Princess in Disguise (7 page)

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?”

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

K
intore 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.

“A
h,
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.”