Princess Charming Read Online Free Page B

her passion for reform. She ached to see the Selkirks go. “I imagine any hiding place you find will be an improvement over these accommodations,” she said, gesturing to the cold stone around them. She wanted to hug them both, but though they were in many ways like family to her, the invisible barriers of class and birth kept a certain distance between them.
    “God go with you.” She gave them a blessing instead of a hug, and the two men nodded.
    “With you as well, my lady.”
    She wanted to linger in the damp confines of the basement, but there was little else to say. “Send word where you are staying,” she admonished them, “and if someone carries messages to Nottingham, give my love to Mrs. Selkirk.” The portly woman had been her father’s cook and her childhood confidante. A sudden pang of longing for Mrs. Selkirk’s maternal presence shot through her.
    “We’ll relay the message, my lady. Now, go. The duchess will be wanting her tea.”
    NICK LEANED against the stone wall of Lady Belmont’s garden where he had slumped to the ground after the girl’s departure. His head felt as thick as a log, his chest tight even under the loose-fitting gardener’s smock, and his legs trembled with relief. He hardly knew what to think of the events that had just transpired, but he did know what to think of the girl. Trouble. Quagmire. Bottomless pools  . . . no, dash it, those were her eyes. Bottomless pit. Yes, that was it. A bottomless pit of temptation.
    He straightened and stepped away from the wall and almost tripped over Wellington, who was eyeing him with reproach.
    “I am not going after her, so you can find another victim for that mournful gaze of yours.” Nick stepped over the dog and moved toward the house, but his stride was hampered by the ache in his head. Wellington caught up with him and padded along at his side, but Nick refused to look at him. He was not going to be manipulated by the canine menace for the second time in less than a day.
    Enough was enough. He would find Crispin and inform his friend that the frolics were done. He wanted his own clothes, his own snifter of brandy, and his own choice of bed partner at Madame St. Cloud’s. He would not look over his shoulder to the spot on the gravel path where he’d collided with the door; he would not even glance toward the gate on the eastern wall he’d heard close behind her. He would not dwell on the fact that she must be one of the Duchess of Nottingham’s servants. Not for a moment.
    Crispin was still in the drawing room, and he looked pointedly at Nick when his muddy boots left a trail of prints across the carpet.
    “My grandmother may be rusticating, Nick, but she’ll slice me to ribbons when she returns if her carpet looks like the show ring at Tattersall’s.”
    “Don’t start, Crispin.” Nick had endured enough for one day without having to suffer his friend’s good-natured interference.
    Crispin feigned an innocent look. “Me? Whatever would I start, Nicky?”
    “I’m not going after her.” The tension in his jaw made the declaration difficult, but not impossible.
    “After whom, Nicky?”
    “The confounded girl from the confounded garden.” His gut clenched.
    “Oh? There was a girl?”
    Nick wanted a brandy, ached for a brandy, but he stood rooted to the spot in the middle of the drawing room. “Devil take it, you know there was a girl. I saw your useless self at the window.”
    Crispin grinned. “My specialty is love, not war. Indeed, there was a girl. A rather pretty piece, too. Shame you’re not going after her. Say, if you’re not interested, perhaps I could—”
    “No.” The word escaped without conscious thought.
    “But, Nicky, I thought you said you weren’t interested.” Crispin grinned.
    “I’m not. Neither are you.” He wouldn’t wish such an impudent baggage on his worst enemy. Only on himself, apparently.
    Crispin sighed. “Aren’t you even a little curious? And can we be sure she arrived