Princess Charming Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Beth Pattillo
home safely?” He paused, relishing the drama. “Once that stocky little thug awakes he won’t be well disposed toward either of you.”
Nick grunted and eyed the decanter on the sideboard gleaming ruby red in the sunlight.
“And, of course, having seen the men who were pursuing her, there is the question of what deep game she’s involved herself in,” Crispin continued. “I shouldn’t wonder if she’s in over her head.”
Nick stared at the scuffed, stained toes of his boots. I shall be firm of purpose, he reminded himself.
Crispin moved toward a sofa and plopped down on it, propping his immaculate boots on the small table opposite. “To be sure, she’s only someone’s chambermaid . . .”
“Scullery maid,” Nick inserted without thinking, and then almost kicked himself.
“Ah, well, then, there you have it. How can she possibly be in need of any assistance if she ranks as high as all that?”
“It won’t work, Cris.” His throat tightened, as if a noose were closing about it. He stood straighter to relieve the sensation.
“What won’t work, Nicky?”
“I’m not going after her. Let someone else be the sacrificial lamb.” The protest lacked conviction, even to his ears.
Crispin sighed, and the teasing light in his eye vanished. “But you can’t help it, can you, Nicky? No matter how you try, you cannot exorcise those ghosts from your past. You crave heroism like an opium eater craves his drug, and have done so since the first day you arrived here from Santadorra. What’s more, you can’t scrape together more than two farthings without bestowing them on some lost cause.”
Nick started to deny the charge, but Crispin was right. Every waif he encountered, every desperate young buck who had lost the family fortune at faro only served to stoke the memories of when his best efforts had been insufficient. So if he was out of funds, it was not because of profligacy on his part, although he did have his moments. No, it was this damnable tendency of his to try and rescue every alley cat, mongrel dog, climbing boy, and scullery maid who crossed his path.
“I must stop, Cris, but I can’t seem to help myself.”
His friend frowned. “‘Tis a question of moderation, Nicky, of purpose. You must pick your battles more carefully. The world is full of problems you cannot solve.”
“Most of them my own,” Nick said with despair. “But I swear, Cris, even when I try to avoid these situations, they invariably find me.”
“Like the girl,” his friend offered.
“Yes, like this girl. And now I’m standing here in your grandmother’s drawing room, ruining her carpet, knowing I should avoid the chit like the plague, and it’s all I can do not to run outside and leap the garden wall.” Only through sheer dint of will was he keeping his hessians firmly in place.
“Hmm. Well, as I said, the thought of that odious little ruffian is distressing. Especially if he should find her alone. I should think he’d have rather a lot of revenge on his mind.”
Nick’s hands curled into fists. “Stop.”
Crispin smiled at him, his blue eyes innocent. “I’m only putting words to your thoughts.”
“No. I’m thinking no such thing.” Yet the suffocating feeling of inevitability descended over him like a fog. “Her employer will see to her welfare.”
“The Duchess of Nottingham?” Crispin snorted. “The only welfare that concerns Her Grace is her own. And perhaps that of her two unfortunate daughters. I doubt she’ll give a moment’s thought to the kitchen maid, unless, of course, her pots are not properly scrubbed or she needs water for her bath.”
The image of the girl lugging buckets of water up the wide stairs of Nottingham House caused a heavy weight to settle in Nick’s stomach.
“I’m not going after her.”
“No one said you should.”
“It’s none of my affair.”
“Indeed, it is not.”
“She may launch herself into the very mouth of hell itself, and I should
Nick grunted and eyed the decanter on the sideboard gleaming ruby red in the sunlight.
“And, of course, having seen the men who were pursuing her, there is the question of what deep game she’s involved herself in,” Crispin continued. “I shouldn’t wonder if she’s in over her head.”
Nick stared at the scuffed, stained toes of his boots. I shall be firm of purpose, he reminded himself.
Crispin moved toward a sofa and plopped down on it, propping his immaculate boots on the small table opposite. “To be sure, she’s only someone’s chambermaid . . .”
“Scullery maid,” Nick inserted without thinking, and then almost kicked himself.
“Ah, well, then, there you have it. How can she possibly be in need of any assistance if she ranks as high as all that?”
“It won’t work, Cris.” His throat tightened, as if a noose were closing about it. He stood straighter to relieve the sensation.
“What won’t work, Nicky?”
“I’m not going after her. Let someone else be the sacrificial lamb.” The protest lacked conviction, even to his ears.
Crispin sighed, and the teasing light in his eye vanished. “But you can’t help it, can you, Nicky? No matter how you try, you cannot exorcise those ghosts from your past. You crave heroism like an opium eater craves his drug, and have done so since the first day you arrived here from Santadorra. What’s more, you can’t scrape together more than two farthings without bestowing them on some lost cause.”
Nick started to deny the charge, but Crispin was right. Every waif he encountered, every desperate young buck who had lost the family fortune at faro only served to stoke the memories of when his best efforts had been insufficient. So if he was out of funds, it was not because of profligacy on his part, although he did have his moments. No, it was this damnable tendency of his to try and rescue every alley cat, mongrel dog, climbing boy, and scullery maid who crossed his path.
“I must stop, Cris, but I can’t seem to help myself.”
His friend frowned. “‘Tis a question of moderation, Nicky, of purpose. You must pick your battles more carefully. The world is full of problems you cannot solve.”
“Most of them my own,” Nick said with despair. “But I swear, Cris, even when I try to avoid these situations, they invariably find me.”
“Like the girl,” his friend offered.
“Yes, like this girl. And now I’m standing here in your grandmother’s drawing room, ruining her carpet, knowing I should avoid the chit like the plague, and it’s all I can do not to run outside and leap the garden wall.” Only through sheer dint of will was he keeping his hessians firmly in place.
“Hmm. Well, as I said, the thought of that odious little ruffian is distressing. Especially if he should find her alone. I should think he’d have rather a lot of revenge on his mind.”
Nick’s hands curled into fists. “Stop.”
Crispin smiled at him, his blue eyes innocent. “I’m only putting words to your thoughts.”
“No. I’m thinking no such thing.” Yet the suffocating feeling of inevitability descended over him like a fog. “Her employer will see to her welfare.”
“The Duchess of Nottingham?” Crispin snorted. “The only welfare that concerns Her Grace is her own. And perhaps that of her two unfortunate daughters. I doubt she’ll give a moment’s thought to the kitchen maid, unless, of course, her pots are not properly scrubbed or she needs water for her bath.”
The image of the girl lugging buckets of water up the wide stairs of Nottingham House caused a heavy weight to settle in Nick’s stomach.
“I’m not going after her.”
“No one said you should.”
“It’s none of my affair.”
“Indeed, it is not.”
“She may launch herself into the very mouth of hell itself, and I should