Her Every Pleasure (15 page)

“I didn’t get you into it. That’s the most intriguing part. She asked for you specifically by name.”

“For me? But how…? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. But she seemed to know you or at least has heard of you, and what Her Highness wants, Her Highness gets. Better hurry, I daresay. She doesn’t like being kept waiting.”

“Really?” he murmured, lifting an eyebrow.

“We’re on rather a tight schedule, Major. Right through there, if you will. Throne room,” he said, pointing toward the esplanade. “I’ll be along in a moment. I’ve got to sign some papers here. The lord chamberlain will do the introductions.”

Gabriel nodded, mystified, while Griff walked off briskly to attend to the stack of files that an underling had brought over to him.

Well, this is all very strange.
Frowning, he turned in the direction that his noble brother-in-law had indicated. He was quite sure he had never met a royal princess. A man ought to remember something like that. How could this princess have heard of him anyway, when he had lived like a recluse ever since he’d come to England? Perhaps she knew someone in Society who had spent time in India…
Ah, well.

None of this made a great deal of sense to him, but Gabriel was ready for anything; bracing himself as the marquess had advised, he squared his shoulders and marched on down the esplanade, sweeping through one gilded chamber after another through a series of open doors.

The tension in him built as he approached the larger hall at the end of the row of stately apartments. He gave his name to the footman posted outside the open door to the throne room. The footman, in turn, brought him over to the lord chamberlain, a dignified little gray-haired fellow with an impressive mustache.

The chamberlain bowed to him, then Gabriel followed him into the throne room. It was the most impressive chamber yet: white walls with gilded panels, pink marble columns and pale blue pilasters. The painted ceiling full of garlands and cherubs and pastel roundels looked like it was made of candy.

With a sweeping glance of the glittering hall, Gabriel warily counted ten swarthy guards in foreign dress posted around the room. But as the chamberlain went forward to present him, his gaze homed in on the canopied throne at the far end of the long hall.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the slim young woman seated on the intricately carved chair. He went motionless, his heart kicking into a thunderous gallop. Wonderstruck, he stared. A sparkling tiara crowned her raven curls. A magnificent brocade gown cascaded over her trim figure, those slender curves his hands knew all too well.

Staring at her in all her regal splendor, Gabriel felt time slow to a crawl, while every atom of his being overflowed with disbelief.

It was his Gypsy girl.

His sultry little…maid.

Sophia?

CHAPTER
         EIGHT         

C
oiffed heads turned; admiring murmurs rippled through the throne room as Gabriel came stalking toward her down the center of the glittering hall, magnificent in his scarlet dress uniform.

Sophia stared, her heart beating as if it would jump out of her chest.

He was a sight to behold. The clean shave revealed all the smooth planes and angles of his iron jaw and square chin, giving her a whole new appreciation for his fierce and oh-so-masculine beauty. He had cut his hair short, too. The messy coal-black waves of silk that she had run her fingers through that night in his bed had been neatly tamed. Her rapt gaze traveled over him.

Around his neck, no frothy cravat, but a plain black military-style stock encircled his throat. Smart brass buttons gleamed all down his chest, while gold epaulets adorned his massive shoulders.

Carrying his plumed cavalry helmet under one arm, his hands were encased in pristine white gloves. A silk sash encircled his lean waist, along with a gleaming dress sword. It was a light and gentlemanly weapon, not the stained, battered saber that he had notched with all his kills in his ferocious past. His cream-colored riding breeches met the tops of his shiny black knee-boots, and the angry rhythm of his steps striking the marble floor grew louder as he approached.

Sophia cast about for her courage when she saw the brooding glower on his face. Oh, yes, he had recognized her, all right, and she knew very well she had some explaining to do. The harsh staccato of his strides stopped as he halted, arriving before her.

“Your Highness,” the lord chamberlain intoned, “Major Gabriel Knight, late of India.”

Sophia held his confounded stare while the whole court waited for him to make his bow.

The consummate cavalry officer just glared at her.

She offered him a penitent smile; he narrowed his sapphire eyes and shook his head in subtle defiance.

The lord chamberlain cleared his throat insistently.

Gabriel shot the old man a seething glance and then begrudged Her Highness the most perfunctory bow.

Satisfied, she rose from her throne and took a graceful step down from the raised dais where her chair was set, offering him her hand to kiss. “Major, how good of you to come.”

The whole court watched as he frowned at her extended hand; she waited, eyebrows raised. At last, he accepted, apparently unimpressed by the great favor it signified. The moment his fingers clasped hers, however, a shock of thrilling awareness arrested Sophia.

Gabriel seemed to feel it, too. Startled, they looked at each other for a breathless second. The searing memory of their secret night together charged the air between them, like the earth’s atmosphere before a storm.

Sophia feared she began blushing in front of the whole court. Her pulse clamored, but, oh, the attraction was as strong as she remembered.

Slowly, Gabriel lowered his lips to her knuckles. Trapped in his gaze, she caught her breath the second his warm, satiny lips brushed her bare knuckles. The smolder in his eyes held her spellbound. Never had a simple hand kiss felt so deliciously indecent.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Lady Alexa studying him with obvious interest, but her flirtatious friend had better not even think about laying a finger on him. When it came to Gabriel, Sophia had no intention of sharing—but maybe Alexa would behave for once. She wasn’t herself these days, badly shaken up by the attack. Alexa had been acting so clingy ever since Sophia had returned, alive and well, from her sojourn at the farm.

As Gabriel released her hand from his light hold, she dropped her gaze and cleared her throat slightly, scrambling to collect herself from his touch. Quickly regaining her poise, she bestowed a regal smile on him and gestured to the surrounding hall. “Welcome, Major, to my temporary home.”

Her composure seemed to irritate him. He glared at her again. “Who are you?” he whispered fiercely.

She flicked a meaningful glance toward the lord chamberlain, who was already reciting her full name and various titles for his benefit. But Gabriel just kept staring at her in lingering incredulity.

When Alexa cleared her throat demurely, no doubt desirous of an introduction, Sophia gathered her skirts and started down the few shallow steps from the dais. “Major, would you kindly come with me?” She did not intend to discuss this in front of the entire court.

At once, the musicians stopped playing. All the courtiers and ladies dropped in a collective bow or curtsy, which they held until she exited.

As Sophia preceded Gabriel into the adjoining chamber, her Greek guards followed right along in formation; Timo and Yannis took up their places flanking the door. Ever since their brief separation, her loyal guards had barely let her out of their sight.

Giving them a quick look of gratitude as she passed, Sophia strode into the Map Room, an ancient, wood-paneled, square box of a chamber. It was smaller and darker than the sparkling throne room, but equipped with all the tools for strategy making. Maps and charts covered the walls. Loaded bookshelves bowed under the weight of dusty atlases, while globes and diverse timepieces were arrayed amid piles of books on sturdy oak tables.

But the Map Room’s most intriguing feature was the grand topographical model of the known world laid out in a large circle on the floor, complete with miniature mountain ranges and blue-painted seas, crisscrossed with the golden lines of latitude and longitude.

Toy-sized models of great landmarks appeared at the appropriate locations: miniature pyramids at Egypt, a little Blue Mosque at Constantinople, Notre Dame at Paris, the Tower of London, the great colosseum of Rome, and so on.

The world model was quite old, and though the land formations stayed the same, of course, the ownership and names of countries had changed frequently. Parts of it were still being repainted to reflect the latest reallocations of territory after Napoleon’s downfall.

Sophia swept past it as she crossed the dimly lit chamber. Still scowling, Gabriel followed her in and pulled the door shut behind him with a bang.

“Can I offer you refreshments, Major?” Heading toward the liquor cabinet, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “You look like you could do with a drink.”

“Hang your drink, I will have answers! Who
are
you, and what the hell is going on?” He tossed his helmet angrily onto a leather wing chair.

“Weren’t you listening to the lord chamberlain?” she asked, trying to conjure a tone of conviviality as she poured him a splash of brandy. “I am the Princess Royal of Kavros. And I need your help.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“Oh, because somebody’s trying to kill me. That’s how I ended up at your farm. Here.” Lifting the hem of her long skirts up a bit to skim the floor, she brought the snifter over and offered it to him, gazing into his eyes.

In her heart, she still savored the memory of that cozy supper they had shared in his kitchen like two ordinary folk, a man and a woman enjoying simple, rustic fare.

Still glowering, the Iron Major made no move to take the drink. Sophia shrugged and tossed back a swallow of it herself. She feared she was going to need it. He was obviously furious at her. This was not going to be easy.

“I don’t bloody believe this.” Jaw clenched, he shook his head. “
You’re
the person they want me to guard?”

“I’m afraid so. Gabriel, just give me a moment to explain—”

“Please do!”

She held up her hand soothingly.

He checked his fiery protest with a growl.

Not daring to press her luck, she got straight to the point. In truth, it was a relief to be able to tell him everything at last. “That morning that you found me sleeping in your barn, I had just barely escaped with my life from a deadly attack on my entourage. We were en route to this castle when we were ambushed by masked men.”

His black eyebrows drew together in an ominous line as he listened to her account.

“The members of my security detail were taken by surprise.” A pang of grief made her lower her head. “It went badly for my men, and the next thing I knew, my chief bodyguard was ordering me to flee—on that bay horse you found. There were certain coordinates I had to follow so that my guards could easily find me again when the threat had passed. Those coordinates, Gabriel, led me straight to you. If that’s not destiny, I don’t know what is.” She lifted her gaze and looked into his eyes with cautious hope.

He was frowning.

“When I took refuge in your barn, I thought the place was deserted. I thought the attackers might still be chasing me. I had to hide. When you woke me up and wanted me to leave, I didn’t know what to do. I had to stay there at the proper coordinates so my men could find me again. You’ve served as a bodyguard—you must know this is a common procedure and that I am telling the truth.” She shook her head, willing him to believe her. “When you supplied a reason to explain my being there, all that about your brother, I just…went along with it.”

Looking slightly dazed, he let out a short, scoffing laugh and shook his head. “So, you’re not a Gypsy at all, then.”

“No, Gabriel,” she said with a tender smile at his understandable bewilderment, “I’m Greek. Come. Let me show you.” Turning his attention to the three-dimensional map, she picked up a slender wooden pointer.

“What’s all this?” he muttered, glancing down at the sprawling, permanent model on the floor.

“The world.” While he folded his arms across his chest, still scowling, she pointed to the mouth of the long, narrow Adriatic. “See here? Below the heel of Italy’s boot, and west of the Peloponnesus.”

He nodded, taking in the layout of the region in a glance.

“This little dotting of mountainous Greek islands, here, this is my homeland—Kavros.” It was little bigger than a sprinkling of bread crumbs on the map, but she lifted her gaze and sent him a tentative smile tinged with pride. “Some say Kavros is the legendary homeland of Circe, the goddess who enchanted Odysseus for seven years on his way home from the battle of Troy.”

His blue eyes flickered warily.

“My family has ruled these islands for hundreds of years—until Napoleon came along and threw us out. That was in 1800. I was only three the night my family had to flee for our lives. I grew up in exile here in England, living quietly under the protection of the Crown.

“All the while, the war against Napoleon was raging. My poor country became a battleground between the great powers. First the French invaded, then the Austrians kicked them out, next the Russians took over, and finally, the British gained a foothold. They established a naval base on the main island.

“When Napoleon was defeated, England laid claim to Kavros as the spoils of war. They made it official at the Congress of Vienna; Kavros became a British protectorate.

“It is a tiny country, but as you can see, its location offers a distinct strategic advantage to whoever controls it. Your amiable kinsman, Lord Griffith, explained the importance to me of England’s interests at Kavros. Would you like to hear them?”

He nodded, still eyeing her in suspicion.

“Firstly, they wanted the base to reinforce England’s holdings at Malta. Secondly, so the Royal Navy could safeguard vital trade coming out of Egypt by the overland route from India. Thirdly, the base is intended to give the British a stronger hand throughout Europe’s midsection, here. All that was why Napoleon wanted it, too.” She glanced warily at him. “And the others.”

As she set the pointer down, Gabriel turned to her with a brooding look stamped across his chiseled face. She could see he was taking it all in, his arms folded across his chest.

“Unfortunately, your Marines can’t make any headway with my people. We are a very stubborn nation,” she admitted with a wry smile. “The people of Kavros are a simple folk—goatherds, winemakers, fishermen. They want to live in peace. But almost twenty years of war has reduced our land to chaos.

“Those loyal to my family have kept me apprised of conditions there.” She shook her head at the disheartening realities that lay in store. “Ports and roads, bridges and aqueducts that we rely upon have been destroyed in the bombing and never repaired. The people are reduced to subsistence, and they’re angry. They’re not only tearing each other apart, now they’ve also begun lashing out at the British troops stationed there. My greatest fear is that one day, they’ll go too far and provoke a retaliation from the Marines.”