Princess Charming (13 page)

Naturally, however, Katharine would not countenance her refusal and so reached up to place a delaying hand on her arm. “You cannot pretend you are not attracted to Ash, Maura. You told me yourself that you enjoyed kissing him.”

“That doesn’t mean I wish to
marry
him.” As a thought occurred to her, she gazed narrowly down at Kate. “Does your brother know about your demented theory?”

“Yes, I told him last night.”

“Was
that
why he called on me this morning?”
And why he kissed me in the meadow?
Maura added to herself. “Because he was interviewing me as his prospective bride?”

“I don’t believe so,” Katharine admitted reluctantly. “Ash was just as dismissive of my theory as you are.”

“I should think he would be,” Maura said with feeling. “What sort of man would marry only to fulfill a fictional legend? He would have to be an idiot, and whatever your brother may be, he is
not
lacking in wits. He would never consider me for his bride.”

Katharine’s expression turned earnest. “But, Maura, what if Ash were truly serious about marriage? He has to wed sometime to carry on the title. Why shouldn’t it be you?”

“Why
should
it be me?” she countered. “No, Kate, the notion of us being legendary lovers is simply ludicrous.”

“Don’t you want to marry someday?”

The question gave Maura pause. She did indeed want to marry. She had always wanted a family … husband, children, love. But given the dishonor staining the Collyer name, her chance for marriage had likely passed her by. No self-respecting gentleman would want a wife whose late father was thought to be a cheat. Even without the scandal, her own unconventional occupation would frighten off any normal suitor, not to mention her advanced age and her distaste for the confining rules of gentility. So despite her profound regrets, Maura had determinedly pushed her yearnings for a husband aside.

“Perhaps I might like to marry someday,” she replied, “but if I ever did, it would only be for love. Your brother certainly would never fall in love with me.”

“It isn’t inconceivable.”

“Yes, it is.”

Maura was willing to concede that with his dazzling allure, the dashing Marquis of Beaufort could easily fit the fairy-tale role of Cinderella’s wealthy, handsome prince. But in her opinion, all the Wildes were pleasure-seekers—most especially rakehell Ashton—and completely unserious about love. She couldn’t imagine any circumstance where she would want him for her husband, despite the beguiling possibility of finding a legendary love.

When she saw Maura wasn’t swayed, Katharine’s mouth curved downward into a pout. “After all we have meant to each other, my ungrateful friend, you could at least
consider
indulging me.”

Maura raised her eyes to the gig’s roof, striving for
forbearance. Katharine was not above using coercion to gain her way, but that couldn’t be allowed to matter just now. She had a much more dire problem to attend to at the moment.

“Dearest Kate, pray forgive me, but I don’t have time to discuss my matrimonial aspirations with you just now. I need to be on my way if I am to make it home before midnight.”

“Oh, very well, but I am gravely disappointed in you, Maura.”

Katharine stepped back, clearing room for the gig to pass.

Hastily, Maura clucked at Frip and snapped the reins at his rump, sending him forward into a brisk trot. She would not be made to feel guilty simply because Katharine had rocks in her head and was bent on testing her nonsensical romantic fantasies on her elder brother.

Maura drove down the street, feeling her friend’s green gaze following her until she was out of sight. Relieved to be away, she shook her head once more in disbelief. Escaping Kate’s machinations was another excellent reason to leave London.

But the chief reason had nothing to do with matchmaking and everything to do with rescuing Emperor. And just now, Maura reminded herself, she needed to focus her mind and give all her attention to that vital task.

She had intended her contingency plan to be used only as a last resort, in the event she couldn’t convince the viscount to sell.

But the odds had always been stacked against her
success, and now she had utterly burned her bridges with him. And since Deering was a wealthy, powerful, conniving adversary, she was unlikely to win against him by challenging him overtly. Therefore, she had only one course left open to her.

She would simply have to steal her stallion back.

The waiting was
the hardest part.

Maura knew she couldn’t enact her plan to rescue Emperor from the viscount’s stables until the dead of the night, when his grooms and coachmen would be sleeping. Therefore, she drove to the public livery nearest to Deering’s grand Mayfair mansion, where she had already arranged stabling for Frip and storage for her gig.

She had also paid handsomely for the use of a small room above the livery and so settled there for the interim. For the next thirteen hours, she alternately struggled with impatience and nerves.

When darkness fell over London, Maura forced herself to snatch a few hours of sleep, knowing she had a long night ahead of her. She also made herself eat. Even though she had packed provisions enough for a journey of several days, she wanted to keep up her strength for what might be a grueling test of endurance.

It was nearing two o’clock in the morning when she changed out of her gown into the clothing she had
brought in her valise, donning leather breeches, sturdy half boots, a shapeless dark shirt, and the fustian jacket of a common laborer. Then she carefully pinned up her long blond hair and hid it under a floppy wide-brimmed hat in an effort to resemble a peddler, the role she had chosen to best disguise her gender and class.

When she descended the stairs, the livery was mostly quiet. The few sleepy lads who were on hand to service the carriages and teams of late-night customers paid her no attention.

Relieved that she fit in with the livery staff, Maura saddled Frip and loaded him down with some of the gear she’d stashed in the gig’s boot. She wouldn’t need the gelding’s services just yet, but she wanted him to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

Fripon was the French word for rascal, a name that he had earned when he was a foal, but he had matured into a steady, dependable job horse capable of pulling a carriage or carrying a rider untiringly over long distances.

“I am counting on you to help me rescue your friend tonight, my sweet fellow,” Maura murmured softly.

Frip snuffled in reply and nodded his head, seeming to understand her urgency.

Leaving him tethered near her gig at the livery, she collected her knapsack, which was filled with an odd assortment of items, including a bridle, and made her way on foot through the dark streets of Mayfair. The half moon above was frequently concealed by clouds and offered barely enough light for her to see, but although she had a tinderbox and candle in her knapsack, she didn’t want to risk showing a light. A slight
fog also helped to conceal her presence from the occasional carriage that rumbled past her.

Some five minutes later she reached the mews of Seymour Place where Emperor was being kept. The long row of private stables ran behind several great houses and was accessed by a carriage lane.

Maura hugged the shadows of the mews as she inched down the lane. Since Deering’s mansion was separated from his stables by extensive gardens, she didn’t fear alerting his household servants, but his grooms and coachmen lodged above his stables and might still be awake.

Deering might also have set someone to guard his new prize, although Gandy’s careful reconnaissance last week hadn’t shown such precautions.

For several long minutes, Maura waited outside the stables, but the continued silence seemed to suggest it was safe to implement the next step of her plan. Her heart thudding, she slowly eased open the side door and crept inside.

There she paused, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Thankfully, she encountered no guards or anyone else to impede her progress as she stole down the aisle. With only faint light permeating the windows overhead, she could see little, yet she could hear the quiet sounds of dozing horses, and recognized her own beloved horse’s movements coming from the far end.

Emperor was pacing his stall restlessly.

“Damn you, Lord Deering,” Maura swore under her breath, knowing the horse would be bursting with energy, no doubt circling and pawing and even kicking out in objection to his imprisonment. If he wasn’t to become wild, a stallion needed much more freedom
and exercise than mares or geldings, and with so much pent-up force to be unleashed, Emperor could very well hurt himself or others.

She consoled herself by remembering that he only had to endure his maltreatment for a short while longer. After tonight, with very good luck combined with her determination, he would be free of the odious viscount forever.

When she reached Emperor’s stall, she realized he had picked up her scent, for he snorted urgently.

“Hush, darling boy,” Maura whispered, fumbling with the latch to the door. “I will take you away from here very soon, I promise.”

Slipping through the door, she threw her arms around the horse’s neck, her heart swelling with love for him. Emperor whickered in return, acknowledging the bond they shared.

Then stepping back, Maura set to work in the dark. Guided mostly by feel, she searched in her knapsack and drew out four folded lengths of cloth.

“Please be still, love. You have to be good and allow me to muffle your hooves.”

To her relief, Emperor stood obediently as she tied a cloth around each foot to stifle the sound of steel shoes striking cobblestones. He also allowed her to bridle him without protest and waited while she slung her knapsack over her shoulder. But when she opened his stall door, he pulled against the bit, eager to escape his prison.

“Easy, boy,” she murmured, placing a soothing hand on his neck. “You have to trust me, Emp.”

At her touch, he seemed to grow calm. Taking a deep breath to gather her courage, Maura silently led the
stallion down the aisle and out the side door. When they were free of the stables, she said a mute prayer of thanks, but she couldn’t breathe until they reached the end of the lane and turned the corner, so that they were out of view of the mews.

The streets were still chiefly deserted, Maura noted gratefully, yet as they negotiated two more blocks, she couldn’t shake the strange sensation of being watched. There was no pursuit, she decided, glancing behind her.

When she reached a hackney station, she veered toward a small park that was set back from the street. She didn’t dare take the stallion straight to the livery where Frip waited, for she didn’t want to imperil Gandy’s cohort, who had helped her orchestrate her desperate rescue plan. Without a disguise, a horse of Emperor’s obvious caliber would be too memorable, and she hoped to conceal her trail as much as possible.

Thus, she tethered him to a hitching post beneath an oak tree and dug into her bag of tricks once more. Pulling out a tin of boot blacking, a small jar of white paint, and a leather pouch filled with mud, Maura set about trying to mask his most distinctive features as well as his magnificence, although the final step of turning him into a peddler’s nag would have to wait until she reached the livery.

She started by rubbing the blacking into the white star on his forehead. For a moment Emperor stood calmly, his bright eyes alert, but he shortly became impatient and fitful. Even though she murmured soothingly as she worked, he clearly disliked having two white socks and one white stocking painted on his legs.

“Please trust me, Emp,” Maura implored in a whisper. “This is for your own good.”

She had almost finished slathering his neck and hindquarters with mud to dull the shine of his coat when the stallion suddenly left off his fidgeting. His head shot up, his nostrils flaring to scent the wind.

When another carriage drove past on the street, Maura decided there was no reason for alarm—until she heard the quiet sound of hoofbeats directly behind her.

She froze, then bit back a scream when a wry male voice broke the silence. “Would you care to explain just what you are up to, sweeting?”

Emperor sensed her fear and whirled nervously, nearly knocking Maura down in the process. Upon regaining her balance, she stared up at the horseman who loomed over her. He was little more than a shadow in the darkness, but she had no trouble recognizing the Marquis of Beaufort. He had crept upon her without warning, the earthen ground having muted his mount’s approach.

Torn between relief and dismay, Maura brought a hand to her breast to cover her wildly beating heart. “You frightened me out of my wits,” she accused with a scowl.

“I doubt that,” he retorted curtly as he sat gazing down at her. “I repeat, what the devil are you doing?”

“What do you think? I am rescuing my horse, of course. I could ask the same of you, my lord,” she added. “Why are you here? It is the middle of the night.”

“Indeed it is. I suspected you might do something foolish,” he muttered, “but nothing this shatterbrained. You should know better than to wander the streets of
London alone at night. It is far too dangerous for a woman.”