Sweet as the Devil Page 8

  That sounds like the beginnings of a flirtation. “Surely this could have waited until tomorrow,” Sofia said, a touch of coolness in her voice. “I’m surprised Fitz agreed to this meeting.”

  “I told him it was important I speak with you. It’s of utmost importance, my dear, or I wouldn’t have intruded. Ah—here we are.”

  After handing whiskies around, Jamie remained standing.

  Ernst raised his glass. “May I propose a toast to the future?”

  After Von Welden’s dead. But Jamie raised his glass in salute.

  Sofia did as well.

  Jamie tossed his drink down, disgruntled at being outmaneuvered, taut with restraint.

  Sofia also tossed hers down. Restraint didn’t figure in her life. Even less so tonight with James Blackwood, all brute force in elegant evening rig almost near enough to touch.

  “Jamie, sit,” Ernst ordered, oblivious to his ADC’s moody gaze.

  Short of making a scene, Jamie had no choice. Setting his glass aside, he sat as far from Sofia as the small sofa allowed. Unfortunately, she chose that moment to lean forward and place her empty glass on the table before them. Her lush breasts rose in soft mounds above her décolletage, a pale tress of hair loosened from her upswept coiffure fell over her bare shoulder, and the sweet scent of honeysuckle wafted his way. A sharp jolt of lust spiked through his senses. Jesus.

  He beat back his cravings.

  She was taboo.

  Although her pale delicacy was powerfully erotic—female vulnerability an aphrodisiac, however indefensible the concept. Could she withstand a sizeable cock? Or how exactly would she—

  He wrenched his gaze away.

  “Let me explain why I came in search of you, Miss Eastleigh,” Ernst fortuitously began, offering Jamie an opportunity to direct his attention to more pertinent issues. “Many years ago your mother and I met by chance. She was at the British Museum sketching the Parthenon marbles; I was incredibly bored in the midst of a group of cadets following a dull tour guide. I struck up a conversation with your mother and promised to take her to dinner anywhere she wished if she showed me the back way out.”

  Sofia smiled. “And Mama said the Café Royal.”

  “Yes. We spent the next three months together.”

  Sofia stifled a gasp.

  “Your mother never told you of our association?”

  “No, never.” Sofia studied the man seated across from her with dawning understanding—his classic bone structure, pale hair, grey-blue eyes suddenly startlingly familiar. Still handsome, he must have been arresting in his youth. She could see how her mother had been captivated.

  “We were very much in love. I want you to know that.” Then the prince went on to explain the joy of that summer, his exasperation when his family rejected his request to marry Amelia, how they married anyway. “Then one morning on my way to fetch Amelia the special cakes she favored, I was spirited away by my father’s troopers. I was brought back to Dalmia, imprisoned for months, and forced to marry a princess of Bohemia.” His brows came together in a frown, and he looked away briefly before resuming his narrative. “As soon as I was free, I wrote to your mother and explained the circumstances that had taken me away from her, of what had been forced on me. She never replied. Shortly after, I learned of your birth and I sent a message and funds to her through the good offices of a friend. She refused to see him; she returned all my correspondence unopened. She cut me out of her life. I don’t blame her,” he said, the memory still surprisingly painful. “I don’t blame her in the least.”

  Sofia looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, unable to ask the obvious question, unsure of how to respond to this man her mother had spurned.

  “Look at me, my dear.” Ernst hesitated, then very softly added, “I’m your father.”

  Sofia’s nostrils flared, not in surprise any longer, but in consternation; she was unprepared to validate such shocking news. It was too sudden, too outrageous. “I must speak to Mother about this. I can’t simply accept your word.”

  “By all means consult your mother, but the facts won’t change.”

  For a moment Sofia searched the face of the man who called himself her father. “Tell me—why now . . . after all these years?”

  A demonstrable despair flickered in Ernst’s eyes, and when he spoke, a rare honesty marked his words. “I have no honorable answer. Painful circumstance has brought me here.” A second passed before he gained mastery of his feelings. “My only son and heir was murdered recently,” he said, his voice strained. “With his death, byzantine complexities came into play which put the Battenberg possessions at risk. An heir is required to retain our properties; otherwise they revert to the crown. The brutal truth is—please forgive me.” He slowly exhaled. “I desperately need your help.”

  A small silence fell.

  “You’d forgotten about me, hadn’t you?” Sofia finally said.

  It shocked Jamie to see Ernst so unsettled. He was not a man given to nerves.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. I have no excuse other than the most gross selfishness. I’d beg your forgiveness if it would be of any use after what I’ve done.”

  “I really do have to talk to Mother.” Too much champagne along with this startling revelation had her brain in tumult. “Your disclosures require verification—I hope you understand.”

  “I do. Might we go in search of your mother?”

  “Travel to Cumbria?” Her brows rose. “After all this time, why the urgency?”

  “There’s a possibility of—” Ernst looked to Jamie for assistance.

  “Danger?” Sofia’s pulse rate quickened as she spoke, the murder of the prince’s son unhappily recalled.

  “Perhaps some danger,” Jamie quietly interposed in answer to the unspoken plea in Ernst’s gaze. “There’s a possibility—however slight.”

  “Are you serious? You’re serious,” she whispered, suddenly finding it difficult to catch her breath.

  “Please, don’t be alarmed.” Jamie spoke with deliberate calm. “We’ll have thirty more troopers in London within two days. Twenty are already here—two of them currently guarding the door of Groveland House. You’re well protected.” He shifted slightly to fully face her. “However, we’d prefer you leave London until we can deal with those who pose a threat.”

  “Deal with?” Her face was ashen.

  “No harm will come to you. My word on it,” he said, placing his hand over her white-knuckled fingers clenched in her lap.

  The warmth of his large hand, the surety in his words served to nominally calm her fear. “What if I simply walk away tonight and forget I ever met either of you?” she asked in a near-normal tone of voice.

  “The man who ordered Rupert’s murder would learn of your existence regardless.” Jamie saw the panic return to her eyes and wished it were possible to mitigate the uncompromising facts. “I’m sorry, Miss Eastleigh, but whether or not you or I wish it, the prince’s enemies won’t be deterred. Not now, not next week or next year.”

  Dropping her head against the back of the settee, Sofia shut her eyes and tried to come to terms with the looming disaster that should have nothing to do with her, she resentfully thought. Opening her eyes, she shook off the hand that she’d welcomed seconds ago and sat up. “I find it ironic that I’m embroiled in some dynastic struggle when I don’t give a damn for the nobility, when as far as I’m concerned the concept of exalted birth is rubbish. Now, suddenly, I’m supposed to care that the Battenberg lands are in jeopardy?” Her temper rising, she pinned her newly announced father with a mutinous glance. “It’s not fair to drag me into this. Why can’t I disappear? You’d still have your required heir, just not a visible one.”

  “Prince Ernst will be hunted down whether you’re visible or not,” Jamie explained. “With his death and no apparent heir, his enemies will win.”

  “Why is that my problem?” she bitterly queried.

  “Because you won’t be able to hide either.”


  She turned to glare at Ernst. “I wish Mother had never met you!”

  “I’m so very sorry,” her father murmured. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  Jamie stared at him. Surely some duplicity was in play. Ernst would no more give up his possessions than the pope would marry his mistress.

  Sofia’s expression instantly turned hopeful. “Then I may go?”

  “You’ll need protection of course. Jamie will see to it.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “For how long?”

  “Until Von Welden is dead—he’s the murderer,” Ernst added.

  “Von Welden?”

  “Yes. He controls the Austrian secret police.”

  “Surely they have no influence in England.”

  “I’m afraid borders mean nothing to killers. Rupert was murdered in India.”

  Sofia groaned. “Oh, please God, let me go home, climb into bed, pull the covers over my head, and forget I ever had this conversation.”

  “I understand, my dear,” Ernst gently replied. “But I’m afraid we’re beyond such wishes. However, I promise you’ll be safe.”

  Confronted with unavoidable circumstances, Sofia braced herself to face the unwelcome prospect of having to flee for her life. “What of Mother? Is she also in peril?”

  Ernst shook his head. “You and I, my dear, are Von Welden’s targets.”

  “This Von Welden really intends to kill me? Are you sure?”

  “He must in order to take possession of my duchy.” Ernst smiled. “Our duchy.”

  “Then there’s no possible way out for me, is there?” Her voice was taut with resentment.

  Ernst had gently maneuvered Miss Eastleigh into agreement without resorting to force. Jamie admired his finesse. “Might I suggest we travel north tonight,” Jamie suggested, taking advantage of the opening he’d been given. “My estate in the Highlands is remote and well guarded. Once there, further decisions can be made in safety.” Miss Eastleigh’s discontent and unease and whatever further negotiations were required to mollify them weren’t his concern, nor were the vexing questions of inheritance. His duty was to see that everyone survived.

  Except Von Welden.

  Ernst put up a hand. “We have to wait until tomorrow when Antonella arrives.”

  “No we don’t,” Jamie curtly said.

  “I do. You and Sofia leave tonight. Antonella and I will follow. Glower all you wish, Jamie. I won’t go without the principessa.”

  “Even if you die because you delay?” Jamie said, his voice flinty.

  “Antonella travels well guarded. And once the rest of the troopers arrive, we’ll have more than enough men to protect us. You take the guard currently in London.”

  Sofia suddenly came to her feet, her thoughts separate from the men’s conversation. “I have to tell Fitz and Rosalind what’s happened.” She needed counsel, a kindly voice of reason, help perhaps to escape the gathering threat.

  Ernst looked at Jamie. “Go with Miss Eastleigh.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m perfectly safe in Groveland House at least,” Sofia peevishly retorted. But when she opened the drawing room door and walked out into the corridor, Jamie Blackwood was at her shoulder. She shot him a sullen glance. “Are you my shadow now?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He spoke with painstaking politeness.

  “Everywhere?” Furious at being snared in a trap not of her making, she was further rankled at his damnable civility.

  “I’m afraid so,” he repeated.

  “That should be interesting. You can play lady’s maid,” she flippantly added. “I’ve never had one before. I hope you’re good with buttons.”

  Jamie checked his stride, seized Sofia’s arm, and wheeled her around. “We’re going to need some ground rules.”

  “I don’t like rules.” She smiled. For the first time tonight, she was in control. She knew that covetous look in a man’s eyes.

  “Too damned bad.” His voice dropped lower. “Just for the record, if I could refuse this responsibility, I would, so don’t flatter yourself.” He knew that smug look in a woman’s eyes. “Now then, rule one: you must do as I say at all times or neither of us will survive. And two: if you even so much as consider evading my supervision, you’ll regret it.”

  “Are you quite done?” she asked with a theatrical lift of her brows.

  “Yes.” Brusque warning in the single word.

  “Excellent. Then let me apprise you of some relevant facts,” she purred, undeterred by affronted males. She’d gained unprecedented success in the art world dominated by men because of her talent, nerve, and barefaced determination. “First, I don’t take orders from anyone, so it appears we must survive willy-nilly. Second, I look forward to having you wash my back if I’m going to be under your constant supervision. And third, I don’t like men who snore.”

  Her smile was cheeky. Releasing her arm, he quickly stepped away before he yielded to temptation, hauled her close, and made it clear who was in charge.

  “That’s better,” she murmured, rubbing the marks his fingers had left on her upper arm. “I dislike being assaulted.”

  “I may retire from the service,” he muttered.

  “Really. It didn’t look as though you had any more choice than I.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Is he your father, too?”

  He flicked a finger toward his face. “Do I look like he’s my father?”

  “No, I’m happy to say. I’d prefer not being related to you.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Just keep your distance.”

  “I didn’t think I was allowed that option.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Are you afraid I’ll seduce you?”

  “No.”

  Her blue eyes widened, and a lazy smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “My, my, that sounds like a challenge. Would you care to make a wager? Two hundred says I can.”

  “I have no intention of betting with you.”

  “Coward.”

  He stiffened. “You’ve been drinking,” he curtly said. “Otherwise I’d take issue with your remark. Now, weren’t you on your way somewhere?” He disliked useless argument.

  “I’m only mildly inebriated,” she retorted, walking away. “Which under the circumstances is a blessing. Otherwise I might scream my frustration to the high heavens.” She glanced up at him as he fell into step beside her. “I expect you dislike women who scream.”

  He refused to be baited. Hopefully in the morning she’d be rational.

  “No answer?” She smiled. “Maybe I’ll scream right now.” He shot her a look of disgust. “I don’t like women who scream,” he grudgingly affirmed.

  “You’re going to be sooo much fun.” She ran her finger down his arm, intrigued by a man who refused her advances. More intrigued by a man who wasn’t the usual docile suitor out to please her. “Are we truly leaving tonight?”

  He silently groaned. It was going to be torture until Von Welden was dead. “Yes, tonight. Just as soon as you’ve taken leave of your friends.”

  “I have to pack.”

  “You can’t return to your house. Von Welden’s men might be waiting for you.”

  She shot him a playful look. “Am I confined to this gown for the duration?”

  “Of course not. We’ll buy you what you need,” he said with patient tolerance.

  “We?”

  “Your father.”

  “Is he very rich?”

  “Yes, very.”

  Mention of the prince brought her mother to mind. “We have to stop and see Mother on the way north. It won’t be out of the way,” she quickly added as Jamie began to frown. “She’s practically on the rail line.”

  “We won’t be traveling by train. The stations might be under surveillance. Do you ride?”

  “All the way to the Highlands?” she asked with alarm.

  “Relax. We’ll take a carriage. But you may wish to ride on occasion. It’s a long trip—more so since w
e can’t travel by the post roads.”

  “This duchy must be very valuable.”

  “It is. And Von Welden’s a sadistic thug.”

  “Did you know the prince’s son?”

  “He was like a younger brother.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was the first time he’d spoken with kindness. She was surprised how the softness of his voice affected her. “You must miss him.”

  “Rupert followed me around since he learned to walk. Or at least he did until he turned eighteen and moved to Vienna. He was a good boy.” A muscle twitched along Jamie’s jaw. “Von Welden will be made to suffer.”

  The ruthlessness in his voice sent a shiver up her spine. Was she caught up in some wickedness beyond her powers to comprehend? Was she too gullible in accepting the tale she’d been told? Would James Blackwood turn on her with equal ruthlessness? “Promise me we’ll see my mother before we reach the Highlands.”

  He’d spent a decade or more intimidating people. Men were afraid of him because he wished them to be. It was a useful attribute in his line of work. He recognized the apprehension in her voice, and for a moment he debated taking advantage of her fear. Perhaps she’d keep her distance if he terrified her. But as he turned to answer, he saw a beautiful woman half his size, her eyes wide with panic.

  He didn’t have the heart to frighten her.

  In fact, in another life, he’d have taken her to bed tonight.

  “I promise we’ll see her,” he gently said.

  “Thank you.”

  It was his turn to be touched when he would have preferred indifference. She was so appreciative, her words so pathetically earnest, he had to remind himself that he was a soldier on duty. Reaching out, he circled her wrist with his fingers and gently drew her to a halt. Taking her by the shoulders, he shifted her slightly and looked down on her for a brief, contemplative moment, debating how best to deal with their awkward dilemma. “I don’t want this to turn into a contest of wills or a silly game,” he gently began. “I’m sorely tempted to take you up on your wager and, more to the point, let you win. You’re enticing in every way known to man, and I would if I could but I can’t.” Releasing his grip on her shoulders, he dropped his hands. “My job is to protect you. Anything more will complicate things. I hope you understand.”