To Protect a Princess Read online

  Sasha’s expression softened. “You aren’t wrong. I just want to see you come out of this as undamaged as possible. Perhaps don’t make any hasty decisions until you meet the men your family will parade before you. See if you could like one of them. If you could, then everyone would win.”

  Ilaria sighed. “You are correct, as always. It’s almost unforgiveable of you.”

  “And yet you always forgive me.” Sasha laughed and Ilaria couldn’t help but join in.

  But as the subject changed to much more pleasant matters, her mind continued to spin. She would do as Sasha suggested, of course. She was no fool. Nor was she a pawn. She wouldn’t allow herself to be.

  Chapter 2

  Captain Jonah Crawford clutched the drink in his hand with white-knuckled fingers as he looked out over the ballroom. God, how he hated these pointless exhibitions. Ballrooms filled with rich, stupid knobs hell-bent on getting drunk and making each other feel more important. All the while ignoring anything real or of value in the world.

  He’d always felt an outsider in this sphere. A proud outsider. Except in the last few years his actions in the Royal Navy had allowed him invitation here more often. He’d been recognized as valuable, somehow, by the powers that be. And so he came and he stood and he watched this world spin by.

  “Captain Crawford!”

  He jerked from his wandering thoughts and forced a smile for the man coming across the ballroom toward him. The Earl of Bramwell was one of the men of this world he could actually stand. They had met through his brother-in-law, Nicholas Gillingham, a fellow serviceman he’d come to know after the man had suffered grievous injury in the line of duty.

  “My lord,” he said with a slight incline of his head. “I didn’t realize you were here tonight.”

  “It’s a crush,” Bramwell said with a sigh. “Lady Gregson always invites too many people. Have you seen Nicholas and Aurora?”

  Jonah shook his head. “No, are they here as well?”

  Bramwell nodded. “Yes. Somewhat against his will, I think. But he will do anything to make my sister happy, as he always has.”

  “They are an excellent match,” Jonah agreed, though he couldn’t imagine finding a woman he would be so attached to. Such an odd thought.

  “They are, indeed,” Bramwell said, and he sounded happy, though there was something to the look on his face that made Jonah look a little closer.

  “Troubled?”

  Bramwell ducked his head. “Oh no, not really. I was just thinking about the upcoming Season. It will be full of crushes even worse than this one what with the royal family of Athawick joining the fray. It is all anyone has talking about for the last month.”

  Jonah set his jaw at the mention of Athawick and the impending royal visit. He would not react. He could not react.

  “Ah yes,” he said, keeping his tone neutral.

  “You are acquainted with the family, aren’t you?” Bramwell asked.

  Jonah’s mind flashed to two years before, to warm brown eyes that seemed to draw a man all the way in. That seemed to see too much.

  He cleared his throat. “I was part of a group who went with the Regent to Athawick on an official visit two years ago. It was before the last king’s death and yes, I got to know the family a little during that stay. Their new king, Grantham, is a decent fellow.”

  “I look forward to meeting him and his family,” Bramwell said. “There is some rumor that they may be seeking a match for the daughter, Princess Ilaria, during their stay here.”

  Jonah’s eyes narrowed. “Who said that?”

  “My mother,” Bramwell said. “And she is never wrong, at least when it comes to potential brides for men of a certain rank…for me, if we’re being honest. Do you not think she is correct?”

  Jonah gripped his hands in fists at his sides and then released them. God’s teeth, he had no right to feel such a flood of emotion at this revelation about the princess’s future. It had nothing to do with him, after all.

  “I suppose it makes sense,” he said. “Athawick has such a close relationship to Britain.”

  Bramwell nodded. “That was my mother’s opinion on the matter. To bind their family to a titled family here would solidify all sorts of political relationships.”

  “Of course,” Jonah said. “A title.”

  Bramwell’s brow wrinkled, and for a moment Jonah had the horrifying realization he was going to be questioned further about his reaction. But before that nightmare could begin, a man stepped from the crowd.

  “Gillingham!” Jonah said, happy for the interruption. “The earl said you were here.”

  Nicholas Gillingham leaned on a cane as he made his way to the two men. He extended his unoccupied hand and shook first with his brother-in-law and then with Jonah. He smiled at them both. “Excellent to see you.”

  “And you,” Jonah said, and meant it. Though he might not have much patience with many of those in attendance tonight, he truly liked and respected Gillingham. They had bonded over military service, as well as being forced to leave the profession they’d each intended to take part in for life. For very different reasons, of course.

  “Captain Crawford and I were just discussing the impending arrival of the Athawick Royal Family,” the earl said.

  “Ah, yes. Just before we departed for this evening’s events, Aurora mentioned we had an invitation to Bleaking House tomorrow night for a welcome soiree.”

  “Staying at Bleaking House, are they?” Bramwell asked. “One of the lesser royal residences, but still, an official one. I suppose I will find the same waiting for me when I return home tonight. And I assume we’ll see you there, as well, Captain? Because of that prior relationship we discussed.”

  Jonah shifted. He had no idea if he would be included on the welcoming guest list. It had been two years since he last saw any of the Athawick Royal Family. Perhaps the bonds of friendship he had formed with the now-king were long forgotten.

  Or perhaps he would be dragged into their sphere, after all.

  “If I am invited, I do not see a way I could refuse such an honor,” he said.

  The other two men began talking about some other subject then, but Jonah felt no relief about it. Now his mind was spinning, turning, recalling things he had used a great deal of discipline to forget.

  Like the scent of Princess Ilaria’s hair or the way she looked when she laughed. He would need to master some of that control again if he were to become a part of the family’s time in London. Because he had no place in the life of the princess. He’d realized that once before and he could not forget it now.

  Two Years Before

  The Island of Athawick

  Jonah was not accustomed to being a passenger on a ship so he was restless as the pleasure boat was piloted into the dock at Athawick. He stood away from the rest of the party, away from the Prince Regent and his lackeys, and stared out at the island that was their destination. He’d heard of the place, of course. Athawick was described in floral, fascinated terms any time someone spoke about it. It was a fairytale land to hear people tell it, but he had never believed it.

  Until now. His breath caught at the sights before him. A clean, well-tended dock stretched out with men racing around to help pilot the ship to safety as the crowds of Athawickians waved from the shore and open windows and from behind barricades that kept them from the welcoming party.

  The village beyond the dock was lined with colorful shops and homes, painted reds and blues and pinks and yellows, much like he’d seen many a time in Scotland over the years. A winding main road led up and up the rolling green hills toward a massive palace with towers and spires and a walled-in segment of the town at its feet, for protection from invaders in centuries past.

  It was, unquestionably, the most beautiful castle he had ever seen, though he would certainly not say that in his current company. He could already see that the Prince Regent was staring up at the palace with pursed lips and unmasked annoyance. He wanted to have the finest toys
and Athawick was showing him up with this display.

  The docking was finished and the party began to exit the boat. The Regent went first, of course, waving to the cheering crowd as he approached the Athawick royal party. Jonah stood with the rest of the honor guard, chosen from each branch of the king’s military for their acts of bravery. The Regent met the King of Athawick first, a tall and handsome older man who appeared a bit pale in the bright sunshine, and his queen, who was as stunning a woman as Jonah had ever seen.

  Until she stepped to the side and her grown children moved forward to make their greetings. Two men, Jonah assumed the Princes Grantham and Remington, but behind them was a woman who could only be Princess Ilaria. His heat thudded almost painfully in his chest and he could not stop staring.

  She was stunning, and he was well and truly stunned. With dark hair that was spun up in a complicated fashion, emphasizing her high cheekbones, brown eyes and full lips, she was uncommonly beautiful. A fact he could see was not missed by some of the other men in their party as all attention shifted to the princess.

  She shifted her gaze toward the honor guard, flitting it around the various men without pausing until she reached…him.

  Their eyes met, and for a moment she held there, without hesitation or blushing or simpering. She just looked at him, and in that moment he forgot to breathe.

  Then she glanced away and it was like he had been released from a hold. He drew in a long gasp of air and tried to refocus as the King of Athawick announced, “Come, we will make our way to the palace.”

  Carriages arrived, trumpets blared and the parties situated themselves for the short trip through the happy crowd back to the castle on the hill. But Jonah could still feel the warmth of Princess Ilaria’s stare coursing through his veins. A desire he hadn’t expected when he reluctantly accepted this post from his old friend and mentor, Admiral Westing. A desire he would certainly have to control for the next month during their visit.

  After all, he’d never see the woman again after that.

  Chapter 3

  1817

  Bleaking House, London

  “Do you think they know I am doing this under duress?” Ilaria asked as her maid slid yet another bejeweled clip into the complicated style she had created for Ilaria’s hair. One that would later be matched in Sasha’s locks so that she could race in as a stand-in if anything went wrong.

  “I think everyone knows you are doing this under duress.” Sasha lounged against the arm of the settee and laughed. “You have been bemoaning it since our arrival in London this morning. June, do you know Her Highness is doing this under duress?”

  June giggled and her cheeks flushed in the mirror’s reflection. “I think I’d best be left out of this, Miss Sasha.”

  Sasha rolled her eyes. “She knows where her bread is buttered, I suppose.”

  Ilaria felt herself smiling, no matter how she tried to retain an air of outrage. Sasha had always been able to do that and she loved her friend for it. Still, the relief of laughter didn’t reduce the pain of reality.

  “It is only that we haven’t been in London a damned day,” Ilaria huffed. “I apologize for the language, June, but there it is. And already I am being expected to exhibit for what will surely be a parade of disappointing potential grooms.”

  “And the Prince Regent,” Sasha pointed out. “And virtually every other titled and important person in London. This isn’t entirely about you, you know.”

  That brought Ilaria up short. She had been so annoyed at her family since their announcement of their plans for her the previous day, she’d become very focused on her role in their visit.

  “You are…right, of course,” she admitted. “I know tonight is about Grantham being recognized in his new role as king as much as it is about me. More, even. Did you see him after we arrived?”

  She frowned as she thought of her brother, pacing the parlor as Blairford read him message after message from the courtiers for the Prince Regent and Queen Charlotte regarding the expectations and schedule of their visit.

  Sasha nodded. “The weight of all this is enormous.”

  Ilaria sighed. “Fine, then I will not protest out of respect for Grantham. And I will dance and shake hands and behave myself.”

  “An excellent notion. You do look the part of proper princess in that dress.”

  Ilaria smiled as June stepped away. She got up and moved to the full-length mirror to examine herself. The gown was blue, with alternating paler blue stripes and highlights of gold. Atop her head, June had placed the sea crown, Ilaria’s favorite from the royal collection because of its pale blue stones. It matched the gown to perfection.

  “Come stand by me, let’s compare,” Ilaria said as she motioned to Sasha. Her companion joined her and they looked at their reflection in the mirror together. Though Sasha’s hair was down—June would do it to match Ilaria’s after she had left for the ball—they did look enough alike even now.

  “You are prettier in it,” Ilaria said with a smile. And she meant it. Sasha was stunning and she always seemed more effortless than Ilaria, herself, felt.

  Sasha snorted. “Unlikely. Anyway, no one will see me.”

  “Unless there is suddenly grave danger,” Ilaria said, and then rolled her eyes. “Nothing is going to happen to me.”

  Sasha glanced toward the clock on the mantel. “Except that you are late and your mother might murder you.”

  Ilaria followed her gaze and yelped. “Oh, damn. Yes, I’ll be off. I will see you later tonight with a full report on whatever wretched suitors they throw into my path. Good night! And thank you, June!”

  She hurried from the room with the farewells of the two women ringing in her ears. She rushed down the hallway, taking the twists and turns with a bit of uncertainty, for she hadn’t quite learned all the intricacies of the household yet. But she found the main stair at last and took it down toward the ballroom. Already she heard the strains of music lilting up the hallway toward her. She winced as she saw her family lined up to greet their guests.

  She slipped into her place at the end of the line and smiled apologetically toward her mother. The queen was greeting someone, but the way she sent a side glance toward Ilaria could have frozen the depths of hell themselves. She was surely going to get a stern talking to later and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

  She pushed her shoulders back and fell into the role she had played for so long, she couldn’t recall a time when it wasn’t hers. She greeted attendees to the party, murmuring a welcome, making mindless small talk, watching them enter the ballroom.

  This went on for what felt like a lifetime, until she could scarcely feel her fingers from shaking so many hands, until all their faces blurred together into one. She stifled a yawn and glanced toward the head of the line. Grantham was first to meet people as king, and her breath caught as she saw the gentleman who had approached him. One she knew.

  It was Captain Jonah Crawford. The man had accompanied the Prince Regent on a trip to Athawick what felt like centuries ago, considering all that had transpired since then.

  Dear God, but he was handsome, in full naval dress uniform, his dark red hair cut short and neat, his gray-blue eyes focused on her brother as they briefly spoke. She’d tried to forget how compelling she’d found the man during their brief acquaintance. A few weeks, nothing more, and only a handful of private conversations and one dance had passed between them during that time. Still, she could recall every vibration of his voice, every turn of his head.

  Now it came rushing back in a flood of racing blood and shaking hands.

  He stepped away from Grantham and toward her mother as Ilaria greeted another partygoer whose face she didn’t even really see. Captain Crawford was talking to Remi now, standing right near her. She could feel the heat of his presence even before he took another step and stopped just before her.

  For what felt like a lifetime they stared at each other. She couldn’t breathe, or at least she didn’t recall doing so. She
just stared up into those beautiful sea-gray eyes and thought of the last time she’d seen him. What he’d said to her then.

  “Your Highness,” he said at last, his voice low and rough. He took her hand and bent over it, the brush of his gloved fingers against hers awakening feelings she didn’t want to have. Couldn’t have.

  So she drew her hand back. “Good evening, sir,” she said.

  “You remember Captain Crawford, don’t you, Ilaria?” Remi asked at her side.

  She blinked, pretending not to recall. “Hmmmm…”

  “He was with the party of the Regent a couple of years ago,” Remi continued to explain, utterly oblivious as usual.

  “Oh yes,” she said with what she hoped was a believably faint smile. “I do recall something like that. Good evening, Captain Crawford. It is good to see you again.”

  Crawford arched a brow. It was the slightest movement, but for a moment she felt caught. As if he could see through her act. “The feeling is mutual, Your Highness,” he said. “I will leave you to the remainder of the receiving line. Good evening.”

  He stepped away and she drew in her breath at last. The man had presence, there was no denying that fact. He filled a space, he dominated all corners of it. And now that he was gone, she had to pretend that wasn’t true and continue meeting the other guests, who now seemed even more boring than usual. Somehow she managed, and at last enough time had passed that Grantham stepped away from the receiving line and motioned the family into the ballroom.

  People were staring as they came in. Ilaria saw the whispers behind fans, arched brows and slow nods. She scanned the crowd, pretending to herself that she was only taking in the scene, but she found Captain Crawford quickly enough. He was standing next to a tall gentleman with dark hair. He was not looking at her, so she refused to continue staring at him like a ninny.