To Charm a Prince

by Grasso, Patricia;

  Published Internationally by Lachesis Publishing Inc.

  Rockland, Ontario, Canada

  Copyright © 2013 Patricia Grasso

  Exclusive cover © 2013 Laura Givens

  Inside artwork © 2013 Giovanna Lagana

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Lachesis Publishing Inc., is an infringement of the copyright law.

  A catalogue record for the print format of this title is available from the National Library of Canada

  ISBN 9781927555194

  A catalogue record for the Ebook is available

  from the National Library of Canada

  Ebooks are available for purchase from

  www.lachesispublishing.com

  ISBN 9781927555187

  Editor for this version: Joanna D’Angelo

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  PIP, my gentle giant. Peacemaker. Lover of cuddles, licking butter off toast, and me. You taught me never to leave my possessions lying around the house. Even metal wasn't safe with you. Hence, my metal Timex chewed into three pieces. R.I.P.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Joanna D’Angelo (editor) and Myretta Robens (computer guru) for their long-suffering patience.

  Reviews

  "A Charming Regency Romance that runs on high octane"

  — Best Reviews

  ". . . a lively and exciting romance"

  — Old Book Barn Gazette

  "An enchanting prince in a fairy tale romance . . .

  a simple pleasure to read"

  — Romantic Times

  "Kept me up until the wee hours of the night"

  — A Romance Review

  Also available

  To Tempt an Angel

  (Douglas Series Book 1)

  Pagan Bride

  Coming soon

  To Catch A Countess

  (Douglas Series Book 3)

  TO CHARM A PRINCE

  Prologue

  London, Summer 1812

  This damned limp ruins my appearance.

  Eighteen-year-old Samantha Douglas watched herself in the cheval glass as she crossed the bedchamber. Her blue silk gown matched her eyes, and her aunt’s maid had dressed her ebony hair in an upswept fashion.

  Samantha decided that she had never looked so pretty. No one would ever guess from her appearance that she hadn’t led a pampered life as a member of the Quality. She felt like a princess . . . until she walked.

  Why was I the one run over by the carriage? Why couldn’t it have been—?

  Samantha banished that uncharitable thought. She could never wish what happened to her on anyone else.

  Turning away from the mirror, Samantha tried to calm her nerves by focusing on her bedchamber. This one chamber was larger than the old cottage. She’d only been in residence at the Duke of Inverary’s for two weeks and was still unused to the opulence. She could hardly believe her deceased parents and her aunt had lived almost their entire lives with this luxury.

  “Are you ready to meet society?”

  Samantha turned at the sound of her younger sister’s voice. “I’m not going to the ball.”

  “Are you ill?” Victoria hurried across the chamber.

  “My limp prevents me from walking gracefully, never mind dancing,” Samantha said, her expression glum.

  Hopping Giles . . . Hopping Giles . . . Hopping Giles.

  Samantha recalled the jeering name reserved for cripples that was hurled at her since the carriage accident. Like an old friend, heartache for being different swept through her. The little girl who limped was always chosen last for games with other children. There was no reason to think the young woman who limped would be anything other than a wallflower.

  “No gentleman will ask a pathetic cripple to dance,” Samantha said, unable to mask the catch of emotion in her voice.

  “A slight limp does not make you a cripple,” Victoria argued. “We have more to worry about than your limp. If anyone discovers we’re frauds, we’ll never find husbands.”

  “We are not frauds,” called Angelica, the oldest Douglas sister, walking into the bedchamber. “Father was the Earl of Melrose, and since his passing, I am the Countess of Melrose.”

  “Father lost the Douglas fortune,” Victoria reminded her.

  “He didn’t lose it,” Angelica corrected her. “Charles Emerson swindled him out of it.”

  “We have nothing to recommend us but our wits and the Duke of Inverary’s generosity,” Samantha said. “We are pretending to be wealthy.”

  Angelica waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Everyone pretends to have more than they do.”

  “Aunt Roxie said you’re going to marry the marquess and become a duchess when the duke dies.” Victoria sighed. “I wonder whom Samantha and I will marry.”

  “I’m not going tonight,” Samantha said.

  “Get Aunt Roxie,” Angelica ordered Victoria. Then she turned to Samantha. “Why don’t you want to go? You look beautiful. Think how much fun our first ball will be.”

  Samantha leveled a skeptical look on her. “All my life I’ve listened to children calling me Hopping Giles,” she said, unable to keep the raw pain out of her voice. “I couldn’t bear for society to whisper behind their hands about me. What gentleman will ask a cripple to dance?”

  “Sister, do not let a simple limitation ruin your life.”

  “That’s so easy for you to say,” Samantha replied. “No one ever had a cruel word for you. You’re beautiful, talented, and intelligent. The Marquess of Argyll adores you.”

  “You have gifts, too,” Angelica said, touching her sister’s shoulder. “You are exceptionally lovely and the kindest and most charitable lady I know.”

  “Gentlemen do not value kindness and charity,” Samantha told her. “Gentlemen prefer beauty and talent and intelligence.” When her sister arched a brow at her, Samantha gave her a grudging smile. “All right, gentlemen do not value intelligence in a woman so much as her beauty and talent.”

  The door crashed open. Auburn-haired and voluptuous, Aunt Roxie marched into the bedchamber. “What is the problem?”

  “I told you,” Victoria said. “Samantha isn’t going to the ball. She—”

  Aunt Roxie glared at her youngest niece, and then looked at Samantha. “Don’t sit down,” she ordered.

  Samantha bolted to attention. “Why can’t I sit?”

  “Your gown will wrinkle.”

  “I am not attending the ball,” Samantha insisted, her expression mulish.

  “What has changed your mind?” Aunt Roxie asked.

  “Charles Emerson ran me over with his carriage,” Samantha said. “Should I and my deformed leg now attend a ball at his house?”

  “That unfortunate accident happened long ago,” Aunt Roxie said. “He never intended to hurt you.”

  “Accident or no, Emerson will pay for what he has done to the Douglases,” Angelica spoke up.

  “Darling, you must put aside this ridiculous notion of being inferior,” Aunt Roxie said, ignoring her oldest niece. “You are not merely a limp. Don’t you want to meet a suitable gentleman and marry?”

  “Find me a man who won’t mind that his bride is deformed,” Samantha said, “and I’ll marry him tomorrow.”

  “You are not deformed,” Aunt Roxie insisted, her frustration apparent. “I have spent the inheritanc
es from my three late husbands keeping you girls alive, and now the Duke of Inverary has opened his home to us. Both His Grace and I intend to secure advantageous marriages for each of you. Is this attitude of yours a poultice to my old age?”

  “You are not old,” Samantha told her aunt, “and I do appreciate your sacrifice and His Grace’s generosity. Neither of you understands how daunting a task it is for me to go into society. I have none of Angelica’s blond beauty or Victoria’s free spirit.”

  “You possess other gifts like a warm heart and a nurturing nature,” Aunt Roxie told her.

  “Men don’t care about those things.” Samantha felt she was losing this battle to remain home for the evening. She should have feigned an illness.

  “Darling, I know more about men than the three of you combined,” her aunt drawled. “Trust me, men flirt with blond beauty and free spirits but marry nurturing natures.”

  “Why, thank you, Aunt Roxie,” Victoria said.

  “You’ve made us feel so much better about going into society,” Angelica added.

  Aunt Roxie ignored them. “Did I mention that your future husband will be in attendance tonight?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had one of my visions,” Aunt Roxie answered. “You will marry a man who is not quite what he seems, but a prince among men, nevertheless.”

  Could Aunt Roxie be correct? Her aunt had been blessed with special, otherworldly talents and knew things before they happened. Was there a gentleman capable of looking beyond her flaw?

  “If Angelica is marrying the marquess and Samantha is marrying a prince among men,” Victoria said, “whom did you see for me?”

  “Nobody,” her aunt snapped. “You are going to die an old maid on the shelf.”

  Samantha laughed at her sister’s horrified expression. Angelica joined in her merriment.

  “You think too much,” Aunt Roxie told Samantha. “Emulate Victoria who never thinks.”

  “Emulate me?” Victoria echoed.

  Aunt Roxie gave her youngest niece an ambiguous smile and turned to Samantha. “Lose the worry and enjoy life, darling, for tonight you will experience the most enchanting evening of your young life.”

  A short time later Samantha sat beside Victoria in the ducal coach. Magnus Campbell, the Duke of Inverary, and Aunt Roxie sat across from them. The marquess had persuaded Angelica to ride in his coach.

  “Remember, my darlings, do not dance more than twice with any gentleman,” Aunt Roxie instructed, as their coach halted in front of Charles Emerson’s Grosvenor Square mansion.

  “We don’t need to be so particular about that old rule,” the duke said.

  “I will not take chances with my nieces’ futures.”

  What future? Samantha felt her spirits sinking at the sight of the graceful, fashionably gowned women entering the Emerson mansion. Not one of them limped. No gentleman will ask me to dance, and once I’m categorized as a wallflower, no man will even look in my direction.

  The Duke of Inverary stepped down from the carriage first and assisted her aunt, her sister, and then her. Angelica and the marquess waited for them at the stairs.

  “Sisters, take a good look at this house,” Angelica said, staring at the mansion.” We lived here until ten years ago.”

  “I don’t remember,” Victoria said.

  Instead of looking at the mansion, Samantha turned to stare at the street. “Is this where the carriage ran me over?”

  “Tonight is not the time to dwell on the past,” Aunt Roxie said. “Let’s go inside.”

  Samantha felt her sister’s touch on her shoulder and heard her say, “This is where it happened.”

  “That day eludes my memory.”

  “Emerson will pay for his crimes against you and Father,” Angelica promised.

  “I hate the dirty weasel,” Victoria said.

  “So do I,” Angelica added.

  “No one hates him more than I,” Samantha said.

  “I’m so glad that’s settled,” Aunt Roxie drawled. “Can we go inside now?”

  Long forgotten memories surfaced when they walked into the foyer. Samantha remembered her parents in evening dress, kissing her good night before they went out. She could almost smell the reassuring scent of her mother’s lilac fragrance.

  “Do you remember any of this?” Victoria whispered.

  “Vaguely, but Angelica would remember best,” Samantha answered.

  Their party walked upstairs to the second-floor ballroom. Charles Emerson, his son, Alexander, and his daughter, Venetia Emerson Campbell, stood at the top of the ballroom and spoke with guests. The orchestra played at the opposite end of the room and consisted of a cornet, a piano, a cello, and two violins.

  Samantha saw Angelica and Robert step onto the dance floor. The marquess and her sister seemed made for each other. Perhaps Aunt Roxie was correct that Angelica would marry Robert Campbell and, one day, become the Duchess of Inverary.

  Turning to speak to her aunt, Samantha froze as the uncanny feeling of being watched, overwhelmed her senses. She looked around but detected no one paying her any particular attention. Still, the uncomfortable feeling persisted.

  And then Robert Campbell stood in front of her. “May I have this dance?”

  Samantha felt her face reddening and panic rising in her breast. She wished her sister hadn’t put the marquess up to this. “Would you mind terribly if I postponed our dance until later? I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed by this crowd.”

  The marquess nodded. “Whenever you feel ready.”

  “I’ll dance with you,” Victoria spoke up.

  “Tory, ladies do not invite gentlemen to dance,” Aunt Roxie scolded.

  “I was just about to ask,” Robert said, holding out his hand to Victoria.

  Angelica sidled up to Samantha. “Why won’t you dance?”

  “I have no wish to become a spectacle.”

  “I promise, you will not—”

  Again, Samantha felt uneasy. Someone was definitely watching her. And then she saw him.

  With his arms folded across his chest, the gentleman leaned against the wall and ignored the circle of female admirers surrounding him. Easily the handsomest man she’d ever seen, the gentleman in black evening attire stared at her with an intensity that made her feel weak-legged. He held her gaze captive for a long moment and then perused her body slowly as if savoring each curve. He lifted his gaze to hers again and inclined his head in her direction by way of a long-distance greeting.

  Samantha gave him a cold stare and then turned away. A moment later, unable to control the impulse, she peeked at him.

  He was still watching her. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. When he nodded at her again, Samantha inclined her head in his direction. Her lips turned up in an answering smile.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Angelica asked.

  Samantha focused on her sister. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind.”

  The dance ended. Robert and Victoria joined them.

  “Here comes trouble,” Robert whispered, his lips quirking.

  Samantha glanced in the direction he was looking. Venetia, the marquess’ widowed sister-in-law, walked in their direction. With her was the gentleman who’d been staring at her. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her to dance.

  “Lady Angelica, here is Prince Rudolf to renew your acquaintance,” Venetia said.

  Samantha struggled to keep from laughing. Her sister was caught in an outrageous lie, having bragged to the other woman that the Russian prince had once proposed marriage to her.

  “Your Highness, how good to see you again,” Angelica said, bluffing her way out of a bad situation. “You remember my sisters, Samantha and Victoria.”

  Samantha nearly swooned when the prince looked at her and said, “I could never forget such beauty.”

  “You haven’t danced with me, Robert,” Venetia said, feigning a pout.

  “I was looking forward to our dance.” Robert
held out his hand. “Shall we?”

  Once they’d gone, Angelica said, “Thank you, Your Highness, for going along with my fabrication.”

  “I suppose we were the closest of friends?” Prince Rudolf asked.

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  The prince smiled. “Did you leave me brokenhearted?”

  “Absolutely devastated.”

  Samantha studied the prince while her sister spoke with him. Prince Rudolf was as tall as the marquess, a few inches over six feet. Like the marquess, the prince was broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, and magnificent in his formal evening attire. Fathomless black eyes shone from his handsome face, accentuated by his black hair.

  Prince Rudolf turned to her unexpectedly, asking, “Would you care to dance?”

  His invitation surprised Samantha. How could she refuse a prince?

  “Your Highness, I suffer from an old injury,” Samantha said, a high blush staining her cheeks.

  Concern etched itself across his features. “Are you in pain?”

  “No, I limp when I walk.”

  Prince Rudolf fixed his dark gaze on hers. Samantha felt her knees go weak and knew why he’d been surrounded by so many admirers.

  “Then you will dance with me,” he commanded her, holding his hand out.

  Samantha dropped her gaze to his hand. Nervous indecision gripped her. More than anything else, she wanted to dance with him.

  Acting on instinct, Samantha placed her hand in his. As if he knew her fear, he gave her hand an encouraging squeeze to bolster her confidence and escorted her onto the dance floor.

  Samantha relaxed as soon as she stepped into his arms. The prince danced with the ease of a man who had waltzed a thousand times.

  Swirling around the candlelit ballroom in his arms, Samantha felt as if she were floating on air, and became intoxicated by the music and the man. Her aunt’s prediction flitted through her mind.

  “I feel as if everyone is staring at me,” Samantha said.

  “They are watching me, not you,” Prince Rudolf told her. “People are always curious about royals. By the way, you dance divinely.”