The Princess and the Pea Read online

  Emily sighed. “I know, but it appears I was wrong.” Her eyes clouded with worry. “It seems I like you a great deal more when you are the rash, high-spirited sister who uses me to disguise your own highly improper pursuits.” She shrugged. “At least I know to expect that virtually the unlikeliest things can happen with you. Now…”

  “It’s sweet of you to worry, but I’m fine,” Cece said gently, and for a fleeting moment wondered if she would ever be really fine again.

  Emily shook her head and cast her glance around the ballroom. Abruptly, she gasped, and Cece looked at her with mild surprise. “What ever is the matter?”

  Emily directed eyes wide with shock toward her sister. “Cece…I think you’d…or rather…perhaps it would be best if…”

  Confusion pulled Cece’s brows together. “What are you babbling about?”

  “Dear girl, I’d like you to meet someone.” Lady Millicent tapped briskly on her shoulder. Cece composed a pleasant smile and gracefully turned to face her mother’s friend. A tall figure shadowed the older woman’s back. “Cece, this is the Earl of Graystone.” The shadow stepped forward.

  Cece’s heart stilled. Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands trembled. Her knees threatened to collapse.

  “Jared Graystone, this is Cecily Gwendolyn White.” Lady Millicent smiled encouragingly.

  Cece stared, unable—unwilling—to believe her eyes. It was as if the room had faded into a dim, vague blur. As if nothing existed on the face of the earth but the two of them. As if they were isolated in a world all their own. He returned her stare, apparently as dumbfounded as she.

  Jared Grayson.

  The Earl of Graystone.

  She pulled a deep, steadying breath. “You!” she said, in a voice barely audible.

  A myriad of emotions flashed through the dark blue of his eyes. Shock. Disbelief. Acknowledgment. His eyes narrowed.

  “Miss White,” he said, his manner composed, his tone cool.

  Surely he was not going to pretend they were strangers? Apparently he was. The ache she’d lived with since Paris abruptly blossomed to sheer, unadulterated fury. She grit her teeth and lifted her chin a notch. Two could play this ridiculous game. For the first time in nearly two weeks, she welcomed the challenge.

  She extended her hand. “Your…lordship.”

  His eyes snapped at the subtle sarcasm implicit in her tone, and satisfaction surged through her blood. He grasped her hand and lifted it to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers. “Have you been in London long, Miss White?”

  Even now she steeled herself against the warmth of his hand, a heat that seemed to burn through her glove and sear into her very soul. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to resist the desire to snatch her hand away. Instead she pulled back smoothly, as if contact with the man did not threaten to break her defenses, as if she cared nothing for him, as if he were indeed a stranger.

  She shrugged nonchalantly and kept her voice controlled, reserved, aloof. “We’ve been back in London about a week. We were in Paris before that. Do you know Paris, Mr.—pardon me—your…lordship?” she said sweetly, favoring him with a pleasant smile.

  “I am well acquainted with the city.” A muscle jerked subtly in his jaw, just above the point where his teeth were obviously tightly clenched, and she brightened her smile at the sight.

  “Are you?” She kept her tone light, insignificant. This was no more than strangers discussing a mutual interest. “While there, we were fortunate to watch the start of a wonderful automobile race. Are you familiar with automobiles, your…lordship?”

  His navy eyes stormed, that intriguing muscle ticked again, but his voice was politely noncommittal. “I have seen one or two.”

  “Really? How interesting.” What a lying cad! She could almost understand why he wouldn’t acknowledge knowing her—their meetings had been substantially less than proper—but why wouldn’t he admit his familiarity with automobiles? Unless…realization struck her abruptly, and a smug sense of power flooded through her. He obviously didn’t want anyone to know the Earl of Graystone tinkered with horse less carriages. “Well, I find them fascinating, don’t you?”

  His voice was strangled, as if he could barely choke out the words. “They are, no doubt, intriguing.”

  “No doubt,” she said blithely. “But what I found equally alluring was the place itself: Paris. A truly marvelous city. Of course I did not get to see as much of it as I would have liked.” If she were a cat toying with a wounded bird, this would, no doubt, be the moment to go in for the kill. “For example, I was quite prepared to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower when suddenly my plans changed and I—”

  “Miss White,” he said sharply, through a tight smile, “would you care to dance?”

  “Dance?” she said, as though she’d never heard the word before.

  “Dance with him, Cece,” Emily said in a strained voice.

  “Do dance with him, dear,” Millicent urged, although the puzzled expression on her face indicated that she was more than a little confused by the odd turn her introduction appeared to have taken.

  “I suppose now that we’ve been properly introduced…” It was all she could do to keep the formal tone in her voice and not spit the words at him. He nodded crisply and led her to the dance floor to the opening strains of a waltz.

  For a long, silent moment neither spoke. They whirled about the floor with an effortless ease, as though they belonged in each other’s arms. Cece pushed the traitorous thought firmly out of her mind.

  She mustered her most charming expression. “I would suggest you practice that smile somewhat, your…lordship. And try to look as if you were enjoying this first dance with a virtual stranger.”

  “We must speak,” Jared said tersely.

  “Must we?” She snapped the words through clenched teeth. “Why don’t we just write each other notes? Long enough to get one’s point across, but far too short to explain anything beyond the nebulous claims of responsibility and duty.”

  “I can explain,” he said firmly.

  “Hah!” She glared at him scornfully. “As you explained how to operate your automobile?”

  His eyes smoldered, and for a moment she feared she’d pushed him too far, but only for a moment. They danced to the opposite corner of the room, and abruptly he marched her off the floor and out French doors onto a flagstone terrace.

  “Why did you drag me out here?” She clamped her hands on her hips and shot him a scathing glance.

  “I said before, we have to talk.” His words came short and clipped.

  “You lied to me,” she said, her voice rising.

  “I most certainly did not.”

  She pointed a gloved finger straight at his heart, as though taking aim. “I thought you were a penniless inventor.” Her voice rang with accusation.

  “And I was under the impression you were a butcher’s daughter.” His tone was as indignant as hers.

  She gasped. “I never told you my father was a butcher.”

  “Quentin did.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What made you think I was a penniless inventor?”

  “It wasn’t difficult. You certainly made it appear that way. Quentin’s aunt is paying most of the cost of developing that machine of yours.” She eyed him disdainfully. “None of these people know about your automobile, do they?”

  “They do not,” he said stiffly.

  “Of course not.” She shook her head in disgust. “No one in this stuffy British society would accept your tinkering with motorcars. Oh, they would no doubt consider it amusing for you to purchase one someday, or even encourage a discreet investment.” She cast him a pitying look. “In my country, men who dream and have the courage to go after those dreams are respected and admired.”

  He clenched his fists by his sides. “This is not your country.”

  “To my regret.” She jerked her chin high, swiveled to return to the ballroom, then abruptly turned back. “You broke my heart.”

&
nbsp; The accusation hung in the night air.

  Jared spread his hands helplessly before him. Pain glittered in his eyes, and she steeled herself to its effect on her. His voice was quiet and she nearly melted at the sincerity that rang through the deep tones. “No more than giving you up broke my own.”

  She struggled to keep her voice under control. “You wrote that I would remain in your heart forever. Did you mean it?”

  He nodded. “I never said it before to anyone. I love you, Cece.”

  She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “I love you too.”

  Their gazes locked, as if the acknowledgment of their true feelings was far too fragile to bear anything more than the most cautious of movement. Then, at once, she was in his arms.

  His lips crushed hers with a passion born of pain and a need spurred by denial. The heat of his body radiated through her, his scent clouded her mind and the strength of his embrace nearly undid her. Joy surged in her blood. He pulled away and she gasped softly. “Oh Jared, I have missed you terribly.”

  “And I, you.” He held her tightly and her heart beat against his.

  The pure bliss of being in his embrace filled her, and for a moment she could do nothing but revel in the exquisite sensation. She could go on like this forever. But first…“Why didn’t you meet me? Why did you send that note?”

  He chuckled. “Fear, my love.”

  “Fear?”

  He nodded solemnly. “I feared if I faced you, I would be unable to resist taking you in my arms. And then, no doubt, something like this would surely happen.”

  He bent his lips to hers and she met them eagerly. Desire rushed through her in a swell of carnal excitement and insistent demand. She pressed closer to him and he drew her tighter. Her breasts were crushed against his chest and his breath seemed to come in synchronous rhythm with her own. She wanted nothing more than to be held by him throughout eternity. Nothing more than to taste his lips on hers. Nothing more than to know the one man in all the world she’d ever loved did indeed love her back.

  She pulled her lips from his with a sigh of plea sure and a touch of disappointment that in this garden, at this moment, a kiss was all they could share. She rested her head against his chest. “That would have been unforgivable.”

  He laughed softly. “Indeed.”

  They fell silent. She stood wrapped in his arms for a moment or a lifetime, content to do nothing more than absorb the warmth of his body next to hers. Cece wondered how the very same emotion that had so devastated her life now lifted her to heights of exhilaration she’d never imagined possible.

  “Good Lord, Cece.” Discovery rang in Jared’s voice. “I just realized what this means.”

  She lifted her head and gazed curiously into his midnight eyes. “What what means?”

  “The fact that you are an heiress.” Excitement colored his words. “Don’t you see? This means we can be married. I love you and you have money. It’s perfect.”

  A cold hand gripped her heart and set her teeth on edge. She pulled out of his arms and eyed him cautiously. “Explain that phrase, ‘it’s perfect.’”

  “Cece, don’t be obtuse. You are an intelligent woman. Surely you understand the implications of all this.”

  “Perhaps,” she said softly, “I simply wish to hear it in your own words.”

  “I need to marry an heiress; you are heir to a rather impressive fortune.” With every word his enthusiasm grew, as did her outrage. “The beauty of it is, I’ve fallen in love with you. This shall not be the least bit distasteful after all.”

  He tossed her a confident glance. “I don’t mind telling you, I was not looking forward to this marrying-for-money business. Every time I met a new prospect it seemed that one or the other of us was on display in a shopkeeper’s window.”

  He shook his head and expelled a sigh of relief. “I can’t tell you how much better I feel about everything now. An heiress and you in the bargain. It’s bloody marvelous.”

  “Is it?” she said quietly.

  It might have been that in the scheme of things, Jared did not know her as well as he assumed. It might have been that in his excitement he failed to notice her increasing ire. It might have been that he was simply too wrapped up in his own delight at the turn of events to note his intended heiress and potential bride growing steadily more irate.

  She stepped away from him and primly folded her hands together. “Let me make quite sure I understand this as well as you seem to. First, you could not marry me when it appeared I did not have, as you so charmingly put it, an impressive fortune. Is that correct?”

  Confusion crossed his face. “Well, yes, but—”

  “No, please.” She held up a white-gloved hand to stop him. “Allow me to continue. When you believed I was not an heiress, even though you admit you love me, it was quite all right to leave me standing at the Eiffel Tower, clutching a terse—and badly written, I might add—note, with my heart broken and my life in ruins.”

  “It was not badly written,” he said indignantly.

  “Hah!” She glared, fury building within her. “And now that you know my true financial status, all that can be swept under the nearest rug and blithely forgiven and forgotten. You expect me to leap into your arms without a second thought. You anticipate my fortune will shore up your sagging family worth.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Just how broke are you, anyway?”

  “We are not completely without funds,” he said defensively. “We are nowhere near begging in the streets. But the estate does not bring in nearly what it once did. We are having to sell bits and pieces of our heritage; a painting here, a tapestry there, to make ends meet. There is, of course, credit, but that too has a limit. And the cost of maintaining my mother’s home, my town house, Graystone castle—” his tone brightened—“did you know I have a castle?”

  “Cold, ugly and out-of-date, no doubt,” she said, contempt chilling her voice.

  He threw her a puzzled frown. “Odd; I thought Americans loved castles.”

  “This American does not.” She fairly spat the words at him.

  Jared shrugged. “Well, we needn’t spend much time there. The town house here in London is quite nice. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

  She stared in stark disbelief. “After all this, what on earth makes you think I’ll marry you?”

  He gazed at her in genuine bewilderment. “You love me. And I love you. For many people that’s the only basis for marriage. We happen to have an added benefit: I need money and you have it.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his brows pulling together in an obvious lack of perception. “I don’t see the difficulty.”

  How could he be so…so…so dense? Didn’t the man understand anything? Couldn’t he see how his whole attitude went against everything she believed in? How on earth could she be in love with a man this dim?

  “The difficulty is my firm belief that a man—any man—should not marry for money. I find it disgusting and ill-bred.”

  “Not in my country,” he said staunchly. “Here it is in the best tradition to marry for financial gain. It has been accepted, condoned, and more, encouraged in aristocratic circles for generations, hundreds of years. It’s a perfectly acceptable way of propping up sagging fortunes. I can think of worse things on which to base a marriage.”

  “Well, no marriage of mine will be based on money,” she said haughtily.

  “Of course not.” Relief crossed his face. “Ours will be based on love.”

  She glared in astonishment. “Ours will be based on nothing!”

  “Nothing?” He shook his head, as if unsure of the meaning of the word.

  “Nothing,” she repeated coldly, “because there is not the slightest chance I will marry you for love or money. Not now, not ever.”

  “But I love you and you bloody well love me!” His voice rose in unrestrained irritation.

  “I detest the very ground beneath your feet.” She cast him a final disdainful glance and stalked toward the ballroo
m.

  “I was right when we first met,” he called after her. “I thought you were a lunatic then, and now I know the accuracy of my observation.”

  She stopped in her tracks, turned and glared, sparks shooting from her eyes. Her voice rang heavy with righteous indignation. Cece was nothing short of magnificent.

  “I would rather be considered a lunatic than a fortune-hunting beast. And to think, I called you a man of honor.” Chin high, she headed for the ballroom.

  He snorted in disgust. “Honor? This has nothing to do with honor. It’s about money,” he said, adding under his breath, “and love.”

  The woman was infuriating. He had no idea why she didn’t share his delight in the knowledge that all impediments to a union between them no longer existed.

  He glared at her retreating figure and a slow grin spread across his face. Whether she wished it or not, eventually she would be his wife. He would have her in his life and in his bed. It no longer had anything to do with money. She’d no doubt never believe him, but the moment he saw her again he knew she was well worth what ever price he might have to pay.

  Jared chuckled to himself and strode after her. Whether she was willing to acknowledge it or not, Cecily Gwendolyn White would indeed be the next Countess of Graystone and his wife forever.

  If, of course, they could each survive the courtship.

  Cecily swept back into the ballroom with a touch more energy than was necessary but well within the bounds of propriety nonetheless. Jared followed a discreet few steps behind her. Olivia observed the scene with a speculative eye.

  Odd, that Jared had escorted the girl to the garden after just one dance. One would have thought he was already well acquainted with the young woman, unless…of course—the answer was obvious. Jared had meant it when he said he would waste no time in pursuit of the next American heiress to come along. His determination to wed would also explain his unusually quiet demeanor of late. They no longer shared a house hold, but Olivia was still acutely attuned to her son’s moods. And each time she’d seen him these past two weeks he’d been extremely reserved, melancholy, even cross.