The Prince's Bride

by Victoria Alexander

  But Richard was still in America with his pregnant wife and her parents, the Duke and Duchess of Roxborough. This left only her Aunt Louella to grant permission for her to wed—or perhaps Thomas Effington, the Marquess of Helmsley and son of the duke and duchess, could officially approve of the match.

  Jocelyn and her sisters were staying at Effington House for the season and Thomas was to wed her sister Marianne next week at his family’s country estate. Of course, at eighteen, Jocelyn was of age and well able to make such decisions on her own. After all, hadn’t she already refused two proposals thus far this season without anyone’s opinion but her own? Besides, Alexei was a prince and ordinary rules really didn’t apply to him.

  Alexei leaned closer. “There is a music room here. Far enough from the crowd for private discussion of... delicate matters. I shall be there, alone, in an hour. Join me.”

  “Without a chaperone?” She cast him a teasing smile. “Surely you don’t wish me to indulge in something so improper?”

  “There is no need for chaperones between us. Between Alexei and Jocelyn.” His tone was light but his brown eyes simmered. His fingers tightened around hers. “An hour then.”

  She gently pulled her hand away. It would not do to seem too eager. “We shall see, Your Highness. Alexei.”

  “Will we?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I warn you, I am not accustomed to refusal.”

  Jocelyn met his gaze firmly. “And I am not accustomed to orders.”

  He considered her for a long moment, and again she wondered if she’d pushed him too far. Still, prince or not, if he was to be her husband he should understand she would not be treated as a mere servant subject to his demands. She would certainly do her duty as a wife, and a princess, but she was neither wife nor princess yet. At last he smiled and nodded with approval. “You shall do, my dear. You shall do very well.”

  He escorted her to the spot where Marianne stood with Thomas and her younger sister, Becky, bowed slightly, and took his leave. But not before his gaze met hers, and she knew he had no doubt that she would indeed meet him.

  If Aunt Louella were here it would be impossible to slip away but she had fallen earlier in the day, injuring her ankle, and was forced to stay at home tonight. Jocelyn watched Alexei’s tall figure stride off into the crowd that parted at his passage, and realized he was right. She would keep their appointment.

  “Well, that was certainly interesting,” Marianne murmured.

  “To nearly everyone in the room,” Becky said dryly.

  Marianne studied Jocelyn carefully. “What on earth did he say to you?”

  “Oh, nothing of any significance.” Jocelyn lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug.

  Becky snorted in a most unladylike way. “Not one of us believes that. Tell us—”

  “I don’t like him,” Thomas cut in. He took a sip from the glass in his hand, his gaze fixed firmly on the prince.

  “You’re being overprotective again, Thomas,” Marianne chided. “The man is really charming.”

  “And he’s a prince. A real prince with his own country and castle and ... and a crown I would imagine.” Becky directed her question to Jocelyn. “Does he have a crown? With jewels and gold and whatever else?”

  “I have no idea,” Jocelyn said loftily. “I would think so.”

  “I would hope so. It would scarcely be worth the effort of being a prince without a crown.” Becky’s gaze shifted back to Alexei. “Of course, even without a crown he is rather dashing.”

  “Quite handsome really.” Marianne too studied the prince.

  “And very wealthy,” Jocelyn said softly. He was, in fact, all she had ever wanted.

  “I don’t like him,” Thomas repeated.

  “Thomas, we heard you the first time.” Marianne’s tone was gentle. “And as much as I hate to point this out to you, you don’t have to like him.”

  “Good.” Thomas huffed. “Because I don’t and I am an excellent judge of character.”

  The sister exchanged long-suffering glances. It was not necessary to mention it aloud. Even Marianne, who loved Thomas with all her heart, was well aware that his assessment of the character of other men, particularly when it came to those men who showed any interest in the Shelton sisters, was scarcely accurate.

  “I don’t trust him either.” Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “All those flowers. A man who goes to such extremes is up to no good.”

  “Come now. You’ve been known to go to extremes on occasion.” Marianne paused thoughtfully. “However, I can certainly see your point.”

  “You can?” Suspicion sounded in his voice.

  “Most definitely.” A teasing spark showed in Marianne’s eye. “I know from personal experience that a man willing to go to such lengths is usually up to no good.”

  Thomas stared at Marianne for a moment, then a grin spread across his face. “That was entirely different, my love. My intentions have always been honorable.”

  Jocelyn coughed. Becky choked. Marianne laughed. It was amusing to hear Thomas’s declaration of his honorable intentions, given the merry chase Marianne had led him on before agreeing to marriage. A chase where farcical might well be a more appropriate term than honorable.

  Thomas cast the sisters a quelling glance. “Say what you will, you cannot deny my interest has always been in marriage.”

  He took Marianne’s hand and drew it to his lips. Only a fool would fail to see the love they shared. Jocelyn’s heart tightened at the sight and she pushed away the disturbing thought that the gleam in Alexei’s eye when he looked at her bore little resemblance to the look in Thomas’s. But love was not what she was seeking.

  Marianne turned her attention back to her younger sister. “Come now, Jocelyn. We are all dying to know. What did he say to you?”

  “Not a thing.” Jocelyn struggled to maintain her reserved composure. “Really.”

  “Do tell, Jocelyn,” Becky said impatiently. “Does he wish to marry you?”

  The grin Jocelyn could no longer contain broke on her face.

  Becky’s eyes widened. “He does, doesn’t he? Has he asked you yet?”

  “I’m the one he should ask,” Thomas said firmly. The sisters ignored him.

  “We cannot bear this another moment.” Marianne took Jocelyn’s hands. “Has he asked you to marry him?”

  “Not yet.” Jocelyn shook her head. “But he has indicated he will.” Tonight.

  “Are you certain?” Marianne’s voice was cautious. “Don’t princes tend to marry, well, princesses?”

  “I will be a princess when we marry.” Jocelyn couldn’t help sounding a bit smug. “And it’s precisely because he is a prince that he can marry whomever he chooses.”

  “How wonderful.” Excitement rang in Becky’s voice. “Do I get to be a princess too?”

  “No,” Thomas said wryly.

  Becky wrinkled her nose.

  “Is this truly what you want?” Marianne stared at her sister. “Do you love him then?”

  “It’s what I’ve always wanted,” Jocelyn said firmly, ignoring the second question. “And now I shall have it.”

  Marianne’s gaze searched her face. Her voice was soft. “And is it worth what you won’t have? What you might never have?”

  Without warning the years of their impoverished childhood flashed through her head. Of making do with little. Of overly mended clothes and frugal meals and leaking roofs. Of dreams of wealth and position and, yes, a prince. And any doubts in the back of her mind vanished.

  “It’s what I’ve always wanted,” she said again and favored her sister with a reassuring smile. “I shall be very happy.”

  “Then that’s all that matters.” Marianne returned her smile, squeezed her hands and released them.

  “I should think there are all kinds of plans to be made.” Becky chattered on and Jocelyn nodded at appropriate moments but her mind wandered.

  Alexei was not in her sight and the gathering had turned its collective attention elsewhere. Still, s
peculation hovered in the air. Jocelyn and the prince had already given gossips a great deal to fuel their talk. She was confident tomorrow the curious would have a royal announcement to discuss and consider and dissect. It would be the talk of London. And why not? It would be the match of the season. Maybe of any season.

  In something less than an hour, all her dreams would come true.

  ———

  Jocelyn pushed open the door. “Your Highness?”

  Jocelyn thought it was a very good sign that it had been remarkably easy to slip away from the reception and find the music room. But the chamber was empty.

  She couldn’t possibly be early. If anything she was a bit tardy. Perhaps he had already come and been too impatient to wait for her, though more likely, he was making her wait for him. She wouldn’t, of course. Not for longer than a minute or two at any rate.

  She glanced around and stepped farther into the room, closing the door behind her. It was impressively large, a space eminently suited for the musicales the ton was so fond of publicly but privately and individually abhorred. There were sofas scattered here and there. A large shape, probably a pianoforte, stood near the far wall, which she assumed, from the glittering reflections, was lined with windows or possibly French doors. She was quite good at interpreting her surroundings, but then she’d had her entire life to practice.

  She heaved a resigned sigh. Maybe she should give serious consideration to her sister’s continuing suggestion that she at least try donning spectacles. It did get wearing to live one’s life within a small circle of clarity bounded by a large fuzzy, indistinct world. Jocelyn freely admitted that nothing more than vanity kept her vision impaired, and acknowledged it might not make one whit of difference. After all, Marianne wore glasses and she was about to marry the son of a duke. Jocelyn could surely do as well with spectacles.

  But Jocelyn was to marry a prince. A smug sense of victory washed through her. She stepped away from the door. She had no doubt what he wanted to discuss. No doubt why he wished to see her in private. He would declare his intentions to her before formally asking for her hand. It would be the height of romance. The thrill of a lifetime. The ultimate social triumph. And what she had always wanted.

  Still, he should be here by now. Absently she wondered if life with Alexei would be a series of little games like this with each of them striving to get the upper hand. She had to acknowledge that he was a prince and would no doubt win the majority of the time. And she could accept that. Well, she would have to work on accepting that. It would be well worth it. She would be a princess and live in a castle with servants to attend to her every whim. Her life would be a series of royal balls and state events, and people would seek to curry her favor. And if she never had what her sister and Thomas shared, well, that was the price one paid for achieving one’s dreams. Besides, there was no reason why love couldn’t follow marriage. She did like the man after all.

  Her toe caught the edge of the carpet and she stumbled, dropping her fan, which skittered across the floor to disappear beneath a sofa. Annoyed, she bent to retrieve it and dimly heard a door open on the far side of the room. Damnation. She certainly didn’t want the prince to find her crouching on the floor. It was not at all the way a future princess would behave.

  “Is it wise to meet like this?” a male voice asked.

  Another man chuckled. “There is no better place to be alone than in a crowd.”

  Relief coursed through her. It obviously wasn’t Alexei. Simply two guests seeking a place for a private conversation.

  “Do you think he suspects?” the first man said.

  “Not at all. As long as we are discreet, neither he nor anyone else can put the two of us together. At the moment, nothing connects us. We simply have to make certain nothing ever does.”

  Private but definitely unusual. Not that it was any of her business. Her fingers closed around the fan and she started to rise.

  “He has far more interesting things on his mind this evening.”

  The men shared a licentious laugh and Jocelyn paused. There was something about their laugh and their tone that was distinctly unnerving. She brushed aside the uneasy feeling, attributing it to the discomfort anyone would have when caught, however innocently, eavesdropping.

  She pulled a deep breath, stood, and cast them her most charming smile. “Do forgive the intrusion. I had no idea anyone—”

  “You! What are you doing here?” the one on the right snapped although it could have been the one on the left. They were little more than dark-clad, blurry figures.

  Indignation lifted her chin. “There is no need to be rude, particularly since I believe I was here first. I simply came in—”

  “She’s seen us.” The low voice of the second man carried a note of menace, and a curious tremor of fear fluttered through her. “Take care of it.”

  “I scarcely think you need to take care of anything.” She backed toward the door. “Given your attitude, I am more than happy to take my leave, although I daresay those who have something of a serious nature to discuss can find better locations than—”

  Beside her, the door creaked in advance of opening. The prince? She moved toward it. A twang sounded near her ear.

  She turned and her heart plunged to her knees.

  A knife quivered in the door frame beside her.

  Chapter 2

  In an instant, a hundred impressions, a blur of activity, panic, and terror crowded in on her. A curse sounded from across the room, accompanied by the frantic sounds of fleeing footsteps. The door beside her flew open and crashed into the wall. She opened her mouth to scream.

  Without warning, strong hands gripped her shoulders and whirled her around. She caught a flash of men rushing toward the French doors and an even briefer glimpse of dark hair and darker eyes.

  Before she could so much as utter a sound, warm lips clamped over hers in a kiss hard, firm, and stifling. She tried to pull away but was trapped against the wall, held tight to a body as solid as the barrier at her back. Against a man tall and strong and completely unknown.

  What on earth was happening? Her heart thudded in her chest. A knife barely missing her head and a kiss from a stranger? And what was she to do about it? What could she do? He was quite overpowering. She fought in vain against him, and against panic.

  She forced herself to think. Perhaps her implied acquiescence would convince him to release his grip long enough for her to escape his clutches. She ceased struggling. But even as she relaxed, she noted the altogether too pleasant sensation of his mouth on hers. This was definitely a man of experience. A man who knew what he was doing, at least when it came to kissing. It might well be a mistake, but instinctively her fear faded, swept away by a curious passion.

  The pressure of his lips eased and his mouth whispered against hers. “Are you still going to scream?”

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  “Very well,” he murmured, and once again his lips crushed hers in a kiss as firm as the last but somehow different. As if he was exploring now as much as conquering. Physical resistance was impossible but she swore to herself not to enjoy this onslaught by this obviously expert, and just as obviously arrogant, stranger. She promised she would ignore the small flicker of heat warming her toes and reaching upward to curl in the pit of her stomach. She vowed she would disregard the odd sensation of melting that weakened her knees. And she pledged, in spite of the strange sense of yearning that washed through her and inadvertently pressed her lips closer to his, she absolutely would not kiss him back.

  After a very long, rather delightful moment, he raised his head from hers. Eyes dark as a winter’s night stared down at her from a face too sinfully handsome to trust. “Are you going to scream now?”

  Her gaze slipped from his eyes to his lips. Full and finely sculptured and ... inviting. She raised her gaze to his, to the amused light dancing there. At once any sense of temptation vanished.

  “You kissed me,” she said in the haughtiest manner sh
e could muster. “The moment you release me, I shall slap your face. You had no right to accost me like that.”

  “I had to shut you up.” His voice was somber but his eyes smiled. It was most annoying. “It would not do to attract a crowd.”

  “You couldn’t simply have clapped a hand over my mouth? Isn’t that what one does to keep someone from screaming?”

  “I could have, I suppose, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as—”

  “Effective?”

  “Enjoyable.” He grinned.

  He was outrageous and, well, a touch amusing. Not to mention his good looks and the fact that he certainly was an outstanding kisser. Still, it would never do to let him, whoever he was, know, although she suspected he already did.

  “Are you all right then?” he asked.

  “I daresay I will be when you release me.”

  “I would like nothing better but wisdom dictates otherwise.” He shook his head in mock reluctance. “You have vowed to hit me and I suspect you are far stronger than you appear. Or at least far more determined, which can lend a great deal of power to even the weakest—”

  “Very well.” She huffed a short sigh. “I will not slap you although it will take a great deal of self-control on my part.”

  “Excellent.” He released his grip on her shoulders and stepped back, studying her curiously. “You’re not scared?”

  “Why should I be?” she said blithely. “I have been kissed a time or two before. It’s not always as pleasant as one would hope but it’s scarcely frightening.”

  “Actually,” he said, the twinkle once again in his dark eyes. “I wasn’t referring to the kiss.” He reached out and she wondered if he was about to pull her back into his arms. “I was talking about this.”

  He jerked the knife from the wall and held it out to her. It was long and decidedly wicked, and her stomach lurched at the sight.

  She stared at the weapon with growing horror. It was easy to ignore, in fact to forget, with his lips on hers. But now ... Her head spun. The room seemed to narrow and she felt the wall moving behind her. Or was she slipping down the wall?