Her Majesty My Love - eBook - Final Read online

  She reached down for the boots, stopping when she found a hairbrush shoved into one of them. The earl had thought of everything. Oddly, she was touched by his thoughtfulness. Setting the brush aside for now, she pulled on the boots, delighting in the feel of the warm fur.

  Tossing aside the sack, she returned to the couch and stared inquiringly at the earl.

  “Where are you proposing we go?” she asked.

  As she awaited his response, she pulled her long locks over her shoulder and began brushing her hair.

  “Here, let me,” he said, moving to sit behind her on the couch.

  To her amazement, he took the brush from her and began working it through the tangles.

  “It would take you longer,” he said impatiently. “And we haven’t much time.”

  Though his tone was brusque, his strokes were in direct contradiction. He took great care as he gently pulled the brush through her hair.

  She closed her eyes as waves of pleasure washed over her. Tiny goose pimples spread over her scalp and down her back, and it was all she could do not to moan aloud.

  “What do we do now?” she asked softly.

  He paused, letting the brush hang in her hair. “I think that depends on whether you agree to stay with me and not go bolting from the nearest window.”

  She pulled away and turned around to face him, ignoring his barb. She still wasn’t entirely sure he could be completely trusted, but he represented her best chance of making it out of England alive. Taking in a deep breath, she rubbed a hand over her mouth. “I need your help, Merrick.”

  Chapter Six

  Simon absorbed the impact of her statement with surprise. He searched her eyes for some clue to her change of heart, but they gazed earnestly back at him, imploring him to help her.

  “I must return to Leaudor at once,” she continued.

  Though her plan was no different from his own intentions, he remained silent about that fact. Perhaps his willingness to help her would win her favor. And her trust. “What exactly do you want from me?”

  She glanced away, her long black hair streaming over her shoulder. He wanted to touch it again, to run his hands through it as he had done before. The most expensive silk had no advantage over the velvety softness of her tresses.

  When she looked back at him, her eyes were alight with emotion, a startling contrast to her usual shuddered expression.

  “I need your help in getting to Brighton.”

  He frowned. “But Brighton is to the south. The voyage would be much farther to Leaudor.”

  Even as the words left his mouth, he understood her intent. It was an intelligent plan, but they didn’t have the time such a journey would take.

  “Exactly,” she said. “It’s less likely that someone will be looking for me there.”

  He stood up abruptly. He had no desire to show immediate disagreement with her, and there were other things more pressing at the moment than which port they would take out of.

  “Before we come to any sort of agreement, Princess, there are a few matters that must be addressed. Foremost, you must be completely honest with me.”

  He watched in fascination as her eyes clouded, and the barrier was once again erected before him. She also stood and paced in front of him, her agitation evident.

  “I have questions. Questions that I want answered before we go forward,” he added.

  “Very well,” she said, surprising him with her abrupt capitulation. “What is it you would like to know?”

  “Not now. Not here,” he replied.

  She jerked her gaze to him with a mixture of irritation and confusion registering in her eyes. “I see. And where would you like the interrogation to take place?” she asked in a tone to match the frigid air outside.

  He swore under his breath, ready to shake her senseless. “We must leave here. We will not be safe here for long. I would merely prefer to have our conversation somewhere we won’t be disturbed by people bent on our destruction.”

  A myriad of expressions crossed her face. Anger, confusion, and finally contrition. “I’m sorry.”

  “It is I who should apologize,” he said, feeling regretful of his terse response. “I know how very trying this whole experience has been for you.”

  To his surprise, she chuckled.

  “You English are so well versed in understatement. Trying experience indeed.”

  She continued to laugh, her voice cracking in near hysteria.

  Not pondering the discomfort he felt when she was so close to him, he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly against him. He felt her tears against his neck, and his chest tightened with some unnamed emotion. A disturbing habit he was getting into around her.

  He stroked her hair with one hand, his other arm wrapping solidly around her, pulling her closer to his chest. God, he couldn’t afford to admit how damn good she felt against him. How good it felt to connect with another person in such an intimate manner. He felt precariously light-headed, adrift in a veritable storm of sensation.

  She fit perfectly. Too perfectly. The shock of such close contact with another human being nearly had him jerking away at the explosive tide of feeling that swamped him.

  Her muffled sobs grew louder as she let loose a tide of pent up emotion. Small hands crept around his waist, and she held him as tightly as he held her. He stood rigidly, praying for control, willing himself to remain indifferent, not to react to her pain.

  After a moment, her sobs quieted, and she hiccupped softly against him. She rested her head against his shoulder then sniffled and pulled slowly back. He felt the loss of her closeness as keenly as if a bucket of cold water had been sloshed over his head.

  She hastily averted her eyes in obvious embarrassment. She wiped her tears with her shirt sleeve and turned away. “Do you know where we will go?”

  He wanted to reach out to her. Let her know it didn’t make her weak to expose her overwhelming grief, but he could relate to her discomfort all too well. Never once had he showed any outward emotion when his brother, and then his father, died. She wouldn’t likely appreciate his gesture anyway, and he didn’t feel comfortable extending it.

  Wiping his hands on his breeches, he quickly surveyed the room. “We head north for now. But first I want to throw off our pursuers should they come here looking for us.”

  “But I need to go south,” she protested.

  “We’ll discuss it when we are safely away from here,” he said firmly. “Until then we go where I have planned.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hastily drawn map. Tearing it in half, he stuffed the remaining piece back in his pocket. He then held the corner to the candle and quickly blew out the flame when the paper lit. The result appeared as though the entire document had been burned to prevent anyone from discovering it. But on the charred remains was enough information to lead their pursuers in the wrong direction.

  He glanced up at Isabella who was watching him, a mixture of disbelief and admiration on her face.

  “Let’s go then,” he announced.

  * * *

  Isabella took his outstretched hand as he helped her up through the trap door. She wrapped the heavy coat tighter around her and shivered as the cold drizzle slipped down her neck. The gray overcast skies looked to be near bursting with rain. Frigid, wet rain.

  Tiny pellets of ice intermixed with the rain struck her face and rapidly melted. She pulled her hat lower over her eyes. Lengthening her stride to keep pace with Merrick, she glanced anxiously around her, searching for some sign they were being followed.

  The earl, too, was intent on his surroundings as they crossed the street and he hailed an oncoming hack. Once in the warmer confines of the carriage, Isabella leaned back in her seat and studied the hard lines of Merrick’s face.

  Though she was abashed at her dismal outburst of emotion, she had been glad for his strength and support. She was more grateful, however, that he had said noth
ing. Just let her grieve then continue as if nothing had happened. And if truth be known, she felt a great deal lighter. The oppressive weight of her grief had bore down on her until she feared suffocation.

  Sensing her perusal, he lifted his gaze from the window and returned her frank appraisal. For the space of a long moment, the two stared at one another across the carriage.

  She wanted to trust him. Wanted it very badly. More, perhaps, than she should. But the logical side of her, the one so embittered over the loss of her family, screamed that she couldn’t trust anyone.

  She was tormented by thoughts of it all being an elaborate scheme to get her to trust him so that he could recover the map from her. Or worse, use her to gain control of her country.

  Her eyes drank in every detail of his face as if begging for some sign that she could trust her instincts. His dark hair was carelessly combed to one side of his face, dipping rakishly over one temple. The waves running from front to back testified to his habit of raking a hand through his hair just above his ear.

  On cue, he reached up and shoved his hand through the hair at his temple, pushing it behind his ear for the short term. His dark eyes returned her gaze, warming her entire body. She blinked but continued her assessment of him.

  His lips weren’t overly full, but he had a wide, generous mouth, and when he chose to smile, it transformed his entire face from grave seriousness to boyish charm. His nose fit his entire image. It didn’t dominate his face, but it was slightly crooked. A testament to the life he led, no doubt. Only the most discerning eye would even notice, but she found it fascinating.

  “Your nose. How did you break it?” she found herself asking.

  “I beg pardon?”

  His eyes blinked, and his brow furrowed.

  She touched her own nose. “How did you break it?”

  He smiled ruefully. “I shouldn’t be surprised you took notice.”

  He shifted in his seat as if he were suddenly uncomfortable with her scrutiny. “My face made the unfortunate mistake of meeting with a much larger fist.”

  “Ouch,” she murmured in sympathy.

  “And you say the English are prone to understatement,” he said in a dead-pan voice.

  She laughed.

  “You should do that more often,” he said, his voice turning serious.

  It was her turn to look at him in puzzlement.

  “Laugh,” he explained. “You have a beautiful laugh.”

  Sadness replaced her moment of merriment. “As of late, I’ve had little to laugh about.”

  The carriage rolled to a stop and broke the intimacy between them. Isabella sat up straighter and strained to see out the window. “Where are we?”

  “We should be just outside of London,” he said as he moved to open the door.

  “And from here?” She let the remainder of her question trail away as she followed him down the steps.

  Merrick quickly paid the driver then ushered her away from the main road.

  “I hope you are up for a walk,” he said as he steered her farther into the trees.

  She silently groaned but kept pace with him.

  “We’ll parallel the road,” he said as he stepped over a fallen log.

  “Where are we going?” she asked with growing impatience.

  His refusal to answer her prior questioning about their destination made her voice sharper than she intended.

  He stopped and turned around to face her. “We are going to a hunting lodge I know of. We are both badly in need of rest, and it is no longer safe for us in London. Once we have slept a few hours, we will then plot our next move.”

  She absorbed his persistent use of “we”. It heartened her in a way she hadn’t felt in months. Made her feel like she wasn’t completely alone.

  Recalling Kirk’s earlier chastisement, she voiced the question uppermost in her mind. “Why are you risking your life for me?”

  “It is my duty,” he replied as though her question was absurd.

  “And if it becomes your duty to kill me?” she asked softly.

  His eyes flashed. “I will not entertain that the regent wishes you dead.”

  Disappointment knifed cleanly through her. Her breath blew out in a fog before her. He hadn’t addressed her question.

  “You’ve nothing to fear from me, Isabella,” he finally said as if realizing she needed some small amount of reassurance.

  She looked deeply into his eyes once more. No trace of deception shadowed their depths. Just intensity and determination. Her heart chanted in a steady rhythm to trust this man. But fear seized her when she considered the possible consequences.

  “I believe you,” she finally said. And God help her she did.

  Satisfaction sparked in his eyes, the pupils flaring for a brief moment. Then he adopted a blander look and stared upward at the sky.

  “We need to get moving. I want to be there before dark.”

  She fell in behind him, and they continued through the wooded landscape. It began to rain again as they pressed forward. A few snowflakes floated gently through the spray of rain melting rapidly as they struck the ground.

  She was more grateful than ever for Merrick’s attention to her needs. The warm boots were a welcome change to the ill-fitting shoes she had been forced to wear over the last weeks. She dug her hands deeper into the pockets of the coat and quickened her pace.

  They walked in silence, stopping only when Merrick had to push heavy branches from their path. He caught her elbow and helped her over a small stream that obstructed their progress. Her boots splashed in the shallow water as she jumped from rock to rock.

  “It’s not much farther,” Merrick said as he paused for her to catch up.

  Isabella gazed up at the sinking sun. More snowflakes than rain fell now, attesting to the drop in temperature. A light smattering had collected on the ground, changing the color from brown to white. The idea of a fire and a warm bed infused badly needed energy into her feet, urging her forward at an increased speed.

  He held a hand back to her as she drew abreast of him, and without thinking, she slipped her fingers into it. Warmth spread rapidly up her arm as his hand curled around hers.

  “It’s just over the next hill,” he said, gesturing with his free hand. “Can you make it?”

  “For a warm bed, I can fly,” she said with a crooked grin.

  He smiled back at her, and suddenly she didn’t feel the numbing cold that surrounded them. A wave of heat rushed over her as if she stood directly in front of a fire. Her feet felt light, not at all like the blocks of stone she had forced in forward motion for the last several hours.

  Gripping his hand tighter, she put her head down, not wanting him to see the effect he had on her. But she wasn’t willing to break the connection between them. Not yet.

  When they topped the next hill, he relaxed his hold on her hand. Reluctantly, she let her arm fall back down to her side as she looked down at the small cottage nestled in the wooded area.

  They began the descent toward the lodge. Isabella stumbled as she stepped into a hole, but quickly regained her footing and hurried forward. He looked back inquiringly at her, but she shook her head.

  He slowed as they approached the small clearing around the house. He gently pushed her behind a large tree and put a finger to his lips. “Stay here until I’ve determined whether it’s safe.”

  She started to protest but he held the tips of his fingers over her mouth. “Don’t argue this time. Just stay here so I can take a look around.”

  Finally she nodded and he moved quickly away. She watched as he crept around the house and peered into a window. Then he disappeared around back. A few moments later, the front door opened, and he motioned for her to come.

  Needing no further encouragement, she raced for the inside, grateful to be out of the snow. Her boots left wet prints as she stepped onto the dusty wood floor. It smelled musty and stale, but more importantly, it was dr
y.

  “I’ll start a fire,” he spoke up. “You see if there is anything we can eat.”

  “Oh yes, I suppose a chicken will magically fall from the sky into a pot,” she said dryly.

  He gave her a look that suggested he was unimpressed with her wit. “You could at least see if there are any staples we could prepare something with. Even bread is better than nothing.”

  “I hate to be the one to impart such grievous news, but unless you know how to prepare bread, or anything else for that matter, we are doomed to starve.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “I am not a complete failure in the kitchen, but I suppose that was rather silly of me. I tend to forget your station, Your Highness.”

  Regret dampened her mood. She much preferred his relaxed manner to the stiff demeanor he presented now. If only she hadn’t reminded him of her royalty.

  She busied herself taking stock of the small kitchen. But other than dust and a few utensils, it was completely bare. After a moment’s contemplation, she reached into her pocket and fingered the napkin she had wrapped the remainder of the food in from earlier.

  Drawing it out, she approached Merrick, who had just stepped away from the fire he had started. “I saved this for you,” she said holding out her hand.

  He took the bundle with a questioning expression then opened the cloth. “I can’t take this. You need it far more than I.”

  He held it back out to her but she shook her head.

  “I already ate my share,” she lied. “While I was in the kitchen.”

  She prayed her stomach wouldn’t betray her by doing something as unladylike as growling.

  A look of suspicion clouded his eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, of course. I brought enough for us both.”

  “Thank you then,” he said, picking up a piece of bread and stuffing it into his mouth. “That was excellent thinking on your part.”

  She turned away to the fire and stuck out her hands, not wanting to watch him eat. He had been far too concerned over her for her not to return the favor. And besides, she was used to going without food.