Heart's Demand (28 page)

“What about Isabelle and Miss Webster? If Nicholas was a king, are you saying they’re…what? Princesses?”

“Miss Webster is actually Her Royal Highness, Princess Katarina Morovsky.”

Bryce studied his friend, wondering if he’d ever really known him. Yes, he was unreliable and untrustworthy. Yes, he could be flighty and flippant and capricious. But he’d never been deliberately cruel. What had possessed him?

“You abetted the kidnapping of Miss Webster’s siblings?”

“Princess Morovsky’s siblings,” Chase corrected.

Bryce smacked his palm on a nearby dresser. “I don’t care what name we use to speak of her. You helped Miss Clementi kidnap Nicholas and Isabelle.”

Chase huffed with offense, almost as if
he
was the injured party. “Pippa acted as if Princess Morovsky was an unhinged criminal who was endangering them.”

“You should have talked to me. You should have asked my advice.”

“I’m sorry,” Chase mumbled again.

“Where is Kat? Have you told her?”

“No, I just returned myself. I haven’t had a chance.”

Bryce bristled with fury. “How long were you intending to sit in here without breathing a word to anyone?”

“I was about to find you. In case you haven’t noticed, I was roughed up.”

“I noticed, but I have no sympathy.” Bryce pointed to the door. “Come.”

“To where?”

“To confess your sins to Miss Webster.”

“Me! I can’t.”

“Grow a spine, Chase. You were brazen enough to harm two innocent children. Surely you can face their sister to confess your diabolical conduct.”

“Would you tell her for me, Bryce? Please? I can’t bear to.”

Bryce remembered their years together as boys at school. Bryce had befriended Chase when he’d been a bullied runt. Bryce had fought for Chase and defended Chase. Gradually it was dawning on him that Chase probably hadn’t been worth all that effort.

“I’ll tell her, you pathetic coward,” Bryce fumed and he stormed out.

He burst into the hall and hurried to the other wing where the women’s bedchambers were located. His pulse was racing, his hands shaking. He was terrified about Nicholas and Isabelle and vividly recalled the prior attacks on Kat and Nicholas. The brigands who’d initiated both assaults had been violent fiends.

But he was also alarmed over the discovery that Kat was a royal. He and Kat were planning to marry and start a new life in England. Yet if Kat was from a royal family, she couldn’t have been serious. Could she?

The previous night had been splendid, like no evening Bryce had ever spent with a female. Ever since she’d crept out of his room at dawn, he’d been walking on air, elated and excited and astonished by his decision to proceed.

He’d been a man in love, a man on the precipice of a future that could only be amazing and remarkable. What was he now?

He was awhirl with frantic emotion. He wanted to bellow her name, to demand answers, to demand the truth. He had to apprise her of what Chase had perpetrated. Had she learned her siblings were missing? He had to be strong for her, had to be calm and rational, and he took a deep breath and slowed his pace.

He’d just managed to compose himself as he entered the villa’s central courtyard. A contingent of soldiers was marching toward him, approaching from the direction of Kat’s suite.

Pippa Clementi was leading the way, and she looked very grand, thrilled with herself and what she’d wrought. There was no evidence to indicate that she’d once been a lowly traveling companion.

She was dressed in a blue velvet gown with heavy petticoats and jewels on her fingers and neck. The outfit was stunning, but it was much too weighty for the hot climate. He hoped the disloyal shrew sweltered to death before she was able to depart Egypt.

The others followed behind her, ten in all, and they were more ceremonial than protective. They were flashily attired, with sashes, gold braid, and plenty of medals, but while they had sabers on their hips, the weapons were more the sort for decoration at balls and weddings.

There was a woman in the middle, wearing a purple cloak and tiara. She was bedecked in gold and diamonds, a jeweled choker around her throat, a belt embedded with rubies and emeralds around her waist.

It took him several seconds to realize it was Kat, and his heart sank. Currently there was nothing about her that resembled the lonely spinster who’d charmed him, who’d made him yearn to be a husband rather than a bachelor.

She was still very beautiful, but there was a regal aura about her, as if the purple cloak shielded the person underneath. She appeared untouchable, unknowable, unlovable. She was a stranger, an exotic, foreign dignitary who probably wouldn’t bother to glance at him as she passed by.

Yet as the group neared, he said, “Kat.”

The men kept on, nary a one so much as peeking over to see who had called out.

“Kat!” he said again, and he stepped in front of them.

Pippa Clementi pulled up short and scowled. “Mr. Blair, you have rudely interrupted a royal procession. Please move or I will have you moved.”

“You think you could, Miss Clementi? Go ahead and try, you deceitful, lying doxy.”

At the taunt, her cheeks flushed bright red, and Bryce thought she might slap him. She was clearly considering it, but in the end she peered over her shoulder and spoke to the soldiers.

“We shall continue to the carriage. There will be no delay.” She whipped her furious glare to Bryce. “We are on important business of state.”

Bryce didn’t budge, and the only way she could get past him was to knock him over or walk around him. Her enormous pride wouldn’t let her walk around, and she wasn’t strong enough to knock him down.

She gestured to the soldier with the most medals on his chest. “Captain Romilard, rid the Princess of this uncouth boor at once.”

The burly, thuggish fellow huffed up to Bryce. He looked cruel and stupid, and Bryce was sizing him up, taking his measure, preparing to throw the first punch as Valois had taught him to do.

In heavily-accented English, the Captain said, “I dispatched your pathetic friend with one blow. I’m happy to show you the same discourtesy.”

“You must mean Chase Hubbard, the man for whom Miss Clementi has been spreading her thighs with reckless abandon.”

Miss Clementi hissed with outrage and ludicrously seethed, “Kill him, Romilard. I command you.”

“We are guests in this country, Miss Clementi,” Romilard told her, “so we will not engage in conflict with him. But he
will
move. Now.”

“I’ll gladly comply,” Bryce replied, “after I have spoken to the Princess.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Romilard said.

Bryce would have leveled him then and there, but Valois strolled into the courtyard. He was his usual, affable self, but he was accompanied by three men who had studied fencing with Bryce. They were armed, and as opposed to the ceremonial sabers worn by the soldiers, Valois’s pistols and swords were very real.

“Ah, Miss Clementi,” Valois smoothly said, “how delighted I am that I was able to catch you before the Princess departed. I so wanted to make my goodbyes to her.”

“We’re late,” Miss Clementi insisted. “There’s no time.”

Valois ignored her. “And of course Mr. Blair has been a great friend to the Princess during her sojourn in Egypt. I am sure he will wish to say goodbye to her as well.”

Romilard was a bully and an idiot, but apparently he wasn’t keen on starting a fight with Valois. He stepped away, and Bryce stomped forward, causing the soldiers to stumble aside so he could approach Katarina.

He stopped directly in front of her, and she extended her hand as if he was one of her subjects, as if he should fall to his knees and kiss it.

He’d be damned if he would!

He peered into her eyes, but the glow of merriment he’d always seen there had been drummed out of her. The Miss Webster whom he’d loved so fiercely had vanished.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m leaving for Parthenia. My king has sent an honor guard to escort me.”

“Really?” he sneered. “It appears to me they’re taking you by force.”

She laughed, but it was a brittle, cold sound. “By force? Why would they have to? I’m eager to return to my country. There is no force involved.”

“This witch”—he pointed at Pippa Clementi—“had Nicholas and Isabelle kidnapped. Were you aware of that fact?”

Princess Morovsky blandly stared at Miss Clementi then shifted her gaze to Bryce. “She has simply obeyed her sovereign.”

Bryce felt as if he was speaking to an automaton. If there was a tiny piece of Kat Webster lurking inside, he couldn’t connect with it.

He reached out and laid a hand on her arm. The soldiers gasped and spun as if they’d attack, and the Princess frowned and leaned away.

“Let’s go to your room, Kat. I need to talk with you in private.”

“That wouldn’t be appropriate, Mr. Blair, and I can’t believe you suggested it.”

“Tell me what’s happening. Why are you letting Miss Clementi lead you about like a puppet on a string?”

“My marriage has been arranged, Mr. Blair. I am traveling home for my wedding.”

Bryce might have been punched in the stomach. “Who are you marrying?”

“My cousin, Kristof.”

“And who is he?”

“He is King of Parthenia.”

“So you’ll be a queen. Is that your heart’s desire? Is that how all your dreams will be fulfilled?”

She didn’t answer his question, but said, “Yes, I will be Queen of Parthenia—as my mother was queen.”

“The way I hear the story, the actual king is your brother, Nicholas. The way I hear it, this Kristof fellow staged a coup and seized your brother’s throne. When he has done you such a wrong, why would you wed him?”

“Mr. Blair,” Miss Clementi snapped, “that’s quite enough.”

The Princess ignored her and callously stated, “It’s all arranged, Mr. Blair, and you have no right to pester me about any of my choices.”

“What about me?” he bleakly asked.

“What about you?” She was focused on a spot over his shoulder.

“We would have been so happy together, Kat.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You let me assume you were a lonely, friendless nobody. You let me think I had a chance.”

“Again, Mr. Blair, I have no idea what you mean.”

He searched her face, trying to get her to look at him, but she wouldn’t.

“What about last night?” he whispered. “What about the promises and plans we made?”

She flinched imperceptibly, and if he hadn’t been standing so close, he wouldn’t have noted it. A single arrow had finally hit its mark, but she glanced away and cruelly whispered, “There were no promises between us.”

“I see.” He dithered, confused and angry and at a loss. “Are you leaving because they have your sister and brother? Is that why? Because previously you told me you would never return, no matter what. Pardon me if I find this sudden decision to be a tad peculiar.”

“Why would I care as to your opinion? Goodbye.”

Her voice cracked on
goodbye,
but it was the only sign that she was affected in the slightest.

She swept by him and said to Romilard, “Let’s be off. I’m ready to depart, and I don’t wish to delay another second.”

As she reached the door, Bryce caustically hurled, “I guess it’s because of my being an actor after all, isn’t it, Your Highness? You claimed it wasn’t an issue, but it’s obvious a mere actor could never have been sufficient for you.”

She lurched to a halt, as if he’d stabbed her in the back. The group behind her froze, and Bryce thought she’d reply to his horrid taunt, but she squared her shoulders and commanded, “Romilard, let’s go!”

Though it was petty and pointless, Bryce was determined to have the final word. “Just so you know, Your Highness, along with my being an actor, I am Earl of Radcliffe.” He announced the title aloud for the very first time ever. “So even with my true status revealed, I’m still much too low for you. An exalted person such as yourself could never have stooped to having an earl, I suppose. For a woman of your rank, it’s a king or no one.”

She whirled around, and he sensed there were a thousand comments roiling her, but she could never mention them. She yanked her gaze from Bryce to Valois and said, “Thank you for your hospitality, Monsieur Valois.”

“You’re welcome, Your Grace. I am honored to have had you as a guest.”

“I shall recall my visit to Cairo with great…fondness.”

It sounded as if she’d swallowed down a sob, and Bryce couldn’t imagine who she might be crying for. She was headed home, with a royal fortune in her pocket, to wed a king and become a queen. To hell with her.

“It wounds me that you must depart so precipitously,” Valois said.

“Well, Monsieur, there are some things in this world that are out of my hands.”

Then she was gone. The soldiers marched out behind her, but Miss Clementi lingered, looking sly, looking smug. “Goodbye, gentlemen. Monsieur Valois, I also thank you for your hospitality.”

She sashayed out, and Bryce couldn’t resist muttering, “Lazy, deceitful whore.”

It was an awful remark, but he didn’t regret it. She glared back, her expression even more cunning. “Yes, but certain whores are very significantly rewarded for their efforts. I happen to be one of them.”

“Slut,” Bryce fumed. “Betrayer. Shrew.” He imbued the insults with all the scorn he could muster.

She might have added a snotty aside, but she noted Valois’s disparaging glower. Her snide grin faltered, and she huffed out.

Bryce stood, listening as Princess Morovsky climbed into her carriage, as doors were slammed and horses mounted. A command was called, whips were cracked, spurs jingled, and the entourage rattled away.

In another minute, it was eerily quiet, as if none of them had been there.

Bryce frowned at Valois. “Did you know who she was all along?”

Valois simply shrugged.

“Couldn’t you have warned me?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell, Bryce.”

“I hate that I made such a fool of myself over her. I believed she and I had an understanding, that we were marrying.”

“I’m sorry, my friend.”