Princess Charming by Beth Pattillo Page B

house than his own.” He patted the crossbar. “Told me he put this up so he could shut out the world when he needed to.”
    “And his grandmother approved of skulking in the coal cellar?” Lucy’s heart ached at the thought of Lord Wellstone’s solitary childhood. She understood loneliness well enough.
    The harsh clatter of boots sounded in the anteroom. “We’ve got ‘em now, ‘Ector.”
    “Come help me brace this door,” Nick said. “I don’t know how long this will hold.”
    Lucy hastened to comply. The door was rather narrow, and when they leaned their backs against the wood, their shoulders brushed. She looked up, and her eyes met his, her heart making that infuriating leap to her throat.
    Wham! The ruffians’ first assault on the door rattled Lucy almost as much as the look in Nick’s eyes. She pressed harder against the wood and scrambled for firmer footing.
    “If they break through, stay behind me,” Nick ordered between clenched teeth.
    “If they break through,” Lucy countered, “let them take me. They’ll let you alone once they have what they came for.”
    Nick shot her a look that would have melted steel. “By Jove, you are the hardest woman to rescue I’ve ever met. Do you think I put on petticoats for nothing?”
    Lucy felt her cheeks flush with anger, but that was preferable to the vulnerability and the attraction she felt in his presence. “You’re the most obstinate rescuer I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter,” she shot back, teeth clenched with the effort of holding the door closed as the thugs pounded on it. “I don’t need your help.” But she did, and what’s more, she hadn’t felt lonely from the moment he’d towed her down the steps of Nottingham House.
    The next blow to the door slid it open several inches, and fear closed her throat. Where was Lord Wellstone?
    Then, suddenly, as if she’d conjured him, she heard his voice outside. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Why are you assaulting my grandmother’s coal cellar?”
    The ruffians gave two loud bellows, and then Lucy heard the unmistakable sounds of fisticuffs as Lord Wellstone and his footmen engaged the enemy.
    “Just let us know when you’re finished, Crispin,” Nick called, and Lucy could see the tension flow out of him as he leaned against the door. Relief coursed through her as well, her muscles sagging so she could hardly stand.
    “One moment, St. Germain,” Lord Wellstone’s voice came back, followed by the sound of a well-delivered blow and a cry of outrage mixed with pain from one of the spies.
    Lucy looked at Nick again. Their eyes met once more. She drank in the sight of the incredibly handsome man next to her, outfitted in a walking dress and chipstraw bonnet, and she couldn’t stop the giggles that spilled forth. “You’ve bent your plumes,” she said, pointing toward the broken feathers.
    Fortunately for her, he began to laugh as well. They stood side by side, shaking with mirth, until the grunts and thuds from the other side of the door ceased. Lucy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh, after all you’ve done.” She looked up, and he was gazing at her with an unfathomable expression—not exasperation or hurt, but a sort of well  . . . fascination.
    “I think,” he drawled, faint lines appearing around the edges of his smile, “I may have met the one woman I’m quite incapable of rescuing.”
    Lucy’s heart stopped, and she watched as his deep brown eyes turned even darker. The force of her attraction to him seized her once again, her knees sagging even further.
    “You can come out,” Lord Wellstone called from the other side of the door, breaking the spell Nick’s gaze had cast. “The footmen have carted off your two admirers.”
    The words were sobering, a summons back to reality, and Lucy lowered her gaze and stepped away from the door. Just like that, then, it was over. The last day and night had been a chain of events she would