The Prince Who Loved Me Part 34

He grinned, his teeth white in the black beard. "It is my name, rea.s.suring or not." He shot her a glance. "What is your name, little one?"

"Lily Balfour." She hardly knew this man at all, yet she'd just blurted out her name and was allowing him to carry her through the woods. She should be screaming for help, but instead she found herself resting her head against his shoulder as, for the first time in two days, she felt something other than sheer loneliness.

"Lily. That's a beautiful name. It suits you."

Lily's face heated and she stole a look at him from under her lashes. He was exotic, overbearing, and strong, but somehow she knew that he wouldn't harm her. Her instincts and common sense both agreed on that. "Where are you taking me?"

"To safety."

"That's a rather vague location."

He chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest where it pressed against her side. "If you must know, I'm taking you to my new home. From there, my men and my-how do you say babushka?" His brow furrowed a moment before it cleared. "Ah yes, grandmother."

"Your grandmother? She's here, in the woods?"

"I brought her to see the new house I just purchased. You and I will go there and meet with my men and my grandmother. I have a carriage, so we can ride the rest of the way to your home."

I was right to trust him. No man would involve his grandmother in a ravishment.

He slanted a look her way. "You will like my grandmother."

It sounded like an order. She managed a faint smile. "I'm sure we'll adore one another. However, you and your grandmother won't be escorting me home, but to Floors Castle. I am a guest of the d.u.c.h.ess of Roxburghe."

His amazing eyes locked on her, and she noted that his thick, black lashes gave him a faintly sleepy air. "I met the d.u.c.h.ess last week and she invited us to her house party. I was not going to attend, but now I will go." His gaze flicked over her, leaving a heated path.

Her breath caught in her throat. If the d.u.c.h.ess has invited Wulf to the castle, then perhaps he is an eligible parti. Suddenly, the day didn't seem so dreary. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Wulf-or whatever your name is-but who are you, exactly?"

He shrugged, his chest rubbing her side in a pleasant way. "Does it matter?"

"Yes. You mentioned your men. Are you a military leader of some sort?" That would explain his boldness and overa.s.suredness.

"You could say that."

"Ah. Are you a corporal, then? A sergeant?"

"I am in charge." A faint note of surprise colored his voice, as if he couldn't believe that she would think anything else.

"You're in charge of what? A battalion?"

He definitely looked insulted now. "I am in charge of it all."

She blinked. "Of an entire army?"

"Yes." He hesitated, then said in a firm voice, "I shall tell you because you will know eventually since I plan on joining the d.u.c.h.ess's party. I am not a general. I am a prince."

"A pr-" She couldn't even say the word.

"I am a prince," he repeated firmly, though he looked far from happy about it. "That is why Her Grace finds it acceptable that my grandmother and I attend her events. I had not thought to accept her invitation, for I do not like dances and such, and you English-"

She raised her brows.

"I'm sorry, you Scots are much too formal for me."

"Wait. I'm still trying to grasp that you're a prince. A real prince?"

He shrugged, his broad shoulders making his cape swing. "We have many princes in Oxenburg, for I have three brothers."

She couldn't wrap her mind around the thought of a roomful of princes who looked like the one carrying her: huge, broad shouldered, bulging with muscles and grinning lopsided smiles, their dark hair falling over their brows and into their green eyes. . . . I fell off my horse and into a fairy tale.

Hope washed over her and she found herself saying in a breathless tone, "If you're a prince, then you must be fabulously wealthy."

He looked down at her, a question in his eyes. "Not every prince has money."

"Some do."

"And some do not. Sadly, I am the poorest of all my brothers."

Her disappointment must have shown on her face, for he regarded her with a narrow gaze. "You do not like this, Miss Lily Balfour?"

She sighed. "No, no, I don't."

One dark brow arched. "Why not?"

"Sadly, some of us must marry for money." Whether it was because she was being held in his arms or because she was struggling to deal with a surprising flood of regret, it felt right to tell him the truth.

"I see." He continued to carry her, his brow lowered. "And this is you, then? You must marry for money?"

"Yes."

He was silent a moment more. "But what if you fall in love?"

"I have no choice." She heard the sadness in her voice and resolutely forced herself to say in a light tone, "It's the way of the world, isn't it? But to be honest, I wouldn't be looking for a wealthy husband except that I must. Our house is entailed, and my father hasn't been very good about- Oh, it's complicated."

He didn't reply, but she could tell from his grim expression that he disliked her answer. She didn't like it much herself, for it made her sound like the veriest moneygrubbing society miss, but that's what she'd become.

She sighed and rested her cheek against his shoulder.

He looked down at her, and to her surprise, his chin came to rest on her head.

They continued on thus for a few moments, comfort seeping through her, the first since she'd left her home.

"Moya, I must tell you-"

She looked up. "My name is not Moya, but Lily."

His eyes glinted with humor. "I like Moya better."

"What does it mean?"

His gaze flickered to her hair and she grimaced. "It means 'red,' doesn't it? I hate that!"

He chuckled, the sound warm in his chest. "You dislike being called Red? Why? It is what you are. Just as what I am is a prince with no fortune." His gaze met hers. "We must accept who we are."

She was silent a moment. "You're dreadfully poor? You said you'd just bought a house."

"A cottage. It has a thatched roof and one large room, but with a good fireplace. I will make stew for you. I make good stew."

It sounded delightful; far more fun than the rides, picnics, dinner parties, and other activities the d.u.c.h.ess had promised. "I like stew, but I'm afraid that I can't visit your cottage. It would be improper." Furthermore, she didn't dare prolong her time with such a devastatingly handsome, but poor, prince. She had to save all of her feelings so that she could fall in love with the man who would save Papa.

Wulf's brows had lowered. "But you would come to my cottage if I had a fortune, nyet?"

Regret flooded her and she tightened her hold about his neck. "I have no choice; I must marry for money. I don't know why I admitted that to you, but it is a sad fact of my life and I cannot pretend otherwise. My family is depending on me."

He seemed to consider this, some of the sternness leaving his gaze. After a moment he nodded. "It is n.o.ble that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for your family."

"Sacrifice? I was hoping it wouldn't feel so . . . oh, I don't know. It's possible that I might find someone I could care for."

"You wish to fall in love with a rich man. As my babushka likes to tell me, life is not always so accommodating."

"Yes, but it's possible. I've never been in love before, so I'm a blank slate. The d.u.c.h.ess is helping me, too, and she's excellent at making just such matches. She's invited several gentlemen for me to meet-"

"All wealthy."

"Of course. She is especially hopeful of the Earl of Huntley, and so am I." Lily looked away, not wishing to see the disappointment in his gaze yet again.

Silence reigned and she savored the warmth of his arms about her. At one time, a wealthy gentleman had seemed enough. Now, she wished she could ask for a not-wealthy prince. One like this, who carried her so gently and whose eyes gleamed with humor beneath the fall of his black hair. But it was not to be.

She bit back a strong desire to explain things to him, to tell him exactly why she needed to marry a wealthy man, but she knew it wouldn't make any difference. As he'd said, he was who he was, and she was who she was. There was no way for either of them to change things, even if they wished to, so it would be better for them both if they accepted those facts and continued on.

For now, though, she had these few moments. With that thought in mind, she sighed and rested her head against his broad shoulder. This will have to be enough.

About the Author.

Photo by Michael Cairns.

Karen Hawkins is a USA TODAY and New York Times bestselling author. When not stalking hot Australian actors, getting kicked out of West Virginia thanks to the antics of her extended family, or adding to her considerable shoe collection, Karen spends her time writing her next delightfully fun and s.e.xy historical romance.

ALSO BY KAREN HAWKINS.

The d.u.c.h.ess Diaries Series.

How to Capture a Countess How to Pursue a Princess How to Entice an Enchantress.

The Hurst Amulet Series One Night in Scotland Scandal in Scotland.

A Most Dangerous Profession The Taming of a Scottish Princess.

The MacLean Curse Series How to Abduct a Highland Lord To Scotland, With Love.

To Catch a Highlander Sleepless in Scotland.

The Laird Who Loved Me Contemporary Romance.

Talk of the Town Lois Lane Tells All.

Other.

Much Ado About Marriage.

Princess in Disguise.

Available from Pocket Books.

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