She nodded, the candlelight softening the lines on her face. “He would make Sorcha happy, I think. We are very fortunate to have this opportunity for her.”
Bronwyn bit her lip. “Perhaps, although . . . the prince doesn’t seem to have the slightest interest in finding a wife.”
“No man thinks he wants a wife, but they all do.”
“I’m not sure that’s true about this man. And . . . he and Sorcha are so very different.”
Mama looked surprised. “Do you think so? I thought they made a stunning couple. He so dark and broad shouldered, and she so fair and delicate—”
“They would make a beautiful couple, but they have very little in common. She is somewhat shy, while he always ends up being the center of attention. She takes no pleasure in arguing, yet he thrives on it. She cares for fashion and politeness, and he has the barest amount of both. His morals are questionable, hers are not.”
“How do you know so much about him?”
She knew because he’d told her, and she’d seen it for herself, but she only said, “I’ve heard things.”
“Idle gossip, then. I’m a good judge of character, and I think he’s sincere. The prince may have lived wildy, but now he has settled down.”
“You know best, of course, but . . . I would want Sorcha to be part of a happy couple, not just a handsome one.”
“So would I.” Mama was silent, her face inscrutable in the flickering candlelight. “Let’s watch them and we’ll discuss this again later. Meanwhile, if you don’t mind, pray don’t mention your thoughts to Sorcha. Whether she responds to the prince or not, it needs to be her decision and not ours.”
Bronwyn nodded. “I won’t say a word.”
“Thank you. As usual, you take good care of your sister.” She smiled at Bronwyn. “Go to bed, child. It’s late. I . . .” Her smile faded. “Are you well? You keep rubbing your ear.”
“It tickles, that’s all.”
“Well, we’ll keep an eye on it. Good night.”
Hours later, tucked snugly into her bed, Bronwyn put away the small book on Oxenburg. After snuffing out the candle she closed her eyes, wondering about the prince.
One part of her—the part that lingered over the adventurous scenes in her books, had started longing for a larger life and whispered that here, at least, was a real adventure she could embark upon. But the other part of her—the part that treasured the constancy and comfort of her life here, warned that she was playing with fire, one that could potentially destroy her comfortable life.
What if I fall in love? she wondered, absently rubbing her ear. She found the prince intriguing, but that wasn’t love. And he won’t be here long enough for my feelings to be at risk, anyway.
She rolled toward the window so she could watch the lightning. The rain thrummed loudly on the roof, while one of the dogs snored softly. Her bed was clean and cozy, the quilt and pillows cocooning her in softness. She thought about her sisters, and all of the laughter they’d shared. She thought of Papa and his inventions, and Mama and her ambitions. She thought of their neighbors, and all the people who brought life to Dingwall. She loved it all, and hoped with all of her heart that none of it would ever change.
But it was changing. Sorcha and Mairi were growing up, and would marry and move away. Once they were gone, it would just be her and her parents. She’d stay busy, helping Papa with his patents and Mama with the household chores . . . Suddenly Bronwyn wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Would she just remain here for the rest of her life, never experiencing any adventures? Or would she find a way to live in a larger fashion?
Perhaps getting to know the prince was an opportunity to live a larger life. . . .
And since he’d only be here a brief time, flirting with him was the safest adventure she could have. The fact that he wanted only a brief dalliance, that he’d never fall in love with her and demand that she leave with him, made it safe. A flirtation would give her a dose of confidence, and who couldn’t use more of that?
Perhaps once Sorcha and Mairi are gone and Papa and Mama are settled, I will leave Ackinnoull for a month each year. I will travel and visit the places I’ve read about, and explore foreign lands.
She smiled. That would be something, indeed. And perhaps the first country she’d visit would be a green jewel of a place nestled in the blue and white mountains of Europe.
A few minutes later she fell into a deep sleep where, in a tiny hamlet under the shadow of a mountain, a handsome huntsman with green eyes chased her around a tree and tried to steal kisses.
The next evening, Mairi stood in the front foyer and adjusted her pale-green silk shawl so that it draped over her shoulders just so. “I can’t believe you’re not coming to Sir Henry’s dinner with us.”
From the settee, her head wrapped in a shawl to cover her aching ear, Bronwyn fought the desire to pout like a child. “Me, too—I so wished to go. I love turtle soup.” And then there’s Alexsey. . . . She sighed.
Sorcha, looking concerned, placed her cool hand on Bronwyn’s forehead. “You’re still hot. But you don’t seem to be in as much pain as you were this morning.”
“The ache is almost gone now.” Bronwyn shifted restlessly, kicking at her blanket. “I’ve been on this settee all day. While you’re gone, I might take a walk and—”
“No,” Mama said. “Dr. Leith said you were to keep your ear wrapped at least until tomorrow. He said to use those drops every few hours, and to avoid noise, bright light, and all forms of excitement.”
“Taking a walk is hardly exciting.”
“It will be if it rains again,” Mairi said. “It was still gray outside when night fell.”
Bronwyn sighed again.
Sorcha tucked the blanket about her. “We’ll tell you everything that happened when we return.”
Mairi nodded. “I’ll pay especially close attention to everyone’s gowns so I can give you descriptions of them. I’m so glad Sir Henry sent a coach. It’s so luxurious, compared to our musty old one.”
“It is quite an honor,” Mama said, looking pleased. “We’re very fortunate.”
Sorcha turned to Bronwyn and held her arms out to either side. “What do you think?” Her round Circassian robe of pink crepe over a white satin slip accentuated her delicate figure. The gown was fringed at the hem and had a bodice of pink satin laced with silver, and ornamental Spanish slashed sleeves from which white crepe peeked whenever she moved.
“You look lovely,” Bronwyn said.
Sorcha beamed. “Thank you.”
Mairi grinned. “Sorcha’s determined to look especially good since the prince and Viscount Strathmoor saw her wearing flower horns two days ago.”
“I am not!” Sorcha frowned. “I don’t care what either of them thinks.”
The clock chimed and Mama said, “We must go. Come, girls. No more dallying.” As they left, she turned back to Bronwyn. “Your father is visiting Colonel Washburn this evening, hoping to borrow his wagon for something or another, but Mrs. Pitcairn will be here until nine. Don’t forget to take your medicine.” She pointed to a small brown bottle sitting on the table at Bronwyn’s elbow.
Bronwyn wrinkled her nose. “It makes me dizzy.”
“Then take it right before bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
She left, and Bronwyn soon heard the coach pull away.
Throwing off the blanket, she arose and found the tome on Oxenburg that she’d hidden under an almanac. After Mama’s conversation last night, she’d thought it might be better to keep the book out of sight. She returned to the settee and began to read.
That occupied her for the next hour, though she kept finding her gaze on the mantel clock. Slowly, the time passed. Finally, after a particularly dry chapter on the various treaties negotiated by a seemingly very active Oxenburg parliament, she closed the book and tossed it aside. Aside from the crackle of the fire and the tick of the clock, the room was silent.
“Well. Here I am.” Her words echoed in the empty room, an
d she longingly thought of the laughter she’d have shared at Sir Henry’s dinner. Stop that. Thinking about the fun you’re missing just makes you feel worse.
She shoved the thoughts aside and, realizing it was time for her medicine, uncorked the small bottle and poured a dose into the spoon her stepmother had left lying next to it. Shuddering at the bitter taste, she recorked it and pulled the blanket closer. And within a few minutes, she was fast asleep.
There was but one woman who lit his soul afire, one woman who—with but a glance—could either melt his bones into liquid or rend him limb from limb.
And every day, he blessed the day he’d met her.
—The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth
Some time later, Bronwyn slowly awoke, like a person surfacing in a pond. Her ears felt muffled, her body faintly numb, her senses dulled. She sent a sour glance at the little brown medicine bottle, feeling as drunk as if she’d emptied a wine bottle by herself.
With a huge yawn, she sat upright and stretched. Her ear didn’t hurt a bit, so that was good—well worth the fuzzy brain.
A jingle in the drive outside made her look toward the door.
“They’re home!” She arose, staggering a little as she pulled the blanket about her like a cape. Slowly, she weaved her way to the window to look out of the curtains.
No carriage stood in the drive.
She rubbed her eyes. Had she dreamed it? “That’s the last time I take that medicine.” She was starting to return to the settee when a knock sounded on the front door. Had Papa forgotten his key again?
She made her way unsteadily to the door and swung it open.
Instead of Papa, her eyes locked upon a gold button.
It was real gold, too, and not brass. The surface had been pressed to resemble a lion, which gleamed menacingly at her.
Slowly, she slid her gaze up over a blue waistcoat, past a carelessly knotted cravat pinned with a large emerald, to a tanned throat. And up to Alexsey’s amused face.
His black hair was mussed by the wind, his green eyes agleam, and he wore a mischievous expression that made her heart leap as if in recognition.
“Ohhhhh . . .” So pretty, her bemused mind sighed. So very pretty.
His brows rose, and she noted again how they flared the tiniest bit at the corners, giving him an exotic look. “Oh?” he repeated.
She tried to kick her fuzzy brain into action, but nothing happened, so she just nodded.
Amusement and curiosity showed in his eyes. “And here I have ridden like a madman to see you. While I didn’t expect a hug or a kiss, I did expect a ‘Hello, how nice to see you.’ ”
A yawn that would not be repressed began to torment her. She covered her mouth and hoped he wouldn’t notice.
The prince’s gaze narrowed, his smile now gone as his eyes raked over her hair and took in the blanket. “Ya ni panilah, have you been ill?”
“Yes. Earache.” She saw his lack of comprehension, so she patted her ear. “I’m better now, but the medicine—whew!” She leaned her head against the door, hanging on to the knob to keep her balance as she tried to make her eyes focus on him. “So . . . what are you doing here? The dinner cannot be over yet.”
“I am visiting you.” He removed his gloves and stuffed them in his coat pocket before he placed a hand under her elbow, his fingers warm.
She really liked his hands. They were large, but always so gentle.
“Roza, forgive me, but you look as if at any moment you might fall.”
“No, no. I’m holding on to the knob.” She nodded down at her hands, which were completely hidden by the blanket. “See?”
He looked at the blanket. “Da.” Then one of his arms slipped behind her while the other found her knees. With the smallest of efforts he straightened, and suddenly she was in his arms.
It was heavenly. So very, very heavenly. She dropped her head against his broad shoulder.
Alexsey kicked the front door closed behind him. “Where do I take you, little one?”
She pointed a languid finger toward the sitting room. As he carried her there, she admired the strength of his arms and the width of his chest. If she wished to touch him, all she had to do was lift her hand.
It was so tempting.
So very, very tempting. And it was the last thing she should do.
Her heart thudded in an oddly happy way and she watched him through her lashes. “You know what I think, oh great prince?”
He stopped by the settee and smiled into her eyes. “No, but I know you will tell me.”
“Yes. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.” He placed her on the settee, then set his hat on the small table beside it. “Yet here I am, unable to stay away.”
She tried to sit up, only halfway managing it. “I’m unchaperoned. That’s not allowed. You must go.” She pointed toward the door.
“Do you wish me to go?”
She blinked. Of course she did. Or did she? Somehow her gaze found his mouth. Never had she met a man with such a sensual bottom lip. Just seeing it made her breath catch, her knees grow weak, her—
“Then I stay for a while.” Satisfaction curved his mouth, breaking the spell. He unbuttoned his coat and shrugged out of it, displaying his elegant dinner coat and blue embroidered waistcoat. His simple cravat was held by a gold and emerald pin, the fire of which matched his gaze.
Though his cravat pin sparkled, she couldn’t seem to look away from his eyes. They were so pretty. So very pretty.
Bronwyn knew she should insist he leave, but her fuzzy mind just hummed along happily.
He came to sit beside her on the settee, which suddenly seemed very small. “You are a very big man.”
“And you are a very small woman. Like a bird.”
She considered this, pretending not to notice when his hand found hers. “What kind of bird?”
He chuckled. “A sparrow, perhaps.”
“How about a hawk? I would like to be a hawk.”
He kissed her fingers. “With me, Roza, you may be anything you wish.”
With him. She liked that. A lot. Her common sense whispered an urgent warning, one she couldn’t quite hear through her haze. “The dinner cannot be over.” Surely she’d said that before, but he hadn’t answered.
“No. It continues. I told them I had a headache; then I came here.” He continued kissing her fingers, looking at her as he did so. “I couldn’t stay away.”
He looked so delicious, every touch of his lips sending tremors of sensation through her. She wondered how much stronger they’d be if not for the medicine, and the answer almost frightened her. She pulled her hand free and crossed her arms. “No. This is most improper.” The words stuck on her lips, as if disliking to be said. “If we’re caught—”
“I know: there would be a scandal.” He grinned. “So we will not get caught.”
“How can you be so cer—” His gaze had dropped down to her chest and she looked down. In crossing her arms she’d unwittingly pressed her breasts upward, causing them to round softly above the neckline of her gown.
She hastily dropped her arms, her face afire as she rewrapped the blanket around herself, which was impossible to do as she was sitting on most of it. “That’s quite enough of that.” She tried to sound stern, but she ruined it with a giggle.
Goodness, what a situation. But perhaps it would serve her well. I’m to make him fall wildly, madly in love with me—or at least deeply in lust, and now is the time to woo him, subdue him, make him desire me as no other— She caught sight of herself in the side mirror and gasped. “My hair!”
He chuckled as she frantically tried to pat the unruly curls into place.
“It’s not funny. I look like a—a—a—I don’t know what, but it’s not— This won’t work at all!”
He tugged her to his chest, tucking her head under his chin. “There. Now I cannot see your hair, just feel its softness.” He ran his fingers over her curls. “I like your hair. It is silken.”
“I like it however you wear it.”
She suddenly wondered who was trying to make who fall in lust—and then she remembered they were both doing the exact same thing. Somehow, she hadn’t seen it in that particular way before, and she laughed a little at her surprise.
“What is it?” he asked, his heartbeat warm against her cheek.
“I’m just laughing at us. At you. You are trying to seduce me.”
A dark smile flickered over his face. “Trying? I do not try anything. I do.”
“I do, too. A lot.” Ha—take that.
He ran his fingers over her cheek and down to her gray-blue gown, which was wrinkled from her having lain on the settee all day.
He tsked. “I do not like that color on you. You should wear reds, Roza. Like the flower you resemble. I will buy you many gowns, all red. You will wear those.”
She lifted her head so she could see him. “Stop princing.”
“Princing? What is that?”
“You may be a prince in Oxenburg, but this isn’t your country.” Her voice grew louder, and she poked him in the chest with her finger. “I’m not a subject, and I won’t take orders from you like a serf.”
He chuckled as if richly amused, and stretched an arm across the back of the settee. “My beautiful Roza, we don’t have serfs in Oxenburg. But if we did, you would be a very bad one. Always you argue. Never you do as asked.”
She opened her mouth to retort that she would make a very good serf, but the absurdity of the idea made her choke on a short laugh. “I’m rather proud of being a bad serf.”
His gaze swept over her. “Fortunately, I like a woman with pride.”
And she liked that he enjoyed her, unfettered and uncensored. That he didn’t mind if she poked him in the chest while making a point, or that her hair was uncombed and her gown wrinkled. . . . She liked a lot about this man. Too much.
She snuggled her head back on his shoulder and sighed against his neck. “Ah, Alexsey, what are we to do?”
His arms tightened about her and for a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he tipped up her face to his. “Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?”
The Prince Who Loved Me (The Oxenburg Princes) Page 16
