I reckon Jim'll soon pick up the way to behave.”

Callie was not surprised by what Mrs. Barrow had said. Nicky was painfully correct, it was more noticeable here, where everything was more relaxed.

At home, whenever they'd dined en famille, Rupert had directed a nonstop barrage of instruction and criticism aimed at his son—at his manners, his bearing, the way he broke his bread, his attempts to respond to the conversational gambits his father shot at him.

Rupert had been a good enough man, she thought sadly, but he'd been determined to forge his son into a prince worthy of the name. His methods were crushing to a small, sensitive boy.

It was something she needed to redress.

Perhaps being the kitchen role model in manners for Jim might give Nicky a little of the confidence he lacked.

“Very well,” she agreed, knowing how much Nicky had enjoyed waiting on table this morning. “But after dinner, send him to join me in the drawing room, please.” It had been a big day, and she wanted to talk to her son, to hear his thoughts, and to reassure him if necessary.

She was also a little worried about the way he'd taken her announcement earlier that they were leaving. He'd said nothing—he was invariably obedient and well behaved—but his face had fallen with utter dismay.

It was hard for him, she knew. He'd taken to this place like a duck to water, and even seemed to relish Mrs. Barrow's brusque bossiness. He'd hunted leeches, had his first-ever fight, and made a firm friend from it—males were strange creatures.

He'd even had his first ride on a horse that hadn't ended up with him sprawled painfully on the ground to laughter or, more humiliatingly, embarrassed silence.

If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the way he'd greeted her this morning, all covered in mud, grinning at her from the back of a giant horse in front of Gabriel, breathless with exhilaration and triumph. And burgeoning confidence.

He was happy here, happier than she'd ever seen him, and it pained her to tear him away. But it was his happiness or his safety. Count Anton had not pursued them this far to give up and tamely go home.

S
he'd had in mind an intimate after-dinner conversation with her son, but Nicky brought his friend Jim with him, and then the men had surprised her by not lingering over their port, and joining her, Tibby, and the boys.

“Do you play chess, boys?” Mr. Delaney had asked and produced a small wooden box that opened up to become a chessboard. “A grand game to while away a chilly night.”

Jim was eager to learn, so Nicky hovered, observing quietly. Tibby wandered over to watch, too. Callie smiled. Even Papa had deemed Tibby a worthy opponent.

Gabe pulled a chair up next to her. He said nothing for a while, just divided his time between watching her pretend to sew and watching the chess lesson.

“Your son already knows how to play chess,” he commented.

She glanced at him in surprise. “How did you know?”

He shrugged. “He's watching the interaction between the players, rather than trying to learn the mechanics of the game. And since he strikes me as the kind of boy who likes to know things, I assume he already knows the moves.”

She gave a little nod. “Yes. My father and my husband were keen chess players.”

“Took it very seriously, too, I'll wager.”

She nodded.

“It's like watching myself and Harry all over again,” he said after a time. “Harry was just such a wild child as young Jim, and I was probably just as needy as Nicky.”

Needy?
Gabe caught himself up on the word. He'd never thought of himself as ever being needy.

But watching the young boy's reserved, intelligent face, his quick, shy responses to Ethan and Jim's noisy repartee, Gabe suddenly remembered what it felt like to sit on the outer, yearning to be accepted, to truly belong. Grateful for any crumb of approval.

He'd forgotten he'd ever felt like that.

He glanced at her face. His words had annoyed her.

“He's a fine, spirited boy. He'll grow out of it,” Gabe told her soothingly. Gabe had grown out of it.

“My son is not needy, and I doubt you even know the meaning of the word,” she told him.

It was meant to be a reprimand, but she'd unwittingly offered Gabe an opening he couldn't resist.

“Oh, I assure you, I understand what needy means, especially after this afternoon,” he murmured, his voice deepening. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he sighed suggestively. And even though he was only teasing her, the memory of their earlier kiss rose up and he had to battle with his body.

The color in her cheeks rose. “If you were any sort of gentleman, you would not refer to that incident.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth and stayed there. “It was a particularly sweet incident. As are your lips.”

“You will not flirt with me here!” she ordered in an undertone.

“Won't I?” He gave her a look of faux-innocent surprise. “Where shall we go to flirt then?”

She narrowed those glorious eyes at him. “We shan't go anywhere.”

“You don't want to go somewhere?”

“No, I am not budging from this place.”

“Excellent, I thought you were leaving in the morning,” he said instantly. He raised his voice. “Listen, everyone, the princess says she's not leaving after all. She has decided to stay on here.”

Her jaw dropped but before she had time to refute his outrageous misinterpretation of her words, her son came flying across the room and flung his arms around her.

“Oh, Mama, thank you, thank you! I did want so much to stay, and Jim has told me of a place where we could go fishing and could we go tomorrow please? I have never been fishing and perhaps I could catch you a fish for your supper. Mama, you know how much you like fish!”

Over her son's head she glared at Gabe, who hoped he was not looking as smug as he felt. She'd walked so neatly into his trap, and he was rewarded with another day, at least. More if he could persuade her. His letters were speeding on their way.

“It will be perfectly safe,” he reminded her. “Nobody knows you are here and there is nothing to connect this place with Miss Tibthorpe.”

He saw her consider his words, biting her lip thoughtfully. He watched, reliving the sensations that had coursed through him as he'd nibbled on that very lip. He could still taste the wild, dark honey taste of her. His body throbbed with remembrance. And need.

She remembered, too, he could tell by the way she abruptly stopped biting her lip and flickered a self-conscious glance his way. She saw he was watching and flushed even deeper.

He could also see she was quietly furious about the way he'd tricked her, yet she told her son that very well, they would stay another day, and that yes, if Mr. Renfrew would escort them fishing and guarantee their safety, she would allow it.

“I'd be delighted,” Gabe said.

Nicky straightened. “Thank you, Mama, sir.” Scarcely able to contain his excitement, he still managed a creditable bow and ran back to the chess game.

She gave Gabe a wry glance. “I do hope you enjoy your fishing.”

He laughed. “No, you don't.”

“You're very rude,” she told him. “How would you know what I think?”

“I told you, your face gives your thoughts away.”

“Nonsense!” she retorted. “Nobody else has ever indicated anything of the sort.”

“I know exactly what you're thinking,” he murmured.

Her eyebrows formed a skeptical arch. “Oh? Pray tell.”

He leaned forward, rather too close for her peace of mind, for she swayed back warily. He scrutinized her face. Then he grinned. “Right now you're hoping I fall into some very cold, very muddy water—with leeches.”

She gave him a cool look. “And lots of slimy weeds.” She glanced around the room in search of a new topic of conversation. Something innocuous and dull. Without hidden shoals. There were several paintings; some landscapes, rather dark and gloomy, and a few portraits, years out of date.

A portrait that intrigued her hung over the mantelpiece. It was of a woman in middle age, sharp-featured and severe-looking. Bright blue eyes glared down at the occupants of the room, along a great beak of a nose.

Poor woman, to be afflicted with a nose like that. It made her grateful for her own undistinguished snub nose.

“My great-aunt Gert,” he said, making her jump.

“She raised Harry and me and left me this house.” He rose to his feet. “Now, since you won't let me flirt with you, I'll salvage my pride, take myself off, and offer your son a game. He's looking a little bored and there's another chess set in the cabinet there. Would you care to join us?”

“No, thank you, I have my sewing to do,” she said politely. She watched him cross the room and invite her son to join him in a game. He might have been asking another adult to play.

She glanced at the portrait of the harsh-featured woman over the fireplace and wondered how an elderly great-aunt had come to raise the two younger sons of an earl, but not the two older ones. And why Harry was a half brother. And a wild child.

T
he next morning after breakfast, true to his word, Gabriel took Jim and Nicky fishing. It was a simple breakfast: four maidservants had arrived to start work that morning and Mrs. Barrow was busy directing a joyful frenzy of housework.

Callie and Tibby took refuge in the octagonal room, taking some sewing with them. Nicky needed new shirts and Callie needed more underclothes, so the two women sat in the warm, sunny room sewing and catching up on the important minutiae of the years they'd spent apart, talking and making plans.

Around eleven o'clock, Mr. Delaney poked his head around the sitting room door. “Miss Tibthorpe, I was wonderin'…I'm planning to drive over to Rose Bay Farm to see that stallion and, since your cottage is on the way, I thought mebbe you might want to stop off and see if you can find that cat of yours. As long as you don't mind waiting while I inspect the stallion, that is.”

“Mind waiting? Indeed no.” Tibby set down the shirt for Nicky she was sewing and jumped up. “Thank you, Mr. Delaney, it's very thoughtful of you. I've been so worried about Kitty-cat. He's such a sweet little creature and he's had such a hard life.” She turned to Callie. “You don't mind, do you, Callie?”

Callie smiled. “No of course not, Tibby dear. Go. I hope you find your Kitty-cat.”

Tibby had hurried off, leaving Callie alone.

She continued her sewing. To tell the truth, she was rather enjoying the peace—for the past eighteen days she'd been traveling, rarely stopping, barely sleeping. It was wonderful to be able to just sit and not have to worry or be alert; her whereabouts were unknown and Nicky was safe.

He really was safe, she knew, with Gabriel. He was a man she could rely on—in matters of protection, at least. She'd been lucky to have fallen under his protection when she did, to be given this respite before continuing on her way.

But that's all it could be—a respite. She hadn't gone to all this trouble to break out of one sort of prison only to exchange it for another. And it would be a prison, she could see the warning signs. A safe and comfortable one, perhaps, but a prison, all the same. A prison of her own making.

She had a tendency to want to run her head into the noose.

It had been the first true lesson of her marriage. Even after so many years, it had the power to fill her with remembered humiliation. What a fool she'd made of herself with Rupert. What a public fool.

She thought she was over all that, but that kiss in the octagonal room, that amazing, mind-scrambling, sublime, and dreadful kiss had given off warning signs ten feet tall.

Never again would she place her happiness in the hands of a man. She was older and wiser now.

She would leave. Protect Nicky, protect herself.

She took advantage of the privacy to unpick some of the jewels she had sewn into her thick petticoat—not the most valuable ones, just a ruby pin and some pearl earrings—small and easily sold items that would give her ready money for traveling.

The question was whether to go to some other rural location and live there quietly, or to disappear in London.

You can't keep running. Count Anton must be stopped.