MY FUGITIVE PRINCE
MIRIAM MINGER
Copyright © 2018 by Miriam Minger
All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-943644-29-2
Table of Contents
Other Books by Miriam Minger
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
Twin Passions
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Other Books by Miriam Minger
The O’Byrne Brides Series
Wild Angel
Wild Roses
Wild Moonlight
On A Wild Winter’s Night
The Man of My Dreams Series
Secrets of Midnight
My Runaway Heart
My Forbidden Duchess
Kissed at Twilight
My Fugitive Prince
Captive Brides Collection
Twin Passions
Captive Rose
The Pagan’s Prize
Dangerous Masquerade Collection
The Brigand Bride
The Temptress Bride
The Impostor Bride
To Love a Billionaire Series
The Maiden and the Billionaire
The Governess and the Billionaire
The Pirate Queen and the Billionaire
The Highland Bride and the Billionaire
Contemporary Romantic Suspense
Operation Hero
Chapter 1
Early June, 1822
Near Porthleven, Cornwall
“Where are you, Prince Valentin? Where are you?”
Estelle Easton had shouted at the top of her lungs from where she stood looking out across a glistening Mount’s Bay. The wind whipped at her waist-length auburn hair, the water’s surface blinding in the noonday sun.
Of course no one could have heard her. The deafening waves crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff had sucked away the sound the moment the words left her lips.
She didn’t care if anyone had heard her anyway. It felt good to release the frustration that seemed to build whenever she found herself thinking overmuch about Prince Valentin.
No, she absolutely refused to believe the courageous young man who had saved her from drowning on Christmas Day two and a half years ago might be dead! Yet if he was alive and well, why had he sent only one letter since he’d sailed from Porthleven with his man, Robert, three days after rescuing her?
Her brother-in-law Donovan Trent, the Duke of Arundale, had shared with her that the letter had arrived and Valentin was safe, though Donovan hadn’t revealed where he’d gone. She’d been so happy to hear the news, but weeks passed, then months, and no more letters.
Donovan had reassured her many times that no further news was a wise thing on Valentin’s part, it being too dangerous to share his plans or his whereabouts with anyone. He was a fugitive after all from brutal pursuers like the three men who had come to Porthleven looking for him just days before Donovan received the letter.
The three men who had intended to abduct her and her sister Linette to use as a lure to ensure Valentin’s surrender once they tracked him down…
“Oh, dear.” Her chest tightening, Estelle shook her head in an attempt to dispel the dreadful memories assailing her. She made herself take a deep, calming breath of the salt-tinged air.
Those bad men were dead. No others had ventured into Porthleven inquiring about a young man meeting Prince Valentin’s description, which had convinced Donovan last year to allow his wife, children, and Estelle to journey from Hampshire to Cornwall to spend the summer.
It had convinced him, too, to grant Estelle’s request to remain behind with her father, Reverend Joseph Easton, instead of returning with them at summer’s end to Arundale Hall.
In her old room at the parsonage. The peaceful surroundings offering her solace from dark memories that had changed her forever, and curbed her wild and headstrong ways…well, not completely, but most of the time. The past year had raced by, much in part to Estelle keeping herself busy by helping those less fortunate in the parish, just like her older sisters had done.
Donovan, Corisande, and their children had arrived just a few days ago to spend another summer in Cornwall, but Estelle still had plenty to do besides socialize. She’d ridden out to the manor house only to join them for breakfast before returning to Porthleven to visit the orphans at the poorhouse.
She would have already been there, too, if her thoughts of Valentin hadn’t overwhelmed her and caused her to stop at her favorite spot to clear her head.
Estelle supposed she was thinking about him so much because she was dying to ask Donovan if he’d received any letters from him. She’d resisted the impulse though, recalling how his face had darkened at each query in the past, which told her, in spite of his reassuring words, he’d sensed misfortune might have befallen Valentin. Truly, that was the last thing she wanted to hear!
Her sister Corie had looked troubled, too, if ever she’d heard an inquiry from Estelle about a letter, which didn’t surprise her. She knew that Donovan and Corie held a special place in their hearts for the young man who had so bravely risked his life by plunging into the frigid waves to save her.
“And brought your sweet boy Luther home to you,” Estelle murmured, feeling a hollow ache at the thought of her little dog that she’d lost soon after her eighteenth birthday in February.
How many times had she stood in this very spot overlooking Mount’s Bay with Luther tucked securely under arm? His brown eyes bright, the wind tugging at his whiskers, and his bony tail thumping against her hip? She’d awakened one morning to find he had drifted away peacefully in his sleep…
Estelle heaved a sigh and glanced behind her to a rock outcropping where she’d tethered her chestnut mare. She had tarried long enough, but still she found her gaze drawn once more to the sunlight glinting like gold upon Mount’s Bay.
A flash of memory came to her…Valentin’s hair shining like gold in the firelight.
The concern on his handsome face when he’d held her tightly against him, wrapped in his cloak, and rode like the wind to return her safely to her family. The sound of his voice, gentle and soothing, when she’d cried out in pain.
Forgive me, Estelle. You’re terribly bruised from the rocks, but you’ll be home soon.
Those memories she cherished, thankfully stronger than the awful ones she longed only to forget.
Once again she wondered where Valentin might be and if she would ever be able to thank him for saving her life.
Was he safe? She desperately hoped so. Did he ever think of her during his travels? Had he taken refuge in northern England, Ireland, or Scotland? Or perhaps somewhere even further away? The Continent? Maybe even America?
Her thoughts consumed by the possibilities, she lifted the hem of her riding habit and hurried toward her mare, who nickered at her approach. With agile grace, she climbed up on a rock and mounted, and then wheeled her horse around in the dir
ection of Porthleven.
“Estelle, wait!”
Startled, she glanced across the yellow gorse-covered ground to where her eleven-year-old niece, Paloma, rode toward her.
Fortunately Donovan and Corie’s eldest daughter, an expert horsewoman even at her tender age, slowed her mare to a trot as she grew closer to the cliff. Yet Estelle’s heart beat faster all the same.
“I’d hoped to find you here! The stable hand told me you’d rode out this way.”
Estelle smiled as Paloma drew her mount alongside her, struck anew by her young niece’s unrivaled beauty.
It seemed during the months since she’d last seen her, Paloma had grown even lovelier, if that was even possible. Her plaited mahogany hair gleamed in the sunlight, her skin the color of cream, her lips red as cherries. Clearly her Spanish mother must have been an astonishing beauty. Yet Paloma remained as sweet and loving as always, her exquisite features lit with excitement.
“Estelle, you must ride back to the manor house with me! A letter has come from Prince Valentin!”
Her breath stopped, Estelle felt for a moment that the world had stopped around her, too.
“The messenger only just arrived! Papa and Mama said I might ride out this far to see if I could find you, but to go no further. I was so happy to see that you’d not gone all the way to Porthleven—oh, Estelle, can you believe it?”
No, she couldn’t believe it, Estelle still finding it difficult to breathe.
Gesturing for Paloma to ride alongside her, the two of them set off at a gallop across the heath, Estelle’s heart hammering in her throat. A thousand questions assailed her, one thought ringing in her mind.
Valentin was alive! Thank God, her fugitive prince was alive!
***
“Oh, Estelle, it’s the most amazing news! Donovan and I couldn’t be more relieved—”
“Good news, then?” Her heartbeat thundering in her ears, Estelle glanced from her eldest sister, Corie, who stood beside Donovan’s chair, to her brother-in-law seated at his desk with the contents of the packet spread out in front of him. He shook his head as if in disbelief, a rare thing for a man who always seemed in command of any situation.
Corie, too, appeared as astonished. Her hand trembled upon her husband’s broad shoulder, tears welled in her eyes. To see such emotion from her indomitable sister made Estelle’s knees suddenly feel weak. She sank into one of the leather chairs in front of the desk. “Oh, Lord…”
“No, no, Estelle, everything is well, truly!” Corie blurted, indicating the letter and the broken scarlet seal upon the ivory-colored envelope. “It’s from Bratavia, Prince Valentin’s homeland, hand-delivered by royal messenger. Donovan sent the man to the kitchen for food and refreshment while he awaits our reply.”
“Reply?” Her gaze skipped from Corie to Donovan’s face, Estelle watching as he reached up to squeeze Corie’s hand upon his shoulder.
They made such a handsome pair, Donovan so tall and strapping with his midnight hair and Corie blessed with the lustrous auburn tresses and lovely brown eyes that all four Easton sisters possessed. He nodded and slid the letter closer to Estelle so she might read it for herself.
“Prince Valentin Chevalier is safe and well,” Donovan began, while she scanned the formal script. “He says only that there was a coup in April and his father returned to the throne, though he died a few weeks later. Valentin has invited us to his coronation, well, as many as are able to attend—”
“A coup?” Estelle cut him off, her breath caught as she imagined shots flying and cannon firing.
Donovan nodded again, glancing at Corie before he continued. “Valentin’s uncle, Archduke Henri Chevalier, imprisoned his elder brother, Renaud, and usurped the throne. Bratavia is a small principality situated between Belgium and France, but a rich one. Given that, such treachery is not surprising. Valentin was fortunate to escape aboard a ship bound for Cornwall, and took refuge here with his valet, Robert, when they docked in Porthleven. We would never have known any of this if Valentin hadn’t rescued you that Christmas Day. He would have come and gone as quietly as he had intended, none of us the wiser.”
Realizing Donovan knew more about Valentin than she could have ever imagined, Estelle shifted in her chair when he seemed to grow pensive for a moment. Only when Corie gently squeezed his shoulder as if to draw him back from some dark thought, did he continue. “The coronation will take place in a month…and your sister and I have already made our decision. You’ve long wished for the opportunity to thank Prince Valentin for saving your life, so now’s your chance. Would you like to journey to Bratavia?”
“Yes, oh yes!” At the edge of her seat now, Estelle quickly perused the letter again, but there was no more information than Donovan had revealed. She had so many unanswered questions!
How long had Valentin been a fugitive abroad before he returned home? Was it after the coup? Or had he managed to return to his country and rally the Bratavian citizens to his cause? Even so, would they have needed convincing? His uncle, Archduke Henri, sounded like a horrible man…
“You cannot travel alone, of course,” Donovan said, his low voice breaking into her racing thoughts. “You’ll need chaperones, but Corie and I cannot attend the coronation with you. The children are too young to leave them for any great length of time, and it’s the same for Marguerite and Walker, and Lindsay and Jared, for that matter. Linette and Adam have no children as yet, so they would be the perfect choice of travel companions for you. I’ll send them a letter at once.”
It was true, Estelle agreed, running her forefinger across the embossed wax on the envelope while Donovan rose and drew Corie toward the window to confer quietly with her.
Her second eldest sister, Marguerite, and her husband, Walker Burke, the Duke of Summerlin, had recently welcomed a baby girl, Flora, their five-year-old son, Dwight, delighted by his new sister.
Lindsay, Corie’s dearest friend, and her husband, Jared Giles, the Earl of Dovercourt, had three children now, Justin, almost eight, Cecelia, nearly six, and little Mary, just turned one.
Corie and Donovan’s brood had grown, too, Paloma, the eight-year-old twins, Dahlia and Draydon, and little Adele, now three, welcoming another girl, Penelope, five months ago. It seemed babies were raining from the sky!
Well, except for Linette and Adam, married two years now and still no little one, though they all knew how desperately Linette wanted children. Estelle had never seen her so sad as when the entire family, which always included Lindsay and Jared and their children, had gathered for Easter at Arundale Hall, the rooms ringing with the sound of youngsters laughing and playing.
Estelle had actually begun to fear for Linette’s health from the smudges under her eyes, even though Adam, Viscount Linley, still working as a physician along with overseeing his estate in Wiltshire, had reassured them that she was fine. He was clearly devoted to her, the two of them very much in love, but perhaps he couldn’t admit to himself that Linette wasn’t as well as he wanted to believe.
In a way, Estelle couldn’t help blaming herself. It had been her idea to return to the seaside cottage where Valentin had taken her after saving her from drowning when she’d plunged into the waves to rescue poor Luther. Linette had kindly agreed to accompany her there, and those evil men had come upon them and threatened such heinous things that Estelle had fainted from terror.
Thank God, too. She had been spared seeing Linette shot in the shoulder during their rescue by Donovan and Adam, a wound that had nearly cost Linette her life. Maybe there hadn’t been a child yet because her health still suffered, no matter what Adam had said…
Her excitement dampened by that unhappy thought, Estelle was grateful when Corie came toward her in a soft whoosh of lavender silk and held out her hand.
“I believe the sea air and a change of surroundings will do Linette good,” she said quietly as if reading Estelle’s mind. “You, too, always so busy taking care of everyone but yourself.”
“Just
like you once did in the parish, though I’ve yet to dabble in fair trading—”
“There will be no more Easton women involved in smuggling,” Donovan interjected, throwing her a feigned stern look. “Damnation, Corie! Perhaps this invitation has come just in time.”
“Yes, and we’ve much to do,” Corie agreed as she drew Estelle to her feet. “You’ll need a new wardrobe, so a visit to the best seamstress in the village, Mrs. Polkinghorne, is at the top of the list. Of course we must speak with Papa, and make arrangements for others to tend to your duties while you’re gone. But first, if you’d go to the kitchen and let the messenger know we’ll have a firm reply for him within a few days. We should have heard from Linette and Adam by then. Tell the man we have a room for him until he sets out again, will you? It will give you a chance to practice your French.”
Estelle nodded, wild exhilaration filling her.
She would be attending a royal coronation for Prince Valentin! At last she would see him again! She threw her arms around Corie to hug her, and then fairly flew out of the library.
***
“We can’t tell her, Donovan. If she knows the truth, she’ll feel so miserable that she will refuse to go. You know she already blames herself for what happened to Linette.”
Still staring at the door that had just shut behind Estelle, Corie heard her husband’s resigned sigh and turned to meet his eyes.
Somber. Subdued. His mood much like hers in spite of her youngest sister’s elation at this unexpected news from Prince Valentin Chevalier.
In truth, they had feared him dead since they had received a letter that he intended to return to Bratavia to surrender to his uncle. A weather-stained letter that had somehow been mislaid and taken several months to reach them…and too late for Donovan to do anything to change Valentin’s mind.
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