They faced each other squarely, and Leo’s heart turned stone-cold in his chest.
“If that is your decision, Father, then so be it. Good-bye.”
The duke took a frantic step to follow. “Where will you go?”
“I will sail for Petersbourg in the morning,” Leo replied.
“But this is not over! You will not walk away from me!”
Yes, by God, he would.
Leo gave his father one last threatening glare, then walked out and slammed the door shut behind him.
St. James’s Palace, London
“How is your wrist this evening?” Prince Nicholas asked Rose as he buttoned his opera cloak inside the door. “You don’t have to come with us if you are at all uncomfortable. Randolph and I can make your apologies. The regent will understand.”
They had tickets to a play at Covent Garden, and Randolph was impatient to see Alexandra, the woman who had captured his heart the first moment they met. Rose had spoken to her on two separate occasions and found her to be not only beautiful, but gracious and intelligent as well. She was a good choice for a wife and future queen. Rose approved of the match.
“It is much better,” she replied, “though my maid had to help me with my gloves. It’s rather awkward sometimes.” She rubbed the pad of her thumb over the sore tendons along her forearm and flexed her fingers. “At least the glove hides the bandages.”
“Yes. No one would ever know you were hurled about in a carriage accident twenty-four hours past and nearly met your maker.”
Rose chuckled. “It wasn’t quite as bad as all that. Nevertheless, I am made of stern stuff, Nicholas. It’s the Sebastian in me. We are a resilient bunch.”
“That we are.”
They waited in the front hall for Randolph to join them. He was taking a very long time to dress. The tall case clock ticked heavily by the door. What was keeping him?
“But what about your heart?” Nicholas asked quietly. “Is it as resilient as the rest of you?”
As it happened, her heart was still aching quite stubbornly, but Rose did not seek her brother’s pity. She knew he meant well, of course. He was the kindest brother in the world, but she did not wish to talk about it.
“Come now,” he whispered. “You can’t fool me, Rose. I was the one who wiped buckets of tears from your cheeks two years ago and offered to strangle the scoundrel with a thin rope, remember?”
She couldn’t help but smile, but it was a melancholy moment. “You were very generous,” she said, “but truly, I am over it. It was a long time ago and I am engaged to Joseph now.”
Nicholas studied her with concern. “But are you certain that’s what you really want? You don’t ever have to lie to me, Rose. I know you better than anyone.”
Indeed, he did, for Randolph had always been the special one destined for the throne. While he was being guarded like a priceless jewel, she and Nicholas could sometimes escape the watchful eyes of the palace guards and enjoy a little freedom together as children.
She took a deep breath and peered out the front window at the coach waiting outside. It was a clear night. There was not the slightest breath of wind.
“If you must know,” she finally admitted, “I cannot purge him from my mind, though it pains me to admit it.”
“I presume you are referring to Cavanaugh,” Nick replied with impressive intuitiveness, “and not your betrothed?”
She turned to face him. “Your presumption is correct. I thought I was over him, but I am not sure I ever will be. Please do not tell Randolph. I don’t want him to know. He was instrumental in introducing me to Joseph and encouraging our courtship. It will be a good marriage. I know it will. I do not wish to change my mind. I only wish I could stop wanting what I know is not good for me.”
Nicholas nodded. “I know all about that.”
They continued to wait in silence.
“Tell me this will pass,” she said.
He considered it. “Of course it will, in time. I’m sorry, Rose. While I am grateful that Cavanaugh came to your rescue last night, I wish I could have come for you instead.”
She couldn’t meet her brother’s gaze for she feared her composure might crack, and that simply would not do. Two years ago she had been to hell and back over Leopold Hunt, but she had recovered. She had learned not to wallow in self-pity. To this day she could not bear to be pitied by others.
“Do not worry for me, Nicholas,” she said. “I will forget him, just like the last time.”
But would she, really? Last time, she had built a wall of anger and hate around the memory of him.
This time she had forgiven him and secretly celebrated the fact that he still cared for her. She had been overjoyed to learn that, contrary to what she believed, he had not wanted to end it two years ago. It had been difficult for him, too, but he’d had no choice in the matter, for it was a contract of betrothal which, as a gentleman of honor, he could not break.
Either way it was tragic. She still desired Leopold Hunt, but it could not be. Not then, not now. Not ever.
“Who is the woman to whom he is pledged?” Nicholas asked suddenly with a curious frown. “And why did he never speak of it before? We have been friends for years.”
Rose shrugged. “I don’t know the answer to that. All I know is that she is English, and that is why he is here. But he is leaving again, very soon, apparently.”
Nicholas paced around the front hall. “It’s odd. He hasn’t met her yet, but plans to leave as soon as he does? Will he take her with him?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Help me forget him, will you? Don’t ask me about him again. I want to enjoy the play tonight.”
Their brother Randolph came bounding down the stairs just then. Rose was relieved to see him. It would take her mind off things.
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” he said. “I feel like a love-struck schoolboy. Someone hit me over the head, will you?”
Rose smiled. “You are referring to Alexandra, I presume?”
“Of course. My future wife, for I will have no other,” he said with confidence.
“Remember, she must choose you first,” Nicholas reminded him with a note of caution.
“Oh, she will. I know she will.”
Rose took Nicholas’s arm and walked out the door, hoping that for Randolph’s sake, Alexandra did in fact return his affections—for it was never easy to mend all the pieces of a broken heart when such a love was not returned.
PART II
The Road Home
Chapter Six
Petersbourg, July 1814
Leaning into the wind, Leopold urged his mount into a faster, wilder gallop across the fertile green fields and relished the heady exhilaration that always came when he traveled at such speeds. It was nothing like a battlefield charge, when he was surrounded by a thundering army of soldiers overcome by one of two things: savage bloodlust or heart-wrenching terror. Nothing about this resembled that at all. The warm, humid scents of the morning filled his nostrils with clean fresh air and filled his head with an almost unrecognizable sense of peace. Holding tight to the reins, he pressed his horse into a dangerous leap over a high stone wall, then tried to put all thoughts of war behind him.
He had come home to Cavanaugh Manor with a clear purpose to embrace his title in the new realm and begin anew. He had just spent the afternoon consulting with his steward about building three new cottages down by the river and making improvements to some of the existing ones where the tenants had lately been complaining of leaky roofs and poor drainage.
There was much to be done and he was glad of the distraction. It kept his mind off certain other things and helped him to sleep better at night when he found himself reliving particular moments from the past.
The scorching sun was high in the sky when he trotted into the stable courtyard, dismounted and handed the reins to a groom, then stalked to the house for an early luncheon with his mother. The soles of his boots crunched heavily over the loose gr
avel as he pulled off his riding gloves and dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead.
Leopold looked up at the sky and wondered if Petersbourg had ever known such a hot summer before. He certainly couldn’t remember one. It was impossibly sweltering and damned uncomfortable, and he wished the heavens would open up and dump some cold rain on his head.
After changing out of his riding boots and donning a clean shirt and light jacket, he strode into the luncheon room where his mother was already seated at the white-clothed table reading the Petersbourg Chronicle.
She set it down when he entered. “Leopold, I’m glad you’re back. Have you seen the paper?”
He stopped in his tracks, for she had that look about her. Something had happened.
“I had an early start this morning. Why? What is it?”
He pulled a chair out to sit across from her while she folded the news sheet and handed it to him. He read the headline quickly while working to control the sudden rapid beating of his pulse.
When he finished the article, he set the paper down on the table. “Well, then,” he said. “This confirms it. I am a free man.”
“It appears so.”
It was good news, but shocking all the same, for the woman he had been pledged to marry since birth—the secret Tremaine princess—had just wed Randolph Sebastian, future king of Petersbourg.
The article implied it was a brilliant love match, the stuff of fairy tales, for whilst in England, Prince Randolph and his brother Nicholas had switched identities to ensure Randolph found a lady willing to marry him for love, not his crown. Randolph had wooed Alexandra the old-fashioned way.
What a shocking surprise when they each discovered the truth—that he was, in actuality, first in line to the throne of Petersbourg, and she was a direct descendent of the Tremaine dynasty, a true blood princess.
Fate, surely, had intervened and brought these two together.
The story caused Leo’s jaw to clench, for when it came to love, the fates had been quite uncooperative and rather obstinate in his case. All they ever did for him was keep him alive on the battlefield—a miraculous feat if there ever was one—but there were days he wondered if that had been a blessing or a curse.
The marriage of Randolph and Alexandra was a blessing for the country, the Chronicle reported, for it would at last unite the two opposing factions—the traditional Royalists and the progressive members of the New Regime.
“Nicholas wrote that,” Leopold said, tapping his finger on the paper. “He knows just how to present something to sway the popular opinion.”
“You’re probably right,” his mother replied. “But how will your father feel about this? I cannot imagine he is pleased. He has coveted the throne since the day they buried Oswald. He wanted it for you.”
Leo sat forward. “I do not care one way or another how Father feels, and neither should you.”
His parents had been separated since he was ten. They parted ways not long after his two younger sisters died of typhoid.
The duke and duchess did not share the same political opinions. His father was a secret Royalist. His mother sided with the New Regime. To put it plainly, they despised each other and had not spoken in years.
“I’ve already told Father that I want no more part of his crusade,” Leopold added.
His mother regarded him ruefully. “There was once a time you believed in it.”
Indeed, there was. At one time he, too, had been estranged from his mother when he’d followed his father’s banner and wanted to be king. The ambition was like a drug.
“Those days are long gone,” he assured her. “I was young and wild and too easily influenced. Since then I have fought a real war. I’ve seen death and I’ve witnessed the human cost of one army conquering another.”
She laid her hand upon his. “I am glad you’ve given that up.”
He turned his eyes toward the window. “How could I not? I won’t fight another war in my own country. There are other things I want now. Besides, now that we are poised to have a Tremaine back on the throne, what is the point in fighting? The Royalist cause is now satisfied. Pray God we can all live in peace for once.”
“I agree,” she said. “An attempt to topple the Sebastians could not possibly end well. Your father never understood that the people of this country love King Frederick dearly, and despite the fact that there is no royal blood flowing through his veins, he has done more for this country than any other king ever has.”
“I see that now.” He did. He truly did.
Leopold stood up, walked to the window and looked out at the forest and lake in the distance. A hot, muggy haze obscured the horizon. Everything inside him felt heavy as well. Motionless. Anchored down. Frustratingly restless …
“What have you heard about the king’s health?” he asked. “Has there been any improvement?”
His mother’s tone was somber. “I am afraid not. They say he is dying, and that is why Randolph returned from England so quickly with his new bride. I do not believe it will be long.”
Leopold continued to ponder the hot, hazy world outside the window while his thoughts traveled elsewhere, to the palace in Petersbourg where an old man lay dying in his bed.
Leopold was barely aware of the chair legs scraping across the floor behind him. He paid no mind to his mother’s light footsteps circling around the table. It was not until he felt her hand on his shoulder that he recognized the magnitude of her concern.
“You are thinking of her again.”
He faced his mother, who was lovely in the soft midday light and still looked as young as she did when he was a boy. There had always been a gentle kindness about her, while his father was quite the opposite.
Leo had always assumed he’d inherited his father’s ambitious nature, as opposed to his mother’s compassion and benevolence. He had certainly displayed a rather astounding talent for battle which seemed founded upon a hot-blooded desire to conquer and triumph. His ancestors were kings after all—at a time when kings wore suits of armor and commanded giant armies and took what territories they wanted by force …
“It cannot be an easy time for Rose,” his mother said. “She loves her father very much.”
At the mere mention of Rose’s name, Leo felt that need to conquer rise up like a monster within him. He couldn’t seem to quell it, and it was eating him up inside because he couldn’t fight for what he really wanted. At least not while he was here in the quiet, peaceful countryside.
“I should go and pay my respects,” he said.
His mother laid an open hand upon his cheek. “I am not sure that would be wise.”
Of course it wouldn’t. Rose would be vulnerable and full of grief and fear for the imminent loss of her beloved father.
Leopold would comfort her and do whatever he must to ease her pain. He would not leave her side.
“Perhaps it would be best if you just sent a note,” his mother suggested.
He knew what she was thinking, and the sensible part of him agreed with her. What he really needed to do was cut all contact with Rose completely and stay away from the royal court in Petersbourg. He had to stop fighting and try to grow accustomed to a normal life.
“Please, Leopold,” his mother said. “She is betrothed to the future emperor of Austria.”
The mere thought of the man caused Leopold’s hands to curl into fists.
“But it’s not too late,” he found himself saying. “I am released from my own obligations now, and they are not yet man and wife. A woman can change her mind.”
His mother sighed in frustration. “There are political issues to consider. If you truly wish to be a loyal subject to your king, you will not interfere with such an important national alliance.”
Leo’s gut turned over. He wished life were simpler—that he was a common man, and Rose a common woman, so that he would not be forced to give her up. All he wanted to do was straddle a horse this instant and gallop into the city proper, break down the door to he
r private apartments, kiss her senseless until she couldn’t breathe, then carry her away to his bed.
Bloody hell.
A note would not suffice. It would never suffice. He desired her too much. His passions were never going to burn out.
So what next? Charge headlong into battle? He didn’t see any other choice. He was a soldier born to fight and he didn’t like to lose.
Damn. What the devil should he do?
* * *
Rose fell asleep at her father’s bedside. She was dreaming about slow waves on the ocean when a throat cleared beside her. Groggily she lifted her head from the cradle of her arms on the edge of the mattress and peered up at a footman. “Yes? What is it?”
Standing with one hand behind his back, he offered up a silver salver. “A letter for you, Your Royal Highness.”
She blinked a few times to clear the sleep from her eyes, glanced at her father who was resting comfortably, then picked up the letter.
“Thank you. You may go, but could you inform Mrs. Hartford that I would like a supper tray sent up? I do not wish to leave my father’s side tonight.”
“Yes, madam.”
She waited for him to leave the chamber before she rose from her chair and moved to the upholstered window seat to break the seal and unfold the letter. Of course, she knew who it was from. She had known the moment she saw the Hapsburg seal.
My darling Rose,
I write this to you knowing you are still abroad in England and it may be weeks before you receive it, but I decided it should not matter that you are on the other side of the sea.
I trust your visit is proceeding as planned and that Randolph is making good progress with the shipbuilding campaign.
You must write to me as soon as you are able and tell me about your journey. What is the weather like abroad? It has been a warm, dry summer here in Austria. We expect a cold winter. After that, will an early spring wedding suit you? My sister believes we should wait until the summer when the roses are in bloom, but that is a whole year from now and I grow impatient to see you again and have you for my own.
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