Sins of a Wicked Princess Read Online Free

stoop in the man’s once straight spine and his thinning gray hair, one would never have known it.
    “No, sir. It was one of your mother’s favorite recipes.”
    Ian set down his fork and stood. “I’m finished.”
    “Sir, your mother—”
    “You can stay here if you like, Canterbury, but don’t expect me back.”
    Hurt flashed only for an instant before it was gone behind the butler’s impassive façade. “Very good, sir.”
    The July air was too hot and humid to clear his thoughts as Ian strode back onto the street. Damn Canterbury. His mother was dead in an unmarked grave at the crossroads. She should be left in peace. After all, it was what she’d wanted. What she’d wanted more than her own son.
    A man crept out of the shadows, the menace on his face melting into a gap-toothed grin when he recognized Ian. “Who’s your mark tonight, mate?”
    Ian let the gutter flow back into his accent. “Off to see Margie.”
    “A lovely dove, she is.”
    Margie was a friend of his from his days in the gutter. She’d risen from a two-bit light skirt to the owner of a bawdy house with sixteen employees . She kept a room for Ian in the attic when he wanted it. But as far as everyone else knew, he spent many a night in the redhead’s arms.
    Ian let himself into the small cramped room by way of the window. This room, at least, was untouched. His stockings hung dry and stiff in front of a cold fireplace.
    But he didn’t feel any more at peace here than he had at The Albany.
    Grunts and drunken laughter filtered through the walls. He’d fallen asleep to the noise without trouble many times, but tonight the moans repulsed him and he found himself back on the street.
    Where to now? The flat by the wharf would stink of rotting fish heads in the summer heat. Clayton or Madeline both would happily provide him a room for the night. Or he could spend the night as an uninvited guest in any house in London.
    Yet somehow he found himself back at the walled garden of a deposed princess.
    As he tucked his fingers in the cool vining plants that scaled the walls, his mind ceased caterwauling. And his grin slowly returned to his face.
    There were more guards posted tonight.
    Good for her.
    Too bad they didn’t know what to look for. Their eyes watched the gates while he’d scale the wall to the garden, climb the oak tree to the balcony on the second floor, and then follow the gutter to the empty bedroom on the next floor.
    He could sleep in the blue guest room three doors down from the fair princess with her none the wiser.
    She’d be asleep now. For a moment, the urge to stare at her peaceful slumber nearly overwhelmed him. She’d be tucked in by her maid, her hair fanned out over her pillow. The angry flush would be gone from her cheeks. The animation in her face momentarily at rest.
    What did a princess dream of at night? Castles and handsome princes, no doubt. The color of her next ball gown. Or perhaps having Ian clapped in manacles and thrown into the dungeon—she did have spirit, after all.
    Ian turned away from the wall. He wouldn’t go inside tonight. The information he sought wouldn’t be found in darkened corridors and empty guestrooms. He’d need daylight to question her servants.
    He strode away. There was a cot in the kitchen of the Rutting Beaver that would do for the night.
    And for the first time in his life, he couldn’t wait for the morning to come.

Chapter Four
    J uliana wanted nothing but to go to sleep, but first she’d had to spend several hours reviewing the security on the house. And now this.
    “Gregory, you’ll have to stop pacing and just tell me what is amiss.”
    Her brother dragged his hand through his hair and groaned again. “I’m as good as dead.”
    She would kill him herself if he didn’t start talking. “What? Do you owe someone money? Is it a gambling debt?”
    He stopped long enough to frown at her. “I know better than that.”
    “What then? A woman? Your mistress?”
    Gregory