“Right away, my lord.”
At Timmons’ address, the princess jerked around and stared at him in surprise. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Simon Rothmore, Earl of Merrick, at your service,” he said with a sweeping bow. “My apologies for not introducing myself sooner.”
She didn’t look pleased by his announcement at all. She drew her lips together and turned promptly back to the fire.
A few moments later, Timmons set up the table and pulled two chairs over so they could sit. He then summoned Mrs. Turnbull, who came bearing trays of steaming soup, warm bread and a plate of beef.
Simon pulled out a chair and gestured for the princess to sit then walked around to take the seat across from her. He hoped this position would afford him the opportunity to study her more thoroughly. This game they played sorely tried his patience. She clearly intended to ignore the fact he knew she had been in danger and play the whole thing off as him being charitable toward a woman in need of a hot meal. Not that she couldn’t benefit from one.
She sat down with grace that contradicted her shabby appearance. Her hands shook as she took up the spoon to sample the soup. He frowned when he imagined the last time she’d had a good meal. It could very well have been before her parents were assassinated.
He watched her eat in silence. She was quiet. Too quiet. It didn’t seem that she said anything that wasn’t carefully measured. He needed her to talk if he was going to gain her trust.
“Tell me…Beth. From where do you hail? Your accent is quite intriguing.”
Her spoon clattered to the table, and she looked up in consternation. “Does it matter?”
“No, no. Of course not. I was just curious.” His attempt to bait her had merely agitated her further. She wasn’t going to freely offer any information.
She put her palm down on the table and rose from her seat. “I really should take my leave now. I’ve imposed on your generosity quite enough.”
“Nonsense.” He got up and smoothly curled his hand around her elbow, moving her toward the door before she could protest further. “You look as though you could do with some rest. I insist you retire at once to a bedchamber I’ve had prepared for you. There is a fire already lit, so you should be comfortable. We will talk more when you have rested.”
Once again she stiffened, and he could see the wheels turning in her mind, much like the spokes on a runaway carriage. Her expression became glacial, and she merely nodded her acquiescence. Truly, he had never come across another person who spoke as little as she.
He showed her into the bedchamber at the opposite end of the hallway from his. He gave brief explanation to where she could find things she needed and backed from the room. Withdrawing a key from his pocket, he quietly locked it from the outside, hoping she didn’t hear the soft click. She would be furious if she tried the door, but he could not lose her now.
He strode back down the stairs, intent on sending word to Kirk.
“Timmons, I need you to send out a message at once,” he called out as he hurried to his office.
He sat down and hastily jotted a message then affixed his personal seal and thrust it at the waiting butler. Leaning back in his chair, he placed his hands behind his head.
Finding the princess filled him with a huge sense of relief. But she wasn’t yet safe. He shuddered to think what may have happened to her today if he hadn’t intervened on the bridge. The two men following her didn’t appear to be the sort to handle her gently.
Pictures of her younger brother filled his mind as Simon imagined her lying in the snow, blood matting her hair and her beautiful eyes locked in death.
Not if he could help it. Too much rested on her survival. The fate of his own country could well rest with the reestablishment of the Leaudorian monarchy.
He rose from his chair and walked over to stand in front of the window. He stared out at the street remembering his conversation with Kirk on the day the prince’s body was found. Was Kirk right? Should he give thought to retiring from His Majesty’s Secret Service?
He had devoted his entire adult life to protecting England’s interest. To quit now, to embrace his position as earl left a bad taste in his mouth. It’s what his father would have wanted.
A scowl creased his face at the thought of his father. Not now. Not ever would he allow his father to dictate his course in life. He was well beyond the age of trying to please his sire. Not that it had ever done any good.
But just as his duty to England was at the very forefront of his every thought, his duty to his title loomed like a harbinger of doom. A duty he never wanted or expected. “Damn you, Edward,” he muttered. “How could you have done it?”
A flash of movement from the street caught his attention, and he saw Kirk descend a carriage and stride up the walk to Simon’s door.
A few minutes later, Kirk strolled into Simon’s study, his expression expectant. “Where is she?”
Simon put a finger to his lips. “She’s in the guest room. I don’t want to disturb her.”
“How did you find her? We’ve looked everywhere it seems.”
“I received a tip from one of my informants this morning. She’s been staying in a rented room in a decidedly dangerous section of the city. I’m amazed she’s survived this long.”
