Erika is really angry with me. No. She is furious.
He could only be grateful that she hadn’t finished the last word in the sentence—he was surprised that she even knew such language.
“Are you on your way to see the baron this morning? I mean, that’s why you are passing through the gardens is it not? Or were you just looking for a fight,” she asked.
Christian stirred from his private thoughts. “Yes, I need to speak to him about last night. The British are already trying to dictate unfavorable terms—we need to nip that in the bud.”
The chin tip he got in reply to his words was enough to tell him that Erika still didn’t believe that was all he had been up to at the ball. But now was not the time to continue their row. Hopefully given time and a little space, she might be ready listen to what he had to say. “Where are you headed, Erika?”
“Not that you care, but I am also headed to the same place this morning. Baroness von Rehausen and I have to decide on what I need to wear this week for the remaining parties and balls.”
Not that you care. Oh, Erika.
“I’m not sure how many of those functions I will be attending. The British government are looking to press ahead with the negotiations in the next day. We may have an agreement settled by the end of tomorrow. After that I expect I will be extremely busy working out the finer details of how we will implement the new treaty.”
He offered Erika his arm. They may as well arrive together at the envoy’s house.
She shook her head. “I think I will go home. If the trade agreement is that close to being finalized, then I won’t need new gowns. And you won’t need me anymore.”
She turned in the direction of Duke Street and took one step toward home. Christian reached out and grabbed her. Anger blazed in her eyes as their gazes met.
“Let me go,” she demanded.
“Not until you say you believe me when I tell you I wasn’t with Lady Lynch. Erika, I would never betray you in such a base way,” he said.
Erika roughly pulled away. “It doesn’t matter whether I believe you or not, Christian. The parties, the beautiful gowns—even the so-called romantic betrothal—it’s all a pack of lies.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Signed and sealed.” A triumphant Magnus waved the piece of paper high in the air as he stepped in the front door of their home late the following evening. Erika had been anxiously waiting for him and Christian to return from their meeting with the British government.
For the past two hours, she had loitered downstairs, pacing back and forth over the black and white checkered tiles of the foyer. Every noise from out in the street had had her rushing to the window and peering outside, hoping it was them.
Freya had played along with what must have seemed like a game for the first while, but even she had eventually tired and gone to lie down on her big, puffy pillow and fallen asleep. Her snores echoed throughout the small downstairs space of the house.
Magnus embraced his daughter, giving her a hug. The smile on his lips almost split his face in two. “This is a grand day for Sweden.”
It truly was. A day worked hard for by many people, but finally brought to fruition by the efforts of a small but dedicated group of Swedes here in London. She was proud to have played her part, to know that the benefits to her country would be long lasting. But pride did little to help ease the pain of heartbreak. Erika dreaded the next conversation she would have with Christian, fearing it might well be the prelude to a shattering goodbye.
“I am pleased beyond words. For a time there, I was worried that you might have hit a sticking point,” she replied.
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, we did almost hit one, but Christian deftly sidestepped it. The British wanted to draw a line in the North Sea farther out from Scotland for fishing rights, but our royal protégé raised some old Viking agreement which had been signed sometime after William the Conqueror and they relented.”
“Speaking of Christian, where is he?”
The humor on the count’s face dimmed. “He was invited to a private dinner. Unfortunately, I was not, so I decided to come home and tell you the wonderful news. Christian will be back here later this evening, though I wouldn’t bother waiting up.”
Erika was grateful that her father didn’t mention the names of those Christian was likely dining with this evening. She had a very strong suspicion that Lady Lynch would be in attendance.
Christian may well have resisted the temptation to sleep with the politician’s wife thus far, but Erika feared that with the agreement now signed, Lady Lynch would be seeking payment for her efforts.
You said you would never betray me. Christian, I hope you keep that promise.
“Why would I wait up for him? He is only my fiancé,” she replied.
She hated the bitterness in her words. It was foolish to be jealous over Christian and other women. But every time Erika thought of him and the magnificent kiss they had shared, her heart threatened to break.
Magnus nodded. “Let us go somewhere private and discuss matters.” He took her gently by the hand and steered her toward the staircase.
Up in the small sitting room, he ushered her to a sofa then closed the door. An uncomfortable sense of dread descended on her.
“With the agreement now finalized, we have to address the issue of your betrothal and how to end it as soon as possible,” he said.
The ink wasn’t even dry on the trade agreement and Magnus was already looking to break her and Christian apart.
“Why are you so eager?” she asked.
He raked his fingers through his hair, then sighed. “Because it has to be this way, Erika. If the two of you remain betrothed, people will expect a wedding. A wedding that is not going to happen.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Is this what Christian wants? Has he already asked you to find a way for us to part?”
Magnus fixed her with his gaze. “No. Christian hasn’t mentioned anything. Please do not seek to paint me as the villain of this story. Right at the outset, the three of us made an agreement regarding your fake engagement. We all knew it would eventually have to end.”
“So, what is now going to happen?”
He moved away from the door, coming to sit beside her, a soft, hopeful look on his face. “I know this is difficult. The last thing I want is for you to be hurt. That was one of the reasons why I was hesitant about this ruse in the first place. I could see the pitfalls, but Christian pressed the need for him to have a companion in order to gain entry to the Carlton House set. In the end, I had to trust that you would keep your thoughts focused on your eventual return to Sweden.”
Her father, Prince Stefan and of course Prince Gustav were convinced that her marriage to Gustav was a fete accompli. Even Christian seemed resigned to it. Everyone expected it happen—everyone, except Erika.
Christian, where are you?
If he was here right now and could hear what her father was saying, things might be different. Christian may finally come to see sense and understand that he was her destiny, not Gustav.
But he isn’t. He is somewhere else in London. And who knows who he is with.
That painful thought tore at her heart—plunged a knife deep into her soul.
Perhaps she was being too harsh in her assessment of her father’s behavior. He may well have had it right all along. He certainly seemed to have a clear picture of things and was reconciled to her future being with Gustav.
It was time for her to accept that her brief sojourn in the sun with Christian was over. “I shall return the betrothal ring to Christian as soon as I see him. In the meantime, what else would you have me do?”
Magnus patted her hand softly. “Good girl. What I need you to do is to start packing. The Northern Lion sails for Stockholm at the end of next week. I intend that you shall be the one to bear the glad tidings of the trade agreement to our king.”
Next week. She would be leaving England in a matter of days.
“B
ut what about you? Won’t you be coming with me?” she replied.
She got another series of soft taps on the back of her hand as her father momentarily turned his head away. “No. Eventually I will return home, but there is much to do here to ensure the trade agreement is a success. Christian will also need further grooming for his future role of official envoy. I don’t expect to be back in Stockholm until after my first grandchild is born. At that time, I expect the king will find me a suitable senior post on his private council in appreciation for all that I have done for Sweden.”
He was abandoning her. Leaving his only child alone to her fate—one that would serve his purposes.
“Am I still to marry Gustav, even after I have been betrothed to his brother?”
She had pinned her hopes on the betrothal putting paid to that idea, assuming that Gustav would no longer want her.
“Yes, we all have our duty. Prince Gustav’s is to take you as his wife after a suitable period has elapsed following your return from England. My letters to King Charles and Prince Stefan will go with you in the diplomatic bag.”
All the hard work she had put into helping make Christian a success, the weeks of maintaining the fantasy of their romance, was now revealed for what it truly was—a small precursor to the biggest sacrifice of all. She would marry Prince Gustav and smooth her father’s way to influence and power.
Erika withdrew her hand and got to her feet. “Excuse me, Pappa. I need to be alone.”
He gave her a gentle smile, appearing to stir from his musings of greatness. “Yes of course. You have done your duty here in England, now it is time to go home and take up the role that has been assigned to you. That of Prince Gustav’s wife.”
Erika left the room, her heart heavy with loss. In a little over a week she would be on board the ship to Sweden, leaving behind both her father and Christian. There would be many preparations to make for her journey home.
She headed for the library and the large box of unopened correspondence which lay within. Two years of Gustav’s voluminous letters would have to be finally opened, read, and their overbearing lectures memorized.
Erika was going home to Sweden.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Thank god this is only wine.
As the hours of drunken discourse continued, all Christian could think was that he was grateful to have been brought up on vodka. While the rest of the dinner party guests got deeper into their cups on red wine, he remained mostly sober. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to his Viking forebears and their ability to imbibe and not fall face forward into their cream of leek soup.
By the time the sixth course had been served, several guests had fallen asleep at the table, while three had already called it a night and gone home. Slowly but surely the number of people seated at Sir Vincent and Lady Lynch’s oversized mahogany table dwindled.
He glanced up from his salmon mousse as a footman entered the room and came to Sir Vincent’s side. He bent and spoke softly into his employer’s ear. There was some nodding and a “yes,” at the end of which the cabinet minister rose from his chair. Christian caught the brief eye lock between husband and wife as Sir Vincent made his polite excuses and left the room.
Subtle as a brick. I think that is the expression the English use.
It was obvious what was happening. At a particular point in the evening, the host was to make a strategic withdrawal from the gathering, leaving his wife to work her charms on Christian. It was the way things were done in diplomatic circles, but it still made him nauseous.
Damn.
He was stuck. If he got up and tried to leave right this minute, he would likely cause offence. The trade agreement had been signed less than a day. He dared not risk putting it in jeopardy. The British were well known for finding loopholes in contracts and agreements when none existed.
“Would you care to join me for a walk out on the terrace, Prince Christian? I expect we could both do with a spot of fresh air,” offered Lady Lynch.
Christian stifled a wry grin at her apparent lack of patience. Had her husband even reached the end of the hallway as yet?
“Of course. We could take a stroll and wait for Sir Vincent to return,” he replied.
She softly laughed. “Oh, my husband won’t be back. Right this minute he is about to climb into his carriage and go to see the voluptuous wife of an Italian diplomat,” she said.
Christian’s mind scrambled to find a solution to the growing problem of what he would do once he and Lady Lynch were alone. Why hadn’t he insisted that Count Jansson or at least Baron von Rehausen had been invited? The answer, of course, was obvious—his old impetuous nature. Habits die hard.
The agreement had his signature on it, not theirs. They had done much of the work on the details, but it had been his negotiations and close relationships with the likes of the Lynches that had got the trade agreement finalized.
As he followed Lady Lynch out the dining room, Christian corrected himself. It had been his and Erika’s combined efforts which had ensured the agreement’s success. If anyone else deserved to be at the dinner tonight, it was Erika.
She is still your fiancée.
Christian had barely set foot on the stone paving of the garden before Lady Lynch pressed herself against him and began to back him toward the wall of the house.
He put his hands up trying to hold her at bay, but she simply laughed. “Come now, Christian, don’t tell me you are going to play hard to get. You grew up around royalty and diplomats—you know how these things work. You got what you wanted and now it is time for you to give me my just rewards.”
His back hit the hard brick wall and he stopped. Lady Lynch took one more step and drew close. Her tongue ran seductively along the top of her lip and Christian swallowed. The light touch of her fingers on his arm sent shivers down his spine.
Why couldn’t you be an ugly overweight thing like your husband?
Anne Lynch was a handsome woman in anyone’s language. Few men would even consider refusing such a blatant come-on.
But he wouldn’t, couldn’t do it. Not to Erika. He had told her he would never betray her, and he meant it. His love for his Swedish countess conquered any sort of temptation thrown in his path. No other woman could compare to Erika. “Please, Lady Lynch. I am engaged to be married. I would not do my fiancée such an injustice by being false.”
She snorted. “Oh, come now, Prince Christian. Even Countess Erika Jansson is not that naïve. She knows exactly what you will be doing tonight. Her father is a diplomat. He will have explained how these things work to her. Why else would you have chosen her as your future wife?”
He closed his eyes, trying to force the horrid realization away. Everyone thought he had offered to marry Erika because she would make the perfect political wife. That in time she would become the same hardened, calculating kind of woman as Lady Lynch.
And if she marries Gustav, that is exactly her fate.
Opening his eyes, he met her gaze, finally sure of himself. “No, Lady Lynch, that is not how things are between Erika and me. I love her. I want to give her the very best life I possibly can.”
The glossy sheen of self-assurance disappeared from Lady Lynch’s face. In its place he caught the hint of long-lost innocence. Of a young woman who had also thought she was marrying for love, only to discover that what she had done was to wed her soul to wealth and power.
To his relief, she took a step back. “Well, this all too embarrassing for words,” she muttered.
“It doesn’t have to be. You can tell your husband that I am a cold fish. Or you could simply say that you and I agreed upon a close working friendship, one which does not require either of us to whore ourselves for our respective countries.”
“Christian, I think you have the makings of a masterful diplomatic statesman. One which I would be honored to call a friend.”
He accepted her outstretched hand, greatly relieved to have salvaged the situation. If he was going to remain in London,
he was going to need long-standing relationships that he could trust. “Thank you. Now I think it is time for me to take my leave. I have a fiancée to go home to.”
“Good luck, Christian. And for heaven’s sake, do hurry up and set a date for your nuptials. London society loves nothing more than a grand wedding.”
Christian left the Lynches’ house soon after in somewhat of a hurry. Slipping his arms into his coat, he didn’t bother to hail a hack. As he turned the corner into North Audley Street, he broke into a trot. By the time he reached the crossing at Oxford Street, he was in a full run.
Racing across the street, he was forced to leap out of the way in order to avoid being run over by an oncoming carriage. Heart pounding and legs burning, he pushed on. Out the front of number four Duke Street, he skittered to a halt before bounding up the front steps.
Inside the small foyer, he bent and rested his hands on his knees, sucking in a great lungful of air. Pulling a clean handkerchief from out of his coat pocket, he wiped his sweaty brow.
“Right. Now to get this sorted,” he muttered.
Upstairs, he passed Count Jansson’s study. The door was closed, but from the sound of metal balls connecting with each other, it was clear Magnus was practicing his boules. There was a thud, followed by low swearing.
He sighed. The housekeeper would be none too pleased when she came to be cleaning the skirting boards again in the morning. The boules tended to leave difficult marks.
Christian hurried on to the sitting room. He poked his head inside, then left. “Where the devil is, she? Erika, please don’t have already gone to bed.”
At the door to the library, he stopped. Seated on the floor, with several piles of letters in front of her, was Erika.
“Oh, thank god. I was beginning to worry,” he said.
She gave him the briefest of glances, then went back to reading the paper she held in her hand. Christian bent and picked up another letter. As soon as he turned it over, he knew who had sent it. Gustav’s personal stamp was on the wax seal.
Promised to the Swedish Prince Page 13
