Free The Rogue's Princess by Eve Edwards Page A

read: 40.
    Prayers said: at least 5.
    Sinful thoughts: 6 and a half (if thinking about the kiss was a bit of a mixed bag).
    She scratched down her usual conclusion:
    Lord, I offer you this record of a poor servant and pray you pardon my trespasses.
    With a sigh of relief having unburdened herself of this, she tucked the journal back in its hiding place under her mattress and then flopped on the bed. While exhausted from having gossiped with Ann until the early hours, she was strangely abuzz with excitement. Poor Ann must have tired of her ‘will he, won’t he?’ ramblings about Kit. Her friend had, unusually for her, kept her counsel, saying she would not give an opinion on the matter as she thought it would do Mercy good to find out all there was to know about him for herself. For some reason, Ann believed Mercy needed her horizons expanding, whatever that meant. Ann had agreed unreservedly, however, that Kit was the handsomest man in the whole of London – not that Christian girls should judge their future partners by such worldly measures, of course.
    Mercy rolled on to her side and hugged herself, aware of her body in ways that she had never been before. It was as though she were the lute and meeting Kit had plucked her strings for the first time. Twelve hours later she was stillhumming. She couldn’t wait for him to call. Perhaps he would come this very day? The next at the latest. And she had a play to look forward to, something to share with him when he did visit her. Wouldn’t he be surprised to find that she had so swiftly taken his advice and gone to judge for herself?
    Sometimes, life was just too, too sweet.

5
    Tobias Lacey woke to find his half-brother snoring gently beside him. He smiled up at the ceiling. His guess had proved correct: Kit had not been so hard-hearted as to turn him out in the middle of the night and had left him to sleep on. He slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake him, and pulled on his hose and boots to go in search of breakfast. Dame Prewet, Kit’s landlady, was already preparing dinner so his hopes were somewhat dented that he was in time for the earlier meal.
    Happily, she understood the appetite of the shaggy-haired seventeen-year-old. ‘Good morrow, young sir, there’s bread in the pantry, and good butter. Help yourself,’ she called to him as she rolled the pastry out on the table, elbow deep in flour.
    Tobias bowed. ‘You, Dame Prewet, are a jewel among women.’
    The old lady chuckled. ‘And you are an imp of a noble house. Now make yourself useful – take some up to your brother. He has a rehearsal to attend – it’s already close to ten.’
    Tobias loaded a platter, grabbed two cups of small beer andbalanced his tray up the stairs. Kicking the door open, he plonked the lot on the side table.
    ‘Breakfast is served, my lord!’ he called merrily, whisking the covers from his brother.
    ‘It can’t be time to get up yet,’ growled Kit, turning to bury his face under the pillows leaving the rest of him exposed to the daylight.
    Tobias dumped a wet cloth from the ewer on to his bare back. ‘You don’t want another fine for being late. Rise and shine – your public awaits!’
    Kit’s reply was to throw the rag and pillow in the general direction of Tobias’s voice. Tobias caught the pillow and chucked it back, which only gave Kit the excuse to bury his head again.
    ‘Ah me! Sometimes one has to be cruel to be kind.’ Tobias picked up the ewer and began to drip the icy contents on his brother. It produced the desired result. Kit leapt from the bed and squawked in fury.
    ‘Pestilential whoreson!’
    Tobias put the ewer back on its stand. ‘Now, now, I won’t have you slandering my mother like that,’ he said without rancour.
    ‘Your mother is doubtless beyond reproach; it is you who is the menace!’
    ‘I brought you breakfast.’
    The peace offering was noted and seized on as Kit began pulling on his clothes: lace-edged shirt, and a particularly