The Princess and the Pauper Read online

  “It doesn’t matter where I came from,” murmured Grey.

  “And the woman? Is she a lady?”

  “No. She’s not a lady. She’s—”

  Grey was damn near tempted to say “everything,” and cursed himself for resorting to childhood monikers whenever he thought of her.

  A familiar pressure welled inside his chest. And then a beat pulsed in his head. He would usually take a violin and express the music, a frantic, fractured piece. Later, he’d stitch together a composition. The process tormented him, exhausted him. As a boy, the music had come to him without opposition or pain. How he yearned for those lost days . . . in more ways than one.

  Grey placed the bottle of brandy on the table, still out of Harry’s reach, and resisted the urge to play, for even with his bloated fingers, the desire was great.

  His expression thoughtful, Harry leaned back in his chair. “She is a lady, isn’t she?”

  Grey ignored the last bit, said instead, “And if I don’t put her up in an apartment?”

  “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to marry the chit because she’s not your friend.”

  “The hell I will,” he grumbled.

  “Would you really ruin her? Make her a fallen woman? It’s not your style, chum.”

  Grey rubbed his brow, unnerved that a larker like Harry should think him so honorable. “I’ll not ruin her.”

  She was already ruined.

  “Right, then,” said Harry. “I know of a splendid little flat in Haymarket.”

  But the thought of sending Emily across town, to her own damn bedroom down the hall, knotted his innards. She had upturned every aspect of his life. It would be better for them both, the separation, but he couldn’t imagine being parted from her again. Not even by a short distance.

  Grey downed what was left in his glass, then simply said, “No.”

  After a pause, Harry folded his arms across his chest. “You know, I resent you at times. You’ve no imagination.”

  At that, Grey lifted a brow.

  “I’m not talking about music,” said Harry. “I’m talking about life. You’ve all the money in the world, yet no imagination on how to spend it. I’ve a thousand different ways to spend it, if it were mine.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “I’m serious. I know how to be happy.”

  Grey rolled the empty glass in his hand, his voice low. “And I don’t?”

  He snorted. “This house. The girl. It could all shine. And you’d be the envy of every gentleman, titled or not. But you’d sooner live in the shadows than the light. Damn unfair, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask you.”

  “Yes, well—”

  “Good night, Harry.”

  “But—”

  “I said good night.”

  “Night, old chum,” he murmured and headed for the door.

  As soon as Harry left the room, Grey set the glass on the table, his heart and head beginning to pound. Harry was becoming a nuisance. Emily was already a torment. He still felt her intoxicating lips on his mouth, still yearned to feel them again. Her kisses were dangerous, though, inspiring promises that would never be fulfilled. He knew that. He knew he should push her away, give her her own life so she wouldn’t break apart his . . . but his soul ached at the thought of it.

  As Harry had so officiously suggested, perhaps Grey didn’t know how to be happy. Perhaps the trouble was—and always had been—the hard-to-swallow truth. Emily was his anchor. She both steadied him and drowned him. And perhaps it was time he stopped giving a damn if she took everything from him.

  Maybe then he’d be free.

  ~ * ~

  Emily pulled the fleece wrapper tighter around her chest. Her new suite of rooms were drafty. For three days, workers had stripped paper and repapered. Soon the furniture, drapes and rugs would be delivered. And after that, well, after that she would have a comfortable life. Rees had promised to look after her earthly needs, and she believed him there. She would tend to his house, for the servants had welcomed her guidance in domestic matters. And she would play for Rees.

  Nothing more.

  You will not break me again.

  She had broken him five years ago, hadn’t she? She had broken her father. Perhaps herself. Some days she wondered what might have been if she hadn’t been so afraid to admit her true feelings for Rees? Papa had admired him for looking after his grandfather’s debt. He might have admired him in other ways, if given the chance. Or he might have killed Rees.

  She sighed. She could feel nothing for Rees and hurt him. She could love him and hurt him just as much. She didn’t want to hurt him anymore, but no matter which way she turned, she inevitably caused him pain.

  Her thoughts returned to the rough and tender boy on the roof of her townhouse, playing his beautiful lullaby, and she could almost hear the soft melody crying through the freshly papered walls.

  Wait!

  Emily raised her head and listened with intent. It was music. Yes, a violin. She had not imagined it.

  She approached the glass doors and struggled with the lock and latch. At last the doors separated, and she stepped out onto the balcony. The melody strengthened. She had not heard it before and closed her eyes to better listen to the notes tangled together with the hubbub of the city.

  In a little while, the din from horses and carriages and pedestrians weakened, and she heard the music alone, a lullaby, like from long ago, that rocked the soul in comfort, but twined with sadness—the sadness of a broken heart.

  Her own heart swelled and tears formed in her eyes, her nose, her throat. Soon she cried a flood of tears. Sob after sob wracked her chest and soaked her cheeks. How she yearned for days past! A time when her father protected her and a mysterious violinist befriended her. A time when she wasn’t so alone.

  At length, she tired from the tears. She wiped the wetness from her face with the cuff of her sleeve and realized the music had stopped. There was an end to all good things, she reflected.

  She stepped back into the room. Her eyes lifted toward the door. A longing filled her to be with Rees. He had rebuffed her, but he needn’t know she was there, on the roof with him. She just wanted to be near him, to watch him play. It had been so long since she’d seen him play.

  Without another thought, she left the bedroom and made her way to the top floor. Having already explored the house at her leisure, she knew where the entrance to the roof was located. In minutes, she had climbed the winding stairs leading to the terrace and opened the door.

  Rees stood on the flat roof, holding the violin and bow at his side, flexing his other hand. His injuries had mostly healed, the swelling gone, though bruises remained. He had his back to her, staring out at the city nightscape. She waited in the shadows for him to lift the instrument and play again. But the minutes stretched on and on. His hands must still hurt, she reasoned.

  “I know you’re there,” he said at last.

  Her heart dropped. It wasn’t his hands that troubled him but her presence, and it twisted her soul to think he couldn’t play if she was near him.

  There was no reason to hide anymore. She stepped out of the shadows, drawing closer to him. “The music was lovely.”

  He remained quiet.

  “Did you play that sad song because of me?”

  “No.”

  “Do I cause you pain?”

  “No,” he said more forcefully. “You mean—”

  “Nothing to you, I know. You’re angry with me about the past. You hate me.”

  “No!” He turned around, his expression contorted with grief. “What are you doing?”

  “Gratifying you needs.”

  “What?”

  “You have a need to punish me, don’t you? Take your revenge, Rees. Play that tragic song again. Break my heart again.”

  “Break your heart again?” His eyes flashed. “You lied about us. All the years we spent together. You let your father think I tried to rape you!”

  �
�I know,” she said softly, tears forming in her eyes. “I had to, Rees. Papa had dreamed and planned for my future since I was born. How could I tell him that I loved you, that I wanted you and not an earl or duke or prince?”

  He pulled back from her as if she’d struck him. “No.”

  “Oh, Rees, I’m sorry. You would’ve been happier if you’d never met me.”

  “T—that isn’t true.”

  “Yes, it is.” Her voice cracked. “You would’ve lived with your grandfather and played for him, but I was alone, and the Lord knew I needed someone. He knew I needed you.”

  Rees closed the space between them. He dropped the violin and cupped both her cheeks. His tenderness undid all her restraint and she sobbed.

  “Stop,” he ordered. “Stop lying.” He kissed her. “I can’t imagine never having met you.” Another kiss. “Loving you.” His mouth covered hers again. “Where would my music get its soul, if not from you? I needed you too, Emily.”

  “But you don’t need me anymore. You’ve achieved all your dreams.”

  “But one,” he rasped. “The dream I had of being with you. The most impossible of all my dreams.”

  Her heart throbbed. “You would want me? After every unmet hope?”

  “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

  He said the last word with such strength of feeling, she heard the tears in his voice, and she knew his suffering matched her own. Suddenly, she ached to be rid of that suffering, to be free of its crushing hold.

  She braced his strong wrists, stroking them, building an intimacy that had long been missing from her life.

  “Emily,” he whispered.

  His pulse hastened under her touch. And her own pulse quickened to feel his undisguised need for her. Sinking her fingertips deeper into his flesh, she brushed his mouth with her lips. He groaned, low in his throat. He groaned with pleasure. With need. For her.

  He wanted her. He had always wanted her. And she desired him. She had dreamed of him, of finishing their first kiss. For so long, she had imagined being with him. And now, finally, finally, she had him in her arms.

  A fierce heat came over her. It spread from the center of her being to every part of her body. Her muscles tightened. Aroused and covered in gooseflesh, she moaned when he pulled free of her embrace and slipped his hands between their pressed bellies, unraveling the stays of her robe.

  He never broke away from the kiss. Not even when he dragged the wrapper off her shoulders, down her arms, raking the skin. He dropped the robe behind her and circled her waist.

  “I’m going to move inside you,” he breathed into her mouth. “I’m going to make you mine, Emily.”

  “Yes,” she returned roughly, almost painfully. “Yes.”

  He pulled her down, on top of the velvety robe. His fingers scraped her calves, her thighs as he pushed her nightdress up . . . up . . . up to her waist.

  “Rees!”

  He yanked her into his lap so she straddled him. When her bare bottom landed over his hard heat, she shuddered with an explosive want.

  “Rees,” she whimpered, begged. “I—I—”

  “I know, Emily.” He lifted her bottom until she kneeled. “I want the same.” And he reached between her legs, unfastening his trousers.

  Her entire body stiffened, holding in a frightful energy.

  “No,” he chastised. “Open for me.”

  “I can’t.” Her voice quivered. “I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of what I feel for you!”

  He said ever so softly, “You can’t always be afraid, princess.”

  She shut her eyes, heart pounding. No. She couldn’t always be afraid. For once, she would confront her fear, embrace it even, and see where it took her.

  When she opened her eyes, she found a passionate glow in his—a vulnerable warmth he’d refused to show her until now. His expression stirred a rampant fire in her soul, and she lowered her head, kissing him. Hard.

  Rees cried out with explicit desire. She cried out, too, when he rubbed the moist and sensitive folds of flesh between her thighs, titillating her, awakening an even deeper hunger.

  “Come down on me,” he ordered, voice strained.

  She obeyed and settled over the cusp of his erection. His hands steered her hips, pushing her down, down. Her muscles stretched as he penetrated her deeper and deeper still. She burrowed her fingernails into his arms. Her head bent back in unmatched ecstasy.

  “Oh, Rees.”

  On top of the city, the whole world, she took him inside her until he filled her so completely, she could hardly breathe. His own body trembled beneath her, and she felt every sensual vibration.

  Yes, she cried in her soul. Yes!

  But when he pushed her bottom upward, she clenched her muscles in resistance.

  “Not yet,” she pleaded.

  “Emily.”

  She lifted her head and dropped her brow, knocking his. “Stay inside me, Rees.”

  “I will,” he groaned. “As long as you need me. Just take me, princess.”

  “I have.”

  “No,” he said hoarsely. “Come down on me again and again and again.”

  His hands, his hips undulated in arousing stimulation until she rocked over him with abandon. She had never felt so alive, so filled with unbound pleasure. Blood rushed through her veins with ever hastened want, and she gripped Rees even harder, pressed against him with a frantic desire that tore a rapturous shout from her throat.

  The pressure between her legs burst and her whole body spasmed. Her voice went into the night as she released one last wanton cry before she collapsed.

  Rees fell back against the roof, taking her with him. He gasped for air and she matched his fevered breathing. She didn’t know how much time passed before her lungs stopped aching and her heart drummed at a steadier pace, but when the euphoria lightened, she felt his arm protectively curled around her backside, stroking her spine.

  “That happened too fast,” he remarked, his tone disgruntled.

  A pang gripped her. Had she done something terribly wrong? “You’re unhappy?”

  A second later, he squeezed her midriff until her ribs ached. “Never think that.”

  When he loosened his grip, she sighed and lifted her chin, meeting a burning light in his eyes. She knew, then, his heart burned for her. He couldn’t hide it any longer.

  “What is it, Rees?”

  His other hand slipped over her. “I wanted to give you pleasure.”

  Her pulse clipped to hear the hunger in his voice, and she gasped when his roving fingers cupped her naked bottom.

  “You did!” she cried.

  “Not enough,” he said roughly and buried his fingers into her tangled hair, pulling her down for another hard kiss.

  And so the night revealed many more delights until, in the fresh light of dawn, Emily found herself in his bed, wrapped in his arms. His hot body was curled behind her. She could feel his warm breath on her throat. Soon she matched his breathing. Being in tandem with him brought her peace, something she hadn’t felt for a long time.

  “Do you trust me, princess?”

  Her breath caught. “Of course.”

  His lips brushed her shoulder, feather soft. “You hesitated. Why?”

  She squeezed his wrist. “It’s nothing.”

  “What are you hiding?”

  “No, I—I’m just tired.”

  But she knew he didn’t believe her when his muscles tensed.

  “What do you want, Rees?”

  “I want you to trust me.”

  “I do.”

  “Then tell me the truth.”

  “The truth about what?”

  “What happened to you, to your father?”

  Her heart swelled. “I already told you.”

  He separated from her. The air chilled and she shivered. Pressing the blanket against her breast, she sat up and watched him round the bed, naked, still bruised, and beautiful.

  He reached f
or his discarded trousers and pulled on the clothes. It must have hurt to be with her, she thought. Or perhaps it would have hurt him more not to be with her. She certainly ached to have him beside her again.

  “Are you going to find a more agreeable bedmate?”

  He stilled and looked at her, eyes blazing. “No.”

  “You mean it’s too early in the morning to visit Harry’s mother?”

  “I mean no. I don’t want another bedmate.” He stalked toward her, pressed a knee into the mattress and scooped both her cheeks. “What are you keeping so secret you’d sooner accuse me of whoring than tell me the truth?”

  She gasped, startled by his charge—and the truth behind it. She had guarded her father’s memory so fiercely for so long, she wasn’t sure she could confess the entire story.

  As her flustered silence stretched, he released her. “I have business to attend.”

  He headed for the door.

  “Call off your hound, Rees.”

  He stopped at the door, his hand on the latch. “What?”

  “Call off your hound, and I will tell you what really happened to Papa.”

  “Ah, you found the note.”

  She nodded. “I don’t want anyone nosing about my father’s affairs, disturbing the past. It will all end today, do you promise?”

  “Very well.” He approached her and folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me.”

  Grey leaned against the bedpost, his eyes intent on Emily. In the morning light, her delicate features appeared even more ethereal. Her scarlet hair spilled over both shoulders in ruffled splendor, and she raked her teeth across her bottom lip, still flushed from so many sensual kisses.

  His blood pulsed with the memory of her fervid touch, and the hairs on his arms bristled. He could still feel her supple body pressed against him. He could still hear her lungs expanding as she breathed so sweetly in his embrace. She had penetrated him, rekindled a fire in his soul. For too long the flame had been starved. His fame, his fortune, his music had ceased to stir a hunger for life, but Emily . . .

  She inspired him.

  He couldn’t forget the past, though. He couldn’t ignore the mysterious circumstances that had brought her back to him. He needed the truth.

  “I broke Papa’s heart when he found me with you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He—he went mad because of me.”