The Prince's Bride

by Victoria Alexander

  “Then I shall stay. Where I am safe and protected.” She laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Where nothing can hurt me.” She turned and started back toward the castle.

  He watched her stride off, awash in a sea of helplessness. What had he done? And what could he do now? He hadn’t meant for it to turn out like this. Of course he was annoyed at discovering what a farce his life had become, but he hadn’t meant to blame her for that. He’d lost his head. Wasn’t thinking. Said things he shouldn’t have.

  And he’d hurt her more than any knife or gun ever could.

  He pulled his gaze away from her and spotted the bow and quiver. He’d collect them now and come back for the spent arrows later. It was far more important to stay by Jocelyn’s side. To try to convince her that he hadn’t meant to hurt her. That he was indeed glad he’d married her. That it might well be, that she might well be, the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  He started after her. She needed to know that he cared for her. Deeply. More than he’d ever cared for any woman. Maybe it wasn’t mere affection. Possibly he even—

  “Rand,” Jocelyn called over her shoulder, an odd note in her voice. He picked up his pace and in two long strides was by her side. She stood gazing at a point past the castle. “Being able to see may not be as beneficial as I’d assumed. For example ...” She nodded and he followed her gaze.

  In the far distance three riders headed toward the castle from the south. From the direction of London.

  “I have no idea if they are friend or foe,” she murmured.

  “Nor do I.” Rand shaded his eyes against the sun low in the afternoon sky. “From here I can’t tell if they are my men or not but I doubt anyone meaning any harm would approach in quite so direct a manner. Regardless, we shall be prepared. Come on.” He grabbed her hand and started toward the castle. “And by the way, I am your friend.” His clipped tone brooked no argument.

  “Then I have little to fear from my foes,” she snapped.

  He ignored her. Time enough later to settle what was between them. They hurried toward the castle. He doubted Jocelyn had ever before moved so fast, and he had to admire how she gamely kept up with him. Fear did that to a person. Or anger. They skirted around a tower, scrambled over part of the crumbled wall, dashed through the overgrown rose garden, sprinted the final distance, and practically fell into the building.

  “Nick!” Rand barked the order the moment he stepped foot inside. The servant appeared almost at once. “Fetch my pistol.” Nick vanished.

  Rand turned to Jocelyn. “Stay here.” He started toward the stairs. “Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not.” She folded her arms over her chest. “There is probably nothing to worry about, exactly as your first instincts indicated. Oh, there is a slim possibility I shall be killed, in which case my troubles shall be over, or you shall be killed”—she smiled in an overly sweet manner—“and my troubles will still be over.”

  “Excellent, Jocelyn. People who are angry have little room left for fear.”

  “Then I shall more than likely never be scared again.”

  “You can’t stay angry at me forever.”

  “Would you care to wager on it, my lord.” The look in her eyes indicated he’d lose. At the moment, anyway. Still...

  “Yes.” He turned and headed for the stairs. “We’ll settle this later.”

  She called after him. “If there is a later!”

  “There will damned well be a later,” he muttered to himself, taking the steps two at a time. There would be a tomorrow and a day after and an entire lifetime with her whether she liked it or not. And blast it all, she would like it eventually. He would make sure of it.

  He reached the upper floor, sprinted down the hall and into a room with a window facing south. He grabbed the spyglass he’d placed there for just such a purpose, put it up to his eye, and brought the approaching figures into focus.

  At once he recognized the two outside riders as his men. As for the man who rode between them ...

  He clenched his jaw and slowly lowered the glass.

  “Bloody hell.”

  Chapter 11

  “The least you can do is tell me what’s happening,” Jocelyn snapped.

  Rand brushed past her, his manner terse and preoccupied, and headed toward the door. He muttered something she couldn’t hear. It was annoying not to know what was going on but then when wasn’t the man annoying? His arrogance simply added to her anger. Anger she held close right now as a barrier against anything deeper. Anything painful.

  “Stay here,” he ordered.

  “I think not.” She marched after him.

  He stopped and turned so quickly she nearly ran into him. He clenched his teeth and glared down at her. “Stay here.”

  There was a hard warning in his eyes and she bit back the sarcastic retort that was on the tip of her tongue.

  He turned away, threw open the door, and strode outside. At once she stepped after him and slipped behind the open door, hidden from sight but able to hear. Or at least able to hear if Rand and the others weren’t speaking in such abominably low tones. At her husband’s direction, no doubt.

  “My lady,” Flora whispered behind her. “I doubt His Lordship would want—”

  “Nonsense, Flora. I’m sure he simply wants us to be quiet.” Jocelyn moved closer to the wall on the off chance she could see something of the scene outside through the crack between the door and the jamb. The effort was futile. Blasted castle was simply too well built.

  She recognized Rand’s voice drawing closer and immediately moved away from the door, back to the spot where he’d left her.

  He stepped over the threshold, his expression grim, and shot her an odd, assessing look. He nodded at Flora. “If you would prepare a room, it appears we have a guest.”

  “A guest?” Jocelyn tried to see around him. “Who on earth ...” Her eyes widened and she whipped her spectacles from her face.

  “My lady, I have counted the minutes since our last meeting.” Prince Alexei Frederick Berthold Ruprecht Pruzinsky strode into the room as if he had no doubt as to his reception. He stopped in front of her, bowed, then took her hand and drew it to his lips. His voice was low. “I have missed you, my dear Jocelyn.”

  “Lady Beaumont,” Rand said in a hard voice.

  Jocelyn ignored him and cast Alexei her brightest smile. “Your Highness. How delightful to see you again.”

  “You are as lovely as ever.” Alexei’s eyes bored into hers.

  “It’s Lady Beaumont now,” Rand repeated firmly.

  “So I’ve heard.” Alexei stared down at her with a knowing smile. “What a pity.”

  “Not at all.” Rand stepped to her side and glanced pointedly at Alexei’s hand still holding Jocelyn’s. The prince released her, but his gaze lingered on her. “We suit well together.” The blatant lie jerked Jocelyn’s attention away from Alexei. Rand smiled at her in an overly affectionate manner. She wanted to smack him.

  She stepped pointedly away and favored Alexei with her complete attention. “You’re right, Your Highness, it’s been entirely too long.” She looked around him. “But surely you’ve not come all this way alone?”

  “I left the rest of my party some distance back. At a dreary little village a good two hours or so away.” He stripped off his gloves. “I thought, as Beaumont had taken such pains to conceal your whereabouts, it seemed wise.” He glanced at Rand and smiled. “Did I do well, cousin?”

  Cousin?

  “I find it hard to believe they allowed you to travel alone,” Rand said before Jocelyn could get in a word.

  “No one allows me to do anything.” Alexei’s voice carried a note of amusement. “I do precisely as I wish. It is a privilege of power.”

  “How did you find us?” Rand said.

  “It was not at all difficult.” Alexei shrugged. “I am a prince of a sovereign nation on good terms with your own and a guest in your country. When the man I have specifically requested to look i
nto a matter involving my security simply vanishes, and a dolt of a peasant is put in his place, surely you don’t think I would let the incident pass without inquiry?” Alexei slapped his gloves on his palm. “I simply asked where you were and why. Yet another advantage to power.”

  The prince turned his attention to Jocelyn. “I do hope you have not been harmed in anyway.”

  “No, not at all.” She flashed a quick glance at Rand to see if he had noted the subtle sarcasm in her comment. He had.

  “I should never forgive myself if any harm came to you because of me.” Alexei’s tone was both sincere and intimate. Perhaps too intimate. Yet gratifying just the same.

  “How kind of you to say so.”

  “Forgive me for interrupting”—again Rand stepped closer to her—“but other than your concern, appreciated, of course—”

  “Most appreciated,” Jocelyn added.

  “—why, exactly, are you here, Your Highness?”

  “Because you are the only man I trust. The only man in England, perhaps in all of Europe as well, who I know does not wish to see my father deposed and my brother, sister, and I thrown out into the streets or worse. Come now, cousin, I couldn’t possibly allow my fate to rest in the hands of that imbecile who replaced you.”

  There it was again. Cousin.

  Jocelyn pulled her brows together. “Forgive me for asking, Your Highness, but you’ve called Lord Beaumont cousin twice now, and I find it extremely curious.”

  “Do you? Why? What do you call your cousins?”

  “I scarcely think—” Rand began.

  “Actually, I have no cousins, but if I did”—she shook her head—“I suppose I would call them cousin.”

  “Precisely why I call Beaumont cousin.” He studied Rand and raised a brow. “Have you been keeping secrets from your lovely wife, cousin?”

  “Not at all.” Rand shrugged as if his answer didn’t matter, but it did. “I simply didn’t feel it necessary to mention a remote familial relationship.”

  Jocelyn turned to her husband and studied him carefully. He had that look about him. Granted, they had not been together long, but she’d been with him long enough to recognize the firm line his lips took on when he was not being entirely truthful. She narrowed her eyes. “Exactly how remote is it?”

  “Really rather insignificant.” Rand’s manner was offhand. “I can scarce remember the details myself.”

  “You wound me deeply, cousin.” Alexei sighed. “Disavowing the nature of our relationship so cavalierly. I realize family relations are complex but I scarce think it overly difficult to recall our connection.” He turned to Jocelyn. “His grandmother was my father’s older sister. The only daughter of King Frederick the Third.”

  The import of Alexei’s declaration struck her and she could barely get out the words. “Then he is ...”

  “A cousin,” Rand said sharply. “Nothing more.”

  “Nothing more? Come now, Beaumont.” Alexei snorted. “Through your mother you are a direct descendant. By the ancient rules of heredity in my country that disregard gender and consider only bloodline, you are fifth in line to the throne after myself, my brother and sister, and another cousin. I’d call it neither especially distant nor nothing.” He cast Jocelyn a wry smile. “My dear, your husband is a legitimate heir to the crown of Avalonia. In truth a prince of the realm.”

  “I have never had any interest in nor pursued any claim to the throne,” Rand said quickly.

  Alexei waved away his declaration. “Nonetheless, you remain a member of the royal family.”

  Jocelyn stared in disbelief. “A prince?”

  Alexei eyed her with amusement. “Indeed he is. And you, my dear Jocelyn—”

  “Lady Beaumont,” Rand said through clenched teeth.

  “Hardly.” Alexei scoffed. “As your wife her title is far more significant than a mere viscountess. By virtue of her marriage to you she may legitimately be called”—he paused dramatically—“Princess Jocelyn.”

  For a long moment, shock held Jocelyn’s tongue. A myriad of thoughts and emotions whirled in her head. Rand? A prince? Through no fault of her own she’d married a genuine prince? Perhaps it was simply the element of surprise, but it wasn’t nearly as wonderful as she’d thought it would be. She stared at her husband. “Were you planning on mentioning this?”

  “There was nothing to say,” Rand said slowly.

  “Nothing to say?” She struggled to keep her voice calm against a rising tide of anger. “Given the circumstances of our marriage, don’t you think I deserved to know?”

  “It’s a hereditary footnote.” Rand’s voice was firm. “Nothing more significant that that.

  “I consider it extremely significant,” Alexei said mildly.

  Jocelyn ignored him, her attention fully on her husband. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Rand crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not important.”

  “I’ve always thought it rather important,” Alexei murmured.

  “And ...” A look of unease flitted through Rand’s eyes. “You didn’t ask.”

  “And therefore you didn’t tell me?” Her voice rose at hearing her own words thrown back at her. “Doesn’t that make it a lie of omission? And isn’t that just as inexcusable as any other kind of lie?”

  “I never lied to you.” Rand shook his head.

  “Hah!” She poked her finger against his chest. Hard. “You went on and on about my having married a mere viscount instead of a prince knowing full well you were a prince.”

  Rand grabbed her hand and stared into her eyes. “I didn’t lie to you.”

  “Oh? Even if you discount your lie of omission, and you were the one who so vehemently declared that to be reprehensible”—she glared up at him—“what about the virtue of honesty between a husband and wife? The importance of there being no secrets between a husband and wife? Didn’t you say that to me?”

  “Well, yes,” he said grudgingly, “something like that.”

  “Exactly like that.” She pulled her hand away. “And within the hour as well.”

  Alexei cleared his throat. “Dear me, have I come at a bad time?”

  “Yes,” Rand snapped.

  “No,” Jocelyn said in unison with her husband. She drew a deep breath and turned to Alexei. “Do forgive me, Your Highness, it has been a rather long and extremely enlightening day. My husband has been teaching me the finer points of archery.” As well as deceit.

  “Archery?” Alexei cast her a skeptical smile. “I had not thought you to be interested in such out-of-doors pursuits.”

  “It is amazing what one can find interesting on occasion.” She forced a light note to her voice. “Besides, you never know when you will be forced to use such a skill. I daresay with a bit of practice I may well be able to actually hit a target I aim for. Preferably moving.”

  Alexei laughed. “I do hope there is no danger in your mistaking one target for another?”

  Jocelyn slanted a quick look of disdain at her husband but kept a pleasant smile directed at Alexei. “Not at all, Your Highness. I suspect when I am ready to shoot something my aim will be accurate. Now then, I find I am a bit overtired and therefore will retire to my rooms until dinner.” She extended her hand and Alexei took it at once. “You will join us?”

  “Nothing could keep me away.” He brushed his lips across her hand, his gaze meeting hers. “Until then, Jocelyn.”

  She smiled and withdrew her hand, then nodded curtly at Rand. His jaw was clenched and he looked like anything but a hospitable host. Of course he wasn’t, in truth, the host here, was he? For the first time since Rand had discovered her poor eyesight, genuine amusement touched her. Nigel would no doubt enjoy this new turn of events.

  She swept out of the room at a brisk pace and didn’t falter until she shut the door of her rooms, their rooms, behind her. She leaned back against the door, and the control she’d kept firmly in check dissolved.

  A marriage neither of us wants.


  Her eyes fogged with tears. Certainly neither had wanted this marriage at the beginning but everything had changed since then. At least for her. Apparently not for him.

  A marriage neither of us wants.

  She swiped angrily at her eyes and stalked across the room. He didn’t care for her. Not one bit. In spite of how close they’d grown in recent days. Or how close she’d thought they’d grown. She’d talked to him of things she’d never told anyone save perhaps her sisters and never imagined she’d tell a man. Any man. She’d shared all her secrets with him. Oh, certainly they weren’t as significant as royal blood but they were important to her.

  Yet in spite of everything that had passed between them he harbored some absurd belief that she could prove useful to whatever he was involved in. It was yet another lie and scarcely one of omission, although he would probably term it such.

  A marriage neither of us wants.

  How could he say it? And worse, how could he mean it? She wanted it. Wanted him and wanted him forever. Wanted to be Lady Beaumont and nothing more than that.

  And now he was a prince.

  She bit back a bitter laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. She’d wanted a prince and instead married a viscount who was, in truth, a prince. Now that she’d been foolish enough to fall in love with her husband, what he was—prince or pauper or spy—didn’t matter at all.

  The realization stopped her in mid-stride. She was indeed in love with him. Pain swept away any lingering doubts. A wrenching, searing ache that overwhelmed her. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. Only love could possibly hurt this much. Only knowing, even now, that he regretted their marriage could cause this much anguish. Wound this deeply.

  And she’d believed he’d loved her back.

  She sank down onto the bed and covered her face with her hands. How had this happened to her of all people? Jocelyn Shelton had never looked for love. Never particularly wanted love. Love played no role in the selection of a husband. No, all she’d wanted was position and wealth. There was no question of love when she’d planned to marry Alexei.

  Aunt Louella would appreciate the irony.