How to Propose to a Prince (7 page)

Lord Lotharian did not say a word, but for some moments Sumner had the distinct impression that he was studying him. But a time came when he could no longer endure the earl’s earnestness. He turned back to Miss Royle, who now appeared somewhat shaken at the intense exchange of attention between him and Lord Lotharian.

Sumner smiled agreeably, hoping to calm her. “I would have wished to request a dance…” He glanced down at her bodice, then returned his gaze to her stunningly beautiful green eyes. “…but since I have soaked your gown, Miss Royle, I wonder if you would do me the honor of leaving Almack’s for a short while for a stroll in the night air. Your gown will dry and the relative quiet of the street at night is far more conducive to conversation than this crowd of merrymakers.” He looked to Lord Lotharian momentarily. “That is, if you will permit it, my lord.” His gaze fell upon Miss Royle again.

She was blinking up at him as if she could not quite believe what he was asking of her. She turned, appearing wrapped in her nerves, looked to Lord Lotharian and waited silently for him to give her permission to leave the ball for a short while.

The old man glanced once more at Sumner, and then at Miss Royle. “Very well, my dear. But do not tarry overlong. Lady Upperton will wish to speak with you.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Miss Royle excitedly bounced on her toes for an instant, but quickly renewed her ladylike composure.

Sumner lifted his arm to her, and as she took
it, a great smile brightened her face. Together, as they strolled arm in arm through the crowd, she seemed no longer aware of the wine blooming across her bodice. Instead, she appeared extraordinarily happy. And this pleased Sumner immensely. Somehow, he had been redeemed.

They had just descended the stairs and a liveried footman had opened the doors for them to depart the assembly rooms when it occurred to Elizabeth to look over her shoulder. “There are no guards?”

The prince shook his head. “No need this evening. Besides, I am a trained soldier. I know precisely what to do in the event of an attack. So I warn you, do not try
anything.
I have been schooled in the defensive arts.”

She laughed and, quite unexpectedly, he felt her tighten her hold around his biceps. “I do not doubt that you have been,” she said, looking up through her lush lashes at him.

“Thankfully, unless you are secretly planning an attack, I do not believe there will be any need to call my military training into use this fine evening.” He felt the softness of her breast pressing against his arm, and even in the relative coolness of the evening became aware of the heat growing below.

She cocked her head and glanced up at him as they walked. “Why did you introduce yourself as Lord Whitevale when we first met?”

“I told you I was incognito.” He turned his head and smiled back at her, before looking ahead again. “I did not wish to draw unwanted attention.”

“Of course not,” she conceded. “As I told you, you can rest your faith in me.”

His legs were long, and for the first time in her life she had to double step to keep up during a stroll. After a few minutes of this trotting, they turned onto the familiar grand stretch of Pall Mall. A stitch of exertion pained Elizabeth’s left side, and to her embarrassment she was compelled to stop walking until it passed.

“I apologize,” he told her. “I have been in the primary company of soldiers for so long that I—”

Elizabeth waved off his comment. “No need to apologize. Truly.” It was then that she noted the long row of carriages lining Pall Mall. Only three back was a carriage emblazoned with the Upperton coat of arms.
Oh, thank heaven.
“Would you like…to rest for a moment or two? My sponsor’s carriage is just there.” She looked up without bothering to conceal the pleading in her eyes. She could not race along the street just now.

He chuckled at that. “Very well. It will allow you some time to catch the wind in your sails again. But I warn you again, no attacks.” With utmost grace, almost as though it were a dance step, he drew her close and turned her in the direction of the carriage.

He did not free her immediately. Instead, they stood clinging together. She did not wish for him to release her and so she held onto him and looked up into his eyes.

She felt the heaviness of his breathing as his lungs expanded and contracted, pressing his hard, muscled chest against her. Her breathing quickened, too. She lowered her gaze to his mouth, and without thinking of it, ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. It was too late when she realized how obvious her romantic wishes had become to him.

His expression suddenly became very serious. She heard his breath hitch a scant second before he cupped his hand behind her head and drew her mouth to his.

His warm lips tasted of champagne as they moved gently over hers. Her arms lifted up and, of their own volition, slid up under his arms to his back and pulled him tighter into her embrace.

His mouth teased her, his tongue, hot and
slick, prodded her lips apart and then slid inside, where it mingled in an ancient dance with her own.

As he groaned with pleasure, a sound of longing welled up from deep within him. She felt that flutter in her middle…but this time lower as well.

Just then there was the sound of gunfire, followed by a hiss beside her head. Abruptly, her back slammed down upon the pavers. The prince’s heavy form fell atop of her.

He’s been shot
. Her head was pounding as she struggled to wriggle out from beneath him.
Oh my God. Oh my God
.
He can’t be dead, he can’t.
She slapped her hand to the cool pavers and tried to push up, but his weight made it impossible for her to move.

Another shot rang out, puncturing the carriage beside them. She whimpered with fear.

“Don’t move. Stay where you are, Miss Royle. I will protect you.” His breath was hot in her ear.

“Are you hurt?” she whispered.

“No. Remain still.” He rose up from her, then bent into a crouch. Warily, he surveyed the street, then came to his feet.

Elizabeth remained on her back, as he had ordered, until she saw movement in an upper
window of a shop twenty paces down Pall Mall.

“In the window! He’s there!” She rolled to her feet and flung open Lady Upperton’s carriage door.

She caught the prince’s wrist and yanked, miraculously knocking him from his footing and into the open cab. She pushed him down onto the floor of the cab just as a third shot rent the still night air. This time her prince didn’t move.

The thud of footfalls on the pavers drew Elizabeth’s attention, and when she glanced up, she saw a dark figure running toward her. Her heart was pounding in time with the throbbing in her head.
Oh, God!

Without delay, she heaved the prince farther inside, and was at work bending his long legs to force them into the cab when Lady Upperton’s longtime driver, Edmund, raced up to the carriage and appeared next to her. “Oh, thank goodness it is you,” she gasped.

“Bloody hell, Miss Elizabeth! What is happening?”

“Don’t just stand there gawking. He’s been shot. Please help me!” she pleaded. “We must away. Now!”

Edmund climbed into the cab and pulled the
prince completely inside, positioning him on the forward bench. He reached out a hand and pulled Elizabeth inside. “He’s bleeding fierce, miss.”

“I know. I know.” Her nerves were screaming, her mind a complete jumble. “Can you take us from here, at once? I know it is dangerous to help us now, Edmund, but I need you to climb atop the carriage and take us from here. Someone is trying to kill the prince.”

“Aye, miss. I am your servant.” Edmund gave a parting look at the prince, then scrambled from the cab and latched the door behind him. “Where to?” he called back.

“Hyde Park. The Serpentine,” came the prince’s low voice. “Hurry.”

“Hyde Park, Edmund. At once!” Elizabeth knelt down on the floor beside the prince as the carriage lurched forward and departed the carriage queue.

He opened his eyes as she smoothed back his hair from his face, then peeled open his coat and then his lawn shirt. She slid her right hand under him and felt a round hole in the back of his coat. She exhaled.

The prince winced as she slipped her finger around the opening of the hole, and then he tried to sit up.

“Do not attempt to rise,” she said as she tore a swath of silk from her skirt and balled it up. “You’ve been hit just below the shoulder. It seems to have gone through cleanly, but you are bleeding quite a lot.”

Through his pain, he managed a weak smile. “How do you come by your medical expertise, Miss Royle?” He bit into his lower lip as the carriage tilted, rounding a corner.

She forced a practiced nurse’s smile at her patient and began to chatter as calm gave way to great concern. “Did I tell you that my father was a physician? My sisters and I all worked by his side as we were growing up. I tell you this because I can help you. You will be feeling much better very soon.” She peered into his half-open eyes. “Only what I must do now will hurt. Please, remain as still as you can. I am going to bandage you to slow the bleeding.”

She ripped a second piece from her skirt and positioned one of the silk pads she’d fashioned atop the entry wound and the other atop the place on his back where it exited. She removed the dark blue ribbon that encircled her ribs and tied it around both pads. It barely reached.

The prince blinked up at her and sighed. “I apologize for marring your gown—for a second time.” He tried to laugh, she knew, but his effort
sounded like a groan the moment it left his mouth. “I’ve bled all over your gown. This time I fear a little air will not suffice as a remedy.”

Elizabeth looked down and saw a rivulet of blood trickling down her bodice. She touched the wetness and traced it upward along her neck, to her ear, and to a place throbbing just above her temple. Warily, she settled her finger atop it. Pain seared through her skull, making her dizzy and nauseous. The blood on her gown was not his. It was her own.

“I fear…this time,” she muttered, “you were not at fault.”

“Dear God.” His eyes went wide with concern. “You’ve been shot?”

“It is nothing,” she replied, not wishing for him to worry since his injury was far more severe. “It is only a scratch. Minor cuts to the head are notorious for bleeding.” But then she felt it—overwhelming fear. Doom.

Her nightmare had come true.

E
lizabeth heard the driver’s leather whip crack in the night air as he urged his team onward, faster. It took only a clutch of minutes to reach the gates of Hyde Park, and by then the prince had managed to sit propped upright on the bench.

His strength and fortitude, after being literally shot through, astounded Elizabeth. Why, she almost believed he had commanded by sheer will the color to begin to return to his lips and cheeks.

He hadn’t been so successful, however, in concealing his emotions after the attack. The prince’s brow was drawn down in concern and he was biting into his lower lip; in pain or anxiousness, she did not know. He was peering
fretfully out of the window as the carriage sped toward the Serpentine.

“We have escaped.” Elizabeth winced as the first word jettisoned from her mouth. Even the slightest movement of her jaw sent a stab of pain through her head. “You needn’t worry any longer.”

He slowly turned to look back at her, then without a word silently returned to his vigil at the window. When finally he spoke a moment later, it surprised her. “How much longer before we reach the Serpentine—where it meets the Long Water?” His words were clipped, and he inhaled a deep, bracing breath after he finished his question.

“Only a few minutes more, I should think.” She reached across and gently laid her hand on his knee. “Why must we hasten to the Serpentine, Your Royal Highness? You need to be examined by a doctor.”

Again he turned from the window to look at her. Even in the wide ribbon of moonlight shining into the cab’s interior, she could see her question alarmed him in some way. He paused for some moments, as if to gather strength, before replying. “I worry for the safety of my cousin. He is here.”

“Your cousin? But why would your cousin be in any danger? The bullets were clearly in
tended for you. I saw the shooter in the window. His gun was trained on you.”

The prince’s gaze became darkly somber. “You saw the gunman?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I did.” The notion struck her coldly. She did see him, not that she could attribute any detail to his appearance due to the darkness. But if she saw him, that meant the gunman likely saw her as well—especially if he had been following them. “Your Royal Highness, how did he know you would be walking along Pall Mall?”

The prince shook his head slowly. “I do not know. Until I spilled the champagne on your gown, my only thought was to spend the evening at Almack’s and possibly to dance—with you.”

At his encouraging words, a little thrill jolted through Elizabeth.

He wished to dance with her. He had intended to seek her out at the ball. He’d admitted it.

She leaned back out of the glowing reach of the moonlight so he would not observe the smile spreading across her lips, despite the pain in her head.

“Which means,” he managed to say, “we were followed.”

“Followed?” Elizabeth crinkled her brow. “But he was in a first floor window above a shop.”

“I think it likely that he trailed us from Almack’s, and possibly decided he needed height to affect a proper shot.” He sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “So, he either found an open door, or broke into a darkened shop and made his way to a first floor window facing Pall Mall.” The prince fell silent. His breath came in pants and gasps now.

“Either way, he was probably at the ball this evening. Which means, perhaps…he was of the
ton
.” As Elizabeth looked to the prince for any reaction to this revelation, one of the carriage wheels bumped through a hole in the moist earth of Rotten Row, causing her to grimace.

Instinctively she raised a hand to her aching head. She no longer felt a stream emanating from the area just beyond her temple. Now there was only a slow, steady drip falling from the edge of her jaw and splashing onto her bodice from time to time. But that was a favorable development. The blood was clotting now.

Hopefully, the prince’s much more severe wound was doing the same.

A few short minutes later the carriage rolled to a halt. The conveyance bounced, earning
pained groans from both occupants, as Edmund leapt from the vehicle and opened the door. “We’re here, Miss Elizabeth.” He handed her down and then crawled inside the cab to assist the prince to his feet.

As the prince stepped down and gained his footing on the damp earth of Rotten Row, he straightened to his full height. Just then Elizabeth caught sight of two men racing forward from the bridge over the Serpentine. The prince grabbed her and pulled her against him, wrapping his strong arm around to protect her.

The moonlight caught the gleam of swords at their sides, and as they neared, Elizabeth saw that each man brandished a pistol. “They’re armed,” she gasped, and threw her slight weight against the prince, urgently hoping to shove him inside the carriage once more. But he did not move.

He tightened his hold on her, then raised his right arm and called out to the men. “No need for panic. It is I.” The men appeared to recognize the prince and slowed to a jog before ultimately stopping altogether. When they did, they each bowed deeply before him.

Then a gentleman in a dark frock coat, and what Elizabeth took to be a cloaked woman,
emerged from the shadows and started toward them.

“What is it, cousin?” the man called out. “Should I be alarmed?”

The prince peered across the sparkling dark waters of the Serpentine, not deigning to speak until the gentleman and his lady were standing directly before him. Only then did he release his hold on Elizabeth to clasp his cousin’s arm for support. He held his voice low, and his tone was deathly serious. “There
is
need for alarm. We must return at once.”

So, this was the prince’s cousin, Elizabeth thought as she studied the smaller man. Yes, quite so. Even in the darkness she could see the familial resemblance between the two. But the woman. Who was she?

Elizabeth bent at her knees and tried in vain to discern the woman’s identity. Her face was partially obscured by the hood of her cloak. What she could see of her countenance was awash in a blue blur of moonlight, the definition of her features all but lost.

The woman was looking at her as well, and judging by the way she suddenly stiffened, Elizabeth was almost sure she recognized her.

“You are injured,” the cousin exclaimed, gesturing to the prince’s open coat and the dark
black bloodstain gleaming in the moonlight on his crisp white shirt.

“So is she,” the woman added, nodding to Elizabeth. She reached out and lifted the blood-damped lock of Elizabeth’s hair to trace the origin of the bleeding. “We must take them both to a physician.” She looked at the prince and then at his cousin, waiting for agreement.

“We’ll be well,” the prince replied. “It is more important that we return to the hotel.”

“You are not well, and you will both see a physician,” the woman practically commanded.

Elizabeth tried again to see her face. Judging from her imperative tone, she was a lady of some prominence, used to having her own way, her orders followed.

“My own surgeon lives nearby, and he can be trusted. He tends to all of my family. Even my father trusts him, and he trusts no one.” The woman looked at the two armed men nearby and raised her arm. One of the men whistled, and from behind a blind of twiggy maples rolled a gleaming, black carriage.

Elizabeth looked at Edmund and was about to direct him when the mysterious woman spoke again.

“You may dismiss your driver. My carriage
will serve us all,” she said haughtily. “Do it now.”

Elizabeth scurried over to Edmund. “Thank you, dear man. You should return for Lady Upperton now. We have alternative transportation.”

He tipped his head, and Elizabeth turned on her heel to return to the others when a thought entered her mind. She whirled back around. “Do wipe down the benches—and please, please, do not mention anything to Lady Upperton. I will speak with her on the morrow and explain everything.”

“Yes, miss.” Edmund climbed atop the carriage, cracked his whip in the air, and the horses turned a half circle and retreated down Rotten Row in the direction they had come.

Had she known that the woman intended to bring them to Curzon Street, bleeding from her head or not, she would have walked back to Berkeley Square.

But had she known, too, that she was being brought to the residence of Sir Henry Halford, physician ordinary to the king—and by some set of extraordinary circumstances to this woman as well—she would have leapt from the carriage as it raced through London’s streets.

Elizabeth was now sitting before a low coal fire, and the handsome protégé of Sir Henry, Mr. Manton, was dabbing a salve on the wound near her temple.

His touch was gentle, and the way he occasionally turned to look into her eyes to be sure he was not causing her pain was rather…well, endearing.

“Fate was with you, Miss Royle,” he told her. “The bullet only grazed your head. You might have been killed.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Fate is always on my side, dear sir.”

He looked puzzled by her reply, she could see, but he did not quiz her about it further.

“Did you see the maniac who fired upon you?” He leaned back from his tending and waited for her reply.

“No…I mean,
yes.
I did see him.”

His blue eyes rounded. “Then we must summon an investigator—at once.”

“I daresay, I do not think the prince would agree with you,” Elizabeth replied softly. “And while I did see the man, I could not tell you a single thing about him. It was far too dark and he was too far away. I saw little more than a silhouette of a man with the pistol in his hand.”

The woman descended the stairs and headed directly for the front door so quickly that Elizabeth barely registered that it was she passing by.

Pushing herself up from the chair in which she was seated, she edged her away around Mr. Manton to reach the woman. “Will he recover? Do you know?” she called out desperately before the woman could leave.

The woman pulled her cloak up over her head and drew it low over her eyes before slowly turning around. Only her nose and lips were visible to Elizabeth. “Yes. The ball went through cleanly.”

Elizabeth’s muscles relaxed at the news. “May I see him? Do you know, will Sir Henry allow it?” she asked, trying not to convey her desperation.

The woman ignored her comment entirely, though upon hearing the footman open the door for her, she added a departing comment. “A hackney will be waiting on the street for you once Mr. Manton has finished tending your wound, Miss Royle. The prince requests this, not I. He said he shouldn’t wish for your family to worry. You should feel honored that he is showing you such consideration.”

“I do. And I thank you for informing me as to the prince’s condition,” Elizabeth managed,
but before she could ask to know who she was, the woman disappeared through the doorway.

“Thank heavens she knew to bring you both here,” Mr. Manton said from somewhere behind her.

Elizabeth spun around. A wave of dizziness assailed her and she staggered, catching herself against the ornately carved doorjamb.

“I will accompany you to your home, Miss Royle.” Mr. Manton rushed to lend her his arm for support. “The prince is well. There is no need for concern. You stopped the bleeding early. You might have even saved his life.”

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you for tending to me, dear sir, but…” She looked at Mr. Manton with all earnestness. “…might I ask…just who was that woman?”

“You really do not know?” Sir Henry’s deep, almost mocking voice emerged from the darkness of the staircase.

Startled, Elizabeth grasped the doorjamb and turned to see him. “I do not, Sir Henry. Please, won’t you tell me?”

“I shall, indeed.” The baronet laughed quietly, then gestured to himself proudly. “After all,
I
know her well. I have tended to her and members of her family for several years.” He paused for what seemed to be the simple
purpose of making Elizabeth anticipate his disclosure of the woman’s identity even more. “That, my dear, was none other than Princess Charlotte.”

“The princess?” Wooziness clouded Elizabeth’s head, and she felt her knees give out beneath her.