How to Propose to a Prince (12 page)

He had not realized that she had come up so fast upon him.

Surprise filled her eyes and she stumbled backward until she teetered on the lip of the trail. Her arms swung around in wild circles as she tried to retain her footing.

He lunged forward to grab her, but his sudden movement seemed to steal the last shreds
of her concentration and she disappeared, feet over head over the side.

“Elizabeth!” Sumner yanked his sword from his waist and dove off the trail edge after her.

When Elizabeth opened her eyelids, she was peering up into Sumner’s concerned gray eyes. It took her a moment more to realize that he cradled her in his strong, able arms…and a few breaths more for it to dawn upon her that both he and she were soaked to the skin.

What exactly had happened? She remembered falling, the river water rushing over her…then nothing. Until now.

“Thank God, you are breathing.” He tipped his head back and gazed through the tree canopy to the blue sky above. Water rolled down his face and dripped from his angular jaw, to splash on her neck and trickle down between her breasts.

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be?” Elizabeth said, but her words met the cool air in a raspy grate. Her throat burned as surely as if she’d swallowed an entire goblet of brandy. She brought her hand to her throat. Her eyebrows inched toward the bridge of her nose in confusion. What had happened?

He looked down at her, and she saw that his eyes glistened with feeling. Before she could say another word, he lifted her head and nuzzled her wet cheek, then without warning moved his lips over hers tenderly, passionately.

She groaned at the sensation of his hot mouth, of his tongue slipping between her lips and writhing against her own.

This was not a kiss of relief. It was one of need.

He cupped her head in his large hand and turned her deeper into his kiss, claiming every part of her mouth, plunging and retreating in his conquest of her.

Elizabeth slid her hand around his neck and held him tightly, not wishing this moment to ever end.

Her eyes remained closed, but she felt herself being lowered. She opened her lids when her back settled on a blanket of soft moss and their mouths reluctantly parted.

Sumner tried to lean back from her then, but she would not release her hold around the back of his neck. She pulled him to her again, and to her amazement, he did not resist.

Instead, he rested his weight beside her and kissed her softly, pressing her deeper into the bed of spongy moss.

His left hand brushed a few damp strands of her hair from where they clung to her face. “Elizabeth…I…I am sorry.”

“I slipped. That is all.” She smiled. “You bear no fault for my…soggy gown this time.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but words were not truly necessary just then. Their bodies did not seem to feel the need for them.

Elizabeth reached up, peeled back the soaked lawn shirt from Sumner’s skin, then eased her palm inside to his warm muscled chest. Rolling toward him, she draped her arm around his waist and pulled her body firmly against his.

He was as hard as stone where his body abutted hers at the apex of her thighs. Heat ripped through her at the realization. Instead of shying, her body drove her on and she pushed against him, wanting more.

Wanting him closer. Wanting to touch him. Wanting him to touch her.

Sumner swore under his breath. Desire fired within him and he could not restrain himself any longer. His hands slid up over her hip and cupped a heavy breast, easing his thumb over her pert nipple, driving it to a hard peak.

She groaned huskily and his erection jerked.
Sumner’s breathing sounded labored even to his own ears as he pressed her uppermost shoulder back to the ground. He did not waste an instant in coaxing her smooth breasts from the dampness of the low-cut French bodice and opening his mouth to draw in the pink-tipped cabochon. His teeth pulled gently at it as his slippery tongue flicked the peak of her breast in quick, darting licks.

Elizabeth arched her back and threaded her fingers through his hair, boldly moving him to her other breast as she gasped with pleasure.

He leaned up and kissed her, harder this time, dipping his tongue deep into her mouth, then sucking gently before sliding it out, and doing it all again and again.

She twisted at her hips and tried, without success, to press against his throbbing erection. He was nearly mindless with need of her, and his hand instinctually slid up beneath her sodden skirts.

Elizabeth gasped in a ragged breath as his fingers grazed her thigh, and then again as he raised his knee and nudged it between hers, lifting her chemise.

He gazed into her jewel green eyes as he parted her thighs to his touch. His palm pressed against the red curls between her legs and he
eased one finger between her swollen female lips and into the heat of her wetness.

He was touching her most sensitive of places, his tongue lashing at hers, thrilling her—all at once. Elizabeth could feel his hardness flinching and throbbing against her hip in a motion that made her urgently want to pull him against her, inside of her.

His finger, wet with her slick essence, slid up and caressed the rose pearl between her lips in slow, rhythmic circles. She bucked against his hand as her excitement grew.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “I want to feel you inside of me, Sumner.
Please
.”

“I—can’t.” His voice was deep. His muscles were tight and hard, and she knew his claim was naught but a lie. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. She knew this.

“Yes, you can. I—want—you.” Elizabeth tried to pull back from his teasing finger, wanting him inside of her.
Him
. Now.

But he did not oblige her. Not exactly.

He kissed her again, and without removing his lips from her, pressed her legs wider still. She braced herself, holding her breath as she anticipated his hardened length entering her and piercing her as he breached her maiden-head.

Instead, she felt what seemed like two or three fingers sliding into her, plunging into her before slipping out of her heat, while his thumb maddeningly encircled her core.

The feeling of fullness, brought on by his teasing touch, was dizzying. She gasped against his mouth, arching her back, pressing her breasts against him.

A moan rode from her mouth into his as a pounding tide of ecstasy washed through her body. She clenched her thighs closed, trembling with pleasure, holding his hand still until she could think clearly again.

He kissed her gently, and after a few moments slid his fingers from her. She felt wetness on her thighs as a breeze stirred the hem of the skirts still bunched around her hips.

Sumner sat up and then pulled her skirts down to cover her thighs. He looked down at his fingers for a long moment, then at Elizabeth. She glanced down, too, and saw blood on his fingers.

“Elizabeth—” The expression in his eyes was nothing less than horror. “I didn’t mean—”

She knew what he meant, and drew a shading hand to her head, closing her eyes. “I—I didn’t feel any pain. I had always heard that it would hurt.”

Sumner caught her wrist and drew it from her eyes. “I am sorry, Elizabeth. I thought if I was careful, gentle…if I didn’t—” It seemed that his eyes were searching hers for the right words.

“It doesn’t matter.” Elizabeth leaned up and rested her weight behind her on her elbows. “You did nothing wrong, Sumner.”

“Yes, I did, Elizabeth.” It seemed as if the shame he evidently felt prevented him from looking at her.

“No, you didn’t.” She sat upright and laid her hand on his cheek. “You did nothing I did not want—that I did not ask for.”

“But I ruined you.”

“Ruined? Hardly.” She huffed a small laugh. “Do you mean by touching me? What an over-noble goose you are being. And even if you had ruined me, it matters not at all. We will marry soon enough.”

“No, Elizabeth. Why do you believe this?” Sumner came to his knees, then jerked to a stand. “Don’t you understand? We cannot be together. I have my duty.”

Elizabeth stared blankly at Sumner, unable to comprehend what he meant. Surely, he did not mean…after this morning…that he still sought Princess Charlotte’s hand?

Surely not.

He reached down, took her arm and pulled her to her feet. Still he did not look at her. “Come along, Elizabeth. It is late. You must return to the lodge and dress. The princess will be rising soon.”

A lump climbed up into her throat and threatened to choke her.

Why was this happening? Why?

Silently, blinded by burgeoning tears, she followed him down the trail.

He can’t mean this.

He simply cannot.

In her heart and in her mind they were already wed. She would not give up now. She was a Royle, after all. And Royles did not give in. She would do as both of her sisters had done—when circumstances became difficult, they became creative. And so would she.

No matter what it took, she would simply have to change his mind, and she could do it. After all, Fate was on her side, she reminded herself. Fate was on her side.

Cranbourne Lodge

M
iss Margaret Mercer Elphinstone stood aghast. After hearing Elizabeth’s story of her eventful morning, she clapped her hands over her mouth, stifling a gasp, as she peered down at Elizabeth, who sat before her dressing down as the lady’s maid ordered a hot bath to be drawn for her. “Good heavens, dear, you might have drowned had he not saved you!”

Elizabeth plucked a telltale dead piece of brown moss from her hair and surreptitiously dropped it to the floor, then settled her soaked slipper down atop of it. “I really do not remember much at all about what happened. One moment I was walking on the river trail,
and the next I was peering up into Sumner’s gray eyes.”

“Sumner?” Mercer’s brow furrowed. “I thought you said—did you say…Sumner?”

Elizabeth nodded, then turned around to look up at Mercer. “The prince. He asked me to refrain from referring to him as Your Royal Highness while at Windsor, but ’twas in deference to Princess Charlotte’s greater standing, I assume.”

Mercer looked most pensive for some moments, and then her happy self seemed to emerge again. “Yes, I am sure you are completely right on the matter. I have heard his cousin call him Sumner once or twice. He must feel very at ease with you. Though, were I you, Elizabeth, I would not deign to be so familiar as to use the name in the presence of anyone other than we four.”

“Yes, he said exactly the same thing. And I shall abide by his wishes, of course.” When Elizabeth looked into the dressing mirror again, Mercer came and stood behind her, settling her hand on the rumpled sleeve of the red crimson gown.

She pushed back an errant sable lock behind her ear and looked down at Elizabeth’s sodden gown. “Pity it is ruined. It must have looked
stunning on you.” She pinched a bit of the once lovely fabric between her fingers, then leaned around and peered at the neckline. “Elizabeth, you did say that this accident occurred…this
morning
, did you not?”

Elizabeth nodded as she passed a boar’s bristle brush through her thick, tangled red hair. “I could not sleep, and arose early. I decided to take a short walk to pass the time until the princess awoke.”

“And you chose this…this
gown
as your morning frock for your walk? Interesting selection, my friend.”

“Oh, no. I did not choose it.” A tiny broken twig caught at the end of her hair, and then unexpectedly shot like an arrow to the floor under the downward force of her brush. Elizabeth followed its trajectory with her gaze and tapped her slipper around the area, hoping to find it and nudge it beneath the hem of her gown. “I am but a miss from Cornwall with no knowledge of what might be considered
à la mode
for morning in the presence of a princess.”

Mercer turned her head as the lady’s maid entered the room with two other maids who toted great buckets of hot water for the hip bath. “Did you choose Miss Royle’s
morning
gown this day, Aida?”

The lady’s maid’s cheeks flushed brightly and she cast her eyes to the floor. “No, miss. I—I just offered it as a choice. Miss Royle chose the gown herself.”

Mercer let out a great sigh. “And who bade you to misdirect Miss Royle’s choices in her dress? The gown is French and not suitable for morning at all—as you well know.”

The lady’s maid did not say a word, but shook her head slowly, adding a small shrug.

Mercer swiped a finger at her. “Never mind, Aida, I know the culprit and I shall speak with her directly. You cannot argue your orders, but nor will I rely on you to assist Miss Royle again. Be gone; send my Georgiana to tend to Miss Royle. At least I know
she
can be trusted.”

With a sniffle, Aida slinked from Elizabeth’s bedchamber.

Stunned at what she had just heard, Elizabeth was still staring at Mercer’s reflection in the mirror when Aida closed the door. “Someone asked Aida to dress me inappropriately? Who would do such a thing, and why?” She turned on the bench to look directly at Mercer.

Mercer laughed resignedly. “Well, our dear Charlotte, of course.”

“B-But, why would the princess wish to embarrass me so?” Elizabeth suddenly felt her
household position was as precarious as her footing had been on the river trail.

“Oh, my innocent, Elizabeth.” Mercer knelt before her and took her shoulders in her hands. “Charlotte is my dearest friend, but she can also be childish, ill-mannered, and mischievous at times. You would do well to be on your guard during your stay at Cranbourne Lodge.”

“I don’t understand, Mercer. Why would she wish for me to attend her as a lady’s companion if she only wishes me ill fate?”

Mercer came to her feet quickly. “I did not say she wishes you ill. Only that she is mischievous and entirely too bored, being restricted to the confines of Windsor.” She walked across the bedchamber, dunked her index finger into the bathwater and yanked it out. “Too hot. Best wait a few minutes.” She looked back at Elizabeth. “At least it is better here than at Warwick House. There, I was fortunate to see a letter or two to Charlotte. But Leopold was sly enough to call upon her for tea there, though Prinny was in residence at Carlton House, only a stone’s throw away. Courage or insanity—or could it truly be love?”

Love?
Elizabeth’s breath seemed to freeze in her lungs. “Prince Leopold called upon Princess Charlotte in London?” She was feeling in
creasingly uneasy, realizing that she had not considered that Leopold had a past with the princess.

“Oh, yes. He managed to slip out before Prinny heard the news, which was most fortunate, because Charlotte’s father was roiling mad when he heard that a prince had taken tea with his daughter
alone
.”

Elizabeth did not care for the way Mercer selectively intoned
alone
. Her scabbed temple began to throb and she rubbed all around the wound, trying to soothe her head as she struggled to find a way to discount Sumner’s relationship with the princess.

“If the Prince of Wales knew that Prince Leopold called about his unwed daughter without his knowledge,” she said, “which I would assume would be taken as a showing of disrespect, how can Sumner…er, Prince Leopold hope to win approval to marry the princess?”

Mercer laughed and fairly ran to Elizabeth. She snatched up her hand and squeezed it in her excitement. “Because Charlotte lied—she told her father that she was not alone and, furthermore, that the prince who called was Prince Augustus—not Leopold, as he had assumed.” Mercer laughed. “And he believed her! Charlotte is a gifted storyteller when she chooses.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth’s spirits sank. Only this morning she believed she and the prince were fated to be husband and wife. Now, she just felt like a fool.

Anne had been right. She should just give up this silly idea that she had dreamed the future, and learn to live the truth—that Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg would marry Princess Charlotte.

And there was nothing she could do to make her happily ever after with the prince of her dreams come true.

“…but now that her father has given up his ridiculous notion of marrying the princess off to the Dutchman, he considers Cranbourne Lodge a secure enough prison for the time being. What a lark, eh? The one fortress he believes to be secure, and Prince Leopold walks right in.”

Elizabeth felt a hard tug at her arm and realized she had been staring blindly into the mirror, feeling sorry for herself, and hadn’t caught all of what Mercer had told her.

“Are you listening to me, Elizabeth?” Mercer asked, sounding most annoyed.

“Uh, yes.” Elizabeth turned fully on her bench and leaned close to Mercer. “I was only wondering what Prinny would do if he caught
Prince Leopold and his cousin here at Cranbourne Lodge.”

“Oh, he would be furious, certainly. Which is why they cannot stay any longer. It has been more than a week now. I tried to warn Charlotte about giving the prince refuge here at all, but she would not hear of it. Someone meant to kill the prince, and Charlotte was adamant that she offer him safety until other arrangements could be made. And, thankfully, they have been safe.”

Elizabeth straightened her back. “Are you telling me that they…are leaving?”

“Yes.” Mercer was immediately distracted, and said no more about the prince leaving Cranbourne, when her own lady’s maid entered the room. “Georgiana, please assist Miss Royle. She is ready for her bath.”

Georgiana displayed the beautiful dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes of the Welsh. She also had very strong arms. Without asking Elizabeth to stand, she wrenched her from the bench. Turning her around, Georgiana began to strip Elizabeth of her hopelessly ruined gown.

Elizabeth was about to question Mercer further regarding the departure of the prince and his cousin when she heard Mercer giggle.

“I will leave you to your bath now.” She
started for the door, but turned her head and peered over her shoulder before reaching it. “Charlotte will expect to see you in the morning room after she breaks her fast. Listen for the clock to sound the noon hour. Come then.”

Mercer opened the door then turned yet again. “Georgiana, you will be sure to remove all of the moss from Miss Royle’s hair, won’t you?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Good morning, Elizabeth…” she called out as she closed the door behind her.

“Good morn—”
Oh botheration. Why even say the words
? What had begun as the most brilliant of mornings was now the worst day of her life.

When Elizabeth entered the morning room, Princess Charlotte was draped across a settee with a damp folded flannel upon her forehead. One leg dangled from the seat, her blue satin slipper hanging precariously from her big toe. “Do close the door quickly, whoever you are,” she moaned. “My head pains me.”

“It is I, Miss Royle,” Elizabeth whispered softly as she began to close the door, only to have an elderly liveried footman seize the handle from her and shut the door himself.

“Elizabeth!” Princess Charlotte yanked the
cloth from her head and dropped it on the floor.

A young maid scurried to the settee to scoop the cloth up in her hands, then returned to the corner of the room, where a footman poured water into a basin to begin soaking a fresh cloth for the princess.

“Mercer told me of your ordeal this morning. How dreadfully exciting it must have been for you!” the princess practically squealed.

“Actually, I could have made do without the excitement of this morning quite easily.” Elizabeth smiled, then when she saw the princess didn’t respond, she laughed.

Princess Charlotte seemed confused for a moment, until Mercer, who sat at a writing desk nearby, began to laugh uproariously. “Oh, you had us there, Elizabeth,” Mercer said. “’Tis every woman’s dream to be rescued by a tall, handsome nobleman.”

Princess Charlotte laughed, too. “To think I thought you were serious. But I see now you were just having us on. Oh, you are most diverting, Elizabeth. But I beg you—tell us about the moment you awoke in his arms. Please, Elizabeth. My life is so horribly boring. Nothing so brilliant ever happens to me.”

“Oh, pish posh, Charlotte,” Mercer said. “You
rushed into the street and escaped a very angry Prince of Wales in a hackney—
a hackney
! Did you ever hear of anything so daring, Elizabeth?”

“Never!” Elizabeth exclaimed. When the princess looked to Mercer, Elizabeth crinkled her brow.
Riding in a hackney? That is Princess Charlotte’s definition of exciting? What about meeting crowned royalty from every part of the world? Dancing at glittering balls?

Having the most handsome prince in the world wishing to marry you?

“Still,” Princess Charlotte amended, “last week Elizabeth was shot in the head—”

Elizabeth raised her chin. “Well, it only grazed my temple.”

“—then, this morn, she falls off an embankment and is whisked away by the chilled water of the Thames. I ask you, who lives the more exciting life—this young woman from Cornwall or I?”

“W-Well, you do, by far,” Elizabeth muttered.

The edges of Princess Charlotte’s lips lifted. “Oh, you jest. You would never wish to trade your life for mine for even one day.”

“Most certainly, I would!” Elizabeth exclaimed, knowing that for some reason, the
princess needed to be assured that her life was one to be envied.

“You are just having me on, Elizabeth.” Princess Charlotte glanced at Mercer, and for the first time since she entered the room, Elizabeth realized that another game was afoot. One she had until now been completely blind to.

“No, no.” She wondered if even saying that was too much, for Princess Charlotte leapt to her feet, nearly tripping over her discarded slipper.

“Do you hear that, Mercer? She wishes to do it. She said so, just now.” Princess Charlotte set her hand on her hips and gave her head a good firm nod.

“She hasn’t agreed to anything, Charlotte, except that she would trade lives with you if given the opportunity.” Mercer gave Elizabeth a glance loaded with wariness.

Charlotte walked over to Elizabeth, so close that the princess, being a shorter woman, stood nose-to-chin with her. “What if I gave you that opportunity, Elizabeth—for just one day?”

“Gave me the opportunity…to live your life for one day?” Elizabeth knew she stammered and sounded like a lingering echo off the cliffs of Cornwall, but she could not help herself.

“Yes.” Princess Charlotte cast a sidelong glance at Mercer, before looking at Elizabeth with a dead serious expression. “Today, in fact.”

“T-Today?” Elizabeth knew she could not deny the princess, but whatever Princess Charlotte had planned was making her feel very, very uneasy.

Elizabeth stood very still as Mercer fitted a turban to her head, taking care to stuff any exposed red tendril of hair under the matronly headdress. “This will never fool anyone. I am at least a head taller than the princess and our countenances are not remotely similar.”

“Oh, they are more similar than you perhaps realize,” Mercer responded. “And it shall work.” She stood back and surveyed her work. “What think you, Charlotte?”