Sins of a Wicked Princess (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-two

H
e deserved to be sainted.

Yet Ian gave up that possibility in order to swear freely in every language he knew.

He should be skulking about the castle, not trying to glean every little detail he could about the prince he’d just delivered to Juliana.

And he could find nothing wrong with the man. All his servants adored him. The only complaint by some of the other aristos was that he ignored invitations to social events to stay home with his daughter.

Ian’s only negative was that the prince hadn’t dashed to Juliana’s side as soon as she arrived. What type of red-blooded male could resist her?

Ian stopped by the stables and checked on Juliana’s horses. Thankfully, his tasks as a visiting groom were minimal. The duke’s grooms already saw to the basics of the stable itself, leaving Ian and three other grooms to tend to ten horses.

Later, he would be assigned to help take down the tents and move the tables, but for the next few hours, he was free.

And now it was time to focus on the real reason he was there.

He needed to find out what Sommet’s game was. He needed to know why Sommet was singling out the Trio. He needed to know any other traps the duke had lying in wait for them.

And then Ian would destroy him.

Not quickly, either. Ian would strip away everything thing the duke valued—his influence, his power, his money. Only after the man was homeless and pox-ridden in the street would Ian slit his throat.

No one was allowed to hurt his friends.

Rather than heading straight to Sommet’s rooms, Ian found a small secluded space between the statues of dead dukes and the stairs and waited.

He’d learned how to wait in absolute stillness. He no longer felt the burn in his muscles or the temptation to scratch an itch. He’d gained much from this one skill.

He enjoyed the reputation for be all-knowing, but the truth was much more mundane.

After he’d run away from Canterbury the first time when he was seven, he’d made it a day on the streets before he’d been robbed of his jacket and shoes.

He’d huddled amid the rubbish, too afraid to move. He wasn’t entirely sure how long he huddled there. Two, perhaps three days. But long enough that he knew the baker opened his back door for about ten minutes every morning while he waited for his delivery of coal.

Even as shaky as he was, Ian had been able to sneak in and steal two rolls.

He’d eaten only two bites when the other boys found him again and stole the bread—until he told them he could get them more the next day.

He’d returned to his pile of rubbish. By the next day, he also knew when the fruit seller would step away from his cart for his afternoon pint.

By the end of the week, the other lads were no longer robbing Ian, but bringing him things to trade for edible food and drink.

Ian peered through the gap between the statues as a maid walked by carrying a pile of sheets. She was only the second maid to climb the stairs. The other had carried a brush to scrub the floors and a bucket of water.

Soon he knew the maids’ schedules. And that one of them despised Sommet’s valet.

Sommet was a suspicious bastard. He alone had rooms in the west tower. Ian had hoped with the crush of people who’d come to the party, he would have been forced to house other guests there. But the duke remained apart.

The duke would soon find that his secrecy worked against him. Fewer servants meant less chance of being discovered. All the empty space meant more places for Ian to hide. It would also be easier to tell which rooms were normally used, what drawers were opened, and what objects were moved.

Sommet finally came. The old vulture. He was accompanied by the footman Ian had seen in the tower earlier. The footman stayed guarding the foot of the stairs as Sommet ascended.

The duke walked with the slightest hesitation on his left leg. Gout apparently, rather than the two assassination attempts on his life.

And even now in his own house, for every two steps he took up the stairs, he glanced back over his shoulder.

If it weren’t for the footman, Ian would have been tempted to put a knife in Sommet’s back and end all his threats right here.

Instead, he watched for any other bits that would be useful when he destroyed the man later.

Sommet always glanced over his right shoulder.

And he left his rooms unguarded while he wasn’t in them. Which would make for a perfect surprise later.

“Charles!”

The duke stopped on the stairs as Leucretia approached.

“You wanted to speak to me?”

“Not here.”

“Are you certain of that?” Leucretia skimmed up the stairs to stand next to him; she trailed one long finger down the duke’s wrinkled cheek.

They had better not kiss. If they kissed, Ian might betray his hiding spot.

The duke caught Leucretia’s elbow. “Shall we go to the library?”

“I have fond memories of a certain library.”

The duke slid his arm down her back and over the boney curve of her hip. “I have learned I negotiate far better if we remain upright.”

Ian hoped his gag wasn’t loud enough for Sommet to hear as the duke led her back down the stairs.

The footman followed them, allowing Ian to fall in behind.

When the two disappeared into the library, the footman took up his post at the door there as well.

Damnation. There were too many guests still lingering out front for him to risk scaling to the window. And the walls of the castle were solid English stone, far too thick to hear through.

But he hadn’t been named Wraith for nothing.

If he entered the adjoining parlor, there was a fair chance the windows to both rooms would be open in the humid July heat.

He would hear at least—

Juliana snuck past him down the corridor toward Sommet’s rooms.

No, that wasn’t giving her quite enough credit. She didn’t sneak, precisely. She’d followed his instructions and kept her gait normal.

The only reason he knew she was sneaking was a rather adorable crease between her brows.

While Ian hated the thought of information being revealed without him there to partake of it, he couldn’t risk Juliana getting caught in the duke’s tower.

The duke’s tower
.

Not a bad title for a lurid novel if he ever decided to write one.

He trailed after Juliana. He would have called out, but he feared drawing the footman’s attention.

At least, following her did give him ample opportunity to admire the sweet curve of her backside.

She’d made it to the top of the staircase before she glanced behind her. She jerked in surprise, then glared at him. “Are you following me?” she whispered.

“First of all, I was here before you. Second of all, are you bloody mad? Sommet is just downstairs. He could come at any moment.”

“He’s talking to my aunt.”

“They could finish their conversation at any minute.”

She strode down the corridor. “Then there is all the more reason to look about while I have the chance.” She eased open the first door she came to, revealing an office of some sort.

Ian took the last three stairs in a single step. He grabbed her around the waist before she could step over the threshold. As cagey as the duke was, it wouldn’t surprise Ian if he’d left a few surprises. “Did you check for traps?”

As tense as her surprise made her, she was still soft against him. So he kept her there. It made the whispering easier as well. “First, always assume there are traps. Second, I doubt the duke would keep your documents in a place this easy to access.”

Her rib cage fluttered under his hand. “First, stop numbering everything. Second, wouldn’t the fact that you doubt the duke would keep the documents here mean it is more likely that the duke would keep the documents here?”

An interesting point.

Damnation. He’d missed her.

And he’d only been away less than a day. This didn’t bode well for him come the end of the house party. After all, she had made it clear where his place was, and it wasn’t nestled against her pert backside.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to move away, not until he breathed deeply of her scent a few more times.

They both peered into the room.

“How would I precisely spot a trap?” she asked.

“I would check for any string or wire about ankle high. Or any unevenness or discoloration in the carpet or stones.”

She pulled away from him to crouch down on the ground, giving him a rather nice view down her bodice.

“I don’t see any”—she looked up at him and must have caught the direction of his wayward gaze because her cheeks flushed—“strings.” She stood. “What else should I check for? And I warn you, if it involves me removing my clothing I will be dubious.”

“Are those lock picks in your bodice?”

“I didn’t come completely unprepared.”

He’d lingered far too long in this interlude already. “If we aren’t gone by the time the duke finishes his conversation, we’ll be trapped.”

“Why?”

“Because—”

There were voices below. Ian ushered her inside and shut the door behind them. “Because he keeps a footman posted at the foot of the stairs when he is in his rooms.”

Her lips formed a little O of shock. “Then how can we get down without being seen?”

“We don’t.”

There were footsteps on the stairs. It was definitely Sommet. One footstep was slightly louder than the other.

The office had an unused feel to it. It was perfectly clean, but there was a certain mustiness to the air that bespoke a lack of frequent air circulation.

But he wouldn’t risk Juliana to a supposition.

“Get under the desk.”

She blinked at him.

Probably not an order princesses normally received. He jerked his head toward the door. “Sommet.”

She paled, then ran to the desk and disappeared under it.

Ian remained by the door but stood behind it. If Sommet did choose to come in, Ian would disable him before he had a chance to find Juliana.

But the footsteps passed by the room without pause. After hearing Sommet climb the next flight of stairs, Ian went to join Juliana at the desk.

“So there’s no way out of here then?” she whispered as she climbed out.

“Not unless you happened to be with a genius.”

“We must hurry then. Dinner’s in less than an hour.”

“Eager to get back to your handsome prince?” He hoped the words didn’t sound as bitter as they tasted in his mouth.

“He won’t be at dinner. We’re meeting in the conservatory later.”

“Alone? That moved rather quickly. Good job.” He examined the bookcase looking for anything out of place, but the books were generic volumes that every proper Englishman pretended to have read.

“We’re listening to musicians for his symphony.”

He looked behind a hideous painting of a bowl of fruit. “Ah, likely story.”

Her mouth gaped slightly. “He—”

He carefully replaced the painting, aligning the frame with the darker square of wallpaper behind it. “Tell me you at least considered he had other motives.”

Her cheeks darkened. “He’s not like that.”

“If he’s seen you, then he’d be a fool not to be like that.” He went over to a small table and picked up a figurine of a shepherd so he didn’t have to see her face.

“Thank you.” The longing in her voice speared something deep in his chest.

“I’ll need to speak with you afterward.” No, he didn’t need to. But he always had been a greedy bastard and if she was with him, she couldn’t be offering her sweet lips to the prince.

Hell. Hell. Hell
. He didn’t need to see the way her eyes lit at the prospect.

“We need a better plan for your search. This won’t be as easy as we’d hoped.” He swept his hands under the desk, then around the sides.

She flipped through the blank papers on top. “Agreed.”

“Are you ready to tell me what you’re looking for?”

“I can’t.”

Ian had hesitated to push her in the past. But he no longer held any such qualms. He was protecting her safety now. He was very good at getting the information. It was time to put that to use. “I’ll be looking for information on his betrayal of the Trio. If I know what you’re looking for, I’ll know if I happen to stumble across it.”

Still she hesitated.

“You say you want what’s best for your country. Then you must know that
I’m
your best option for retrieving it.” He stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Trust me.”

The words were ones he’d uttered to gain information he wanted countless time, but now they were the truest plea he’d ever spoken.

“Can I?”

“Most women fall swooning at my feet and swear their trust by now.” He’d done his best to convince her he was untrustworthy, but he longed for her to see past it.

She shook her head. “No. No foolishness now. I want you to tell me if I can trust my entire country in your hands.”

Ian’s throat suddenly felt dry. “Yes.”

Juliana exhaled long. Apparently he hadn’t been the only one holding his breath.

He listened with growing anger as Juliana explained about Sommet’s blackmail and his plans to put Gregory on the throne.

Never. Ian would eat day-old eel pie before he let that happen.

“Your brother is lucky you already bargained for his survival. May I at least give him a fierce beating for his stupidity?”

But she frowned. “Gregory truly isn’t stupid. He is young and desperate to regain what we lost. Only slightly more desperate than I.”

“Why?”

Her frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“Why is it so important to regain Lenoria? Is being a princess really that important to you?”

She shook her head, looking at him as if he’d grown a second nose. “That isn’t it at all. People live happily in cottages over five hundred years old. Families in the southern mountains have farmed the same land as far back as we have written records. The crown has rested on the head on the Castanova family since before the Romans. The land is in my blood. It
is
my blood. I won’t be the one to lose it.” Even though her voice had never risen above a whisper, she glowed with so much pride and determination Ian feared she’d burst into flame. “Being a princess isn’t important. Lenoria is.”