Princess Charming by Beth Pattillo

for you. It’s for Nick.”
    NICK SWORE that he would revenge himself against Crispin, even if it took his last breath. He adjusted the train of the gown’s skirt with one hand and tried not to breathe, since the restrictive undergarments he wore didn’t allow for such non-essential movement as expansion of his lungs. The moment this charade was finished, he was going to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing salon and pummel some poor soul into the ground. Perhaps he could convince Crispin to come along.
    His friend was adjusting the jaunty cap on Lucy’s head. “Don’t look about,” Crispin instructed her. “Just keep your head down like a proper groom.” He tweaked the shoulders of the short jacket that did nothing to conceal the way her shapely hips filled out the snug trousers. Nick had protested those trousers, but Crispin had waved him off with a laugh. Outside, a hackney waited at the curb. The thug with the red cap still lurked about the building opposite Madame St. Cloud’s establishment, and the ruffian was about to be treated to a rare show.
    Lucy handed Wellington to Henny and sniffed back a tear. “Someone will take you home soon, poppet.” Wellington looked unperturbed as he burrowed his head against Henny’s bosom.
    “We’ll spoil him dreadfully,” Henny said by way of consolation.
    Lucy eyed her warily. “Not too many sweetmeats,” she said. “And absolutely no cake.”
    Henny pouted, and Nick decided it was time. The sooner he got out of this ridiculous outfit, the better.
    “Let’s go.” He offered his arm to Lucy and then, realizing how ridiculous he looked dressed in the borrowed morning gown and pelisse, his hand fell to his side. Lucy giggled, and his temper began a slow burn. He knew he played the fool often enough, but rarely did he so accurately dress the part.
    Henny opened the door for them, and Wellington yipped a farewell. Nick stepped over the threshold and descended the steps, his head held high and the plumes in his bonnet waving.
    Lucy skipped down the steps beside him in a fair imitation of a young groom. She opened the door to the cab and held out her hand to assist him inside. For a brief second he balked, wondering how on earth he was supposed to launch himself into the hackney.
    “Pull up the hem,” Lucy whispered. He reached down and hiked up the skirt beyond the bounds of modesty and launched himself into the carriage. Lucy scrambled in after him. In a falsetto voice, Nick trilled orders to the driver. A moment later, the cab moved off down the road.
    “Do you think Tully took the bait?” Lucy peered out of the window, but Nick pulled her back.
    “If he didn’t, he’s a bigger idiot than I took him for. We are the most unconvincing pair ever to trade skirts for pants, or vice versa.”
    A sharp whistle rent the air, and Nick relaxed, at least as much as a man could relax while wearing a petticoat. “There’s his signal to the behemoth around back.” He opened the reticule Madame had given him and drew out a small mirror. “Hold this out the window, just so.” He demonstrated the angle and then handed her the glass.
    Nick watched as Lucy placed the mirror. “A little to the left. Yes, that’s it.” He had a clear view of the cobbled street behind them and of the man in the red cap loping along after the carriage. In a moment, he was joined by the taller of the two thugs. “Excellent. You can draw it in now.”
    She did and paused for a moment to study her own reflection in the small glass. “I rather like this outfit,” she said, smiling at herself in the mirror as she adjusted her cap to a more rakish angle.
    Nick’s temperature rose. “That outfit is as temporary as it is indecent. You’re in enough trouble without slinking through London in trousers.”
    She turned her smile on him, and Nick’s stomach clenched. “With such an efficient rescuer,” she taunted, “I needn’t worry.” She was teasing him, and he liked it as much as he despised it.