The Princess and the Pea Read online

  “Thank you.” Relief rang in Cece’s voice. This whole idea of actually being in love was new to her. She did like Jared, of course, and he did have an odd, but not unappealing, effect on her. She needed time, not only to get to know him better, but to come to grips with what ever this unexpected emotion was he inspired in her. “You’d better go on downstairs; Mother and Father will be waiting and I’d hate for them to return looking for you.”

  Emily nodded and studied her sister for a moment. “I’m going, but please be careful. You’re accompanying a man, almost a stranger, at night, in Paris of all places. If you were to see anyone you know, the scandal would quite destroy Mother. And Father would more than likely destroy your young man.”

  “That’s the delightful thing about Paris, Emily,” Cece said saucily. “We don’t know anyone here. The very possibility of scandal is minimal. It’s an evening almost without risk, an escapade without danger. It should be great fun.”

  “Fun.” Emily snorted in disdain. “Fun will surely get you in a great deal of trouble one day.”

  Cece threw her a teasing glance. “Sometimes, Emily, a great deal of trouble is the price one pays. And sometimes it’s well worth it.”

  Emily groaned. “I doubt that. As much as I hate to say it, go ahead and have your fun to night, but if you don’t tell Mother and Father soon, I shall.”

  “I will tell them…eventually.” Cece nodded solemnly. “I promise. In the meantime, I’ll continue my efforts to know the fascinating Mr. Grayson better. I’d hate to stir up our parents over him unless I’m certain he’s worth the trouble.” She paused and widened her eyes, struck by an unexpected detail. “He should get to know me somewhat better as well. I just realized, he doesn’t even know my last name.”

  “At this point,” Emily said wryly, clasping the crystal doorknob and opening the door, “that may be for the best.” She stepped out of the room and shut the door firmly behind her.

  Cece stared at the closed door for a long moment, then smiled slowly to herself. Emily was no doubt right in one respect whether she knew it or not: What ever else might happen, to night was definitely for the best.

  Jared handed Cece down from the landau he’d engaged for the evening. She’d brushed away his suggestion of a bite to eat or a stop at one of Paris’s more notorious nightspots, insisting instead that they simply drive the boulevards and enjoy the nighttime ambience of this fascinating city. Cece was all too aware of his lack of funds and determined not to embarrass him in any way—although she did note his fashionable attire, especially for someone with so little money, and ignored a twinge of annoyance that she had not dressed a bit more impressively herself.

  He offered his arm and they strolled along the Pont-Neuf, the lights from the bridge’s lamps reflected in the twinkling waters of the river.

  “It’s been a lovely evening, Jared.” Cece sighed with contentment.

  He raised a skeptical brow. “I’ll agree the company was certainly lovely, but we did nothing save drive the streets.”

  “Jared,” she chided, “this is Paris—an ancient city facing the future head on. You can almost feel the spirit of progress in the air. Besides, it’s truly beautiful. And at night…why, it’s almost like magic.”

  “You’re right, it is beautiful.” The words were casual but the gaze that met hers was intense. “And very much like magic.” He paused for a moment and then smiled, his mood again lighthearted. “I’ve never actually believed in magic.”

  “I find that difficult to accept.”

  He raised his brows in surprise. “Why? If I remember, you have accused me of being stuffy. I hardly think being stuffy and a belief in magic go hand in hand.”

  “Don’t be silly, Jared.” Cece tilted her head and cast him a teasing glance. “Anyone who believes in horse less carriages surely has a touch of magic in his soul.”

  He laughed, with a flash of dimpled cheek. “So you’ve ascertained my secret.”

  She nodded solemnly. “That’s not all I’ve learned about you.”

  “Really?” He raised a skeptical brow. “What exactly have you discovered?”

  She leaned against the stone balustrade and studied him casually. “A great deal, I think. I know you are surprisingly well versed in art. I know you are obviously quite clever with machines. You should go far.” A question flashed through her mind. “What are you planning to do with your automobile?”

  His expression hardened. “It’s a pipe dream, Cece, nothing more.”

  “Tell me about it, about your dream,” she said gently.

  “No doubt you’ll think it foolish,” he warned.

  “No doubt.” She shrugged. “But since you have already proclaimed me a foolish American, who better than I to determine what’s foolish and what isn’t?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded slightly, as if reaching a decision.

  “Very well.” Those two words sent a rush of plea sure through her heart that he would trust her enough to share the confidence of his dream.

  “I wish to build not just one automobile but hundreds, eventually thousands. I’m firmly convinced motorcars are the vehicles of the future.” His eyes glowed with the light cast by the bridge lamps and an inner fire, a fire she’d glimpsed briefly before.

  He leaned forward eagerly, and the masculine scent of bay rum enveloped her, drawing her closer to the intoxicating warmth of his body. “Once we refine our design, I see no reason why automobiles cannot be manufactured easily and at a reasonable cost. Mass production would make them accessible and affordable for the public.” His voice rang with his vision, strong and determined and…irresistible, much like the man himself. “I should like to see an automobile in front of every manor house and cottage in En gland.”

  “I don’t think that’s foolish at all,” she said staunchly. “I think it’s admirable for a man to have ambition. To strive for success in a venture untried before. To want to make his presence known in the world. I find it deplorable that many men these days seem to feel the way to make their fortune is to marry a girl who already has one.”

  A startled expression darkened his handsome features. “You do?”

  “Indeed.” She nodded firmly. “Far too many men seem to want nothing more from marriage than a sizable dowry and the prospects for a significant inheritance.”

  “Perhaps they have no other choice,” he murmured.

  “Stuff and nonsense.” Indignation rang in her voice. “I see absolutely no reason why a man should not work to get ahead in this life.” She paused to consider her next words, then recklessly plunged onward. “Or a woman either, for that matter.”

  “Women? Work?” His startled expression intensified.

  “Oh dear, now I’ve shocked you,” she said.

  “I’m beginning to believe nothing you say could shock me,” Jared said wryly. “Please, do continue.”

  “It simply makes sense.” Enthusiasm colored her words. “Women are every bit as good as men.” She hesitated at the look of doubt on his face. “Not physically, of course, but intellectually. Why, your own country has been ruled by a woman for nearly sixty years now.”

  “I can’t argue with that. But why on earth would a woman want to work? Isn’t marriage and motherhood the dream of every female?”

  She sighed at this strictly masculine interpretation of life. “Not every female. Most have no other options.”

  “Why aren’t you married?”

  The unexpected change of subject caught her by surprise and she shrugged. “I’ve simply never met anyone I wished to be shackled to for the rest of my life.” Not, perhaps, until now.

  “Shackled?” He laughed.

  “Yes, shackled,” she said, a resolute tone in her voice.

  “I doubt your parents are in agreement with you on that topic.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she resisted the temptation to reach out her hand to smooth the wary expression from his face. “That reminds me: Do your parents know where you are?�
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  “I certainly hope not.” Cece shook her head. “Mother would no doubt have some sort of apoplectic fit and Father would surely shoot you or worse.” She grinned. “I discovered long ago that they are ever so much happier when they’re not informed of my activities.”

  Jared groaned. “Bloody hell, Cece. You’ve gone out, at night, to meet a man who’s practically a stranger.” His forehead furrowed in a forbidding frown. “A stranger, I might add, who doesn’t even know your surname.”

  “Jared, there’s more than enough time for mundane details at some later point. Besides,” she said primly, “we still have not been properly introduced.”

  “Properly introduced?” He gazed at her in astonishment. “I believe my original assessment of you was accurate. Even you must realize it’s extremely foolish to engage in clandestine meetings with men you barely know. Men whose primary purpose might well be to take advantage of your virtue.”

  “Jared.” She laughed softly. “Now you’re being foolish.”

  “Foolish,” he sputtered.

  “Yes, indeed.” She nodded vigorously. “You see, I already know one more thing about you that I’ve failed to mention. You are undoubtedly a man of honor.”

  “A man of honor?” He repeated her words as if he couldn’t quite grasp their meaning.

  She sighed patiently. Evidently, he was going to need a bit more of an explanation. “A man of honor would never take advantage of me. Although I am obviously intelligent, and noticeably self-assured, it is also painfully apparent that in the ways of men and women I am an innocent.”

  “An innocent.” His voice was little more than a strangled gasp.

  “I’ve shocked you again, haven’t I?”

  “My dear woman,” Jared said slowly, “I believe we have gone past simple shock and into the realm of sheer astonishment.”

  “Do you need to sit down?” she said anxiously.

  “No.” He pulled a deep breath. “I’m quite all right. But tell me, how can you be so sure that I am an honorable man?”

  “I have always been an excellent judge of character,” she said confidently. And I do know you, Jared Grayson. You may well be my destiny.

  “Do you have any idea what could happen to you if you were wrong?” His eyes glittered in the lamplight. “If I were the kind of man to take advantage of an innocent?”

  “I can imagine,” she said quickly. I can more than imagine.

  “Can you? Can you imagine such a rogue would first put his arms around you, like this?” Jared wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. Her heart thudded in her chest at the unexpected contact. She hadn’t fully realized how much taller he was than she, or the hard, muscled strength belied by the gentleness of his embrace. “He would hold you close and claim he was merely providing needed warmth in the chilling breeze.”

  “I don’t feel any breeze,” she said faintly.

  “Ah, that’s part of his diabolical plan. Next he would no doubt fill your head with pretty phrases.” He gazed at her with an intensity that sparked a shiver in her blood. “He would tell you your hair catches the starlight and puts even the splendor of the moon to shame. He would compare your face to the finest marble sculpture in the Louvre, eclipsing the beauty of the works of Michelangelo himself. And your eyes…”

  “My eyes,” she sighed.

  His voice was as deep with meaning as his words. “He would say your eyes are like molten pools of midnight. So deep and dark and inviting that a man could forfeit his very soul and be grateful for the loss.”

  “He would say that?” Caught in the spell of his words, his touch, his gaze, her voice was little more than a gasp.

  Jared nodded gravely. “He would. And then he would bend his lips to yours.” His lips brushed against hers and her breath stopped. “Lightly at first.” His lips, firm and warm with promise, met hers again, and she fought to keep from sagging against him. “And then, perhaps, he would kiss you fully and thoroughly until you knew you’d been well and truly kissed.”

  “The fiend,” she breathed.

  “Indeed,” he said softly, and his lips claimed hers.

  The touch of his mouth was scarcely more than gossamer on the night air, and she marveled at the excitement it triggered within her. The pressure of his lips increased and she swayed toward him, an unknown need urging her closer. Her lips opened beneath his, and their breath met and merged. It was as if the world ground to a stop. As if nothing else mattered now and always. As if her very core dissolved to a puddle of aching heat and forbidden desire.

  It was not as if she had never kissed a man before. But if this was what love did to a simple kiss…She snaked her arms around his neck, tunneled her fingers through the hair that curled over his collar and pulled him tighter.

  She tasted vaguely of honey and spice and the sweetness of life itself. His blood pounded in his ears and he wanted nothing more than to mark her as his forever. She was light and laughter and unimagined fire, and he throbbed with unquenched need.

  He had, of course, kissed other women before her. Dozens. Even hundreds. A few quite innocent, but most significantly more experienced than she. But never had he known the sheer exhilaration and insistent demand for something far beyond a taste, a tantalizing glimpse, a mere suggestion of a passion he had not dared to dream could exist. What on earth had she done to him?

  He pulled away, and even a vague disappointment failed to fully penetrate the haze of mysterious emotions that shrouded her.

  Jared stared down at her, a somewhat bemused smile on his lips. “I think perhaps we have seen enough of Paris for one night.” He released her, turned and hailed a passing cab.

  “It was a delightful evening, Jared,” she said softly. “Beautiful. Almost…like magic.”

  He handed her into the cab. “You were right, I think. I believe in magic far more than I ever suspected.” He hesitated, an odd, haunted look flashing across his eyes, his tone abruptly serious. “May I see you again tomorrow?”

  She tilted her head and smiled. “I have not yet seen the city from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Perhaps we could meet there? Late morning?”

  He nodded sharply, closed the cab door and signaled to the driver.

  Cece leaned back against the worn leather seat and savored a sense of anticipation. Tomorrow, perhaps, he would tell her of his feelings for her. She hadn’t the least doubt his emotions were as deep and intense as her own. One could not possibly share a kiss like that without feeling something far greater than mere lust.

  He was unlike anyone she’d ever met. She didn’t doubt he would one day achieve his dream. She could see his commitment in the deep blue of his eyes, touch his strength of purpose in the power of his arms around her and hear the fervor of his dedication in every word he spoke. This was a man one could willingly sacrifice one’s own dreams for to help him achieve his. This was a man with whom to share a life. A future. A love.

  She sighed with contentment and rested her head on the back of the seat. A smile from somewhere deep within her blossomed slowly on her face. She had never known sensations like this before. But then, never before had she been well and truly kissed.

  Jared strode toward the Champ de Mars, the Eiffel Tower looming before him. He spotted Cece’s unmistakable figure some distance ahead and his determined step faltered, then slowed.

  He pulled to a stop and studied the scene, far enough away to watch the sisters without fear of detection. Cece, tall and lithe, sported a stylish if somewhat absurd hat, and he smiled at the sight of it. She stood over her sister’s seated form beside what appeared to be an artist’s easel.

  At once his smile faded. He clenched his jaw and fisted his hands at his sides. A leaden weight lay in the pit of his stomach. A heavy vise gripped his chest. For all he wanted to hear her voice, revel in her smile, hold her in his arms, his courage failed him.

  He did not fear what he had come to tell her, although it was perhaps the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do. Now that
he saw her, at most a few strides away, he suspected—no, he knew—that if he spoke to her face-to-face he would not be able to resist taking her in his arms. And then he would never let her go.

  Jared had spent a long, sleepless night wrestling with unanswered questions of responsibility and honor and desire and, God help him, even love. With the dawn came the inescapable truth that this new and previously unknown feeling was surely love. What else could be so compelling? What else could be so painful?

  Cece laughed, and even at this distance the sound tugged at his heart, a sound resonant with energy and the sheer joy of living. This was a woman who could be more than a mere wife; this was a woman who could be a partner. His partner. A mate not simply for his life but for his soul.

  Together, they could make his dreams come true. Together they could build his lone automobile into an empire. Together, they could share what would surely be as close to what he, or any other man, could ever come to paradise on this earth.

  Jared didn’t care if she was the daughter of a butcher or a king. And perhaps in another time, another place, love alone would be enough. Today…it was not.

  Slowly, he withdrew an envelope from his waistcoat. He had written the note it held by the first light of day in the event he did not have the fortitude to do what he must. It was not so much a question of strength, or even courage, but rather honor. With Cece’s blatant disregard of convention, enthusiastic response to his kiss, and trusting innocence, he had no doubt he could make her his, take her for his plea sure alone. But given the depressed state of the family finances, he was not free to offer her more. He could not make her his wife.

  He turned, and his gaze fell on a group of small boys playing on the grass. He gestured to the oldest, a lad of about eight. “Boy?”

  “Oui, monsieur?”

  Quickly Jared explained the errand, pointed out Cece to the child and handed him the note and a coin. The boy grinned slyly and winked. It seemed even at this tender age a Frenchman was a Frenchman, and well versed in the little intrigues of love.

  Jared sent the child on his way. He cast one last greedy glance in Cece’s direction, as if to burn her image into his mind forever, then quickly strode away.