When Ash Falls (London Fairy Tales #4)(4)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

The men surrounding them froze.

Pierce laughed.

Ash rolled his eyes and cursed.

The woman tried to move against him.

He held her firm and then really wished he had let her go.

She was the first he’d held in nine years.

Nine years of celibacy, and now the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen was rubbing against him.

God was punishing him. That much was painfully, albeit arousingly, clear.

“Cease from moving before I really give you something to scream about.” His voice came out sounding hoarse and hollow.

Thank God, the wench actually stopped moving. Ash loosened his hold. “Now, where was I?”

“Before or after you were slapped?” Pierce asked.

“Before,” the elderly man answered as Ash opened his mouth. “He was just getting ready to say why he was here when Her Highness walloped on him.”

“She did not wallop on me,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Sure looked like a wallop.” One of the guards laughed. “You still have a handprint on your face.” He elbowed the one who thought he could read minds as they both burst into laughter.

“Enough!” Ash bellowed, the action causing the sting in his cheek to worsen. “What the devil is wrong with you people? I’m here to see that the Royal Prince Maskylov’s cousin makes safe passage into England without getting herself killed. Though to be honest, I’m having second thoughts.”

“Because of the slap.” The elderly man nodded emphatically.

Sofia, her highness, or whatever the blazes her name was, finally sagged against him.

He released her from his grip and lowered his pistol.

“Who are you?”

“Now she wants to know,” Ash mumbled. “It is of no importance. I am here to—”

“Rescue you, fair damsel!” Pierce chose that exact moment to make a complete fool of himself.

Ash glared at his cohort, truly ready to pull a pistol on the man and be done with it. Idiots, he was surrounded by them, though he knew Pierce was merely trying to vex him. Fool. Ash narrowed his gaze on his friend.

“I am no damsel,” Sofia argued from beside him.

“Clearly,” Ash said dryly.

She turned and glared. “Care to gain another slap?”

“I have nothing against striking a woman.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” She pointed in his face. Again.

With strength he didn’t possess, he held his ground and gave her his most menacing glare. “I would, and I will. Now, gather your things. We are for London.”

“No.”

Ash groaned loudly. “Madam, either you leave willingly or not. The choice is yours, but know you will be leaving.”

“Says who?”

“I say!” Ash all but roared. “And I have been saying such for the past ten minutes! I am here on behalf of your beastly cousin. Damn and hell, they should have paid me more for this.”

“My cousin?” Sofia chewed her lower lip. “I do not believe you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “He would never send a — a…” She shook her head violently. “…a madman in his stead!”

Ash sighed. “We are late as it is. If you will not go with me, you little hoyden, I will simply toss you over my shoulder.”

“You will not!” The elderly guard thumped his foot onto the ground and puffed out his chest. “We need proof of your legitimacy.”

“You hear that, Ash?” Standing next to him, Pierce laughed. “They need proof of your birth.”

“No, er…” The old man scratched his head. “…that is to say, I am sure you are a legitimate, er, man. I meant proof of your…” He scrunched up his nose.

The younger guard sneezed next to him and managed to get out the word “Mission” before sneezing again.

“That’s it!” The old man nodded. “Your mission. If the prince sent you, then we need to see proof.”

“Fine.” Ash clenched his teeth, pulled back his arm, and knocked the younger man in front of him to the ground.

“Ash.” Pierce groaned. “Why?”

“He wanted proof.”

“So you punched him?” The elderly man made a move toward Ash just as the younger man came around.

“Look.” Ash pointed down at the man. “Proof.”

Sure enough, the younger man’s face bore the mark of Prince Maskylov’s signet ring, imprinted quite dramatically across his cheek.

“Is it a dragon?”

“A beast.” Sofia spoke up. “His signet ring is a beast.” She moved to help the younger man to his feet and scowled at Ash. “You did not need to hurt him.”

“He’s fine.” Ash shrugged. “Now, may we leave?”

CHAPTER FOUR

If death does not even want me… who will? I do not even want myself. I disgust myself. But, I want her. I want her so bad it hurts. But she’s gone, and every time I look at another woman I see her face, her lips, her smile, and I tell myself that my celibacy is my punishment; it is my cross to bear. For how could I look at myself in the mirror after just spending the night in another woman’s arms? —The Grimm Reaper

IF IT WAS AT all possible to kill a person by glaring, Ash would be dead. Sofia hated him for a number of reasons, the first and foremost being that he was a cocky fool! Clearly, her cousin had no concern for her welfare for him to send her a man who polished his own blasted boots before dinner!

Twenty minutes later, and they had finally been able to eat.

All because his boots had had a spot.

And after dinner, the man had had the nerve to ask her if she would be so kind as to help him get settled into one of the rooms in the cottage! As if she were his maid!

But the worst of the situation, and truly that was where she wondered if she would ever be able to look a man in the eyes again, he’d asked her to bring him water so he could bathe!

When her Royal Guard had offered, he’d refused, saying that a man should not do a woman’s work.

An hour later, and she was sweating so profusely it was she who needed the bath, not him.

“Will that be all?” she asked once she’d brought the last bucket of heated water.

“This could have been avoided, you know.” Ash removed his jacket and newly shined boots.

Sofia looked away from the infuriating, undressing man. “What? The bath?”

“Yes.” Ash’s voice was deep and commanding, but it seemed the more he talked the harder it was for him; he easily went hoarse during conversation and often resorted to head nodding and motioning with his hands. Now was one of those times; his voice had changed, the inflection gravelly and raw. Merciful heavens, it was hot in that room.