She spared a quick glance over the room, making sure she left nothing to indicate her identity. After looking down at her ragged fingernails, she raised her fingers to her mouth and chewed the longer nails to a more acceptable length. As a last measure, she stuffed her hair into a floppy hat and strode from the room.
Careful to temper her walk, she mimicked a young boy’s stride as she headed down the street. She needed a place to think. Somewhere she could formulate a plan to get back home.
Instinctively, she walked in the direction of the docks. It would take her hours to get there on foot, but if she could hide on a boat, as she had done when she left Leaudor, she could gain valuable time to plot her course.
For now she must get as far away from Lord Merrick as possible.
With each block she passed, she kept careful watch to make sure no one was following her or that she drew undue notice. But then she looked no different from the other desperately poor citizens who hurried by in an effort to keep warm.
She blew on her nearly frozen hands then rubbed them on her breeches. Her feet were numb in the too small boots she’d stuffed her bare feet into, making walking agony.
An hour into her journey, she suddenly stopped. Her panic had nearly caused her to make a foolish mistake. Quickly turning around, she hurried in the opposite direction.Think Isabella, think!The docks would be the first place they would look for her. There were likely any number of people keeping a watch out for her, just waiting for her to board a ship.
As determined as she was to return home, she couldn’t afford to act with haste. And she’d allowed the earl to completely fluster her.
She chose smaller streets away from the main stretches. The cold was creeping into every pore of her body. She had to find a place where she would be safe for the time being. Some place warm.
God, why wouldn’t her mind function? Common sense and practicality had long been her strong points, but now they faded into obscurity as she struggled to figure out a plan to go home.
Unable to take another step on her frozen feet, she sank to the ground in a nearby alley, praying no one would take notice of the fact she was a woman. Even the guise of a young boy wouldn’t help her in this section of town, as she had quickly learned during her sojourn here. There were just as many ruffians who’d take pleasure in a boy as they would a woman.
Hugging her knees up to her chest, she rocked back and forth, trying to infuse warmth into her body. She laid her head down on her knees. Exhaustion had a firm grip on her. It called to her, lulled her deeper into its lair.
Think, she ordered, shaking off the fingers of despair. She couldn’t take a ship. It was too obvious. She couldn’t very well march to the palace and demand an audience with the prince. Someone in the royal ranks had already betrayed her once, maybe even the regent himself. She wouldn’t give him a second chance.
She’d have to go it alone. Dover wasn’t a possibility. She’d come into England through Dover and the ports there would be watched. And she’d be expected to go north in an attempt to cut down the voyage time to Leaudor.
South. That was it. She’d head south to Brighton. She could pawn her ring and use the proceeds to hire a ship to Leaudor. It would be risky, but if she offered enough money, she was certain she could find a willing captain.
Feeling a bit better about her plan of action, she closed her eyes for a moment. She just needed to rest a few minutes. Then she’d figure out a way to get to Brighton. Her eyes fluttered against her cheeks as she became numb to the cold. Yes, just a few minutes of rest.
The wind howled around her, lifting the hat from her head and blasting a shot of cold air down her neck. From the back recesses of her mind, alarm rose at the idea of her hair being exposed, but the allure of sleep drew her further into its embrace.
* * *
It began to rain and the wind increased, driving the biting cold through his coat as if he wore nothing at all. Simon retreated from the docks, his concern increasing as he remembered the lack of protection the princess’s meager wardrobe offered her.
He had gone immediately to the room she had been staying in only to find it empty. The only thing that had remained was the torn remnants of her dress. Frantically, he had searched the immediate area then went to the docks thinking she would attempt to secure passage home. But the missing princess had other ideas, apparently.
As he climbed into his carriage, he directed the driver to start a slow circle of the area. He would start with each street in a large radius around the tenement she had stayed in. She couldn’t have gone too far in the time since she had escaped his house.
He had to hurry. Darkness would be falling soon, and he had little chance of finding her in the shadowy alleys of the rookery. By dawn she could feasibly be miles away and with it his chance of finding her again. That is if she survived the night in London’s criminal-infested district.
As the carriage slowly rolled up one street and down another, he kept a trained eye on every movement, every person. He saw things most others would overlook, but then he’d had years of practice. In his line of work, a careful eye could mean the difference between life and death.
As the shadows grew longer, his impatience increased. She should be safely ensconced at the royal palace by now under the protection of the regent. Instead she had run and could even now be in serious danger.
The idea of her coming to harm tightened his gut and made his resolve to find her even stronger. She didn’t know it yet, but he was her best hope of remaining alive.
“Stop!” he shouted. He was out of the carriage before it came to a complete stop. He sprinted into the alley, praying what he thought he saw was reality.
Curled into a tight ball lay the princess, her ebony hair streaming about her. She was clad in trousers and a man’s shirt, but her hair was the dead giveaway. To the side lay a tattered hat, likely the completion of her disguise.
He knelt beside her, his concern growing as he took in her pallor and felt the coldness of her skin. He shook her gently, but she didn’t stir. Fear settled in the pit of his stomach. Scooping her up in his arms, he hurried back to the carriage and shouted the direction of his town home.
During the ride, he wrapped his coat around her and rubbed her arms, trying desperately to warm her. Her breathing was shallow, her chest barely rising with the effort. She looked vulnerable and defenseless in his arms.
The bones in her face were daintily structured, her lips full and the loveliest shade of rose. Her dark lashes rested on the faint smudges that signaled her fatigue. She was a woman who made a man instinctively want to protect her, a feeling that did not sit well with him at all. In his position, he couldn’t afford such a weakness. The sooner she was out of his care and safely delivered to the regent, the better.
