Sins of a Wicked Princess (23 page)

Chapter Thirty-eight

J
uliana played another card. Abington groaned. Juliana couldn’t blame him, she hadn’t been able to keep her thoughts on the game the entire hand.

“Mind on other things?” Sommet asked next to her. “I hope you realize it will be best for everyone if you bow out gracefully. I would hate to have you embarrass yourself.”

“I am sure Her Highness isn’t going to throw a fit over a card game,” Abington protested, taking a sip of his claret.

Sommet wasn’t talking about the cards.

But Juliana had been raised a princess, barbs and innuendo were an integral part of every court she’d ever attended. “How is your injured footman this morning? Is it true that one of my grooms managed to disable seven of your men?”

The duke’s eyes glittered. “That reminds me, how is your brother? I heard he was feeling poorly yesterday.”

“How could he be with your fine hospitality?”

“He is a wise man to accept it. You would be wise to accept it as well.”

Abington played his card, then held up his empty glass. “I’ll take a little more hospitality.”

Eustace sailed into the room. She glanced about, her expression growing dour. “Gambling? Highly inappropriate, Your Grace. Come, Juliana. Princesses do not engage in such activities. Come with me.” Her black dress lent the perfect credence to her sanctimonious words.

Constantina glanced up from the dwindling pile of chips. “It is naught but a few games of whist, Sister.” Constantina couldn’t have played her role any better if she’d known she was playing it.

Abington was quick to throw down his hand on the small pile of coins left in front of him. “I grow weary of cards. Perhaps another parlor game? A game of hide-and-seek?” A rakish gleam entered his eyes as he surveyed the women in the room. When his gaze lingered on the desperately marriageable Miss Rutop, her mother was quick to take up the cause.

The entire female half of the room was quickly clamoring for the game. Constantina perhaps loudest of all. Perhaps Juliana should warn him to watch his backside.

“That isn’t better,” Eustace protested, but Constantina took her elbow and pulled her from the room.

“I have an idea,” Abington drawled. “Why don’t the gentlemen hide and the ladies seek us out? Then whomever they find will lead them out in the first dance at the ball tonight?”

Soon the young men had scurried out, while the young ladies giggled and watched the clock. After five minutes, they fluttered out in pursuit of the men, mamas and chaperones following behind.

A few of the older guests remained playing cards, but the room was now nearly empty.

The duke picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle. “You choose to stay with me? I am flattered, Your Highness. And suspicious.”

“Wraith hasn’t returned.”

Sommet’s brows lowered. “Did I ask if he had?”

She didn’t have to stretch too far to appear flustered. “Well, you were wondering, weren’t you?”

“Now I am.” The duke dealt her one card facedown and another one in front of himself. He reached out and turned hers over. It was a two of hearts.

She picked up his card, a hand-painted depiction of an old, bearded king. “Subtle.”

“Just a simple reminder that the deck is stacked against you.”

“Or that you cheat?”

Sommet retrieved the card and tucked it back into the deck. “I win.”

A young footman entered, clearing his throat. His eyes were wide with panic.

Sommet surged to his feet. “I suppose I should go check on the game.” He strode into the corridor without awaiting Juliana’s reply.

The door to the parlor two doors down from the library stood open. Flustered female voices could be heard from within.

“
I
found him first. I saw him duck in here.”

“. . . saw him at the same time.”

“
I
looked behind the settee . . .”

Abington had been pressed into a corner by a group of young women like a fox cornered by hounds. A very inebriated fox. “Perhaps I shall defer to my fellow duke. What do you think, Sommet? Who won?”

“Why not make the decision over lunch? I believe my footmen are setting out food on the south lawn as we speak.”

“Capital. It’s getting rather difficult to breathe in here.” He offered his arm to Constantina who had somehow managed to crowd out the younger women. “Shall we?” The women followed after him like obedient ducklings.

“Once again you appear at my side.” The duke’s eyes swept the room, and he seemed to calm. “But once again you have lost.”

“I don’t know what you are speaking of,” Juliana answered.

“Perhaps you should go warn your spy that his diversion to gain access to this room is over.”

“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Again, I don’t believe you.”

Juliana lifted up her skirts and hurried from the room.

After a minute, the duke began following her.

Chapter Thirty-nine

“H
ow far?” Ian whispered. He wrapped an arm around her waist.

Juliana glanced behind her in the corridor. “He’s on the stairs now. He has the documents?”

“Indeed.” Ian had watched from the window when Sommet had retrieved the papers—from inside a vase. Yes, a vase—and tucked them in his jacket. “Now keep walking.”

He didn’t want her anywhere near an enraged Sommet.

“I will return for you.” She dragged her hand across his chest as she passed.

“I know, in about one minute.”

“Fine, take the drama out of it.” She then cried loudly, “You must hide. The duke knows you’re here, my plum cake.”

Plum cake?
Ian mouthed at her. They’d need to work on pet names. “Don’t give up your crown for a life on the stage,” he murmured. When she stuck out her tongue at him, he knew he would love her until long past his dying day.

She lifted a brow and hurried out of sight as Sommet, three footmen, and the constable rounded the corner.

Ian launched himself at the duke, grabbing his jacket. “Where are the papers, you bastard? I won’t let you do this to her.” This was only supposed to be for show, but suddenly all his rage at the man poured into his arms. The duke’s head knocked into the wall twice before the others pried him off.

But it had been long enough.

Two of the footmen grabbed his arms, yanking him off the duke. The third slammed his fist into his gut.

Ian grunted, the pain doubling him over. The punch had been anticipated, but the man hit like a produce cart.

“Let him go!” Juliana’s face was ashen as she ran toward them.

He perhaps should have told her he expected to be rather savagely beaten during this part of the plan. Perhaps tortured.

He wrenched one arm free to hold her as she threw herself against his chest. Her eyes were so wide he could see the whites around the amber. He hated that his breath was still wheezing but it was proving impossible for him to control.

The humor and daring that had lit her face a moment before had vanished. “He’s my—servant.” That small pause was the first mistake he’d seen her make all day. “You cannot touch him.”

Apple appeared on cue and pulled Juliana away from him. “Come away, Your Highness. He is a criminal.”

The constable—a Mr. Brandt, Ian had learned—wiped his nose on his dirty brown sleeve. “I am sorry but we all witnessed this man attack the duke. That’s a hanging offense, miss.”

Juliana drew herself straight, a cold hauteur that he’d never seen icing her expression. “You may address me as Your Highness.”

Brandt hastily bowed, but his squinty eyes kept flitting to Sommet.

“Where are you taking him?” Juliana asked.

“There’s a jail in town, miss—Yer Highness. We’ll keep him there until the justice of the peace sends him on to stand trial.”

Ian let a broad grin spread over his face briefly before erasing it.

“No.” Sommet corrected. He smoothed his hair. “I’ll keep him here until then.”

“But Your Grace, he attacked you. Surely you want—”

“The man is a master criminal. I do not trust him out of my sight.”

Speaking of out of his sight, Canterbury passed by Apple in that invisible way skilled servants had and continued up the corridor.

“Where will you put him then?” Brandt asked.

Sommet slowly tilted his head from side to side, stretching his neck. “This is a castle. It has a dungeon.”

The constable gnawed on his lips. “I suppose that would do. But you’d be responsible for him.”

Sommet nodded to the two men holding Ian, who dug their fingers into his arms. “Take him to the dungeon.” His lips twisted upward. “Such an underused phrase.”

“I want him remanded to my care,” Juliana said.

The duke laughed. “Hardly. Do not fear. I am more than happy to let the hangman do the dirty work for me. So much more public and humiliating.” He ran his hand across his stomach, then smoothed his lapels. He froze. “Where are they?”

Ian snorted. “Your courage and honor?”

“Constable, this man has stolen papers from me. I want him searched.”

Ian stood still while the man ran his dirty hands over him. “He doesn’t have any papers on him.”

“Of course he does.” The duke repeated the search, his hand growing rougher as he couldn’t find them. The duke spun toward Juliana.” He must have passed them to the princess.”

Brandt looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t see him give her any papers.”

“He’s a pickpocket. Of course you didn’t see him.”

“But where would she have them?” Brandt asked, eyeing Juliana’s light cotton dress.

In a special fold Ian had prepared in the skirt earlier. But no longer. Really the duke was too slow at this game.

“It wouldn’t be proper for me to search—”

“I’ll do it then.” The duke grabbed her shoulders and ran his hands down her sides.

Ian had considered the possibility that Sommet would have the gall to try that, but he hadn’t counted on the fury that tunneled his vision. For the first time he struggled in earnest against the men holding him, his shoulder burning with tearing, ripping pain.

But Sommet stepped back from her and whirled on Apple. “Then the maid must have it.”

“But the maid never touched him,” Brandt protested, his voice slightly squeaky. Bless Brandt and his poor, slow brain.

“But she had contact with the princess.”

“Are you saying the princess is a pickpocket?” Brandt scratched his temple.

She was. After a rather pleasant training session that involved her hands roaming his clothing. Or she was at least enough of one to pick the pocket of a man who allowed for his pocket to be picked.

“If you want to leave, Brandt, leave,” Sommet said.

Brandt scuttled away without a backward glance.

Apple had gone rigid next to Juliana. Ian cursed himself. He hadn’t figured in Apple’s reaction to the thought of being pawed by a man like Sommet. She should have switched Apple and Canterbury’s roles. He should have—

Juliana stepped in front of her before Ian could think of the best way to react. “Enough. You touch her and I’ll scream loudly enough for the entire castle to hear. I have no idea what papers you lost, but we do not have them. Apple, shake your skirts to show to the duke that you don’t have any papers.”

The corridor was completely silent but for the rustle of wool. There was no crinkle of paper.

Of course not, she’d passed them to Canterbury, who was now in the process of burning them.

The duke whirled around and slammed his fist into Ian’s jaw. Pain exploded in sharp pointed stars inside his head and he could taste blood on the inside of his cheek.

“Stop!” Juliana cried as the duke raised his hand to strike again. She ran forward and caught his arm with both of her hands.

The duke shook her off so roughly she stumbled and landed on her backside on the floor.

Sommet’s next punch to the other side of Ian’s face was purely to prove he could. It sure felt an awful lot like the first one, however. The castle tilted around him and Ian spat a mouthful of blood onto the duke’s rug. He’d take petty revenge when he could get it.

The duke stalked toward Juliana. “Don’t think the loss of the papers changes anything. I may not have the papers, but you have given me something far better.” Sommet motioned and the footman connected with Ian’s ribs. “If you do anything to stop me tonight, I will spare the hangman his length of rope.”

Chapter Forty

I
an had been in less humiliating positions before. “I had no idea you had such a great desire to see me naked. Now be a good fellow and return my trousers.”

Sommet had him stripped and chained to the wall. Next to a crate of onions. And some radishes. The dungeon apparently also doubled as a cold cellar.

“And have you gain access to the picks you have hidden in the seams of your clothing? No.”

The problem was that
had
been Ian’s plan.

The stone was cold at his back and under his feet. And although the dungeon wasn’t frequently used, the manacles were new and securely fastened into the wall.

“Dispose of those far away,” Sommet ordered the footman, pointing to Ian’s mutilated clothing on the ground. “Now, I will ask you civilly one time. Where is Leucretia?”

“Did you have a lovers’ quarrel? I don’t know where she is.”

Or why Sommet was asking about her. Although that was the truth, it didn’t stop the guard’s fist.

“While you are chained to my wall, perhaps it would be a good time to inform you that I didn’t kill the princess’s messenger.” He let those words rattle around in Ian’s head. “Leucretia ordered that all on her own. And did you notice the final entries on the papers you stole? I stopped mining at the end of the war. I couldn’t risk it. But she didn’t. She continued all on her own.”

Those entries on the financial documents weren’t the money Sommet had made without Leucretia. It was the money the old woman had hidden from Sommet?

“So if you’re protecting her, perhaps you should think about the danger she poses to your little tart of a princess.”

Ian strained against the chains, until his shoulders threatened to pop from their sockets. The heavy iron links rattling and clanking to no avail. “I don’t know where Leucretia is.”

“That’s unfortunate because I don’t know where she is, either. And as you might suspect, she isn’t very happy at the prospect of losing her property to me.”

“Let me find her for you.”

Sommet laughed. “To see you afraid is beyond priceless. Oh, and for the record, she came to me with the plan to use British spies to overthrow her nephew.”

Ian knew his first moment of true panic. Sommet was a liar and master manipulator, but if there was any truth to this, he had to warn Juliana. “Let me go and you might just live to see the morning. If I have to waste time escaping you will not see another breakfast.”

“Unlike you, I know who my enemies are. I intend to find Leucretia because if Princess Juliana were to die at her aunt’s hand, that would make things slightly more complicated for me.”

“Sommet—”

Sommet’s smile was cold. “Just think, I have you chained in my dungeon and yet you’ll be praying for my success.”

“I
’m sure he’s fine,” Apple said as she finished Juliana’s curls.

Juliana remained silent. She didn’t trust Ian in Sommet’s care.

They might need Sommet to think he’d won, but she loathed the way Ian had been forced to stand there as the duke had abused him. Although she might injure Ian herself next time she saw him. He’d said he’d be captured. He never said anything about the beatings, yet he had to have known.

If Juliana had felt any remorse for the public way they were going to destroy the duke tonight, it was now gone.

“They say when he escaped Newgate for the second time, he walked back in to collect his breakfast, then escaped again.”

Juliana did smile slightly at that. “I’ll need the formal tiara. That’s the one with the diamonds.”

“And if it makes you feel better, the other servants said it isn’t much of a dungeon anymore. It’s mostly used for storage,” Apple said as she went to the other room.

Juliana smoothed the emerald green satin of her dress, tracing a golden vine along her thigh as she tried to readjust her mental image of Ian. From iron manacles and red-hot pokers to cabbages and moldy tapestries.

But even that couldn’t free her from remembering the gleam of pure hatred that had smoldered in Sommet’s eyes.

Juliana was pacing by the window—it stood wide open just in case—when there was a knock at the door.

Eustace stood outside. In place of her normal tight bun, she wore an artfully elegant lavender turban.

“That is lovely.”

Her aunt’s blush confirmed its source. “Thank you. I—well—it was a gift.”

“Did you find Leucretia?”

Eustace shook her head. “She hasn’t been to her rooms all day. I keep watching for her, but so far nothing. Constantina hasn’t seen her either.”

More unease added to her already roiling stomach. She didn’t know whether to fear Leucretia or fear for her.

“Are you ready?” Eustace asked.

She had to be. She nodded.

“Where’s Gregory?” Juliana had hoped he’d walk with them to the ball so that she could go over his instructions one more time.

“Sommet came to escort him personally.”

She would have to trust he’d do what he needed to do. That when the time came, rather than claim her crown, he’d announce their new treaty with Prince Wilhelm.

Strangely, she found that she did trust Gregory. There had been a purposefulness in him this afternoon that she’d never seen before.

And she was forced to admit, her hoarding of the responsibilities might have played a large part in his foolish adventures. From what she’d seen during the negotiations, he could be quite shrewd and exacting.

There was another knock at the door.

It was Leucretia. She slowed when she saw Eustace, but then continued in and locked the door behind her. Leucretia clutched some sort of bundle in front of her.

“Aunt.” Juliana watched the older woman. “I’m amazed you dare approach me. You betrayed my confidence to Sommet.”

Juliana had never dared reprimand Leucretia for anything before. But she felt no remorse for doing it now.

She’d be queen. And perfect or not, she would be obeyed.

For less than an instant, resentment curled the other woman’s lip. Had that always been there? Had Juliana just somehow missed it?

“Sommet is torturing your friend as we speak. I doubt your spy will survive much longer.”

A quiver passed through Juliana, icy and slippery down her spine. Torture? Sommet said he was going to lock Ian away. Her eyes flew to the clock. Three hours. Ian had been in Sommet’s control for three hours.

Eustace put her hand on Juliana’s shoulder. “How do you know?”

Leucretia rocked back a step. “Sommet and I are old enemies. I have people in his employ. I know everything that goes on in this house.”

Juliana fought to keep her voice steady. “Why should I believe you? You have given me nothing but lies my entire life.”

Leucretia held out a jacket. It had been sliced to pieces. “This is the jacket he was wearing earlier, is it not?”

Juliana did not want to take it. She didn’t want to confirm what her eyes could already see. Blood. The jacket was covered in blood.

Her lungs suddenly burned like they’d been pierced by a thousand needles.

“I can take you to him,” Leucretia said.

But Juliana wasn’t about to trust Leucretia again. “I know where the dungeon is.”

“But can you get inside in time to save his life? Without tipping off the guards and causing his death?”

“What is your price, Leucretia?” Juliana asked, her hands shaking.

“Your signature on this treaty.” She held up the paper. “A bit of ink and I can have you into that dungeon in time to rescue what is left of him.”

It was the treaty that would divide her country. Juliana had stared at it enough to know it even from across the room.

“What good will this do you?” Eustace asked.

“I’m tired of being robbed of what should be mine. I knew you could stop Gregory from becoming king. What I didn’t count on was you being clever enough to make a deal with Wilhelm for use of his troops to stop the treaty.”

The deal had been mainly Gregory’s work. A very favorable new trade agreement, giving the Prussians access to some of her iron ore in exchange for access to Wilhelm’s troops.

“Do you know how hard I worked at Versailles to ensure those mountains went to the Spanish? They might not be happy to know they were duped during the war, but if the Spanish value one thing it is a landowner’s rights—and that land belongs to me. I have a foolish Spanish king’s signature to prove it.”

Leucretia had wanted the treaty to go through all along. She wanted the country divided.

“Now.” She held out the paper. “Do you know how easily red-hot metal can sear through flesh? How it makes grown men scream like frightened babes?”

Juliana feared she might vomit, the fear was so writhing and viscous in her stomach. Ian’s screams echoed in her thoughts. The smell of smoke. Burning flesh.

Sommet would suffer if he’d dared to lay a hand on Ian. Even if she had to build a dungeon of her own.

“Leucretia—” Eustace began.

“Silence, sister. Or I’ll let the world know I saw you kissing your great-nephew’s valet. At least Juliana’s lover isn’t truly a servant.”

But Juliana wouldn’t be distracted. “I won’t sign the treaty.” It’s what she’d risked all this to avoid.

“What is your plan? To try to rescue him? Sommet will kill him as soon as he suspects an attempt. On the other hand, all you have to do is sign this paper. Something you thought was inevitable just two weeks ago.” She held out the treaty. “Even if you have Wilhelm’s troops, what makes you think that the French and Spanish will fear them? Are you ready to cast Lenoria into war simply because you want your throne?”

The thought had terrified her since she’d made the deal with Wilhelm this afternoon. But if there was one thing she’d learned the past few days, it was that rulers had to make hard decisions. “I am ready to rule my country. Not to be ruled by you.”

Leucretia’s outraged retort was cut short when the lock rattled and Sommet and his footmen stormed in. “You think you are so clever, Leucretia. So much more clever than everyone else.”

Leucretia whirled around. “Sommet, you’ve already been beaten by everyone in this room. Why don’t you slink off and hide. That’s all you are concerned about now, isn’t it?”

Sommet pulled his pistol and pointed it at Leucretia. “I have no desire for the Spanish to gain the mines. There is far too much chance of word getting back to the British of my role in selling ore to the French. And that I will not allow.”

Juliana supposed this wasn’t the time to mention that she’d already sent a second messenger with a letter to the regent this afternoon.

“You’re going to hold a pistol on me? You are so utterly predictable,” Leucretia sneered, snatched a gun of her own from the reticule at her wrist, and pointed it at him.

“What are you planning?” Juliana asked. She might despise her aunt, but she wouldn’t let Sommet shoot her.

Sommet shrugged. “I plan to kill all of you now. You damned interfering women. I already know you won’t hesitate to share what you know.” He paused, seemingly waiting for a reaction. He seemed a bit uncertain when none of the women in the room quailed or began to weep.

“How do you plan to explain our deaths?” Leucretia asked.

“There are many cliffs nearby. Many coach accidents. Often the bodies are so mangled, there’d be no way of knowing if they had been shot first or not.”

“Why would we be in a coach?” Eustace asked. “The ball is here.”

Perhaps it would be best to tell Sommet the rest. Perhaps she could convince him to flee rather than face the consequences. “It’s too late. I sent word again to the regent. He knows about your treason. If you kill us now it will look suspicious.”

Sommet’s face turned a mottled red. “Impossible. I would have known.”

“Not if it was one of Wilhelm’s servants rather than my own.”

Sommet made no move to lower his gun. Neither did Leucretia.

“Suspicion is far different than proof.” The duke motioned, and his servants drew weapons as well. “I can survive suspicion.”

From the corner of her eye, Juliana saw Apple inching toward the table behind her. No one was paying attention to the young girl. Her fingers closed around a candlestick.

Her gaze lifted to Juliana’s. She was ready on Juliana’s sign.

Juliana shifted her gaze to Eustace, who hadn’t armed herself, but the gleam in her eye said she was ready to act as well.

Juliana tried talking to Sommet once more. “What if someone hears the shot?”

“They are far below at the ball. And the servants will do nothing. Trust me.”

Leucretia’s gun was the only thing keeping them alive, but they’d been speaking so long that her arms had begun to tremble. They couldn’t lose Leucretia’s gun. The second Sommet’s life wasn’t at risk, they’d be dead.

Juliana stepped to Leucretia’s side. “Hand me the gun.”

“Don’t,” Sommet ordered.

But Sommet could do nothing to stop her.

Leucretia’s hand might wobble, but the gun still pointed at Sommet and her finger still rested on the trigger. “Why should I trust that
you
won’t shoot me?”

“Because I’d rather shoot Sommet.”

Leucretia shrugged at that and allowed Juliana’s hand to cover her own. “I never hated you, you know.”

Juliana supposed it was a truce of sorts between them. She took the gun. It was only a lady’s pistol, but she was armed.

Apple’s eyes grew large the instant before glass exploded into the room. Juliana threw up her arms in instinctive protection, as did the others.

Ian vaulted through the window.

Wearing only—a loincloth made from flour sacks, and his boots?

Juliana didn’t have time to wonder. She scrambled to train the gun on Sommet again. But Ian leaped past her, kicking out at the middle servant, landing a blow to the man’s ribs and driving him to his knees.

Sommet fired at Ian, but missed, the ball slamming into his own wounded man.

The man screamed, collapsing the rest of the way to the ground, holding his stomach.

The footman nearest Eustace fell with a cry as well, and from the corner of her eye she could see Canterbury standing over him with a fireplace poker. When had he even entered?