From Kiss to Queen (17 page)

Maybe he should take the nine hundred dollars for Arthur out of Jane's cute little hide. And a little extra for the trouble and worry she'd caused him over the riot he didn't doubt she'd started. Now there was a thought. Maybe he'd just sneak up to her room tonight and get his due, at the same time restating his claim. And maybe he'd also give her the baby she wanted so badly. After all, what woman would be so cruel as to separate a man from his child? Surely he could talk a pregnant Jane into marrying him.

Maybe.

She was such an independent creature, headstrong and stubborn. She refused to need anyone by hiding behind the facade of being nobody. Mark suspected that when those men had asked Jane to be their mistress, not their wife, she'd been deeply wounded.

And when he'd backed down four nights ago in the library, asking her only to stay until his coronation, he'd wounded her again by not fighting for her hand in marriage. Maybe he shouldn't have capitulated so quickly. But in truth, he hadn't conceded defeat; he'd merely wanted to buy enough time to
talk
her into marriage.

Only it was going to take more than words to bring the lady around, apparently. More like a little trickery and a lot of patience.

Then again, a good dose of passion probably couldn't hurt, either.

F
or the fourth night in a row, Jane was crying herself to sleep. During the day she was usually okay, the adventure of seeing a new country and people keeping her occupied. It was only at night, alone, in the dark, that the yearnings came. And the tears.

Disgusted with her self-pity, her shoulder throbbing and her heart breaking, Jane rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. Darn, what a mess she'd made of things these last three days. Mark still hadn't spoken to her about finding her in jail, or about getting in a fight over some women who were down on their luck. Jane knew what they did for a living. She may have been brought up in the woods, but she wasn't ignorant. She was, however, very pleased with Mark. Irina had told her, in whispers, what he'd done for the women.

Which was another reason why she'd gone and fallen in love with the infuriating man. If that wasn't bad enough, she'd fallen hard for his family, too. Even Alexi, the rascal. But especially Reynard, who was fast becoming the father she'd always wanted.

They were so concerned about her. Their endless lectures gave her that idea. They actually seemed worried about her safety. She would laugh if she could quit crying. Imagine, five men worried about her. Nobody had worried about her safety since before she was twelve years old. That was when she'd gone to live with the Johnsons. Being old people and never having had children of their own, they'd simply treated her as an adult. For the first time in her life, Jane had been free of restraints—especially the rules that had been necessary for the nuns to control the number of children in their care. Living with the Johnsons, she'd been able to run wild in the woods surrounding her new home and not only explore nature, but herself; who she was and who she could
be
. And by the age of sixteen, Jane had arrived at the independent and admittedly self-contained person she was today.

Mark had ruined all that; first by literally falling into her life, then by turning out to be the first man she'd ever really been attracted to, and then by being attracted to her in return.

And sometime when she hadn't been looking, the rat had firmly entrenched himself in her heart.

It was unacceptable. She had no business falling in love with a king, much less expecting him to ever love her back. She didn't belong sleeping in this beautiful bed, being fawned over by staff, any more than she belonged sitting
at a table full of important, worldly people. Looking back, Jane figured she should have let Mark drown two weeks ago instead of pulling him from that plane. It certainly would have saved her from getting her heart broken.

Darn, what a mess.

Jane was just about to sink into another deep sob of self-pity when she heard the noise. It sounded like a snarl of outrage followed by male snickering. And it seemed to be coming from the hall. Jane instantly stopped crying and held her breath to listen.

Voices carried then, of men right outside her door having a heated discussion in whispers. Unable to stop herself, Jane crawled out of bed, tiptoed to the door, and listened.

“Get out of here, Sergei.”

“Now, Markov, you don't really want to go in there.”

Jane heard Mark growl.

“Think, brother. You're going to ruin your chances with the lady.”

“I'm going to improve them,” Mark ground out. Jane fought back a grin, picturing him scowling. “I'm going to start clipping some angel wings,” he continued. “Now move.”

Sergei must have shaken his head. And he must have grinned. Because the next thing she heard was the door rattling with the impact of poor Sergei being shoved against it.

“Shhh!”

“Hell, if the woman's not awake now, she will be in two minutes. I need to talk with her,” Mark said, sounding really close to the door, his nose probably only inches away from his brother's face.

“Talk?” Sergei barked, sounding incredulous.

“Our interfering father set you here as sentry, didn't he?”

Sergei, the fool, must have nodded. And probably grinned again. Jane now had her ear pressed up against the door and was nearly knocked to the floor when the man was slammed against it again.

“Dammit, Markov, cut it out! I'm trying to help you.”

“Then leave!”

Jane opened the door.

Two men fell into the room. Sergei grunted when he hit the floor, and grunted again when Mark landed on top of him. Both men muttered something when Jane started laughing.

Then she simply walked out of the room and down the hall, ignoring their calls to come back echoing after her. She also ignored the trudging of feet that began to follow.

“Where are you going?” Mark asked from behind her.

“To get a cup of hot cocoa,” she said, not breaking stride.

She had to stop, though, when he caught hold of her good arm and turned her around. His eyes were narrowed, his hair was mussed, and he had flecks of sand caught in the crinkled corners of his scowl.

Darn, she loved him.

“I'll have someone bring you chocolate. You can't go into the kitchens.”

“I'm not going to let you wake people up just to make me a cup of cocoa. That's rude. Besides, I've been going to the kitchens every night for the last week.”

His eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

Jane frowned at him. “You shouldn't swear.”

His eyes narrowed again at her chastisement. Suddenly he smiled. “I'll come with you, then. I've never seen the kitchens.”

“What?” she asked incredulously, which caused Sergei to laugh. Jane looked at him and then at Mark again, only to grow more incredulous. “You guys really are afraid of Cook?”

Both towering giants nodded. Then Mark started dragging her back to her room.

“I want my cocoa,” she persisted, trying to plant her feet.

“After you get on a robe and slippers. And your sling,” Mark ordered, still tugging.

Jane gave a small gasp, realizing she was standing in the hall in her nightgown. She lifted her left arm higher, cradling it over her bosom, and meekly followed. Heavens, she was parading around the palace half dressed!

Once in her room, which suddenly shrank with the presence of the two men (Sergei had pushed the door open when Mark had tried to slam it in his face), Jane hurried to find her robe. Mark snatched it from her and carefully worked it over her sore arm and around to her good shoulder, then picked up her sling and carefully fitted it to her arm.

Sergei got down and tried to dress her feet. Jane quickly grabbed the slippers and threw them on the bed. “I have on thick socks. I don't need slippers,” she told him through a blush, not wanting him anywhere near her deformed ankle. He frowned at her actions, but finally stood up and stepped away.

Jane was suddenly amused. They were acting like big brothers. Well, Sergei was. The look in Mark's eyes as
he knotted the sling around her neck, his face close to hers, was anything but brotherly.

“You've really been going into the kitchen and making yourself cocoa?” Sergei asked in awe, shoving Mark out of the way and grabbing her good arm to tuck it in the crook of his. He started leading her back out to the hall. “And Cook hasn't caught you?”

“Of course she did,” Jane told him, hiding her smile as Mark trailed behind them muttering something in Shelkovan. She really was going to have to learn the language.

“What did she do?” Sergei asked.

“She sat down and had a cup of cocoa with me. She even dug out some marshmallows to put in it, just like Sister Roberta used to do.”

“Sister Roberta?” Mark asked, now walking beside her, having possessively slipped a hand under her hair and around her neck.

“She was the Mother Superior of Saint Xavier's,” Jane explained. “She used to catch me in the kitchen making cocoa, and would just sigh, wipe the sleep from her eyes, and join me.”

“This is a habit, then?”

Jane tried shrugging. “I guess so.”

“What does Cook look like?” Sergei asked in a near whisper as he leaned closer, which made Mark gently tug Jane nearer to him.

Jane stopped walking. “You're kidding, right? Are you saying you've never even met the woman who cooks your meals?”

Both men shrugged and started her walking again. Taking them by surprise, Jane pulled free and darted
toward what looked like a blank wall and opened a secret door.

“That's the staff's passage,” Mark told her.

“But it leads straight to the kitchens,” she countered, feeling for the switch and flooding the stairs with light. “This is quicker.”

“You shouldn't be using the servants' stairs,” Mark said.

Jane turned to him. “Why not?”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Because these narrow hallways travel like spiderwebs all over the palace. You'll get lost.”

“I have a map.”

He arched a brow. “I thought you didn't care for confined areas.”

“Oh, put a sock in it, Ace.” Jane started down the stairs. “And don't remind me. I'm training myself.”

“Training yourself to what?” Sergei asked, thoroughly confused.

She stopped again and looked at him. “To tolerate closed spaces.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't like them.”

The prince obviously still didn't understand, and Jane decided to leave him confused. Because she sure as heck wasn't going to admit to spending five panicked hours locked in a closet by another orphan when she was six. Mark was back to staring at her with that funny gleam in his eyes, so she turned around, grabbed the banister, and started down the stairs again.

They eventually entered the kitchen, and it was a
comical sight to see: two grown men—one an almost-king, the other a prince—looking around like frightened children expecting Cook to come running in brandishing a knife and threatening their imperial lives. Carefully containing her smile, Jane made for the large walk-in cooler and found the milk. She poured some in a pan, put it on the monstrous range to heat, then went to the pantry to get the chocolate.

*   *   *

S
he's limping more than usual,” Sergei whispered to Mark. “Is her foot paining her? We should have carried her.”

Mark smiled at his concerned brother. “She would have punched you in the nose, had you tried. She isn't wearing her brace.”

“She has a brace?”

Mark nodded, watching his angel limp into the pantry, her robe trailing in billows around her, her hair a tangle of knots. He didn't doubt that Jane had charmed Cook into joining her for these late-night visits, as what person alive, man or woman, could resist such a beautifully disheveled wood-sprite?

“She's beautiful, isn't she?” Sergei commented, his thoughts obviously running along the same vein. “And she's courageous and compassionate, if that little scene in the streets is any indication. But she's also shy and unsure. I'm trying to figure her out, and I can't.”

Mark crossed his arms, leaned back against the counter, and grinned at his brother. “And you never will. Nor will I. Jane is . . . Jane.”

“She's an orphan.”

“Not anymore.”

Sergei nodded agreement. “But you're going to have to curb her willfulness.”

Mark shook his head. “I doubt that's possible.”

“You'll never get her to the altar unless you do.”

“I'll get her there. She may be bound and gagged, but she'll be there.”

Sergei raised a brow.

“I was pursuing that very end tonight when I found you blocking my path,” Mark growled. “Tell Father to stay out of it.”

“He can't. None of us can.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Dad's also fallen in love with her. We all have. Her happiness is as important to us as yours is.”

Mark snorted.

“You can't force her.”

“I can't seem to reason with her, either,” Mark said on a weary sigh. “It's like hitting my head against a stone wall. She gives herself no importance. How am I supposed to counter that?”

“By making her part of this family. Part of this country.” Sergei ran a hand through his hair. “She's an intelligent woman. And she's caring. So make her care about
us
.”

Mark stilled, then suddenly straightened away from the counter. “Go wake Dmitri and Alexi and bring them to Father's room.”

“What do you intend?” Sergei asked, looking skeptical.

“You're right. Jane is intelligent and caring. Maybe it's time we all stop trying to order her around and explain
why we're so concerned for her safety. And maybe we can get her to start worrying about
our
safety.”

“How?”

“If Jane understands the threat against this family, maybe she'll become just as determined as we are to help Shelkova break into the world market. And maybe once that little temper of hers is directed at something besides me, I can sneak up when she's not looking and have her wed before she knows it.”