The Impostor Prince Read online

  In fact, all that was standing between them was a matter of fortune, good or bad.

  She thanked the young man, opened her purse, and found and offered him sixpence.

  He grinned and tipped his hat. “Thank you, madam!” he exclaimed, then bolted before she could change her mind.

  “He looks just like a rag-mannered footpad,” Alexandra complained, scrunching her nose.

  “He simply looks hungry to me,” Claire countered, unfolding the missive.

  It read “If you seek news of your brother, meet me at the west end of the quadrangle at 11:30 p.m. Come alone.”

  “Wait!” she called after the boy. “Who gave this to you?” But he had already vanished into the crowd.

  “What does it say?” Alexandra asked, skirting closer to peer over Claire’s shoulder.

  Claire folded the makeshift invitation. She considered sharing the missive but quickly reconsidered. She might be a fool, but she was desperate to hear something—anything—about Ben. The instructions said to come alone, and it was nearly midnight now. What if they were watching?

  The crowd was beginning to gravitate toward the east end of the quadrangle in hopes of gaining a better view of the fireworks display.

  “Where are you going?” Alexandra asked.

  Claire couldn’t gather her thoughts enough to respond. She held her breath, praying that she was doing the right thing as she started toward the west end of the quadrangle.

  “Claire!” Alexandra shouted after her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Trying to calm her stuttering heart, Claire waited anxiously near the northwest colonnade in the quadrangle.

  She’d discarded her glass of punch along the way and stood empty-handed, waiting to discover who had summoned her. A few couples wandered past her into the Dark Walk area, but she didn’t dare venture further from the crowd.

  Ten minutes passed and still no one approached her, though she had the distinct impression she was being watched from afar. With every turn of her head, it seemed a shadow flitted back into the gardens. She told herself it was only the punch. But she was suddenly afraid she’d made a terrible mistake. It was far from secluded here, but with the fireworks about to begin, a scream would be lost in the night.

  “Expecting someone?” a familiar voice asked.

  Claire spun about to face Merrick.

  He raised a familiar brow. “A lover, perhaps?”

  She straightened her spine, both relieved by his presence and affronted by his question.

  “Hardly!” she retorted. “It’s about time you arrived. You may not care one whit about me, sirrah, but it’s quite rude to leave me alone to manage your affairs. I agreed to accompany you when necessary, to buy you time to find someone more suitable, but not to shield you from your duties or be your agent!”

  He grinned at her. “You missed me, I see.”

  Claire bristled. “How can you think such a thing!”

  He leaned close and whispered, “Because you’re behaving like a wife.”

  Claire’s cheeks heated. “I most certainly am not!”

  “You are,” he countered, and seized her hand. “Come, let us explore the Dark Walk, my lovely bride.”

  Despite her pique, Claire’s body quivered at his words. She told herself it was only the chilly night air, but even headier than the punch, his compliment had gone directly to her head, dizzying her.

  She tried to ignore the shocking sensation of his strong, warm fingers laced through her own. Only her father had ever held her hand. Her brother had simply used her braids to get her where he wanted her to go.

  “Where have you been?” she asked, trying to sound calm though bedlam had just erupted in her breast.

  “Looking for your brother, of course.”

  Lamplights and chatter faded behind them, and the night darkened the path that continued before them, greeting them with silence.

  “We shouldn’t go this way,” Claire protested, nipping at her bottom lip. She had never walked apart with any man, not even in daylight.

  “It’s perfectly safe.”

  For whom? she wanted to ask.

  She shivered, realizing that while she inexplicably trusted him, she didn’t quite trust herself in his presence. Somehow, Merrick managed to turn her brain into something like mush and her knees to liquid.

  Where was her anger when she needed it? All it seemed to take to diminish that shield was a single kind word or compliment. It was pure insanity. She wasn’t thinking clearly, and the punch wasn’t helping.

  She tried to draw him back to no avail. He was stronger than she was. He kept walking, tugging her along.

  “We’ll miss the fireworks,” she said, sounding far too desperate for her own liking.

  He turned a very disarming smile her way, challenging her with a wicked glance that made her swallow. “What’s the matter, princess?” he asked, winking. “Afraid to be alone with me?”

  Claire relented at once, relaxing her grip on his hand. “Of course not!” she lied.

  Good Lord, her father had always thought her too proud; now she knew it was true, because she continued walking despite her better judgment.

  “Of course not,” he mocked her, his smile vanishing. He released her hand. “A little less fearlessness would serve you far better,” he reprimanded her.

  Claire’s brows drew together. “Perhaps,” she agreed, turning up her chin. “But a woman must do what a woman must do!”

  Without a single glance backward, she quickened her pace to catch up. “Anyway, it’s not as though I have anyone else to turn to.”

  Ian’s heart twisted at her honest defense. She’d said it as a matter of fact, without bitterness. He tugged at her hand. “You have me,” he said, and meant it.

  “For now,” she said.

  The resignation in her tone gave Ian a pang.

  It was true. She didn’t have anyone at all, he realized—except her brother, if the bugger wasn’t already dead. And what good was the wastrel if he couldn’t even keep his own arse out of difficulty? How could he possibly protect Claire? What would she do once Ian was gone? That time was bound to come sooner rather than later.

  He decided that once he had settled his own affairs, if she didn’t loathe him for his lies, he would take her home to Glen Abbey.

  He would marry her in truth.

  It was the only way he knew to keep her safe.

  And if she didn’t wish to wed him, well, he could walk away with a clear conscience, knowing that he had done all that he could.

  Anyway, if she said no, it wasn’t as though his heart would break. He was only doing it for her, because it was the right thing to do.

  This section of the garden was nearly abandoned. Everyone had gathered close to the fireworks tower to await the night’s promised display. He pulled Claire aside and turned to face her, trying to determine how best to say what he wished to say.

  His tongue grew thick in his mouth.

  For a long moment, they stood staring at one other in silence.

  “What is it, Merrick?” Her expression suddenly grew fearful. “Is it Ben? Have you found him? Have they harmed him?”

  Ian shook his head. “We haven’t found Ben yet, though we think we’ve found your attacker.”

  Claire sucked in a breath.

  Merrick seized her by the arms, holding her gently, wanting her full attention. “Claire, if he realizes how close we are, he may be a danger to you. Promise me you will not wander off alone without—” me, he wanted to say “—without someone to protect you.”

  Her delicate brows slanted. “I promise.”

  He would beg Ryo to guard her. He didn’t need the man’s continued presence. Ian was a grown man and was accustomed to fending for himself. By now, Ryo must realize that Ian would never harm his own flesh and blood.

  Claire was staring up at him, her beautiful face lit by the moon, her cheeks pale.

  How would he ever tell her the truth?

  “We
should be getting back now,” she suggested, her voice trembling.

  His breath growing shallow, Ian inched closer. “Are you cold?” he asked her.

  She shook her head, her chest rising temptingly between them.

  Ian tried desperately to ignore it.

  She was giving him that look again, the one that had so moved him the day they first met. She stood straight and proud, in the stance of a warrior princess; only those green eyes revealed weakness.

  A few curls escaped her otherwise perfect coif, flying irreverently in the soft evening breeze, beckoning his fingers to tame them. Ian resisted the urge. Devil rot his soul. Despite the polished appearance, she looked much as she had when she’d lifted herself up from Drury Lane, brushed herself off and reprimanded him for his lack of manners—defiant and noble. She was so beautiful, so unaffected, so unlike other women of his acquaintance. He could just as easily see her romping in the heather with his children as he could see her as mistress of his home.

  The thought made his cock stir.

  Her black satin dress revealed nothing of the curves he knew existed beneath the crisp fabric. Her décolletage was modest, hiding the pebbling of those buds. His mouth longed to taste her skin, roll those sweet nipples between his teeth.

  His body reacted swiftly, sending fire seething through his veins and heat into his loins.

  Heaven have mercy, he silently begged.

  But he couldn’t help himself. He drew her closer, needing to feel the curves of her body.

  “Merrick,” she murmured. To his dismay, she didn’t resist, only whimpered as he drew her against him.

  Claire grew dizzy as he pulled her against the hardness of his body, pressing his broad chest into her breasts.

  That face was like a guardian angel peering down at her. His blue eyes glittered like crystals.

  His lips were so close now that she could scarcely breathe. And then he whispered her name. “Claire,” he said, and it sounded like a cry for help.

  God forgive her, she knew he was going to kiss her. She knew she should stop him, but she couldn’t. She wanted him to hold her and chase away the chills and the darkness.

  And she wanted something else she couldn’t name.

  “Claire,” he whispered between her parting lips.

  Claire swallowed, vaguely aware that her fingers clenched the crisp, white shirt beneath his jacket. How they found their way there she hadn’t a clue.

  Maybe she wasn’t so proper after all, she lamented, as his lips touched hers gently, because her body convulsed in places she dared not even think about.

  His tongue slid into her mouth, shocking her with its velvety warmth. She responded instinctively, mimicking his foray between her lips, sparring with him with her own tongue.

  He swore and drew her against him, clutching her body close as he ravaged her mouth with a fierceness that both surprised and thrilled her.

  Somewhere in the distance, fireworks exploded and people cheered. Or maybe it was just inside her head, because something sensational exploded throughout her body, sending shards of color bursting behind her lids.

  A shadow flitted before her eyes, slipping back again into other shadows, but Claire was certain she imagined it in the dreaminess of the moment.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “There you are! Confound it, Claire. You had everyone worried!”

  Dazed and breathless, Claire turned to face Lord Huntington, her hand going to her lips, though not out of shame. God save her, she didn’t even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed, though her mouth felt bruised and swollen from Merrick’s kiss.

  “I—I am sorry,” she offered.

  “Alexandra said you received a strange message and left in a rush. Considering the circumstances, what were we supposed to think?” Lord Huntington continued to rebuke her.

  “As you can see, she’s perfectly fine,” Merrick interjected. “On the other hand, you seem to have a rather annoying habit of turning up at just the wrong moment. Tell me, Huntington—have you nothing better to do with your time than to follow my fiancée about?”

  Lord Huntington scowled at the question. “It does seem someone must chaperone her, since her prince charming is hardly a gentleman!”

  “You see something amiss with a man wanting a kiss from his bride?” Merrick asked, stepping forward, his stance confrontational, his hand clenched at his side.

  “She’s not your bride yet,” Lord Huntington countered.

  Claire might have panicked about the possibility of their coming to blows, but she bristled at Merrick’s question, and her anger took precedence.

  She’d had just about enough of both men.

  Botheration! She might have remained calm if only Merrick hadn’t said that.

  While Lord Huntington might actually have cause to defend her honor, he certainly couldn’t know it. And Merrick—well, he had no cause at all to expect a kiss from her. She wasn’t his bride! She lifted her skirts so as not to trip in her flight from the garden. She was anxious to escape their presence, but not before giving each a small piece of her mind.

  “I am a grown woman,” she reminded Lord Huntington with as much aplomb as she could muster. “And you, sirrah, are not my father.”

  She turned to Merrick, raising her voice slightly. “And you!” She cast a glance at Lord Huntington and the words caught on the tip of her tongue. She turned back to glare at Merrick. “You!” she repeated in frustration, and spun away, marching toward the quadrangle.

  The truth was that she wasn’t certain who she was angrier with—Lord Huntington for hounding her, or Merrick for speaking so flippantly about something so precious as a kiss and for affecting such a casual attitude toward their situation. More than anything, she was angry at herself for thinking any kiss from Merrick could be precious.

  Completely sobered by the exchange, she vowed to keep her distance from Merrick and to guard her heart. This was a business arrangement, after all, not a love affair, even if the man had a disarming smile and a voice that made her heart trip.

  He was using her, she reminded herself, and she was using him. It was mutually beneficial, and that was that.

  Sucking in a breath and pasting on a false smile, she refused to look back. She couldn’t care less if either man followed her. Lord Huntington could twiddle his thumbs and Merrick could go straight to Jericho!

  “Not an ounce of steel in that one,” Ian commented.

  Huntington cast him a baleful glare, but didn’t reply. Without another word, the man turned and followed Claire’s dust back to the festivities like a lovesick hound.

  Bloody bastard.

  Something like jealousy curdled in his belly as Ian watched them go. Still, he was in little hurry to join them. Claire would be safe enough with her watchdog nipping at her heels and he wanted to savor the moment. His heart was still hammering and his flesh was still throbbing over the intimacy of their kiss.

  She was a termagant for certain.

  Who the devil would have thought he’d lose his heart to some hot-blooded city chit who could kiss like a temptress one instant and nip at his arse like a rabid dog the next—and that he would like it, no less.

  He wanted her even more than he wanted restitution from his father, he realized. In the end, if he could have Claire, and a little surety for his kinsmen, all would be well.

  The hedge rustled almost imperceptibly behind him. Ian spied the movement in his peripheral vision.

  “You can come out now,” he said to Ryo.

  Ryo hesitated only an instant. When he emerged, the little man was smiling with something that could be mistaken for pride, if Ian didn’t know better.

  “Very good, denka,” Ryo said, using that damnable appellation Ian couldn’t quite gauge the meaning of. To begin with, he’d called him denka-sama, eventually dropping the sama. It was a title of sorts, he was nearly certain, though what it meant, he couldn’t begin to imagine.

  “How did you know I was there?”
r />   “I saw the moon shine off your pate,” Ian lied. In fact, he’d only guessed. Who else would be keeping such a close watch over him?

  Ryo chuckled.

  It was the first time the bugger had shown the least bit of mirth or even cracked a bloody smile. In his own surroundings, Ian hardly knew how to converse without looking for the humor of a situation. And no matter how desperate his men grew, they were always jesting and laughing together.

  Ryo gazed upward at the pyrotechnics finale. “The lady’s temper is as…expressive as those fireworks, hai?”

  Now it was Ian’s turn to chuckle.

  They shared a moment of camaraderie while the last of the rockets flickered and disappeared into the night sky. It was the first bit of ease he’d had since leaving Glen Abbey. They might have been friends, Ian thought, as he considered the man standing beside him.

  Ryo stood staring at the sky, his hands clasped behind his back in a military fashion.

  There was so much Ian needed to know, so much he could never ask his father or his mother. Still, he hesitated, reluctant to speak openly about what they both already knew.

  Curiosity won over better judgment. “When did you realize you had the wrong passenger?” Ian asked, dropping all pretenses.

  “The first night,” Ryo replied. “When we stopped at the inn.”

  “How?

  “A simple deduction, denka. Your ring finger did not bear the royal crest. Denka-sama would never willingly remove it.”

  “Denka-sama?”

  “He is the crown prince. It is his title.”

  “And denka?”

  Ryo met his gaze and said, as a matter of fact, “You are your father’s son, but not his heir.” His attention returned to the night sky.

  Ian nodded and asked point-blank, “If it’s such a simple deduction, isn’t it curious my father hasn’t noticed the missing ring?”

  “Your father is preoccupied, denka.”

  Ian couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his tone. “That’s painfully obvious.”

  Ryo peered up at him, tugging thoughtfully at his beard. “In my country,” he began, responding to the comment with yet another riddle, “it is said that four things come not back—the spoken word, the spent arrow, the past life and the neglected opportunity. Your father is haunted by three of these ghosts.”