Princess in Disguise

  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

  When 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.

  The 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.

  He hated to move, and yet he must. Sighing, he lifted up on one elbow and reached down for his shirt. He found it
after some searching and used it to clean them both. Alexandra smiled sleepily, and then turned so that he spooned her.

  He tugged her closer, resting his cheek on the silk of her hair, watching the red-gold light from the fire play across her body. Trailing his fingers along the delicate line of her collarbone, he said, “You, my sweet, should never be allowed to wear clothes.”

  She turned to give him a sleepy smile. “I would like to impose the same rule on you.”

  He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her cheek. “You are a very passionate woman.”

  “I enjoy”—she moved against him—“this.”

  He put a hand on her hip. “Unless you wish for another round, I suggest you refrain from ‘that.’ ”

  Her husky chuckle made him grin.

  “I knew we would do well together.” She traced her fingers over his arm and followed the muscles of his forearm. “That’s very rare, you know.”

  “Hmm.” He rubbed his chin over her shoulder, smiling as goose bumps rose on her skin.

  “Kintore?”

  He kissed her collarbone. “Yes?”

  “Have you ever wished to travel?”

  He stilled. After a long moment, he asked, “You mean to Oxenburg?”

  “Yes.” She turned over to face him, her full breasts now pressed to his chest. “I know you said you were not the sort to marry—”

  “Alexandra, don’t.”

  “But we would do so well together. Just see how we fit.”

  “Alexandra, no.”

  She slid her hands over his chest and pressed a kiss to his neck. “I’ll only be here for another few days, if that. And then I’m on to the rest of my journey. Don’t let us lose this.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Please,” she whispered, kissing his chin, his lips, his cheeks. “Just try to—”

  He sighed and sat up, pulling free from her arms. “You won’t stop, will you?”

  She rolled to her back, her eyes shaded to silver, her body gleaming in the firelight. With her long, dark hair, there was something almost mystical about her. She placed her hand on his chest. “Do you really want me to stop?”