to assist her, but Harriet refused to move.
“The Royal family owns mines in Tallenburg, Princess Harriet. Very lucrative mines. My father bowed to pressure and refused to fight to get them back.”
He smiled again, baring his teeth.
“I am not my father.”
Harriet remembered talks of relations worsening with Tallenburg again. It was why Christopher had spent so much time away.
Clearly, negotiations had not gone well.
“So, this has what to do with me, exactly?”
“Nothing,” he answered swiftly. “And you will be returned to the palace and the welcoming arms of your big brother.” He sneered.
Suddenly, his expression changed, and Harriet recoiled slightly.
“Just as soon as he hands over the deeds to the mines.”
Harriet’s heart skipped a beat, and she wished quite desperately that Jacob were here.
“You mean—”
“I mean,” he answered and this time, he reached in and pulled her bodily from the conveyance, only just stopping her from tumbling to the ground. “Prince Christopher has a decision to make. You or the mines.”
Jacob sighed as he extracted himself from the overly friendly hands of the serving wench in the inn at Gant.
He should have gone back to the palace the second Harriet left with that God-awful woman. He knew that.
Yet he’d sat here wallowing in self-pity all day and all evening.
Now, it was too late to travel anywhere, and he’d have to wait until tomorrow.
“If you’re lonely, I don’t mind keeping you company, sir.”
The wench placed another tankard of ale on the table in front of Jacob, displaying her considerable assets with a distinct lack of shame.
Perhaps a few weeks ago he might have even taken her up on her less-than-subtle offer.
He’d always managed to enjoy himself on assignment before.
Perhaps, if he hadn’t been ruined for every other female by a pair of huge brown eyes and a smart mouth, he’d be enjoying more than a tankard of ale right now.
But the truth was, he missed the princess who wanted nothing more to do with him. Missed the feel of her body against his, the touch of her lips, but more—he missed her witty mind and her sharp tongue and her mischievous laugh.
“She’s ruined me,” he muttered into his ale.
“What was that?”
He’d forgotten that the lady was awaiting some sort of answer.
Smiling in what he hoped was a polite and not at all flirtatious manner at the chit, he shook his head.
“I’m quite happy as I am, thank you.”
Shrugging her shoulders and sending the top of her gown lower still, she moved off into the lap of a much more willing patron.
Jacob barely noticed.
Something was niggling at him about Harriet leaving with Lady Althea.
It wasn’t just that he wanted to snatch her back and keep her with him.
Why would Prince Christopher send a lady to bring back his sister when he’d assigned Jacob to the task of taking care of her?
And why, when they’d been communicating through post left at the inn since Jacob had first informed the prince of where they were, had he sent someone without even a communication?
It didn’t feel right.
An uneasiness clawed at Jacob.
He’d been so preoccupied with his feelings that he’d ignored his instincts.
And instinct told him that something was wrong with this whole situation.
Night-time be damned.
He’d wasted enough time, and he wasn’t going to waste any more.
He no longer wanted to wait until tomorrow, he just wanted to get the hell out of here. Back to the palace, and work to keep the princess safe.
Just as Jacob marched toward the door, it banged open and a messenger rushed in.
A messenger in the distinctive livery of the Royal Family.
Jacob rushed over to the man and without a word, took him by the arm and dragged him back outside.
The last thing Harriet’s reputation needed was a furore around her being here. And if the locals began to question why a royal messenger was running around at this time of night, it wouldn’t be long before gossip spread like wildfire.
“Unhand me, sir,” the messenger, a mere boy, shouted.
Jacob let go of him as soon as they were outside in the relative privacy of the courtyard.
“Whatever message you have is for me,” he said, urgency and a sense of foreboding making his voice harsh.
“I am to deliver this to—”
“To me,” Jacob finished and bent to snatch the missive from the boy’s hand.
Prince Christopher’s insignia. Just as he’d thought.
Breaking the wax seal, Jacob unfolded the sheaf of paper, cursing as he read the contents.
Assassin apprehended. It was as we suspected. Bring her home.
Bring her home.
Jacob’s entire body filled with icy dread.
Bring