It saved all of the men who are lucky enough to be loved by you.”
She faced him. “Did I save you?” she asked.
She was teasing, but he didn’t smile in return. He nodded, and it was a solemn thing. “You saved me, you save me and I am forever in your debt.”
“Then I suppose we have no choice but to live happily ever after.”
He bent to kiss her gently. “Happily. Ever. After.”
The Regency Royals Series
This summer start a new adventure with Jess Michaels when her new series, Regency Royals launches! When the Royal Family of Athawick comes to London to join in the pleasures of the Season, they spark excitement, danger and maybe…just maybe…love. Here’s the first look at To Protect a Princess, Book 1 of the series, out July 21.
Enjoy an Excerpt of
To Protect A Princess
The Season of 1817 would become known for a great many things in the end, but at the beginning, all of Society was buzzing about one thing: the visit from the King and his family. But they weren’t referring to their own king, gouty and mad in his tower. Or their future king, who flitted from brothel to brothel with his demands for champagne with breakfast. No, the buzz was about an entirely different monarch, the King of Athawick.
Such a tiny island for such a big stir, and yet Princess Ilaria, youngest sibling and only sister of the king, knew there would be stir. There was always stir when it came to her family. Their island’s situation in the trade routes of the North Sea had always made them important…and precarious if she could believe her brother as he paced his study, that newly placed crown so heavy on his head and shoulders.
She leaned against the railing of the ship and closed her eyes as the salt air caressed her face. Every moment took them closer to England. Closer to a few months of madness. Her brother, of course, would not remain for that entire time, but their mother was insistent that Ilaria and her second oldest brother, Remington, take a Season in London. And their mother was not one to be denied.
“Your highness?”
Ilaria opened her eyes and squinted against the bright reflection of sunlight on the water before she turned. Her brother’s steward, Stephen Blairford, was standing there, his lips pressed in a tight, irritated line, just as they always were. She had never liked the man, not when he served their father, not when he served Grantham.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The King and the Queen desire your presence in the family drawing room,” he said. “Immediately.”
The way he added the last made it sound like an order. And she supposed it was, though it chafed. Here she was supposed to take precedence, but courtiers carried power. And this one knew it.
“Very well.” He motioned as if he would lead her and she jerked away from him. “I know where the drawing room is, Blairford. Thank you.”
She walked away and to his credit, Blairford didn’t follow. At least he knew his place that far. She made her way through the doors that led off the ship deck and through a narrow hallway to a large, ornately carved door. It was open at present and she could hear the voices of both her brothers and her mother drifting into the hallway.
“…how she will react…” came her mother’s voice and Ilaria stiffened. That didn’t sound positive.
She thrust her shoulders back and entered the room. “How who will react?” she asked as she pulled the door shut behind them for privacy.
Her brother, the new king of Athawick, stood ramrod straight in the middle of the room, every line of his clothing perfect, every hair in place. She could scarcely even recognize him as the brother who had ran with her through fields in Athawick a decade before, two decades. He looked stern and cross and…tired. She could see he was tired.
Her mother, Queen Giabella, sat on a settee in the middle of the room, a cup of tea perched in her fingertips. She was stunningly beautiful, no matter her years. Her thick, dark hair was only slightly touched by gray and her sharp brown eyes flitted over Ilaria from head to toe…judging, no doubt.
Her mother’s secretary, Dashiell Talbot, sat at the escritoire on one side of the room, a quill poised over a thick sheet of vellum. Ilaria’s heart sank. Unlike Grantham’s man, she adored Dashiell. He’d been working for her mother for nearly a decade