Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince (27 page)

“As much as I have enjoyed London, I would prefer to be at Thornshire to nearly anywhere in the world.”

“I completely agree,” he said, a relieved smile forming on his face. “And Daniel is welcome to remain here as long as he likes. He has quite taken to London Society, has he not?”

“Yes, Your Grace, and I hope . . .” Meg rubbed her arm. “If you don’t mind, will you look after my brother?” The truth was, Daniel had taken to London like fleas to a rat, and she seldom saw him. She worried Daniel was finding the gaming halls too much to his liking.

“Most certainly.” The duke nodded knowingly. “I believe this situation will be advantageous to each of us, don’t you?”

“I do, Your Grace.”

“I have spoken to Colonel Stackhouse, and an extra detachment of guards is to be assigned to Thornshire. You will have no reason to fear. The two of you will be the safest young ladies in all of England.”

“Thank you.”

“If you will excuse me”—the duke rose—“I must be off.” He placed the
Times
next to Meg’s plate and then patted her arm. His face softened in concern, and his eyes moved to the paper then back to her. “I am afraid there is no mention of our mutual friend in the news today.”

Meg nodded her understanding. She stood and curtseyed as he left the room. She was touched by his consideration for her feelings. The duke had been nothing but considerate during their entire stay, helping her navigate the social whirl of London, occasionally turning away a suitor who became too interested. But his greatest act of kindness had been a letter he’d written to her parents, promising to remain Meg’s guardian as long as she should have need of him and pledging to help with their financial troubles until her father’s business recovered.

Meg was to return to Thornshire. If there hadn’t been a servant watching, she might have clapped her hands.

Thornshire. Where there was fresh air and no more ball gowns, gossip, or rich gentlemen.

Meg took her time brushing Patito after their morning ride. She loved the feel of his silky mane when she teased out all the tangles. The stallion pawed his foot, impatient to be fed, and she finally put the brush and comb away and left him to his bucket of oats. “
Hasta mañana,
Patito.”

Meg had thought it would be painful to return to Thornshire with reminders of Rodrigo everywhere she turned, but she felt closer to him in this place where the memories of their time together floated all around her. Meg could not understand why anyone would leave their country estate to visit London in the summer. With the flowers in bloom and everything a vibrant green, Thornshire was absolutely lovely.

In the three weeks since they’d arrived, Serena’s sickness had eased, but she still tired quickly, and Meg found herself alone much of the time. She did not mind in the least. She spent her time reading or walking or taking care of Patito and Bonnie. She didn’t miss the London society one bit.

Aside from servants and guards, she and Serena were alone at the castle, and Meg had taken to wearing trousers and boots on her morning ride. It was simply easier to control the horse when she could sit astride, and there was no one to impress.

As she turned around the corner of the stable, Meg saw a carriage in front of the castle entrance. Who would visit so early in the morning? It did not look like the vicar’s carriage. Perhaps one of the ladies from Southampton had thought to pay an early-morning call. Meg hurried toward the entrance to change her clothes and make herself presentable. She was certain the duchess was not awake, so Meg would need to assume the role of hostess in Serena’s place.

A servant met her when she neared the steps and handed her a roll of parchment.

“What is this?” Meg asked, but the man simply shrugged, bowed, and returned inside the castle.

Meg slid the twine from the scroll and unrolled it. The images on the parchment looked familiar, and in an instant she recognized the map as a duplicate of the one she had given Rodrigo months earlier. Her heart began to pound, and her fingers became painfully numb.

The labels were not the same as those she had written then, however. Atop the tower were the words,
Moonlight Picnic.
The depiction of the greenhouse said
Christabel
. Meg’s throat swelled, and her vision blurred.

Rodrigo.

She studied the map for another moment. The dotted line led around the castle through the trees and into the forest. She didn’t follow the path but ran directly to the gazebo, which on the map was marked with an X and the word
Treasure.

Meg flew through the trees, past the pond, and up the steps into the gazebo. Upon a bench she found an envelope and, beneath it, a small box.

The script on the envelope read:
Margarita Burton
. Meg’s hands shook as she lifted the flap and slid out a folded paper. She looked around the clearing but, seeing nothing, unfolded the paper. Her heart had somehow risen into her throat, and she sat upon the bench to read the words.

Margarita,

In the months we’ve been apart, I have thought of little besides you. I have attempted numerous times to write a letter from my heart to explain my feelings. But I realized that there was only one way my soul would speak to yours. Please excuse my pitiful attempt at poetry.

A proud man, lonely, frustrated, distrustful

His heart a battered shell.

A ginger-haired companion looked deep within;

She discovered the worn husk.

With smiles, turrón, games, she poured light inside.

Each droplet filling, until it was nigh to burst

He reclaimed the joy he feared had been lost.

For his heart was hers all along.

Meg held the letter to her breast, savoring the bliss of the perfect romantic gesture. The words wrapped around her heart. She jumped to her feet when she heard a noise behind her.

“Rodrigo.” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He stood with his arms crossed, leaning a shoulder against one of the pillars. Worn clothing and a thick beard could not disguise his regal bearing.

Meg was suddenly aware that she wore breeches, and her hair was untamed. She didn’t look any better than the last time he’d seen her.

He gestured to the paper she held. “It is a poor attempt, but Señor Quintana, he would not help in the least. He told me I had to do it all on my own, and that wretched thing is the result. It sounds much better in Spanish.”

“Do not call it wretched when it speaks to my soul,” Meg replied, and then realizing what he had said, she squinted her eyes. “You were at Cádiz?”

“Briefly.” Rodrigo stood straight and took a step toward her. He tipped his head, considering her, and his mouth curled in a roguish grin. She could imagine the crease in his cheek beneath his whiskers. “I was correct when I told you men’s clothing favored you. It appears that you have adopted it as your own personal style.”

“I tend the prince’s horse, you see.” She shrugged her shoulders but allowed a teasing sparkle to show in her eye.

Rodrigo took another step toward her. “The prince does not exercise his own horse?”

“I am afraid he neglects his animal most terribly.”

“A pity.”

“Quite. And you, sir, you look like a pirate.” Meg could not prevent her lips from twitching at his expression of surprise.

“This spot is rumored to be the location of a treasure, and I am searching for mine.”

Meg’s ribs ached from her heart beating against them. “Would you like some assistance?”

“First you must open the box.” He took her arm and pulled her back to sit upon the bench next to him. Fire spread from his touch, and Meg tried to keep her hands from trembling as she lifted the lid of the box. Inside on a satin pillow sat a golden tiara. Meg sucked in a breath. She lifted it and studied the delicate designs and shape of the metal.

Rodrigo took it from her and placed it atop her head, adjusting it to fit into her curls. He tipped his head, studying the effect. Then he rested his hands on Meg’s shoulders. “Ah, and now I have found it.”

Meg’s heart had begun to perform cartwheels, and she fought to keep her voice steady. “This crown is your treasure?”

“No, I have searched for
una princesa.
And here she is.” He moved his hands up her neck, cupping Meg’s cheeks as he leaned toward her and pressed his lips on hers tenderly and then more firmly as he drove his fingers into her hair.

Meg reached her arms around him, clinging tightly as if Rodrigo might disappear at any moment. Every fear, worry, and doubt she had harbored since the day she had covered his trousers in mud dissolved. Meg felt as if she were on fire and at the same time lighter than air.

Rodrigo drew back, tracing his thumbs over her jawline. His eyes were a deeper shade of brown, if that was possible, as his gaze held Meg’s. She wondered if such a look had ever caused anyone’s insides to melt the way she felt hers surely would.

He pulled her to him again, holding her in a tight embrace.

Meg buried her face against his neck. “I was so worried. I thought I would never see you again.”

“I promised I would return.”

“I knew you would try.” She settled her head against his shoulder, finding that even after months, she fit perfectly in his arms. “And your parents?”

“They are here—at the castle with Serena.”

“I am so glad. She has wanted her mother.” Meg lifted her head to study his face. “And was it so very thrilling?”

“Ah,
mi compañera de aventura,
you did not miss any excitement. The escape was extremely uneventful as the French guards did not consider us capable of such an action. Most of the time, we were either walking or hiding. My mother was very unhappy with her disguise as
una maja
—a peasant.”

“But you are safe, and that is all that matters.”

“Sí, although I think it is time to plan another adventure.”

Meg pulled back quickly, holding the tiara to keep it from falling. “I told you I am cured of adventures, and if you think to return to France—”

He placed a finger to her lips to stop her words. “I have a much more enjoyable adventure in mind. I do not believe I mentioned that my mother refused to leave España without a priest. She was worried one would be difficult to find in England. Padre Ventura was most kind to accompany us, and I am sure he would be willing to perform a marriage.”

Meg flung herself back into his arms, wondering why she had left them in the first place. Her heart expanded until she worried it might blow to bits.

Rodrigo lifted her chin. “I do not have much to offer. I am a man without a country or a home; I may forever live in my sister’s dower house. I do not know what my future holds, but I want my Margarita in it. My heart, it belongs to you.” He brushed away the tear that escaped her eye, feathering kisses along her cheek.

“If I were to become una princesa, would I still remain your
compañera de aventura
?”

“
Si
,
mi amor
,” Rodrigo murmured, tilting her head back and stopping further questions with an earth-shifting kiss that put every Gothic hero to shame.

Jennifer Moore is a passionate reader and writer of all things romance due to the need to balance the rest of her world, which includes a perpetually traveling husband and four active sons, who create heaps of laundry that are anything but romantic. Jennifer has a B.A. in linguistics from the University of Utah and is a Guitar Hero champion. She lives in northern Utah with her family. You can learn more about her at authorjmoore.com.

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