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Blast.
Rupert marched through the room and opened various drawers. There must be another key. He rummaged through the duke’s attire, then crawled under the bed.
Nothing.
Finally, he glanced toward the window.
He rather wished the first Duke of Framingham had decided to put his bedroom on the ground floor. If only that duke had had a premonition of the viciousness of one of his descendants and his propensity to go about locking relatives in bedrooms. Evidently, the duke’s success at fighting the French so many centuries ago had not translated into an equal ability to foretell the future.
Rupert attempted to open the balcony door, but it was locked. He scowled, before hastily moving to the window.
Rupert unlocked the hinge on the window and pushed it open. A brisk wind met him. Birds chirped merrily, and the sun was in full force. He squinted into the light. Then he lowered himself carefully from the window until his feet touched the battlement.
The birds jerked their heads toward him from their perches on the parapet, before flying away. A few servants were outside, marching to the chapel with flowers.
Where was the princess?
Would she be in the chapel now? In the drawing room? Still touring the castle?
Her dressing room.
Rupert lowered himself down and hurried to the other wing, crawling along the crenellations. He wasn’t certain which room she’d been placed in, but he assumed it was the best one. The wind brushed against him, as if urging him to reenter the house. A few leaves, which had no doubt laid in the battlements for months, flew into his face. He pushed them away, and they crunched against his fingers.
Damnation.
Why was the castle so large? Evidently, no one had calculated the utter inconvenience the large size would be when someone was forced to circumvent it on one’s stomach.
The chapel bells rang, and Rupert scurried forward. Carriage wheels crunched against the gravel, and Rupert poked his head through a crenel.
A man with a white collar descended, and Rupert frowned. Clearly, this was the minister, though oddly, it was not a man Rupert recognized. This wasn’t a bishop, and this certainly wasn’t the village vicar.
How odd.
The duke had never mentioned he would be getting someone else to marry him to the princess.
Rupert sighed. Perhaps he hadn’t been as in touch with the church in Staffordshire as he’d thought. Still, he’d thought someone would have told him if the vicar had changed. Usually, the church was at the center of village life, even if the duke only attended services sporadically.
Never mind that.
Rupert focused on reaching the other wing. Finally, the other end of the castle was in sight. He’d done it! He’d actually done it.
Now he just needed to inform the princess and her father of the duke’s utter despicability.
He halted. A horrible thought struck him: perhaps they wouldn’t believe him.
His throat tasted sour, but he continued on. He glanced to his right, noting an empty bedroom. He pressed against the window tentatively. It was shut.
Blast.
He crawled to the next window and pressed against that one. It was also shut.
Damnation.
Still, the princess hadn’t married yet, and her father wouldn’t be keen on learning that the duke intended to murder her for her jewels. In fact, once Rupert explained to the princess he’d written the letters, she would believe him.
He hoped.
He crawled to the next window and poked his head up.
A shriek sounded immediately, and a woman with red hair rushed toward him. This must be Lucy Banks, the princess’s friend.
He smiled. “Open the window!”
The woman’s eyes widened, but she ran toward it.
Well, she was certainly efficient. Perhaps she sensed his urgency. Instead, she stretched out her hands, and in the next moment, thick brocade curtains obscured his view of the room.
“Wait!” He pounded on the window, but Miss Banks did not open it.
He sighed, then scurried to the next window. This room was empty, and the window was locked. He was running out of time. He looked around the battlement, found a rock, and tossed it into the window. The glass cracked.
Success.
Rupert beamed and used another stone to clear away the glass shards. Then he climbed through the window. The glass shattered on the floor, making a loud noise, but it didn’t matter. All the better for someone to hear him. The princess’s dressing room must be near.
Heavy footsteps thundered toward him, like an elephant gleeful to have spotted some water.
“Who’s that?” A tall, muscular blond man appeared. His eyes widened when he saw Rupert, then he snarled. “Intruder!”
Rupert shifted his legs and gazed at the man warily. “I suppose you’re the princess’s bodyguard.”
The man narrowed his eyes.
Evidently, the man was not inclined to be friendly. Well, Rupert could hardly blame him; he would also be skeptical of someone’s intentions if someone broke a window to enter. It rather implied that a person had been refused entry from the butler or did not desire to be seen.
Rupert flashed a smile. Generally, it was better for people to see him as not intimidating. “Your name is Demon, right?”
The man’s eyes bulged. “You’ve been researching the names of the princess’s security?”
“Well, it’s only you,” Rupert said.
“And the numbers!” Demon’s eyes goggled.
“I—er—” Rupert stepped back.
“Intruder!” The man yelled.
“No!” Rupert exclaimed. “I just want to speak with the princess!”
“Wrong answer!” Demon shouted. “No one speaks with the princess.”
“But I’m really not a stranger,” Rupert said.
“I doubt that!”
“And I have an important message for her,” Rupert added hastily. “You must let me speak with her.”
“Never!”
“Or her father, the king’s brother!” Rupert amended. “She’s probably dressing now, after all.”
Demon’s sizeable eyebrows shot up. “Never mention the king’s brother.”
In the next moment, Demon swept Rupert up and hauled him over his shoulder. “You’re leaving now!”
“But I’m a guest,” Rupert exclaimed. “I’m the duke’s cousin!”
Demon hesitated and lessened his speed.
Rupert no longer thought he was in danger of having his legs impaled on any of the duke’s centuries-old furniture. “I have some information on the duke.”
Demon grunted.
“He’s not a good man.”
Demon snorted. “You want to destroy the wedding?”
“Yes!” Rupert said, relieved. The princess’s bodyguard understood. “So you see, I must speak with the princess.”
“Or her father?” Demon asked.
“Yes! Yes!”
Demon quickened his steps.
“Aren’t you taking me past their rooms?” Rupert asked.
“Yes,” Demon replied curtly.
“But—”
“Be quiet,” Demon said in an irritated voice. “I don’t have time for this.”
“It’s important!” Rupert yelled.
Thankfully, Demon put him down. Regrettably, he put him down in front of Barnes.
Demon jerked his thumb at Barnes. “Do you know this man?”
Barnes gave an unctuous smile. “That is the duke’s cousin.”
“Oh.” For a moment, disappointment passed over Demon’s face. Clearly, ducal cousins did not seem like colossal threats. “He wanted to speak with the princess.”
Barnes’s gaze narrowed. “That would be a mistake.”
“This duke’s cousin is dangerous?” Demon asked hopefully.
Barnes nodded solemnly. “I believe so.”
“Barnes!” Rupert yelled.
“Shall I kill him for you?” Demon asked. “I am excellent at killing.”
Rupert drew back.
Barnes gave a benign smile. “That won’t be necessary.”
Demon continued to stare at Rupert as if he were ranking the most brutal manner in which to murder him.
“I’ll have the duke speak with him,” Barnes said. “After the wedding.”
“If they’re cousins, he’s likely to be merciful.”
“You can discourage him from that,” Barnes said lightly.
“Barnes! You musn’t say such things!” Rupert hollered.
Barnes only gave a smug smile, as if confident his position would remain intact and that soon he would no longer be forced to answer the door when Rupert called.
“What should I do with him?” Demon asked, his green eyes glinting dangerously.
Barnes jerked his thumb. “Stick him in an empty room.”
Demon sneered, pushed the door open, and thrust Rupert into a small, dark room.
Blast.
“Stop!” Rupert called and banged on the door. “I must warn you about the duke! He intends to kill the princess!”
His heart pounded. Would Demon open the door?
Unfortunately, the door didn’t swing open abruptly. Instead, voices murmured outside, then there was silence.
The chapel bells rang, and Rupert blinked. The wedding must be starting.
Damnation.
He needed to tell Princess Aria her fiancé intended to murder her sometime after the wedding. That was the sort of information a bride wanted to know before walking down the aisle.
He banged on the door. “Open the door! Open!”
No one came.
He rushed to the window and stared at the church.
His cousin strolled into the chapel. At least Dudley had the foresight not to have Miss van Konigsberg draped over him. His top hat gleamed appropriately.
Rupert banged on the window. “Let me out! Let me out!”
Rupert doubted his cousin had heard him, but Dudley tilted his head up and shot him a smug smile.
Blast.
Rupert fiddled with the window latch.
Princess Aria moved to the church.
“Princess! Princess!” Rupert shouted and waved his hands, but she didn’t turn her head toward him. Heavens, she probably didn’t even hear him.
His heart toppled down.
She was going to marry his cousin, and then his cousin was going to murder her.
Rupert needed to warn her. He cursed that he’d not managed to warn her before. He cursed that he’d ever been involved in his cousin’s courtship of her.
He struggled with the clasp of the window, then finally opened it. The courtyard below was empty. He shouted, but no one came.
Rupert needed them to see him. He yanked the ugly green velvet coverlet off the bed. No one was going to miss the wedding of a princess and duke. He clambered out of the window and landed in the medieval battlements. Muddy water pooled there, and he scowled. He waved the coverlet, flapping the fabric over the jagged parapet.
A few birds squawked, perhaps bewildered to be joined by a man carrying a gigantic blanket.
Unfortunately, no one came. No one even saw him.
Blast.
He tossed the coverlet back into the room, then crawled through the battlement.
Again.
If only there was a convenient staircase that led to the chapel. Even a slightly less comfortable, albeit equally convenient ladder, would do.
How many minutes had passed? Three? Four? Would they already be married?
He hoped not and tried the windows of the adjoining rooms. Finally, one opened, and he hurried inside. The room was decorated equally outrageously. The walls were painted red, and a pink four-poster bed took up one side of the room. French paintings of muscular Grecian gods dotted the walls. Blast. This used to be his great-aunt’s room. He padded quietly through it, half-expecting her to rise up from under the bedsheets.
No specter appeared, and he exited the room. Finally.
His moment of joy was soon halted by his need to get to the chapel. He sprinted through the hallway, toward the enormous swooping staircase. He reached the banister, then hurried down the wooden steps. His footsteps thundered, but no maid with upraised eyebrows appeared, just as no open-mouthed footman ducked his head into the foyer.
The place was silent, save for Rupert’s frantic running.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
At last, Rupert reached the landing. He sprinted over the old tile stones, conscious he was dripping water from his time in the castle’s gutters.
He sped down the stairs, over the black-and-white marble floor in the foyer, past portraits of grim-faced former Dukes of Framingham. Perhaps they’d anticipated the horrors of having a murderous descendent.
Finally, he exited the castle. Birds sang, and a pleasant breeze fluttered through the trees. The weather was perfect—an anomaly in Britain, a day which was not too cold or too hot, and not drenched by rain. Fluffy clouds flitted languidly over the crisp blue sky, bereft of any unwanted haze, changing shapes as if they’d decided to do a performance in honor of the wedding.
Even though the princess and her entourage had only arrived the previous day, large bows were festooned to various parts of the chapel and castle.
Rupert inhaled and pushed open the thick wooden door to the chapel.
This was the perfect idyllic wedding, and Rupert was going to destroy it.