Princess in Disguise

  Damn it, he didn’t know what he wanted—except more of her touch, more of her kisses, more of her. But not at the cost of making a mistake that they both would pay for over the years to come.

  And they would pay. For the last two years he’d been running from his past, staying drunk so he couldn’t feel. He’d been successful, too . . . until he’d met a blue-eyed princess with a mouth made for sin and a heart far larger than his would ever be. It wasn’t fair to weigh her down with his past. He simply couldn’t do it. For once in his selfish life, he would do what was best for someone else.

  She leaned up to capture him, tugging him closer as she twined her arms about his neck. “Don’t look so serious, pashinko. It’s too late at night, and you’re bruised from your fight and still feeling the effects of the vodka.” She kissed his cheek. “We will save that for tomorrow. For tonight . . .” She pulled him to her once again.

  He should have broken the embrace and left. But he was no match for the warm silk of her skin against his. With a sigh, he came to her and sank once again into her alluring embrace . . .

  Chapter 7

  Kintore awoke in his bedchamber to the sounds of women’s voices downstairs. He frowned, listening for a moment. He recognized the plaintive voice of Alexandra’s chaperone, before now only heard coming from the confines of her bedroom. They were answered by a soothing voice that he didn’t recognize. We have new guests? Behind that startling thought came another. The roads must be open.

  He turned to look out the window and then winced, instantly aware of his aching head. Oh yes—vodka, and then the fight with Doya.

  Fortunately, another instant memory made him smile. Alexandra . . . He took a deep breath, some of his aches fading.

  He rose carefully, holding a hand to his tender head, and crossed to the window. The sun was well up, casting golden light over the inn yard. The snow had ceased, with warmer weather hard on the heels of the storm. Already the inn was more lively, with tracks in the snow showing where coaches and horses had arrived.

  He put his hand against the glass. It was warm where the sun had touched, no longer frosted. The icicles were melting in the yard below, their drips making a deep line in the glistening snow. Here and there, chunks of wet snow fell from the roofs and tree limbs.

  He turned to his washstand, pausing to fish his flask from his portmanteau. “Hair of the dog,” he muttered, taking a quick drink. That would fix his head soon.

  But his head wasn’t his only ache. At the memory of Alexandra’s strong, pure passion, his cock stirred to life again. He’d never burned so madly for any woman. Though he’d taken his fill last night, he was hungry for her again. Yet it was a hunger he couldn’t afford to slake.

  Fifteen minutes later, washed and dressed, he went downstairs. The parlor was empty, and he sipped a bit more Scotch, hoping to burn away the aches from last night.

  The room felt oddly empty without Alexandra, and he moved to the fire. He added some wood and then stood before the flames, toasting his hands. When he’d been a young man of thirteen, his father had insisted that he learn how to make a proper fire. Kintore, who’d felt very manly with his changing voice, and a growing awareness that he was the heir of Keith Manor and all of the titles and lands, had declared such an endeavor a waste of time for a gentleman.

  His father had been disappointed, and rightly so, but being a quiet and gentle man, he had not pressed the issue, No, it had been Jane—impish, laughing, childish Jane—who had waited for Father to leave the room before she gave Kintore a piece of her mind as only a younger sister could. And a very loud and disgusted piece of mind it had been.

  He’d had to laugh, as did she. After her chiding, he’d learned to lay a fire, much to Father’s surprise, and to this day he took pride in his ability to do so.

  As he smiled at the memory, he somehow found his watch in his hand, the locket beside it.

  He ran his thumb over the engraved surface of the locket. He rarely opened it, for he couldn’t bear to look at the miniature, but today . . . today he wanted to see her. Perhaps it was the fire that had brought her to mind, or the proximity of Keith Manor.

  Or perhaps it was the fact that a blue-eyed princess was stirring unexpected feelings in him.

  Whatever it was, he took a deep breath and opened the small locket. Jane’s smile met his gaze. Jane, forever youthful, forever smiling, forever— Gone, a voice inside him said ruthlessly. She will never return because you—

  He snapped the locket closed, his eyes hot, his heart a ball of agony. He dropped the watch into his pocket and groped for his flask. He took a grateful gulp, letting the Scotch burn down his throat.

  Damn, I hate this. I hate the pain and the loneliness her death brought. But the strength of that pain made him realize how dead he’d become over the last year or so. Dead for a reason. I don’t want to remember that day anymore. The pain of losing someone had almost killed him before, and next time . . .

  “There won’t be a next time,” he muttered, taking another drink. It would be better to let Alexandra go now, before they were so twined together that he couldn’t let—

  “Kintore?” Her lightly accented voice broke into his thoughts.

  She stood in the doorway, her gaze flickering from the flask to his face. He realized how he must look, standing alone, gulping from his flask like a drowning man snatching at a thrown rope.

  He managed a smile. “Good morning.” He recapped the flask and slipped it into his pocket, where it rested on his watch with a clink. “I was wondering where you might be.”

  “Our other coach and guards arrived this morning, as you can tell.” She gestured to her gown, smiling.

  He couldn’t see any difference from the one she now wore and the one she’d removed for him last night. Black. Always black. It’s a pity to see such a beautiful woman wearing mourning. It’s not fair, damn it. “Is black all you wear?” The words sounded harsh, but he didn’t care. Something inside him ached like a raw tooth, and he was helpless before it. “I’m done with black. You should wear prettier gowns—something blue to match your eyes.”

  Alexandra eyed him for a moment, then turned as if to leave.

  He took a step toward her, but she had only turned to close the door.

  Then she faced him. “Who is she?”

  “She?”

  “In the locket on your watch chain.”

  His hand jerked toward his pocket. “How do you know about— Ah, yes. The first day, when Doya hit me.”

  She nodded. “I was being a bit too curious, I suppose, but . . .”

  Alexandra swallowed, her heart thudding so hard she was certain he could hear it. She’d seen his expression as he looked at the locket, and his pain had wrenched her heart. She felt like she was standing on a precipice, and one move in the wrong direction could make her lose the man before her—but she couldn’t let that stop her. She wanted him in her life, and she’d do what she must to make it happen. “But now I want to know. Who is she, Kintore?”

  His expression was cold and closed. “She is gone. There is nothing more to say.”

  “Then why did you look so lost when you were staring at her portrait?”

  His mouth turned white. “She is—was my sister, Jane.”

  “Sister? Ah. I’m sorry. What happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter. She is a part of my past. I would leave her there.”

  “But how did she—”

  “That is all I have to say.”

  So that’s what it is. You’ve been carrying a loss too great for a tender heart. And maybe guilt about some unfinished business between yourself and your sister? Or something else? Whatever it was, it was keeping him locked to his past and away from his future. Away from her.

  It explained so much—his refusal to allow Alexandra closer, and why he retreated to his flask when faced with emotion. How lonely he must be. She blinked back tears at the thought. “If you don’t wish to tell me, that’s fine. But one day you will. And I
will be very glad to listen.” And on that day, I will know you’ve let me into your heart. Until then, I must be patient.

  She smiled, though it cost her dearly. “Before I asked about the locket, you were talking about my gowns. In my country, the widow mourns until she weds again. On my next wedding day, I will don a colored gown and my life will officially begin again.” And please, please, let it be with you.

  His brows knit. “And if you never wed?”

  “Then it is a good thing I am so charming in black, nyet?” She peeped at him through her lashes and smiled, willing him to stop looking so stern.

  Though he gave her a polite smile in return, it didn’t reach his eyes. “So you must wear the sign of your loss forever, perhaps.”

  “Perhaps.” There was something about him this morning, something brittle and distant. She desperately wished to close the space between them, but could find no bridge to make the crossing. “This is my reality, and so I accept it and move on. Dmitri has gone on to better things, and I do honor to his name by living as well as I can.”

  His expression was deeply skeptical. “You cannot honor the dead. They are not here to receive it.”

  “We don’t know what the dead remember or see.”

  “The dead are gone,” he snapped, his voice raw and harsh.

  “The dead are in our hearts, Kintore,” she said softly, wishing she could help with his pain, yet understanding it.

  For much of her life she’d been surrounded by vapid, charming men, for the court abounded with them. It was a relief to meet a man capable of real thoughts and feelings, even if those feelings were not for her.

  He turned and went to look out of the window. “I suppose you’ll be leaving soon, now that the weather has turned.”

  She hesitated. “Tomorrow we are to continue on to the Duchess of Roxburghe’s castle.”

  He nodded, his mouth white. “Floors Castle is beautiful in the snow, and the duchess always plans many amusements. You will like it there.”

  She took a step forward. “And if I don’t?”

  He frowned. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “Oh, Kintore! Don’t pretend you don’t know that I will be thinking about you, wondering where you are, hoping that you are thinking of me—”

  He threw up a hand. “Stop. Alexandra, we cannot continue. Last night was—”

  “Wonderful.” Her hands were fisted at her sides, her mouth pressed into a straight line. “If you call it anything else, I will—I will— I don’t know what I’ll do!”

  A smile was forced from him. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “Good. For if you are determined to leave me, then that memory will be all I have left.” Her blue eyes shone with unshed tears. “Do not mar that.”

  It pained him like a hot coal pressed to his heart to see her weep. Yet more proof that I must leave. “Alexandra, I’m sorry I cannot live up to your expectations. It’s just that”—he spread his hands—“I cannot bear to hurt that way again.”

  She took a step forward. “Am I not worth taking that chance? Aren’t the good memories, as rich and wonderful as they’ll be, worth any number of bad ones?”

  He met her gaze. “No.”

  She winced as if he’d hit her.

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Finally she said, “I suppose that’s all there is, then.” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “But at least we have today. I would like to spend as much time with you as I can before we leave. May we go for a walk later on?”

  “A walk? In the snow?”

  She nodded. “It’s warmer today, and it’s really rather pleasant. It would be nice to walk through the woods.” She hesitated and then added, “MacDuffie said that Keith Manor was only a mile or so from here, down the path by the stable yard.”

  “I’ve no wish to see Keith Manor.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Then you go,” he said sharply. “But be forewarned, it’s not an easy path to see in such snow, and is far more treacherous than you’d think.”

  “Pah. It is but snow.” She came to stand beside him, and the feel of her warm hand on his arm, mingled with the scent of lavender and rose, made his heart leap.

  Her gaze locked with his. “If you don’t wish to see the house, then we can walk elsewhere. I don’t want to waste our last day together.”

  He shouldn’t have agreed, but she was right—it was their last, and only, day together. He found himself nodding.

  She flashed a blinding smile, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek, her lips soft and warm. “I shall get ready then. Shall we meet here in twenty minutes?”

  “Let’s make it an hour. I haven’t yet eaten.”

  She squeezed his arm and chuckled. “Until then.”

  And with that, she left.

  Kintore listened to her footsteps as she climbed the stairs and went to her room.

  For a long moment, he stood staring after her with unseeing eyes. Then, his heart heavy, he turned and left. One more day was one day too many.

  “Ah, doystolski. Leaving us, are you?”

  Kintore turned from tying his portmanteau to MacIntosh’s saddle.

  Doya was leaning against the stable door, an apple in his hand, a smile parting his black beard.

  Kintore finished tightening the tie. “Yes. I know you’re devastated, but I’ll trust you to hold your grief.”

  “I will try.” The guard took a bite of the apple, and then grimaced, touching his jaw tenderly.

  “Still hurt?” The earl touched his own jaw. “So does mine.”

  “That was a good fight, nyet?” The guard’s black eyes twinkled.

  “One of the best I’ve ever been in.”

  “For me, too. It is not often that someone puts Doya on the ground.”

  “It’s not often that I am forced to such measures.” He checked the stirrups and then turned, casting a glance up at Alexandra’s window. “I must leave, but I trust you will take good care of our princess?”

  “I have sworn to do so, and I will.” Doya finished the apple and offered the core to MacIntosh, who took it greedily. “Where do you go, Kintore?”

  “I don’t have a place to go, as much as a place I am leaving.” And a person. A delightful, lovely, beautiful— His throat tightened and he patted MacIntosh’s neck to gain the time to collect himself. “I was to go for a walk with her highness in twenty minutes, but if you could meet her in the parlor instead and tell her—”

  Doya lifted his brows.

  “Tell her I had to leave.”

  “She will understand?”

  “I hope so. I was going to write a note, but—” He opened his hands.

  To his surprise, Doya nodded. “Sometimes words are not enough.”

  Surprised, Kintore faced the guard and offered his hand. “Good-bye, Doya.”

  They shook and then Kintore mounted up and turned MacIntosh down the road. As he left, he thought he caught sight of someone in Alexandra’s window, but when he looked, no one was there.

  A little over an hour later, Kintore sat at a crossroads and stared at a post carrying a bevy of signs that pointed to various towns and villages. Perhaps he’d spend a day or two in Kelso. Yes, Kelso was a nice, neatish town. He told himself that it was sheer coincidence that Kelso was close to Floors Castle, where Alexandra would be the duchess’s guest, but he knew that was a lie.

  He yearned with an almost physical pain to be close to her again.

  Bloody hell, did I stay too long? Did a few brief days and one night of passion lead to this? If so, then I was right to leave. One more day, and I’d have lost my soul to her.

  As it was, he’d lost only his heart.

  He sighed and turned MacIntosh toward Kelso. But just as he touched his heels to the horse’s flanks, he heard a shout and then the sound of a horse galloping hell for leather down the road behind him. He turned and saw Doya astride a huge, shaggy black horse.

  Kintore’s heart stuttered. Something is wrong
.

  Doya pulled his horse to a halt, both of them panting. “You must come! The princess—we cannot find her.”

  “What?”

  “She must have seen you leave, for when I went to tell her you had gone, so was she. Her maid said she was dressed for walking and had been gone for twenty minutes already.”

  Kintore had to force air into his lungs. “She went for the walk without me.”

  “We waited and waited, and she didn’t return. I sent men out to look, but the woods are too big and there are too many paths. I can’t find her.” The guard’s dark gaze locked with his. “Kintore, we must find her.”

  “Yes,” Kintore said grimly. “And quickly.”

  “You know where she is?”

  “I have a good idea, but I hope I’m wrong. Come.” He touched his heels to MacIntosh’s sides and they were off. Alexandra, be careful. Whatever you do, do not leave the path.

  Chapter 8

  Alexandra couldn’t stop thinking about Kintore, and how he’d left this morning without so much as a backward glance.

  Her eyes filled with tears and she stumbled on a root. Wiping her eyes with the back of her mittened hand, she sniffed and continued. Damn him for being so stubborn! Why couldn’t he leave the past alone and enjoy the present? He isn’t the only one who’s ever suffered a loss—

  She looked up and stopped dead in her tracks. On a hill before her rose a large manor house. Three stories tall and of warm yellow brick, with a red roof barely evident through the snow piled upon it, the house was lovely. The windows were mullioned and caught the light, sparkling like diamonds. “So that’s Keith Manor,” she said under her breath. “It’s beautiful.”

  As she took a step, someone yelled her name. She grimaced and moved quickly forward, determined to reach the house before Doya and her guards could catch up. She’d taken only three steps when her foot hit some ice and, with a gasp, she went tumbling off the path, head over heels.

  The snow was so slick that when she finally landed in the bottom of the large, round ravine, she slid for several more yards out into a small clearing.