Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince (3 page)

Rodrigo stood on the gravel path after Meg had gone, staring at the place where she’d disappeared into the trees. He thought for a moment, trying to put a name to the strange emotions the woman had roused inside him.
Bewildered
came to mind. As did
charmed
and
perplexed
; but above all, she had left him feeling amused to the point where a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The unexpected meeting had nearly caused him to forget his purpose for hurrying to this spot so early. He’d gotten word one of his trusted emissaries would arrive this morning; Rodrigo could only hope the man had not been compromised and apprehended leaving France.

Stepping from the path, he tied Patito’s reins to a low-hanging limb and sat upon the gazebo steps to wait. If there was one thing he’d become adept at since he’d escaped from Spain, it was waiting. Napoleon’s armies had invaded his homeland five years earlier and replaced Rodrigo’s uncle, King Fernando, with the preposterous clown, Joseph Bonaparte. Nearly a year ago, Rodrigo had narrowly escaped when his parents had been taken by the French army. He may have escaped Spain, but he found himself a virtual prisoner, living under guard in England. The only access to information about his country came from British newspapers and intelligence gathered by messengers operating in secret. And many of these had not stayed alive long enough to return with their reports.

Rodrigo stood and began to pace. He gritted his teeth, frustrated with his inability to take action. He’d hidden in London for months and then, after his sister’s wedding, in Southampton, where he communicated with the parliament at Cádiz as they attempted to create a new constitution for Spain. But too much depended upon the outcome of the war for his influence to have any significance. And it was weeks, often months, between missives, which left Rodrigo feeling immeasurably helpless to do anything for Spain.

He’d been persuaded, both by Spanish and British powers, that in England, he and his sister would be protected and of more value to their country, as they were the only members of the royal family who had not been taken by the French.

Rodrigo had not only been unable to stop the invasion of Spain and subsequent capture of his family, but he was now confined to the duke’s estate, living in the dower house, constantly guarded and completely useless when it came to saving his people or his family. The British government had made quite clear the terms of his asylum. Between the limitations explained to him as measures to keep him safe and his own distaste for the situation, he had very little freedom. He felt like a child, asking permission to ride his horse or take a walk, never leaving the immediate area alone. Even now, he was certain soldiers stood just out of sight in the trees. If it weren’t for his desire to ensure his sister’s safety, he would have abandoned this plan months earlier. As it was, he fully intended to leave the instant he had word of his parents’ whereabouts.

He stopped and lifted a stone, throwing it at the frozen pond. The crack it made as it broke through the ice echoed through the clearing, and Rodrigo smiled. Perhaps Meg was onto something.

His smile grew as he remembered the look of frustration and determination on her face. Such an expression did little to mar her features; it may have even enhanced her attractiveness as her eyes flashed with emotion. He would not want to be the cause of that woman’s bad humor.

He threw another stone. He was no longer simply worried about the messenger’s news; the unacceptability of an apricot-colored gown upon a lovely ginger-haired American had moved to the forefront of his mind.

Rodrigo had surprised even himself when he’d given her a false name, but it was even more shocking that he’d taken the deception further and led Meg to believe that he was his own stable hand. There was just something about Meg Burton that had intrigued him, and when he’d heard her disparaging estimation in regards to the noble class, he’d not wanted it to color her impression of him.

He’d have never imagined he would pretend to be a servant so that a woman wouldn’t discover that he was truly a
prince
, but it was apparent that it would take more than his title to impress Margaret Burton. Such a challenge he could not turn down.

Rodrigo had been saddened when their visit had ended and Meg had left. Excepting of course his sister’s and the duke’s, it had been a long time since he’d enjoyed anyone’s company. He’d staunchly avoided mingling in society after it had become obvious that he was being paraded like a show horse by mothers of single young ladies. No doubt the idea of their daughters becoming
una
princesa
outshone the fact that he was a homeless refugee whose lands were currently overrun with French, British, Portuguese, and Spanish armies, with no guarantee he would ever return to his holdings. And regardless, he would not betray his homeland by choosing a wife from among the British aristocracy. His parents had already planned his marriage to a woman from the noble houses of Spain—Evangelina Gualtierrez, daughter of the Duque de Acerenza—and he fully intended to honor their wishes. He moved back to the gazebo steps and sat again.

Though his title was prince, Rodrigo was not the heir to the throne, although with every other member of the royal family either held under siege or captured, he had assumed the brunt of the leadership responsibilities, performing them from afar to the best of his ability. The Spanish definition of prince was not the same as it was in Britain. Every person in the royal family was referred to as
principe
or
princesa
. But the title of “prince” was simply too much for the
ton
to pass up. Title was everything to the British. And to most of Europe.

Not so with Meg. She felt exactly the opposite. And while he had no doubt that she had been sent to the castle to win his favor, he found the idea of spending time in her company pleasant.

It was ironic. He had finally met someone with whom he was willing to sit through dinner parties and attend dull concerts, and she wanted nothing to do with him—or at least she wanted nothing to do with the prince. But
Carlo 
. . . She didn’t seem to have any aversions to a stable hand. Perhaps she felt she could be easy in his presence, not forced to put on airs to impress him.

The very idea fascinated him. He’d never met a person who did not know the truth about him, and he realized Meg might actually come to know the man behind his title. He had the rare opportunity to discover what it would be like to truly have a friend without wondering how much of her affection was influenced by his station. His heart beat faster at the implication, and he contemplated for a moment whether it was the excitement of his plan or the young woman at the center of it that caused its acceleration.

His thoughts were interrupted, and he came to his feet when a cloaked man stepped from the forest followed by two Spanish soldiers.

“Your Highness.” The man dropped to his knee and bowed his head. “I came as soon as I was able.” He rose, and Rodrigo could see from the man’s unshaven face and clothing still bearing the stains of seawater that he spoke the truth.

“What news do you bring, Esteban?” Rodrigo asked.

“I am sorry to report that our sources have still found no signs leading to the location of your parents. It is as if they have disappeared.”

Disappointment struck Rodrigo forcefully. He let out a heavy breath.

“Joseph Bonaparte maintains his assurance that the king and his family are welcome guests in France and that no harm has come to them,” Esteban continued.

Heat flushed through Rodrigo’s body as his discouragement was replaced by anger. “Guests that cannot communicate with their family and are kept hidden? Guests who were removed by force from their homes while their countrymen were slaughtered and their lands were burned? The French have a skewed definition of hospitality.” He walked to the gazebo and sunk down on one of the benches, indicating with a gesture for Esteban to do the same. Rodrigo rubbed his eyes and his jaw. “Do you think there’s a chance they are still alive?” he asked in a quiet voice. Simply saying the words aloud caused a lump to grow in his throat.

“I am nearly certain that they still live, Your Highness. The Republic is not secretive about their, ah . . . executions.” He stopped speaking, but Rodrigo nodded for him to continue. “Our intelligence network in France is extensive, yet there has not even been a rumor of such a thing.”

“Even with this network, there is no trace of them,” Rodrigo said, mostly to himself.

“I am sorry, Your Highness. We had assumed your parents would be with King Fernando at the Chateau de Valençay, but our contacts there assure us they have not arrived.”

Rodrigo’s thoughts spun. There must be someone who knew his family’s whereabouts. They had not simply vanished into thin air. He and Serena had been so confident in Esteban’s mission. He gritted his teeth, feeling helpless. If only he could go himself. If he only had a clue as to their location, he was certain he could find them. Gold simply had to cross the right palm, and he’d have the information he needed. Then it would be a matter of a rescue mission, and he had the best soldiers in all of Spain at his disposal, surely—

His mind snapped back to the present when Esteban cleared his throat. “Thank you, Esteban. You must wish to wash and rest. My advisors and I will meet with you tomorrow to receive your full report if that is satisfactory.”

“Again, I am sorry I did not have more to tell you.” Estaban stood and bowed, pointing his toe in the courtly manner befitting the prince’s station. “I have heard a rumor that a British colonel is to be received here at Thornshire Castle.”

“Yes, a friend of my sister’s, Colonel Jim Stackhouse.”

“A man of his rank will surely be able to provide information we do not have access to. Perhaps he will have an idea of your parents’ location or at least know where to look.”

Rodrigo nodded.

Esteban gave Rodrigo a pouch of missives from the Cortes Parliament in Cadiz and then departed; the soldiers bowed to the prince and followed.

Rodrigo returned Patito to the stables and then walked slowly toward the castle. He needed to read through the missives, but first he must give the news—or lack thereof—to Serena. He dreaded telling her that the thing they had hoped for had failed.

He figured that the family and their guests were likely in the dining hall eating breakfast, so he made his way to the kitchen entrance and directly up a back staircase to the duke’s private apartments, as he typically did in order to avoid formalities and houseguests. He sent a startled maid for Serena and paced around the edges of the drawing room.

He only waited a few moments before his sister joined him.

“Rodrigo, what news?” she asked, closing the door behind her.

“
Lo siento
, Serena.” He took her hands in his. “Esteban found nothing. Not even a rumor of our parents.”

Serena’s face fell, and she looked as though she would weep.

“I am sorry. I had hoped he would be the one.”

“I know, Rodrigo. You take too much on yourself. It’s not your fault.”

“You are wrong. Their fate is my responsibility, and with Fernando still imprisoned as well, the future of Spain falls to me—to us.”

Serena’s eyes still held sorrow, but she folded her arms and lifted her chin in her stubborn way. “And what would you propose? Returning to
España
to fight? Journeying to France to search for
pap
á
y mam
á yourself?”

“That is precisely what I should do.” He could match her stubbornness.

“But you could be hurt—killed even.” Serena’s voice rose to a high pitch, and panic flashed in her eyes.

“Such a thing would be preferable to hiding in England like a craven,” Rodrigo muttered. He would welcome the pain of a fight to the impotent helplessness that wrenched in his gut.

“It would do no good,” said a voice.

Rodrigo and Serena both turned as the duke joined them. He closed the door behind him and crossed the room to Serena, putting his arm around her shoulder.

Rodrigo felt a small twinge of jealousy. It used to be that he was the one to comfort his sister. A loneliness he’d only known the last few months swelled inside him.

“Spain needs you, Rodrigo. The parliament of Cádiz depends upon you and Serena. You are a link between the Cortes Parliament’s plans to reform the government and the monarchy. You represent hope for the future. Hope that one day your country will return to its former glory. That is not something to be taken lightly.”

Rodrigo knew the duke was right. “But I must do something. I am useless here, hiding like a coward, tended like a child.” He balled his fists. How could they not see his frustration? If only he had a rock and an icy pond to throw it in.

Serena spoke to him softly. “
Hermano
, I worry about you. You are so unhappy. Your clothing is disheveled and filthy. You remain day and night in the dower house and do not join us for meals or gatherings.”

“You know why I do not associate with the British
ton
, Serena.”

“You would like our guests. The Burtons, from America. They are quite amiable, and a bit of society would do you good. It would distract you from . . .” No doubt Rodrigo’s scowl was the reason she allowed her words to trail off.

Rodrigo looked between his sister and her husband, an idea solidifying in his mind. He spoke in English for the duke’s benefit. “It happens that I did make the acquaintance of Miss Burton earlier today.” He could not help that the sides of his mouth pulled slightly at the memory.

Serena’s eyes widened. “It must have been a meeting of some note. I haven’t seen you smile in months.”

Rodrigo ignored his sister’s insinuation. “The meeting was . . . interesting to say the least, and because of it, I have a rather unusual favor to ask of you.”

The duke and Serena looked at each other and then at Rodrigo. He knew they must be envisioning all sorts of potential scenarios.