Princess Charming by Beth Pattillo Page A
Authors: Beth Pattillo
“Especially one who is so . . . à la mode.” Her eyes sparkled as they traveled over him, and she sat up straighter, as if preparing for battle.
Nick groaned. Before this little adventure was over, he was either going to have to kiss her or kill her, and he wasn’t sure which might prove the more satisfying.
Chapter Five
LUCY SQUEAKED in surprise when the hackney drew up in front of Lady Belmont’s town house. “The trap is to be laid here?”
“We couldn’t chance losing them. Even those idiots would have come sniffing back here if they’d lost sight of the hackney. Now open the door.”
Lucy bristled. “Please,” she prompted. For a rare moment, she had the upper hand with this infuriating man, and she meant to enjoy it.
He raised one eyebrow—really, he would have made a very fine aristocrat—and looked her over as if she were a crust of molding bread. “When a man is wearing a skirt,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “he is not required to be polite.”
Lucy was wise enough to know when she had pushed him too far. She opened the door and set out the steps, hopping lightly to the ground before turning to offer her hand to Nick. If Crispin’s plan worked, Sidmouth’s men would soon be well out of the way, and she could return to Nottingham House and continue her activities. The thought brightened her considerably.
She almost laughed out loud as Nick emerged from the cab. His disguise could not have fooled anyone for above half a minute. The plumes on his bonnet knocked against the doorway of the carriage as he refused her hand and maneuvered on his own. His skirts tangled around his hessians, and he stumbled to the pavement.
“There she is!” a rough voice cried out, and Lucy turned to see the familiar pair of spies almost on their heels.
“Run,” Nick ordered. “And remember the plan.”
Lucy balked, resenting his arrogant tone.
“Go!”
She hated it, but she responded to his command. Instead of dashing up the stairs to Lady Belmont’s front door, she turned aside and scampered down the service stairs to the warren of rooms below. The cook and two scullery maids cried out in astonishment when she dashed through their midst, Nick close behind her. “Which way?” she called when she reached the far end of the kitchen.
“Left,” came the breathless reply. She turned around long enough to see Nick gasping for air.
“Corset too tight?” she called as she took off again, secretly enjoying his predicament, exhilaration and fear pumping through her chest and limbs. From behind her, she heard the scullery maids scream again as the spies followed close behind.
“Corset? Not a bit tight,” Nick ground out. He drew closer, and Lucy redoubled her speed. When they reached the end of the hallway, she stopped short.
“This way.” He grabbed her wrist, a gesture she was coming to despise, but she would have to divest him of his dictatorial attitude at some future date. He led her through an open doorway into a small anteroom that held several crates and casks stacked in neat rows against the walls.
“I hope Lord Wellstone arrives in time,” she muttered as they moved through the anteroom and into the darker chamber beyond.
Nick swung the door closed behind them, lowered the rather flimsy crossbar, and leaned against it. “If Crispin doesn’t arrive promptly, we’re done for. I can barely breathe in this contraption, much less take on those two villains again.”
Lucy looked at Nick, and her heart softened. Really, for a misguided hero, he wasn’t so terrible, and he was certainly attractive.
The air in the room smelled of smoke and earth, and a fine gray powder coated the walls. Lucy stepped nimbly around the stray bits of coal on the floor as she surveyed her surroundings. A small window next to the coal chute provided the only light.
“I’m surprised Lord Wellstone remembered this place.”
“I’m not,” Nick replied. “As a boy, he spent more time in this
Nick groaned. Before this little adventure was over, he was either going to have to kiss her or kill her, and he wasn’t sure which might prove the more satisfying.
Chapter Five
LUCY SQUEAKED in surprise when the hackney drew up in front of Lady Belmont’s town house. “The trap is to be laid here?”
“We couldn’t chance losing them. Even those idiots would have come sniffing back here if they’d lost sight of the hackney. Now open the door.”
Lucy bristled. “Please,” she prompted. For a rare moment, she had the upper hand with this infuriating man, and she meant to enjoy it.
He raised one eyebrow—really, he would have made a very fine aristocrat—and looked her over as if she were a crust of molding bread. “When a man is wearing a skirt,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “he is not required to be polite.”
Lucy was wise enough to know when she had pushed him too far. She opened the door and set out the steps, hopping lightly to the ground before turning to offer her hand to Nick. If Crispin’s plan worked, Sidmouth’s men would soon be well out of the way, and she could return to Nottingham House and continue her activities. The thought brightened her considerably.
She almost laughed out loud as Nick emerged from the cab. His disguise could not have fooled anyone for above half a minute. The plumes on his bonnet knocked against the doorway of the carriage as he refused her hand and maneuvered on his own. His skirts tangled around his hessians, and he stumbled to the pavement.
“There she is!” a rough voice cried out, and Lucy turned to see the familiar pair of spies almost on their heels.
“Run,” Nick ordered. “And remember the plan.”
Lucy balked, resenting his arrogant tone.
“Go!”
She hated it, but she responded to his command. Instead of dashing up the stairs to Lady Belmont’s front door, she turned aside and scampered down the service stairs to the warren of rooms below. The cook and two scullery maids cried out in astonishment when she dashed through their midst, Nick close behind her. “Which way?” she called when she reached the far end of the kitchen.
“Left,” came the breathless reply. She turned around long enough to see Nick gasping for air.
“Corset too tight?” she called as she took off again, secretly enjoying his predicament, exhilaration and fear pumping through her chest and limbs. From behind her, she heard the scullery maids scream again as the spies followed close behind.
“Corset? Not a bit tight,” Nick ground out. He drew closer, and Lucy redoubled her speed. When they reached the end of the hallway, she stopped short.
“This way.” He grabbed her wrist, a gesture she was coming to despise, but she would have to divest him of his dictatorial attitude at some future date. He led her through an open doorway into a small anteroom that held several crates and casks stacked in neat rows against the walls.
“I hope Lord Wellstone arrives in time,” she muttered as they moved through the anteroom and into the darker chamber beyond.
Nick swung the door closed behind them, lowered the rather flimsy crossbar, and leaned against it. “If Crispin doesn’t arrive promptly, we’re done for. I can barely breathe in this contraption, much less take on those two villains again.”
Lucy looked at Nick, and her heart softened. Really, for a misguided hero, he wasn’t so terrible, and he was certainly attractive.
The air in the room smelled of smoke and earth, and a fine gray powder coated the walls. Lucy stepped nimbly around the stray bits of coal on the floor as she surveyed her surroundings. A small window next to the coal chute provided the only light.
“I’m surprised Lord Wellstone remembered this place.”
“I’m not,” Nick replied. “As a boy, he spent more time in this