No. She looks just like a princess. Something she should become.
He swallowed deeply, forcing down dark, sinful desires. His fingers itched to touch the soft, light fabric of her dress. To luxuriate in the tactile magnificence of silk on soft, feminine skin.
The gown was so fine that her peaked nipples were evident. Christian couldn’t fault the modiste’s skillful work. Any undergarments would break the smooth lines and spoil the effect. And it most certainly was having an effect on him.
She smiled at him, her countenance all innocence and grave purpose. His cock twitched, ready to come to attention if he continued to indulge in his lustful thoughts.
Erika, my love, if he had any idea what I would like to do to you right now, your father would shoot me dead.
That mental warning finally pulled him away from heading farther down the road of desire.
Stop standing here like a dumbstruck fool. Think of something to say. Call yourself a diplomat?
“I see you are wearing your mother’s tiara—it suits you perfectly,” he said.
Well done. Now try and breathe.
Erika turned and smiled at her father. “That is exactly what Pappa said. I hope to do my mother proud tonight.”
“I am sure you will. Now I must leave and make my way over to the baron’s home,” replied Magnus.
“Aren’t you coming with us to Carlton House?” asked Erika.
“No, this is your night. People want to see the happy couple be presented together; not craggy old men like me. I will arrive with the von Rehausens.”
Count Jansson kissed his daughter on the cheek and headed for the front door.
Christian picked up Erika’s woolen cloak and draped it over her shoulders. He let his hands linger for a moment, then whispered, “If tonight is a success, it will all be down to you. No man will be able to resist you, least of all me.”
She flashed him a wary glance and moved away.
They arrived at Pall Mall and stopped out the front of Carlton House. Tonight, there would be no discreet arrival through the private entrance into the Prince Regent’s official residence. This was the moment for Christian and Erika to shine.
From the long line of carriages in the street, it was clear that London’s elite were not ones to refuse an invitation from the future king. A beaming Baron and Baroness von Rehausen, along with Count Jansson, met them inside the entrance hall. The place was a crush of people.
The Baroness brushed a soft kiss on Erika’s cheek and whispered, “You look divine, my dear. I am so proud of you for winning the favor of His Highness. This engagement ball is such a coup.”
A soft touch on her shoulder had Erika turning. Christian held out his hand to her and she took it. For the first time this evening, she truly felt his presence. His quiet and silent support calmed her nervous mind.
She met Christian’s gaze, and while everyone still milled around them, the rest of the world fell away. Everything went quiet. It was as if she and Christian were standing alone in the eye of a storm. The noise and helter-skelter of the crowd would eventually return, but for one brief moment it was just the two of them. No one else.
He leaned in and whispered, “Stay by my side tonight, Erika. I need you.”
She nodded, wishing with all her heart that those words meant more than just him asking for her help. What she yearned for was to be by his side, to lay in his arms. To have his lips on her heated skin. For this to be more than pretend.
“The prince is at the top of the stairs,” said Magnus.
The moment of idyllic bliss was gone, replaced by the soft murmurings of several hundred people as they quietened and waited for the arrival of their host.
Christian led Erika away from the others and into the center of the room. They were to be the first to greet the Prince Regent.
Voices fell silent. Heads were lowered. As the women in the room all dipped into a collective curtsey, a shush of skirts echoed in the quiet.
Then came the clip of steps on the tiled floor as the Prince Regent approached. Erika touched a hand to her breast. Her heart pounded with excitement.
“Prince Christian. Countess Erika. What a wonderful couple the two of you make. Welcome to my home.”
Erika smiled at the prince as a ripple of graceful applause carried throughout the room. Taking Christian’s hand once more, she rose.
She was determined that tonight was going to be the defining moment of her life. If she were ever blessed to have children, she wanted to be able to retell the events of the evening to them and have them understand how vital a part their mother had played in the prosperity of Sweden.
She could only pray that those memories brought her comfort in knowing that for just one bright shining interlude in her life she had stood beside the man she loved. A man she would never be able to call hers.
Chapter Twenty
Christian had learned very quickly that much of what took place in London was to do with optics. But there was more to just being seen—it was when, where and with whom you were spotted that really mattered. Tonight’s ball at Carlton House had every aspect of it covered.
After greeting the Prince Regent and graciously receiving his public blessing of his and Erika’s engagement, Christian worked the room. Erika never left his side.
Her attention to detail and capacity to remember names and faces was exceptional. Hour after hour he had studied the notes provided to him by Erika and Baroness von Rehausen, thinking he had them well versed. The moment he stepped into the room and suddenly had to remember all those people; his mind had faltered.
Many times, Erika had come to his rescue, whispering names and tidbits of information about other guests as they approached. She explained who these people were in the grand scheme of London society, which of them wielded real power, and most importantly, if they were someone crucial to the trade agreement talks. The Prince Regent had opened the door for them, but that didn’t guarantee a favorable outcome for the Swedes. They would have to achieve their own success.
It was hard work. By the end of the first hour, the back of Christian’s shirt was soaked. Little wonder gentlemen all wore black evening dress. It wasn’t just fashionable—it was practical for hiding sweat stains.
He drew her to one side. “Would you care to take a stroll in the conservatory? I could do with a spot of fresh air.”
“Yes, and I would kill to take the weight off my feet and my knee,” she replied.
He guided her toward a door which led out to the glass conservatory. The rear of Carlton House overlooked St James’s Park, affording a lush green vista. Perfectly manicured lawns and English plane trees were set against the backdrop of dirty, grimy London. The conservatory itself was oddly devoid of plants. Instead a painting of a landscape had been hung at one end, and a small stone fountain had been installed in the center.
As soon as they stepped out into the cool night air, Christian took a deep breath. Erika let go of his hand and made her way over to a nearby bench, where she settled.
“Oh, that is grand,” she sighed.
Christian took a seat next to her. It bothered him that she was still in near constant discomfort because of his stupidity. If he hadn’t been so foolish with the sleigh, she wouldn’t be dealing with her injury.
“Have you seen any other specialists about your knee?” he asked.
She nodded. “I have seen everyone. There is nothing which can be done. I have learned to live with it. Please don’t let it bother you.”
“But it does bother me. I feel so guilty. And so helpless. I wish I could do something,” he replied.
Erika reached out a hand and placed it over his, giving a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “You are doing something. This opportunity to help with the trade agreement is important to me. You mightn’t realize it, but the life of an unmarried noblewoman can be very repetitive and dare I say boring.”
Christian’s gaze came to rest on where their hands were still joined. The gold of the tiger
’s eye ring he had given to Erika shone in the light from the bright candelabras which hung overhead. If only the ring was a single band of gold.
They sat in silence for a time. Her head was bowed, turned slightly toward him. He would have bet every penny in his pocket that Erika’s gaze was also locked on the tiger’s eye ring.
I wonder what you are thinking.
Approaching footsteps on the tiles caught his attention. It was the Prince Regent’s private secretary, Sir Richard Sandy. “Prince Christian, His Royal Highness the Prince Regent has commanded that you and Countess Erika gift us all with a dance.”
Christian met Erika’s gaze. With her injured knee giving her pain, would she be able to waltz?
Erika rose stiffly from the garden bench. “Of course, Sir Richard. It would be our pleasure. We will come inside in a moment. Could you please instruct the orchestra to play at andante con moto, as I am unable to dance at the pace of a Viennese waltz.”
Christian waited until after Sir Richard had gone back inside, then drew close to Erika. “Are you certain that you wish to dance? I am sure I could speak to the prince and explain the situation.”
“Don’t you dare. The Prince Regent is a hopeless romantic. He is positively smitten with the thought of you and I being together and in love. Us waltzing in front of him and his guests will be the highlight of the evening. We cannot possibly refuse,” she replied.
She was, of course, right. Prinny had stars in his eyes every time Christian caught sight of him across the ballroom. What he didn’t particularly appreciate was that more often than not those royal eyes were locked on Erika. Prinny seemed particularly captivated by her—something which stirred a hint of jealousy inside Christian whenever he thought about it.
Erika is mine. If there comes a day when I am forced to relinquish my claim on her, it won’t be in favor of a man old enough to be her father. And even then, it will be over my dead body.
He had absolutely no intention of letting the lascivious Prince Regent get his hands on his fiancée. Erika might be his in name only, but while they were still technically betrothed, Christian fully intended to defend his claim over her.
And the middle of a crowded ballroom, right in front of the cream of London society was exactly the perfect place to show everyone that Countess Erika Jansson belonged to him.
Chapter Twenty-One
She missed the joy of the waltz. Her injured knee had meant that at most balls Erika had been relegated to either the role of wallflower, simply watching, or standing alongside her father while he discussed all manner of matters diplomatic. The only dancing, she had undertaken over the past couple of years had been in the privacy of her room, alone with an imaginary partner.
A dance partner who, now she came to think of it, had always closely resembled Prince Christian. She forced the indulgent notion away. This moment, here and now, while based in the real world, was actually just another fantasy—one in which she had a role to play.
The elite of English society had to believe that she and Christian were a loving, devoted couple. It was a romantic fairy tale that the two of them were weaving, nothing more.
The ground floor of Carlton House was a series of large spaces and anterooms. Every room was full of people, all laughing, drinking and being seen. An orchestra had set up in one of the recesses just outside the round Bow Room. This room with its gold-themed decorations was the perfect place for dancing.
Christian led Erika in from the conservatory, through several other rooms and finally into the Bow Room. People moved aside and created space around them. The orchestra immediately struck up a lively tune, the conductor smiling, clearly pleased with himself.
“Obviously Sir Richard has not had time to speak to the chap,” said Christian.
He let loose his hold on Erika’s hand and made a beeline for the group. The moment Christian stopped alongside him, the conductor waved his hands and silenced the musicians. There was a lot of nodding, and ‘I am so sorry’ was offered several times before Christian finally returned to her. “Sir Richard did give the man his instructions—he just got a little over excited.”
The music for a slow waltz filled the room.
Christian bowed to her and offered his hand. “May I have the pleasure of this dance, Countess Erika?”
Always and forever.
“Yes, Prince Christian,” she replied.
The moment his hand slipped about her waist; a frisson of heat raced down Erika’s spine. She shivered at the sensation. He pulled her closer and brushed a kiss on her cheek. It was all she could do not to melt into his embrace.
The gathering collectively sighed.
Erika’s gaze locked on her father. Magnus stood close to the Prince Regent—both wore appreciative grins. Everyone in this little false fantasy was playing their part to perfection.
She lifted her gaze to meet Christian’s, filling the smile she gave him with everything she truly held in her heart. There would be few opportunities for her to let her love for him shine. She wasn’t going to waste this one.
My love for you is real, Christian, and tonight I am not going to pretend. I am yours even if only for a little while.
“Ready?” he whispered.
Erika nodded.
Christian stepped into the waltz at the exact right moment. With skill and perfect timing, he took Erika with him. He held her close—at times probably a little too close—but she was not going to ask him to loosen his hold. After the second turn, when he lifted her at the point where her knee would be under the most strain, she finally understood what he was doing.
He was taking care of her, making sure that he did everything to help keep her from pain. His grip was light, but sure. She had never felt so secure with a man before.
“Thank you,’ she whispered.
Erika relaxed into the dance, placing her trust in Christian and his strength. An easy laugh came to her lips. “I feel like a princess from an old Swedish folktale.”
Christian chuckled. “I had better be the handsome prince and not the old troll.”
Their gazes met and the spark of mirth in his bright blue eyes made her heart soar.
If only this could last forever.
“Let others join in!” cried the Prince Regent. At that, people quickly paired up and the Bow Room was soon filled with dancing couples.
With all the attention no longer focused just on them, Erika let her gaze settle and remain on Christian. “You have become quite the adept dancer. I thought you were not one for the waltz.”
“I wasn’t, but Anna made me see sense. Once I understood the appeal of the dance and how one could hold a young lady close without being beaten around the ears by her mamma, I took to it with gusto.”
Erika chuckled. “Gusto? You really are becoming quite the Englishman with your language.”
“I think it’s Italian in origin, but I must say it is an excellent word. I have used it several times this week,” he replied.
They followed the rest of the twirling couples as they spun around the room. By the time the waltz was finally coming to an end, Erika’s body was quite warm. Her cheeks were flushed.
Christian spun her into one last turn. Erika was still praying it would last forever when he set her gently down. He bent, and for just a heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her. She drew in a deep breath, taking in the manly scent of his woody cologne.
Please kiss me properly. I don’t care who sees. I just want you. My handsome prince.
While everyone else applauded the orchestra, Christian smiled. He dropped a kiss on Erika’s cheek and the illusion shattered.
“Thank you. I think everyone was delighted with our performance,” he said.
She bit her bottom lip hard, trying to stifle her rising sense of disappointment. Of course, it had all been for show. Even the kiss. Everything tonight had been in aid of the trade agreement talks.
When Christian reached back and attempted to take her hand once more, Erika stepped away. �
��I need to go to the ladies retiring room. Please excuse me.”
Blinking back tears, Erika headed for the grand staircase. Her heart had spoken too loudly tonight and for a moment she, like almost everyone else at the ball, had believed the glittering love-story fairy tale.
She needed some time alone to get her thoughts together, to quietly remind herself of her and Christian’s agreement.
This was a fake engagement with one rule only.
Don’t fall in love.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The change in Erika’s demeanor once she returned to the main gathering in the Corinthian Room was obvious to Christian. Her easy smile was gone—in its place was wariness. She spent little time with him over the next few hours, only coming to stand with him when it was required.
It was a little after three in the morning and Christian had just finished a long discussion with the French ambassador, René-Eustache. He was grateful to be able to have spent time conversing in a language in which he was fluent.
It was apparent she was struggling. She may have just been tired, but there was something in her manner which had him politely making his apologies and leaving the ambassador. “It was an honor to talk to you this evening. Would you please excuse me? I must speak with my fiancée.” He hurried over.
Erika barely gave him a glance as he came to her side. Something was most certainly wrong. “Erika are you ill?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. Just exhausted. These things always take so much energy out of me. By now Pappa and I have usually made our farewells and gone home. I think this is the longest I have ever stayed at a party in London.”
Christian turned and made a quick check of the room. The Prince Regent had disappeared several hours ago and retired to his private rooms upstairs along with a handful of select guests, most of them members of his family. At this late hour it was unlikely that he would return. The remaining guests were well into their cups and had settled into smaller groups discussing more mundane and trivial matters. Whatever ground the Swedes had already made tonight in their efforts to secure the trade deal, little more would be gained by them remaining.
Promised to the Swedish Prince Page 10
