Seduced By The Prince's Kiss (Russian Royals 0f Kuban Book 4)

by Bronwyn Scott

  * * *

  Anna chirped to the horses, setting the big Friesans into motion, the coach pushing its way through the roiling crowd by sheer dint of its bulk. ‘Come on, get on!’ She spied Preston and Liam fighting back to back, cutting a path through soldiers towards the coach, Dimitri and Nikolay each with a boy following behind him. Beatrice and Evie reached out hands for the boys. Nikolay scrambled up beside her, taking the reins. The other men grabbed on to the sides of the coach, ready to defend the carriage from soldiers intent on giving chase. The crowd helped there, barring the soldiers’ way with their mass and righteous indignation.

  ‘To the docks!’ Anna-Maria cried to Nikolay. The Skorost was their best way out. A carriage carrying a surfeit of passengers would easily be run down on the roads.

  The Skorost was ready, the captain and crew having returned early this morning under the cover of darkness at Nikolay’s instruction. It was short work to be on board. There was no one to give pursuit. Denning and his troops were caught up with the crowd and would be for a while. But Anna stood at the rail, keeping vigil just in case. She would rest easier once they were out on open water.

  ‘Anna.’ A hoarse voice spoke behind her. She closed her eyes, savouring the sound of it. ‘You came for me.’ Stepan’s arms closed around her and a lone tear of happiness slid down her cheek.

  ‘Of course I came for you. I love you.’ She’d nearly lost him today. She would never take the feel of his arms, never take the time they had together for granted. She’d seen the lever slip, seen the noose tighten about Stepan’s neck for one horrifying moment. It had been too close. Nothing was guaranteed. ‘I didn’t do it alone, though.’

  ‘I know.’ The simple words said it all. She could feel the emotion in him at the realisation. For a long while they didn’t speak. There were no words adequate to describe what they felt. They simply stood at the rail, watching the English shores fade, and let the grace of the moment flood them.

  Anna turned in his arms, lifting her face to his, her eyes shining with tears. ‘When you give your love to others, you have to let others love you back the same way. Otherwise it’s not fair.’

  ‘It was too dangerous,’ Stepan began to protest. She smiled. Stepan would always protest. But his protests would have to wait. The others surrounded them now. She would have to share him for a while.

  Dimitri’s hand was at his shoulder and she watched Stepan turn towards his best friend, uncertain. ‘Are you angry?’

  Dimitri shook his head. ‘You saved my sister and my father when I asked you to do the impossible. I could want no better man for her than you.’

  Then came Nikolay, ‘You got me out of the Tsar’s dungeons when I was unconscious and wounded. I would have died in there if not for you. If Illarion were here, he’d say the same thing. You’ve saved each of us, watched over each of us as a brother, always ready to give advice we didn’t necessarily want to hear and always ready to back us up even if we didn’t make the decisions you wanted. Of course we came for you.’

  Stepan wiped at his eyes and Anna pressed close, her arms about his waist. She was never going to let him go. Preston Worth cleared his throat. ‘Now that we’ve got you, the question is what to do with you. You do understand you can’t stay in England?’

  She looked up at Stepan to see him smiling. He caught her gaze. ‘I have it on good authority I’m to rebuild my fortunes in America. I have everything I need right here.’

  ‘Except a minister,’ Dimitri mentioned with a clearing of his throat. Her brother might condone their love, but he’d want them wed.

  Stepan laughed. ‘There are plenty of those in Calais, I’m told. I will marry your sister as soon as we reach land.’

  Oh, no. This was not how their life together was going to start. Anna jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow. ‘Perhaps you should ask me how I feel about that?’

  ‘You’re absolutely right, my dear.’ Stepan dropped to one knee and took her hand before all their family and their friends. ‘Anna-Maria Svetlana Petrova, will you do me the greatest honour of my life and be my wife?’

  Anna’s face broke into a beatific smile. ‘Yes, just as soon as we reach land.’

  * * *

  They wasted no time, no fussing over dresses or flowers or a grand church. In fact, Anna didn’t even leave the ship. Stepan left with Dimitri long enough to find a priest. When one had come seconds from death, one didn’t want to squander another minute of life. That wasn’t to say there were no preparations, however. Stepan refused to marry his bride in gallows clothes. He did bathe and shave and change into fresh clothes. Bea did Anna’s hair in an intricate dark braid and Evie spent the crossing fashioning a veil from a scarf, insisting that Anna have something bridal to mark the occasion.

  To Stepan, it might have been the finest wedding he’d ever attended, because it was his and she was his. He waited for Anna at the prow of his ship, at the end of a little aisle marked by rush-light, Dimitri at his shoulder, his friends gathered about him as Anna walked towards him on her father’s arm. It was a glorious sight to see them together, father and daughter, a new peace between them. In the background, a sailor’s fiddle played a slow ballad to mark their progress.

  No cathedral, no swelling organ, no French-designed gown could have made the occasion finer. Anna was beautiful in a clean dress of blue muslin with a white-lace collar and Evie’s hastily made veil on her head. When Stepan pushed the veil back and looked into the topaz depths of her eyes, he saw his life there, the past, present and his future, whatever it might hold. Grace filled him. How blessed he was to have Anna, a woman who knew who he had been, who was the keeper of all the stories of his life and who believed in who he might yet be: a husband and, God willing, a father, a good father. He could be that. He knew that now. Anna had shown him it had been in him all along.

  The priest intoned the service in French, as it happened. But Stepan caught the parts that mattered. ‘With my body I thee worship...’ ‘Until death do us part’—that had new meaning after today—and, best of all, ‘You may kiss your bride.’

  He kissed her long and sweet as the sun set and the waves began to roll, a reminder that time waited for no one. There would be goodbyes now. Their party could go no further with them. Nikolay, Dimitri and his father, Preston, Liam, Jonathon and their wives needed to return home to their children and their dreams. Irish, Joseph and Oliver would go with them—Irish with Sir Liam who knew a little something about being an Irish boy growing up on London’s streets; Joseph with Preston; and Oliver with Dimitri, who was already making plans for the boy’s help as a secretary. A boat waited to take them all home to England, the captain eager to catch the tide. But after that...hmmm. Stepan shared a secret smile with Anna as they faced their guests. After that, the night would be theirs.

  Christof took his leave first, sharing a private moment with them at the prow of the ship, their hands in each of his. ‘My children,’ he said softly. ‘Stepan, you’ve been a son to me since the first time Dimitri brought you home. Now you’ve become my son in truth. I’ve always been proud of you, even when you disagreed with me. But today, you became a man. You have taken a wife and you will have a family soon.’ He turned to Anna. ‘My daughter. I have not always been fair to you. You’ve borne the weight of my grief for so long. Forgive me. You’re so much like her, like your mother. She was all goodness and light and so are you, I see it in you when you look at your husband.’ He joined their hands. ‘Today, you’ve made an old man happy. Now, spend your lives making one another happy.’

  ‘Thank you, Papa,’ Anna whispered. They could not linger overlong with Christof. There were other guests to see to and other farewells to make. It would be a while before they were all together again and they were in no hurry to rush these final moments filled with tears and smiles.

  Dimitri was the last to leave the gangplank of the Skorost. He hugged Anna one last time. ‘You
are a beautiful bride, Sister, and you’ve married a good man, the very best of men.’

  Then it was Stepan’s turn. He embraced Dimitri. ‘This is only goodbye for now. We will see you again, my friend.’

  Anna slipped her hand into his as they watched Dimitri’s straight back walk down the gangplank to join the others. A sailor pulled the plank up and the Skorost pushed away from the dock, their friends fading from view. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘That this tale has ended quite well.’ He smiled. ‘The last prince of Kuban is sailing into the sunset, his princess by his side.’

  Anna wrinkled her nose. ‘The end? Do you really think that? This is just the beginning. Once upon a time a princess married her prince and they made love all their days and lived happily ever after.’ She smiled. ‘By the way, it’s a very long story and it starts tonight, just as soon as I can get you naked.’

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story

  make sure you read the other books in

  Bronwyn Scott’s

  Russian Royals of Kuban miniseries

  Compromised by the Prince’s Touch

  Innocent in the Prince’s Bed

  Awakened by the Prince’s Passion

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Reclaimed by the Knight by Nicole Locke.

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  Reclaimed by the Knight

  by Nicole Locke

  Chapter One

  September 1295

  The baby kicked low in her belly and Matilda gasped.

  ‘What is wrong?’

  She looked at Bess, who was still gleaning the fields and finding any grain that might have been missed in the late harvest. They couldn’t spare any food, but even so Matilda was always deeply satisfied when her bag was full. As if she’d been on a treasure hunt and could now feed her family and friends.

  ‘She’s kicking me again.’

  ‘It’s a girl today?’

  Matilda thought about the sharp pain when she’d climbed out of bed that morning, the constant turning of the baby inside her, so that she’d barely been able to get bread down during breakfast, and now the deep thumping, like a rabbit in the woods.

  ‘Unquestionably, the baby is a girl.’ She pushed herself off the ground and pressed one hand to her lower back.

  It wasn’t the first time she had been punched on the inside today, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. The gleaning forced her to remain in the same position, and the baby demanded that she stretch. Her giving in to the kick was a compromise she happily made, though the reprieve wouldn’t last long.

  There was more work to be done, and the fields were full of families who were stuffing their sacks. Nearby Agnes, the cordwainer’s only daughter, was crawling on the ground. Unlike the other children, however, she was taking the wheat shafts and stacking them like houses. Matilda wondered which of her brothers would ruin her creations first.

  Bess stood and stamped her feet. ‘If your reasoning holds true, the baby will be a girl.’

  ‘You think my certainty is ridiculous?’

  ‘Unlike you, I listen to our healer, Rohesia, who insists you’re carrying too low in your belly for a girl. Plus, the only reason you hold this belief is because of your own mischievous past and Roger’s temperament—’ Bess clamped her mouth shut.

  ‘Do not worry,’ Matilda said.

  There was only one reason why worry ever crossed Bess’s face, and that was if she believed she’d hurt another. Matilda did hurt, but not because her friend had remarked on her husband. She hurt because he was gone.

  ‘Forgive me.’ Bess clapped her hands to her cheeks. ‘I keep forgetting.’

  Matilda saw Bess’s dismayed face and felt her own emotions turn inside her again. She was familiar with it. Grief that she hadn’t dared release.

  ‘There is nothing to forgive,’ Matilda said. ‘It’s been barely two full moons.’

  She’d hurt more if no one mentioned Roger at all. That man, her childhood friend and her husband, deserved to be remembered. He had certainly deserved more than her as a wife. But there was no wishing for that now.

  Bess exhaled and shook her head. ‘I’ve made it worse.’

  Only for a moment. The least Matilda could do, was give her daughter her father’s even temperament. To that end, she was determined her daughter would know no sorrow, and that included her mother’s.

  Swallowing hard, Matilda said, ‘As usual. Now all I have to do is wait until you say something truly grievous.’

  Bess’s lips twisted wryly. ‘Give me a few moments.’

  Matilda clasped her friend’s hand. ‘I’m gladdened that you forget he is gone. It will keep him alive when the baby comes.’

  Bess’s eyes softened as she glanced at Matilda’s swollen stomach. ‘Anything you wish.’

  ‘Good. Though I try to be calm, I fear she’ll need all the gentle temperament she can get. She would do well to remember her father.’

  Roger, her best friend and her husband, had been the exact opposite of her. Whereas she, in her youth, had always been taking risks and pulling pranks, Roger had been helpful and protective. Ever easy with his smiles and his care, Roger had been the absolute antithesis of the person she’d been, but she’d wanted his calmness in her life, and he...he’d wanted her.

  Any moment she’d be crying, and then her friend would believe she had in fact hurt her.

  A couple of blinks of her eyes and she saw a familiar figure on the horizon. ‘Louve’s on his way here.’

  Bess turned. ‘It’s too early for the men to break from the harvesting.’

  Glancing towards the sun, Matilda said, ‘Apparently not.’

  ‘Then something must be wrong.’

  Feeling the same sense of urgency, Matilda placed her hand on her belly and locked her legs. There’d be no running for her.

  ‘There’d be others with him if there was something amiss,’ Matilda said.

  Even after all this time it went against her instincts to hold still, but when Roger had died, for the sake of her baby, she’d vowed she’d be more like him. To set an example that would serve her child well and never to never turn out like her mother. Foolish. Heartbroken. Alone. Twice now.

  Bess lifted her skirts. Despite her girth, she’d be able to run if there truly was an emergency. ‘Maybe they couldn’t be spared.’

  ‘And Louve can?’ Matilda answered. ‘At this time of day he must want to discus
s the usual problems. Some argument or a missing tally stick.’

  ‘You do too much, and with only two of you now overseeing everything it’s not tenable.’

  ‘We’ll find a replacement soon enough.’

  Until Roger’s death there had been three on the estate who oversaw the operations. Now there were only two—herself and Louve, who was both steward for the state and reeve to oversee the crops. She saw to the management of Mei Solis as well as helped settle disputes. Although since Roger—

  No. In the fields all day, she thought too much of her lost husband.

  Giving in, she strode towards Louve, hoping her mud-caked skirts would slow her enough to give the impression of serenity.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  Louve indicated behind him. ‘I came to warn you. Storm’s coming from just beyond that hill.’

  She looked over his shoulder towards the field, where the men were cutting the stalks. If there was a storm, the hill disguised it. All around her were clear blue skies. And even if there was a storm, it shouldn’t bring Louve here.

  Their arrangement was unconventional, but it worked. When lord of Mei Solis manor Nicholas had left to seek the fortune the estate so desperately needed, it had seemed reasonable to leave his friends and Matilda, his betrothed in charge. After all, he had intended to return within two years.

  That had been six years ago, and in that time he had broken their betrothal. Despite this, they had kept to the managing arrangement because the manor, families and friends had prospered. She had married Roger, and even if her reputation had been whispered about, her authority on settling disputes and ensuring that Roger and Louve could come to terms had never been questioned.

  ‘Tell me why you’re truly here,’ she said.

  Maybe Bess was right and something was wrong. On a day like today every man was needed to harvest the last of the crops. Louve was one of the strongest and quickest at the sickle, and every reaper was required.