To Pleasure a Prince (24 page)

They had just rounded the knot garden and were descending a steep hill toward the roses when a bloodcurdling scream rent the air behind them. Both of them jumped and turned, just in time to see a child of about seven come sliding down the hill on his bottom, clutching his leg.

His profusely bleeding leg.

Marcus froze as he recognized the cook’s inquisitive son. But Regina didn’t waste even a moment. She flew to the sobbing boy and knelt at his side to examine the leg. As Marcus hurried over, she was already unwinding the scarf about her neck and tying it above the gash to provide a makeshift tourniquet.

“I-I’m sorry, m’lord,” the boy exclaimed, his eyes awash with fearful tears. “I only wanted to see…your lady, but I fell off the fence onto the tiller and it cut me.” He lifted a panicky face to Regina. “I’m gonna die, ain’t I, m’lady?”

“Certainly not,” Regina said firmly. She was surprisingly unperturbed by the sight of all that blood as she examined his wound. “I’ve seen far worse cuts than this, on far more sickly boys, and they didn’t die. A strapping lad like yourself will come through it with flying colors.”

Ah, yes. She had mentioned something before about volunteering at a hospital. Marcus relaxed a little. “What can I do?”

“Let’s carry him up to the house. He’ll need to have this treated at once.”

As they approached the back of the house where the kitchens were, they were greeted with a shriek from Cook, who’d spotted her son in Marcus’s arms out the window. She rushed from the house to meet them, a couple of scullery maids following close behind. “Timmy! Lord have mercy, Timmy!”

“He’s all right,” Regina told Cook as Marcus carried the boy into the kitchen.

When Cook’s cursory examination of her son’s wound seemed to confirm Regina’s opinion that it wasn’t too serious, she uttered a relieved sigh.

Regina gestured to a table in the center of the kitchen. “Lay him there.” She turned to Cook. “I shall need a sturdy needle, strong thread, a damp clean cloth, and some clean dry linen. And Taylor’s Ointment, if you have it in your stillroom.”

“Aye, we do.” Cook opened a cupboard. “I’ve got a needle and strong thread I use for sewing up the stuffed chickens. Will that do?” Cook glanced at one of the maids. “What’re you standing gawking for—go fetch that ointment.”

As the girl raced from the kitchen, Cook returned her gaze to her son. “I tell you, m’lady, the boy shall be the death of me yet.” She handed over what Regina had asked for. “It’s the third time this month he’s got himself hurt.”

“Boys are like that,” Regina said with a ghost of a smile. “Always ready for trouble.”

But when she threaded the needle, Timmy showed himself not quite so ready for trouble, for he began to bawl like a lost sheep.

Marcus offered the boy his hand. “Here now, lad, making all that racket won’t do any good. Let her sew you up, and it’ll be over soon enough. Just squeeze my hand hard as you can when it hurts, all right?”

Timmy stopped wailing to fix Marcus with a fearful stare. The children on the estate were nearly all half-terrified of him, which had always bothered him. So when Regina eased the needle into the boy’s skin, and he grabbed for Marcus’s hand, the surge of satisfaction that filled Marcus was sweet indeed.

“That’s it, lad,” he murmured. “Squeeze it hard.”

The boy swallowed, but kept his eyes on Marcus’s face. “Is this how you got that big scar on your cheek, m’lord? Did you fall on a tiller like me?”

“Hush now, Timmy,” Cook said, shooting Marcus an apologetic look.

“He got it fighting an old witch,” Regina put in. “She tried to put an evil spell on him with a firebrand, so she could take Castlemaine. But even though she wounded him sorely, he held firm. Like you’re holding firm now, my brave boy.”

As Timmy thrust out his chest and loosened his hold on Marcus’s hand, Marcus bit back a smile. His mother would have scratched Regina’s eyes out for calling her an old witch.

“There, done,” Regina announced as she bit off the end of the thread. “You see? That was not so bad, was it? And we can get rid of this now, too.” She untied her improvised tourniquet, then smiled to see how well her stitches held.

With a scowl, Cook examined the tourniquet. “Your pretty scarf got soiled something awful. I’m so sorry, m’lady.”

“It’s all right.” Regina shot Marcus a glance. “His lordship will buy me a new one, won’t he?”

“I’ll buy you ten new ones,” he growled. “Whatever you want.”

When Cook and the other maid exchanged surprised glances, Marcus stiffened. He might as well have knelt on one knee and proclaimed himself a besotted idiot. “Since you females seem to have this well in hand,” he added with a scowl, “I’ll go see to that tiller. It shouldn’t be sitting out like that.”

As he left the kitchen, the maid who’d been sent for the ointment entered with a box full of bottles. He was halfway out the door when he heard her exclaim, “Beggin’ your pardon, m’lady, but I can’t read, so I didn’t know which was the ointment. I brought all the bottles in the stillroom.”

In alarm, he turned to go back. Cook was already handing the box over to Regina. “Here, miss, you look for it. I have to find my glasses.”

He hurried inside as Regina paled and peered into the box. But before he could reach them, she picked up a bottle. As if stalling for time, she ran her fingers over the front of it.

Then an odd expression crossed her face. “No, this is laudanum. We don’t want that.”

He took the bottle from her. Damn, if she wasn’t right. He glanced at her to find her watching him anxiously. “It
is
laudanum.”

Excitement suffused her features. “I
felt
it, Marcus. I felt the letters. The first one didn’t look like an ‘l’, but it
felt
like one. And then once I could feel it, I could see it, too.”

The servants were eyeing them both oddly, but he didn’t care. “Try another.”

She picked up another bottle. “W…C…Taylor? Is that it?”

He grabbed the bottle. “Yes. That’s the maker’s name on the seal.”

“Will it burn when you put it on?” Timmy asked, jerking them both back to their surroundings.

“Only a little,” Regina murmured as she thrust the box of bottles at Marcus.

She swabbed the boy’s sewn wound with Taylor’s Ointment, then wrapped linen around it. “Timmy shall have a rather fearsome scar of his own, but it should heal all right.”

“I don’t know how to thank you, m’lady,” Cook began.

“Nonsense.” She tied off the makeshift bandage. “I’m only glad I could be useful.”

It took a few more minutes to extricate themselves from Timmy and his mother, then they headed down the hall to the drawing room.

“I see you didn’t lie about volunteering at the hospital,” he murmured.

She shot him an arch glance. “Did you think I had?”

“I was hoping you had. Because if I’d known you were such a paragon, I’d never have dared offer for your hand.”

Her blush of pleasure warmed him. “But I can’t garden, remember?”

“I’ll take doctoring skills over gardening any day.” He covered her hand with his and squeezed. “Not so ornamental a wife, after all, eh?”

She laughed. “You haven’t seen me embroider.”

“What I’ve seen of your wifely skills is good enough for me,” he said truthfully.

She toyed with the edge of his cuff as they neared the foyer, where a cluster of servants were buzzing about. “All the same, do you think we might…return to those reading lessons?” She met his questioning gaze and smiled. “After all this excitement, I believe I’m ready for a tamer pastime.”

His bark of laughter made the servants turn in their direction. Then a spindly figure separated from the rest and approached them.

Marcus recognized him as one of Iversley’s footmen just as the man thrust a sealed letter at him. “For you, my lord.”

A frisson of alarm slid down his spine as he broke open the seal. His alarm flared into anger when he read the letter.

“What is it?” Regina asked, her skin pale as chalk.

“We have to go to London.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Your damned ass of a brother just tried to abduct Louisa.”

Beware the snares of a devious suitor.

—Miss Cicely Tremaine,
The Ideal Chaperone

B
y the time they set off from Castlemaine in the carriage a good half hour later, Regina could hardly contain her panic. “Marcus, won’t you read me the message now? You know I can’t read it for myself.”

He hadn’t said a word to her since he’d made his chilling pronouncement. Ignoring her pleas that he read her the entire letter, he’d called for the carriage and ordered servants to pack him a bag, in case he was forced to stay in London for the night. When she’d told them to pack her a bag, too, he’d shot her a dark glance. But at least he hadn’t tried to stop her from going.

So now they were alone together, hurtling toward London, with him staring rigidly out the window and her nearly frantic to know the full story.

“Marcus, please—”

“I’m sure you know what it says.”

“What do you mean?”

His gaze shot to her, blazing with anger. “You knew all along that Foxmoor was planning this, didn’t you?”

“No!”

“All your fussing about being in London for Louisa—you obviously knew he would try something.”

She swallowed. “I’ll admit I feared he might try to see her. But I never guessed he would attempt to abduct her. Simon is not generally so—”

“Calculating? Power-mad?”

“Reckless,” she countered. “I can’t think what he meant to accomplish.”

“Her ruin,” he growled. “He arranged to meet her in the street in broad daylight so he could carry her off in his carriage, damn him.”

“Oh no,” she moaned. “Did anyone see them?”

“No, thank God, but if not for Miss Tremaine’s following Louisa when she slipped out of the house in early morning, he would have succeeded.”

“This is all my fault. If anyone had seen—”

“Why is it your fault?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Regina shot him a despairing glance. She had to tell him. It would be better to tell him the truth before a furious Simon spouted all his lies. “You must understand, Marcus. If I had thought for one minute that Simon would—”

“Why is it all your fault?” he demanded again, more coldly.

Her heart sank. “Because Simon told me the night of the assembly at Almack’s that he meant to break his promise not to pursue her. He said he intended to set up a meeting between her and the prince no matter what. But I never dreamed he would go so far.”

His face was the color of stone. “Is that why you didn’t warn me?”

“I thought Cicely could prevent it. And she did, didn’t she?”

He leaned forward, eyes alight. “Louisa could have been ruined, damn you. And you didn’t see fit to tell me?”

Her hands grew clammy. “I couldn’t. He said if I revealed his intentions to either you or Louisa, he would claim I’d supported his scheme from the beginning. He threatened to tell you I went to Castlemaine the first time solely at his request.”

“Didn’t you?” he said snidely.

“You can’t possibly think I’d have been part of a scheme to harm Louisa!”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“If I’d been part of his scheme, why would I have charged Cicely with protecting her? When I needed Cicely so desperately myself?”

His grim features softened imperceptibly. “You should have told me what he threatened. You should have alerted me.”

“Would you have believed me over him?” She drew herself up stiffly. “As he so cruelly pointed out, you didn’t even trust me to be faithful to you; I could hardly expect you to trust me not to have lied to you from the beginning.”

A coarse oath escaped his lips. “Your brother is an ass.”

“Yes, but I knew he was right.” When Marcus glared at her, she added, “And even if I’d told you, what would you have done? Take Louisa with us on our honeymoon? Lock her up at Castlemaine?”

“If I had,” he shot back, “she wouldn’t be in this position now.”

“Yes, but that would hardly have helped her find a husband.” She thrust out her chin. “I did what I thought was best—I told Cicely to prevent Simon from getting to her. And Cicely did as I asked.”

“But if she had not succeeded, Louisa might have ended up—”

“I know, I know.” She sighed heavily. “I shall never forgive myself for that. Still, since it sounds as if he made sure she was not seen, I don’t think he meant to ruin her. All he wants is to take her to the prince for one meeting.”

He glowered at her. “I suppose you approve of that.”

“I don’t approve of his underhanded tactics, no. But if you weren’t being so stubborn, he would not have resorted to such ridiculous maneuverings. You could have taken Louisa to meet His Highness yourself, you know. Then after he stated his piece, she could have made her own decision.”

“The chit is risking ruin for your idiot brother, and you think she can be trusted to make her own decisions when confronted by our manipulative regent?”

“His Highness isn’t the monster you seem to think he is,” she said stoutly.

“You don’t know anything about him, damn it. You see the charming smile he bestows on the ladies, the seemingly amiable wit and the excellent taste in art and music. You don’t see the side
I
have seen.”

She sensed that she was on the brink of discovering something very important about her husband. “What side is that?”

“The one so bloated with his own importance that he thinks nothing of seducing married women like my mother and Iversley’s mother—”

“Iversley’s?” she interrupted. “Lord Iversley is Prinny’s son?”

He blinked, then scowled. “Damn. I had no right to reveal that.”

She stared at him, her mind racing. That was why he and the earl were such good friends. And why the man’s wife was sponsoring Louisa in society. Sweet heaven. “Are you sure that Lord Iversley is Prinny’s son?

“Iversley’s father was impotent, and his mother had one liaison. With the prince. Iversley is sure, so yes, I’m sure.”

“But she could have had other lovers—”

“Not from what Iversley says. She was apparently nothing like my own mother.” His voice hardened. “Although that hardly mattered to Prinny—he’d bed anything in skirts.”

“True, and I can understand why that would make you resent him.” She chose her words carefully. “But many men in society are like that—Mr. Byrne, for example. You let
him
around Louisa. So why refuse to let His Highness near her?”

“Because once the prince has her under his control, he will do anything to get what he wants, damn it!” he spat out. “Even if he has to browbeat her or order her locked away in a dungeon—”

“Locked away in a dungeon! Don’t be absurd. He would never—” Marcus’s fierce expression made her blood run cold. “You didn’t…oh, please tell me you were never locked in the dungeon at Castlemaine.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the beat of the horse’s hooves on the road. He glanced out the window, his jaw tight. “I was. Once.”

She gaped at him in horror. “Because of Prinny?”

His gaze swung back to her, hot, angry. “Because he ordered it. His Confounded Highness did not take well to hearing what his insolent thirteen-year-old son thought of his character.”

“You lectured the Prince of Wales?” she said, incredulous.

“I told him he was a vile whoreson who didn’t deserve ever to be king.”

“Sweet heaven,” she murmured, marveling at the foolhardy bravery of Marcus at thirteen.

“I was angry, all right? What do you expect of a boy who’d heard his mother called the ‘Whore of Wales’ and other filthy names at school? Bad enough that I had to learn from schoolboys that I was considered a bastard, but then to have to return home and pretend he was just a family friend—” He swore under his breath.

“I’m sure that was very difficult.” She tried to imagine how a boy as fond of his “father” as Marcus had clearly been would handle hearing of his true heritage from a lot of nasty children. “Any other boy might have been rather intrigued to hear that his father was royalty.”

“Not if he’d ever endured having the man pinch his cheeks or demand reports on his studies. As a boy, I hated Prinny’s visits. Father would closet himself in his library, Mother would turn all flirtatious, and I was left to my tutors and told to stay out of my mother’s bedchamber.”

His fingers tightened into fists on his thighs. “By the time I found out what all that meant, Prinny had married Caroline. For a while, he was absent from Castlemaine. I got a new little sister, and Father and Mother seemed to be getting along. I really thought we were rid of the old goat. Then I came home on holiday at thirteen to see him back in his usual spot at Mother’s side, and I—” He swore under his breath. “I lost my temper and told him he was a vile whoreson.”

“I suppose that’s understandable.”

“Not to the prince.” His tone would have chilled fire. “He demanded that I apologize, and I refused. So he banished me to our dungeon for three days.”

“Three days!” Her heart dropped into her stomach.

“With the rats, the dank cold, and the nights darker than coal.” A shudder wracked him. “At thirteen I was stubborn as the very devil, but even I could only endure so much. When Mother came for the third evening in a row to order me to apologize to Prinny, I couldn’t bear the thought of another night down there.”

He spoke through gritted teeth. “I swallowed my pride, and I apologized very prettily.” His angry gaze swung to her. “But I never forgave him for it. Never. And I finally got to tell him so, too, nine years later. I told him to his face how much I hated him. Then I ordered him to leave Castlemaine, take her with him, and never come back. And I got a poker across the face for my efforts.”

The pain in his voice cut her to the heart. “Oh, my darling—”

“I’m not telling you this to gain your pity.” The waning sun shone on his flushed cheeks. “I merely want you to understand that he’s not the man you think. I’ll do anything to keep Louisa out of his clutches. Anything, do you hear me?”

She nodded, but she still couldn’t conceive of Prinny—jovial, easygoing Prinny—ordering his son held in a dungeon for three days.

But neither would Marcus lie. And she remembered how reluctant he’d been to show her the dungeon this morning, as well as his anger the first time she’d told him what people were saying about his keeping women there. Clearly he was telling the truth. But…

“Are you sure the prince ordered it? Perhaps your mother—”

“My mother was completely in thrall to the man. She did nothing unless he commanded it, I assure you.”

“And where was the viscount?”

“In town. That’s why Prinny felt free to visit and act the petty tyrant.”

She ventured a question she knew he would not like. “Did you hear Prinny order you put into the dungeon?”

He scowled. “I’m sure I did. And he could hardly not have noticed that I disappeared for three days. And that I looked like the very devil when I came to apologize.”

Her throat constricted to think of a young Marcus locked up beneath the earth, no matter who had chosen to do it. “Did they starve you?”

He snorted. “They didn’t need to. Being in that miserable place was punishment enough. I had a bed and food and a chamber pot. I just wasn’t allowed to come out, that’s all.” He hitched up his shoulders as if to shrug it off, but it looked more a shudder than a shrug. “Anyway, it was a long time ago.” He leveled a hard gaze on her. “And my point is, the prince cannot be trusted. Nor your brother.”

“Simon most certainly cannot.” She sighed. “So what will you do now?”

“I want to hear what Louisa has to say before I make a decision.”

“Promise me you won’t fight Simon.”

He arched one eyebrow. “Worried about your brother, are you?”

“I’m worried about
you,”
she cried, hurt that he could think she would care more about Simon than him.

His rigid jaw softened. “I can take care of myself with your brother.”

“If the two of you fought a duel, I would lose you both. One of you would die and the other would be forced to flee the country. I couldn’t bear it, and I know it would kill Louisa. Promise me you won’t call him out, Marcus.”

He swore under his breath.

“Promise me, Marcus!”

“Oh, all right. But only because I can’t very well keep Louisa safe if I have to flee England.”

She noticed he didn’t say anything about not wanting to leave his wife. Was that because he didn’t care? Or because he assumed that if he ever did have to flee, Regina would go with him?

A silence fell between them, thick with tension as she mulled over his revelations. She wanted him to care. She wanted it desperately. Every time she gazed at that dear, stubborn face, her heart flipped over in her chest. After sharing his bed these past few nights while he made love to her with a fierce tenderness that melted her, she couldn’t bear to have him
not
care.

Because she loved him.

Unshed tears pooled in her throat. Uncertain of his feelings, she’d kept her own under control, but he had crept around her heart anyway, as insidious as the dragon’s tail carved on her new harp.

How could she not fall in love with a man who’d given up his honeymoon to try to teach her to read? Who had endured a mountain of humiliation to squire her about in public? Who cared so much for his sister that he would do anything to protect her from harm?

Tears stung Regina’s eyes. She loved him all right. What else could possibly make her this weepy?

Blinking back her tears, she stared out at the dying sun and prayed that he could love her, too. That he would eventually forgive her for her part in Louisa’s near ruin. Because if he couldn’t, she didn’t know how she’d bear it.