Lost in a Royal Kiss

“I couldn’t sleep in this dreadful heat,” she said.

“Was it only the heat that kept you awake?” His voice held a husky note that made all her muscles want to go slack.

“I can’t think what else it could be.”

He reached out and trailed a finger along her shoulder to her neck. “I can think of one other reason why you couldn’t sleep, can’t you?”

“I cannot.” She needed to get away from him before she did something rash and foolish. “If you don’t mind, I’ll return to my room.”

“Don’t you want to select something to read before you go?” he teased as one finger slowly stroked her neck.

At a loss for words, she settled for shaking her head.

“No? Well, I have another suggestion for you. One that will be sure to help you sleep, at least afterward.”

“What’s that?” she managed.

“This.”

His mouth covered hers with a hot fervor she felt all the way to the marrow of her bones . . .

MASTERING THE MARQUESS

 

SEX AND THE SINGLE EARL

 

MY FAVORITE COUNTESS

 

HIS MISTLETOE BRIDE

 

SECRETS FOR SEDUCING A ROYAL BODYGUARD

 

CONFESSIONS OF A ROYAL BRIDEGROOM

 

AN INVITATION TO SIN

(with Jo Beverley, Sally MacKenzie, and Kaitlin O’Riley)

 

 

ZEBRA BOOKS

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

 

The door to Sir Anthony Tait’s study flew open and in marched the most tempting bundle of outraged femininity he’d ever set eyes on. She marched across the floor, her tread so firm it left marks in the thick Axminster carpet.

That Linnet St. Clare was annoyed was no surprise. Anthony seemed to aggravate her on a regular basis and she made no bones about showing her displeasure—when she wasn’t avoiding him, that is. She wasn’t avoiding him today, which he found intriguing.

Linnet had an interesting escort too, a unique departure from the type of chaperone who normally accompanied a gently bred, unmarried woman to a bachelor household. The Linnet he knew rarely strayed from the boundaries of propriety, as careful in observing both the form and function of proper decorum as any member of the Court of St. James. That she’d thrown it to the winds meant she was in trouble. Whatever it was it must be bad, because she rarely asked for help, and especially not from him.

Anthony glanced at Linnet’s young companion, assuming he was the source of the problem. The tall, lanky boy trailing in her wake looked furious, but also cowed into reluctant submission by the woman he topped by nearly a foot. That was amusingly predictable, since Linnet managed to intimidate most of the men who blundered into her line of fire. Deceptively petite, sweetly plump, and with the face of an angel, she’d fooled many an unwary man into thinking she had the personality of a celestial being, as well.

How wrong they were.

But where some saw a managing female, Anthony saw a woman determined to make the world a better place, especially for those she loved. Her need to manage everyone who fell into her orbit had frightened off more than one suitor attracted to her pretty face and lush figure. Observation had convinced Anthony that Linnet didn’t mind that in the least, preferring to remain a spinster. In fact, he often thought she showed her claws for exactly that reason—to preserve her unmarried state, despite the gentle pleadings of her widowed mamma that she start looking about for a husband.

Anthony had every intention of turning those wishes into reality, regardless of the daughter’s objections.

Followed by the boy, Linnet came to a halt in front of his desk, glaring at Anthony as he rose to his feet. Bringing up the rear was Anthony’s butler, obviously out of breath from rushing up the stairs after the unannounced intruders.

“Sir Anthony,” Carter wheezed, his portly figure bent almost double, “I informed Miss St. Clare that you weren’t receiving today—” But Carter fell silent when Linnet flashed him
the look
.

Anthony pressed his lips together to hold back a laugh. There were few things he enjoyed more than watching Linnet with the bit between her teeth. Despite her ability to rattle so many of their acquaintances, she never failed to remind him of a haughty little kitten intent on batting her litter mates into line.

She was as soft and pretty as a kitten too, and Anthony couldn’t wait to stroke her. As well as making an excellent wife to manage his household and help further his career, she would be a most welcome addition to his bed. Anthony had thought long and hard about the kind of woman he wanted to marry, and Linnet fit the bill on every count.

“Not to worry, Carter. Better men than you and I have tried to restrain Miss St. Clare. They have all failed.”

Linnet’s gaze, sparking with disapproval, drilled into him and, for just a moment, Anthony indulged in the pleasure of losing himself in her beautiful eyes, so darkly blue as to be almost violet. Those eyes, combined with her pale skin and black hair, created a stunning and sweetly exotic picture. One of Linnet’s grandfathers had been Black Irish, through and through. His granddaughter had run true to her lineage, both in looks and temperament.

As they studied each other, her imperious demeanor shifted, transforming into a wariness born of years spent at Court. When he gave her a warm smile she blinked with surprise, and he fancied the corner of her mouth reluctantly twitched upward. Of course, that could be a trick of the light that filtered between the half-drawn draperies behind him, falling across her face as dusk softly brought an end to another June day.

He frowned at the clock on the Adam’s mantelpiece. What the devil was she doing here at this time of day, unescorted on a trip to London by anyone but that scapegrace, Dominic Hunter?

“Did anyone else besides Dominic accompany you, Miss St. Clare?” Anthony asked in a politely incredulous voice.

A faint pink stained her cheeks, but then she firmed her chin. “No, Sir Anthony.”

“That will be all, Carter,” Anthony said to the butler. “I’ll ring if we need you.”

Carter’s gray eyebrows went up a tick but then he retreated, closing the door with exaggerated gentleness to express dissatisfaction with the unorthodox proceedings. Since Anthony was the liaison between the Court and the Home Office, his servants were used to callers at any time of the day or night. But unmarried young ladies? Certainly not. In fact, Carter was as much of a high stickler as Linnet. Anthony suspected they would get on splendidly once she became his wife.

No longer bothering to hold back a smile—this episode was certainly livening up a boring afternoon of reviewing ledgers—Anthony moved around to lean against the front of his desk. “Now that Carter has been dispatched, perhaps you will have a seat and tell me how I can be of service, Miss St. Clare.”

Standing behind her, Dominic cast Anthony a look brimming with resentment. “We don’t need any help from the likes of you.”

Linnet turned sharply on her heel and quelled the boy with a stern frown, then pointed a gloved finger at a chair against the wall. “Sit, and do not speak again, Dominic, unless one of us instructs you to do so.”

Anthony wasn’t surprised when Dominic instantly complied, though he did so with a surly lack of grace. Unfortunately, Linnet had pointed him in the direction of a rather delicate Hepplewhite chair. When Dominic flopped onto the seat, the graceful frame creaked out a protest.

Mentally wincing, Anthony returned his attention to Linnet. “Shall we try again, Miss St. Clare? To what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit?”

She turned to face him, rigid and without her usual grace. Her cheeks were flushed with anger, he thought, but there was more than a hint of anxiety in her eyes. Perhaps even a hint of fear.

His lingering traces of amusement faded. Taking her small, gloved hand, he guided her to the comfortable leather club chair in front of his desk.

“How can I help you, Linnet?” he asked quietly.

Her gaze flew up to meet his, and the pink stain on her fine cheekbones flushed a rosier color. He’d only ever used her given name on one other occasion, and he suspected it was one she wished to forget. But then anxiety overtook her discomfort. She bit one corner of her lower lip, pulling it between her teeth. It was her unconscious habit when disturbed or anxious, one of the few visible signs of vulnerability in an otherwise strictly disciplined nature.

Anthony half sat on the corner of his desk, loosely clasping his hands on his thigh. He waited, allowing her time to regain her composure. But when the clock on the mantel pinged out the turning of the hour, she gave herself a little shake. “As you have obviously deduced, Sir Anthony,” she said in her crisp yet sweetly modulated tones, “Dominic and I find ourselves in something of a stew. I do understand how irregular our visit is, but in the heat of the moment I couldn’t think of what else to do.”

A frown marked the space between her eyebrows. It was clear to Anthony how little she liked her choice.

“It must be a desperate case indeed to drive you to my doorstep,” he replied.

Her gaze flew up to his, and she started to protest. He smiled and held up a hand. “I am ever at your service, and to the rest of your family, as well. You understand that, do you not?”

She weighed that idea and then finally nodded.

Anthony rewarded her with another smile. “Good. Now, let’s get to the problem, shall we? I assume it has something to do with Dominic?”

She nodded. “You assume correctly. Unfortunately, Dominic was involved in a brawl. A rather bad one, I’m afraid.”

Anthony glanced at Dominic. He didn’t seem the worse for wear, although now that he actually looked at him rather than at Linnet, he could see the boy’s breeches were dusty and the sleeve of his jacket had a small rip at the elbow. “That is indeed unfortunate, but all his limbs seem to be intact.”

Linnet shook her head. “Dominic was the one inflicting the hurt, not receiving it.”

“Ah. Who was his victim?”

“Prince Ernest,” she responded in a grim voice.

Anthony froze.
Christ.
Ernest, the fourth son of the king and at age fifteen already poised to follow in the reprobate footsteps of his older brothers. No wonder Linnet had come to him. “How badly did Dominic hurt him?”

Dominic bounded to his feet. “Not bad enough.” He leveled a fierce glare at Linnet. “You shouldn’t have stopped me. You should have let me kill him.”

He flung the words in a harsh, accusatory tone, and Linnet let out an involuntary gasp.

Anthony straightened and took two strides to the boy. Clamping a hand on Dominic’s shoulder, he pressed him back into the chair. “Not another word from you,” he said in a lethally low voice.

Dominic resisted momentarily, but then subsided into a gangly heap of adolescent arms and legs. At fourteen, Dominic had yet to grow into himself, awkwardly poised between the boy he’d been and the strapping, broad-shouldered man he was meant to be. But when he looked up, his green eyes glistened with tears and he appeared much like the devastated lad he’d been on his arrival to the king’s household.

“What the hell is going on?” Anthony asked over his shoulder to Linnet.

Her lush lips pursed with disapproval. “Sir, I hardly think that kind of language is called for.”

When he stared at her with amazement, she sighed. “Well, perhaps it is,” she muttered.

“Linnet,” Anthony said in a warning voice as he paced back to her.

“I’m getting to it.” She sucked in a deep breath. “It’s not easy to say.”

“Then I suggest you start from the beginning and ease into it. That’s usually the best way.”

She tried for a wry smile, but gave up with a sigh. “Do you remember Chloe Steele, the Reverend Steele’s daughter?”

Anthony did a quick search of his memory. “Steele is a sub-governor at Court, is he not? I believe he teaches the princes Latin and German.”

“Correct. Chloe is his only child. They live in a small cottage off Kew Green, very near the princes’ residence, perhaps a five-minute walk at most.”

Anthony nodded, familiar with the living arrangements of the king’s sons. Once they’d reached an age where they were no longer under the care of the governesses and attendants who oversaw the royal nursery, the princes were moved into their own establishment in Kew. Dominic, having been raised with the princes since he was seven years old, had gone with them. But what that had to do with Chloe Steele, Anthony had yet to puzzle out.

“Go on,” he encouraged, noting the way Linnet anxiously twisted her fingers in her lap.

“As you said, the Reverend Steele is tutor to the princes. It is not out of the ordinary for them to receive individual lessons in Mr. Steele’s study, especially Prince Ernest, who struggles with his Latin. That sometimes brings him into contact with Chloe.”

Linnet raised her eyes to his, a silent plea in their violet depths for him to understand. Anthony stared at her for a few long seconds, trying to guess what she obviously loathed having to put into words.

Then every muscle in his body jerked tight with understanding. “You’re joking,” he said, sitting down hard on the edge of his desk.

Linnet shook her head.

“How old is Chloe?” Anthony held out the faint hope that she was older than the prince.

“Fourteen.”

Anthony stared at her in disbelief. “Ernest seduced the fourteen-year-old daughter of his tutor? How was that allowed to happen?”

After quietly smoldering in his corner, Dominic again bounded up out of the chair and rushed forward, planting himself in front of Anthony. “He didn’t seduce her, he raped her. And I’m going to kill the bastard, I swear it. I already would have if
she
bloody well hadn’t stopped me.” He stabbed a finger toward Linnet.

Letting out an unhappy sigh, Linnet rose and laid a gentle hand on the boy’s arm. “Dominic,” she said, ignoring the boy’s lapse into rough language, “if I hadn’t stopped you, Mr. Steele would have been forced to call for help, and that would have put all of us, and especially Chloe, in an even worse situation. Can you imagine how awful a public scene would have been for her?”

Dominic opened his mouth to argue but then clamped it shut.

“Just out of curiosity, how did you stop the fight?” Anthony asked. Both Dominic and Ernest were strapping boys, and he found it difficult to imagine Linnet intervening without endangering herself. “There was no one else who could help?”

She shook her head. “Only Mr. Steele, who was trying to calm Chloe. Thank God there were no other servants about, except for his housekeeper.”

“Linnet, what did you do?” Anthony said, trying to hold on to his patience.

“I threw a garden bucket of water on them. It was quite effective.”

He glanced at Dominic. “He doesn’t look very wet to me.”

She let loose a faint smile. “For some reason, most of the water landed on Prince Ernest.”

“It wasn’t the water that stopped me,” Dominic said fiercely. “It was Chloe. She was screaming at us to stop. She was so upset I thought she’d make herself sick.”

“Yes, there was that,” Linnet admitted. “The poor girl was in hysterics—more over the fight than the original incident, I fancy—and her father was in almost as terrible a state.”