They found a quiet corner to watch a number of guests gather for a quadrille.
“Look,” Leopold said. “Nicholas has escorted the queen onto the floor. She seems to be adapting well to her new life here, and you have a sister now. So much about the world has changed in recent months, has it not?”
Rose watched her brother dance with Alexandra and wondered what they were saying to each other. There had been some tension between them since Nicholas learned Alexandra was a Tremaine, for she had kept that secret from Randolph during their courtship in England.
“That is very true,” Rose replied. “And how are things in your world, Leopold? The last time we spoke, you told me about your engagement. Did you finally meet your intended in England?”
He kept his eyes fixed on the dancers. “I regret to say it has not worked out quite as everyone expected. As it happens, she fell in love with another fellow and is now happily married to him. It was a good match for her. I can hardly blame the woman, so there are no hard feelings.” He paused and looked down at Rose. “I am now a free man, released from my obligations.”
Rose swallowed hard over a sudden wave of astonishment. “I am sorry to hear it did not work out.”
He spoke with a hint of bitterness. “Well. There is nothing to be done about it now. I will begin anew and endeavor not to nurse too many regrets.”
A footman came by just then. Rose picked up a glass of champagne.
“It is frustrating sometimes,” she said, “how life does not unfold the way we plan. Just when we think we know which way we are headed, the path takes a turn or splits in two directions, and one must choose.”
He considered that. “Yes, although sometimes one does not have a choice. Sometimes one is pushed to the left, when the right is much more desirable.”
“I know the feeling, exactly.”
She had become quite familiar with it when she was forced to forget the man she loved and move on with her life. She didn’t even want to consider the possibility that the path was again diverging before her. She had finally come to terms with her future in Austria and had accepted her duty, and did not welcome any complications.
But Leopold was free now. He was no longer pledged to another, and clearly he still had the power to stir her blood, arouse her passions. Though she tried not to feel any of those things.
Heaven help her, what if a life in Austria was not her true fate? What if this was?
Rose glanced up at Leopold’s handsome profile. He was watching Alexandra and Nicholas with notable concern. Perhaps he, too, could recognize an argument when he saw one.
Rose scanned the room, wondering how many others had taken notice of her brother’s disinclinations toward their new queen, but everyone appeared oblivious. Most of the guests were too busy laughing and enjoying the champagne.
“Is there something not quite right between them?” Leopold asked, as he leaned a little closer to Rose.
“You are very observant. I must confess I had my doubts about Alexandra at first. The piece Nicholas wrote for the Chronicle was very romantic, but there have been a few bumps and hurdles along the way, as you can well imagine. I believe Nicholas still has some doubts. You know how protective he is of Randolph.”
The music came to an end, and Nicholas escorted Alexandra back to her stepmother, the dowager Duchess of St. George, then promptly walked off.
Leo turned his attention back to Rose. “Your doubts are now alleviated?”
“Yes. Alexandra and I have come to know each other very well since the crossing. I am convinced she wants to see Petersbourg united again and bring an end to the conflicts between the Royalists and New Regime. I am also certain that she loves my brother with all her heart.” Rose took a sip of her champagne. “Nicholas will see that, too, soon enough. His problem is that he doesn’t understand about true love. You know what he is like. He enjoys turbulent affairs that promise to be both brief and disastrous.”
Leo bowed at a couple as they passed by on the way to the dance floor. “I suspect there is hope for him, yet,” he said. “Remember … you once thought the same of me.”
She chuckled lightly at his roguish remark, though there was nothing light about it, for she could sense the flirtation simmering beneath the surface and it excited her to no end. “I suppose I did.”
Another set began, and she knew it was long past time for them to part ways. She set her empty glass down on a table and caught Nicholas’s eye.
“It appears my brother is sending me signals,” she said. “He wishes to remind me that I promised to dance with Lord Bramberry.”
“Bramberry?” Leo smiled with teasing charm. “Is he still alive?”
Rose nudged him with her elbow. “Now, now, Leopold. He’s not that old.”
“Of course not. But do try not to wear him out, darling. There is a spark about you that can give a man dangerous heart palpitations—and at his age…”
She smiled at the flattery. “You are positively wicked, sir, and I am going to pretend you never said that, because if he drops dead on the floor at my feet, I will blame you completely for floating such ideas into the air.”
She curtsied and made a move to leave, but Leo touched her arm. “Do you still like to ride in the mornings?”
Now it was her turn to experience dangerous heart palpitations. What was he getting at? “Yes, in the park, mid-morning. And you?”
His eyes glimmered with resolve. “I’ve been riding in the country lately, but mid-morning is my preferred hour of the day as well. It’s quiet. There is less wind.”
“And the dew has a chance to leave the grass.”
They stared at each other for a tantalizing moment. He nodded in agreement, and as she turned to join her brother, she realized with a disturbing mixture of excitement and self-reproach that they had just arranged a secret rendezvous in the morning, without ever openly mentioning it.
Oh, he was smooth. A part of her feared it, for what if his intentions were dangerous? She knew how he liked to win. Perhaps he only wanted to prove that he still had the power to seduce her, and that he could steal her away from her fiancé in a heartbeat if he so chose.
When she reached Nicholas and turned to look back, she saw that Leopold had already crossed to the other side of the ballroom and was striking up a conversation with Alexandra. They spoke privately for a few minutes until he bowed and took his leave.
“Don’t give me that look,” she said to her brother as she turned to face him. “It was just a dance, nothing more.”
He held up his hands as if to profess his innocence. “I said nothing about it.”
“Good. Let us keep it that way. Now where is Lord Bramberry? He promised me a dance.”
“Here he comes now.”
Rose turned and gave the aging viscount a warm and affectionate smile, while her thoughts ventured uneasily to the temptations she might find herself confronting in the morning.
Chapter Nine
Petersbourg Palace stood at the southern edge of the city. Beyond it stretched miles of peaceful country meadows and forests. On the morning after the banquet, a warm, hazy humidity hung low over the park as Rose walked Zeus to the crest of a lush, green hill and cantered down the other side into the river valley below.
She headed for the bridle path along the river, which meandered through the woods to the top of a high ridge where she could look out over the palace and city to the north.
She had galloped out of the stables earlier that morning with her groom as an escort—a strict and necessary rule of protocol—and wished, for once, that she could enjoy the freedom of riding alone, but such was her life as a royal. She had been following rules forever, doing exactly what was expected of her. Freedom was a luxury she had rarely dreamed of, but as she slowed Zeus to a walk and entered the cool shade of the trees, she found herself resenting her lack of it more than ever before.
Perhaps it was the death of her father and a greater awareness of her mortality that caused this
restlessness in her. Life was short, after all. There were no second chances.
Or perhaps it was the weight of her increased responsibilities in recent months, for it was no light matter to marry a future emperor.
Or perhaps it was something else—the lure of the forbidden …
As they entered the forest, Zeus’s ears pricked and he tossed his head, as if he’d scented something that required a warning. A secret thrill ran through her veins.
“What is it, boy?” she asked, giving him an encouraging pat on the neck while her own instincts escalated to a heightened state of alert.
Sure enough, the sound of approaching hooves and the nicker of another horse broke the silence of the wood, and she reined Zeus in to a full stop on the path. Her groom stopped behind her.
Just as she anticipated, a handsome rider appeared from around the bend and trotted to meet her. They faced each other with mutually mischievous and knowing smiles.
“Lord Cavanaugh,” she said. “What a delightful surprise to see you here.”
He fingered the brim of his hat while she took in his appearance atop the impressive chestnut mare. This morning he wore a dark gray riding jacket, pale gray breeches with tassled Hessians, and a fine silk cravat tied loosely at his neck.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” he gallantly replied. “Are you headed to the lookout?”
“Yes, I am. Would you care to accompany me?”
“I would be most delighted.”
Without hesitation, she turned in the saddle and spoke to her groom. “Thank you, Casper. It appears I have a most capable escort. You may ride back to the palace now and wait for me there.”
“But madam…”
“Rest assured, sir,” Leo added. “I shall take every care with the princess and see her safely returned within the hour.”
The groom glanced uneasily between the two of them, then bowed his head and obediently walked his mount out of the wood.
Rose waited for Casper to break into a gallop on open ground, and regarded Leo feistily in the humid air.
“He appears to be gone,” she mentioned as she nudged Zeus with the heel of her boot.
“Alone at last,” Leopold replied.
The suggestive intimacy in his tone provided her with an enjoyable rush of pleasure that felt very wicked and very wrong. She had no intention of turning back, however, for she needed to explore this path before she accepted another that had been laid out for her by others.
Together they fell into a leisurely walking pace along the river while the birds chirped cheerfully in the leafy treetops.
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Leo asked.
“Tremendously,” she replied. “The mood has been somber at the palace since my father’s passing. I think we all benefited greatly from the company of others.” She glanced across at Leopold, who was painfully gorgeous in the dappled shade of the morning sunshine. “Randolph mentioned you bestowed another wedding gift upon Alexandra—a portrait of her parents, King Oswald and Queen Isabelle.”
“Yes, my father has been its guardian since the Revolution, but he felt its rightful place was now with our new queen.”
“I believe she was very touched by the gift. She will have it mounted today in her private chamber.”
They continued on in silence for a moment or two while Rose fought to resist the wanton urge to admire Leopold’s powerful muscled thighs as he rode beside her. And his gloved hands, so big and strong in the chocolate brown leather gloves … It was impossible not to stare.
There was one other thing she could not resist either: the desire to speak openly.
“It has been a long time since we enjoyed a morning ride together,” she said, recalling how they had once sneaked away during the shooting party at his estate two years ago. “So much has happened since then.”
Leopold gazed at her in her dark riding habit and top hat, which she had intentionally perched forward on her head at a flirtatious angle. His eyes were as blue as the summer sky. “Yes,” he replied in a low, husky voice that stroked her like velvet. “You became engaged, while I became … unengaged.”
“That is true,” she said, “but it is minor in comparison to your accomplishments in the war.”
She glanced across at him, but he looked away in the other direction.
“When we met in England,” she continued, “I told you I had thought of you very little since our parting, but I feel I must confess the truth.” That seemed to garner his full attention. “The fact is,” she said, “I did think of you often when you were abroad. I prayed for your safe return, and I was happy for you when your heroics were recognized.”
He regarded her doubtfully. “You were happy for me? Truly, Rose? I find that difficult to believe.”
“Why?”
He chuckled. “I know you too well. You probably tossed the newspaper into the fire when you read it. Didn’t you?”
He was referring, of course, to the announcement of Napoleon’s downfall the previous October. Leopold had distinguished himself in battle and received the Petersbourg Medal of Honor for his bravery. It was also noted that he had never been defeated in battle, not once. He had come home to a mad crowd of cheering admirers who tossed flowers at him in the street, and a nation of women who openly adored and desired him.
Rose swallowed uneasily at his probing question, for he had hit too close to the mark. For a moment she considered how best to respond and convince him that she had been pleased about his triumphs, but she could not tell a lie. It was no use anyway. He would see straight through her, for it was exactly as he described. He knew her too well.
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Fine. I admit it. I crumpled the paper and threw it into the fire. There. Are you happy now?”
He regarded her steadily. “I am happy that you told me the truth, but sorry that you remained angry with me for so long.”
The humor of the moment vanished as she looked into his striking eyes. “Yes, I was angry,” she finally confessed. “But I was angry at myself for caring. I did think of you and I worried for your safety. I hated the fact that I knew nothing of what you were enduring. I wished you could have written to me. I didn’t like being kept in the dark and reading about the battles in the newspapers. There were so few details.”
He nodded with understanding. “It was better that way.”
“Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t have enjoyed hearing about what it was really like. It’s not for a lady’s ears.”
“Now, see here,” she argued. “You know as well as anyone that I am not like most women.”
She had watched her father strangle a man dead when she was not yet old enough to tie her own shoes. It was an image she would never forget. It had both hardened her heart and fueled her passion for life.
Leopold was one of the few people who knew about that incident. She had confessed it to him when she sneaked through the secret passages at his father’s country house and stayed up all night with him … talking.
“I apologize,” Leopold said. “You are indeed unlike other women. I’ve never thought otherwise.”
She steered Zeus around a large exposed root on the path and felt very daring all of a sudden. “Do you remember when we spent that night together?”
“Of course,” Leopold replied.
“We promised each other we would never hide anything, that we would always be completely open.”
“I remember.”
She turned to him. “Then tell me about the war.”
He paused and gave her a look of warning. “As I already said, Rose, it’s not something a man talks about.”
“But surely you can talk about it with me.”
Her emphasis on the last word did not go unnoticed, and his eyes warmed to the acknowledgment of the bond that existed between them. “You may ask one question,” he said. “What would you like to know?”
She did not hesitate. “Were you ever wounded?”
A shadow fell
over his eyes. “There were scratches and bruises almost every day.”
“That is not what I mean, Leopold. Were you ever seriously hurt?”
There was no change in his expression as he leaned forward and patted his horse. “Twice. I took a musket ball in the arm during a skirmish in Spain and required some time to recover. Another time, my horse was shot out from under me during a full charge, and I went flying forward out of the saddle. Before I could get my bearings, I was slashed by a rather murderous steel bayonet. It was lucky I was fast on my feet, for it was just a surface wound. That foot soldier could have cut me in half, the way he was swinging his weapon.”
“What happened to him?” she asked.
Leopold did not respond to the question, but she saw the answer in his eyes.
“I see,” she replied. “That was going to be my next question … if you ever killed anyone.”
“We agreed there would be just one.”
She nodded and retreated into silence, but found it impossible to suppress her curiosity about so many things.
“They wrote in the paper that you were fearless.”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe there is such a thing as a fearless soldier.”
“But some are braver than others, surely.”
“I suppose. Somehow I always managed to keep my head when all hell was breaking loose around me. When I was shot in Spain, I felt no pain in my arm until the skirmish was over. Afterward they delivered me unconscious back to the hospital tent. Evidently I collapsed on top of a dead British artillery officer after taking charge of his regiment and firing enough cannons to take out half of the French cavalry.”
He spoke of it as if it were nothing at all to take a bullet in the arm and continue fighting for his life.
“How long did it take you to recover?” she asked.
“A few weeks. Luckily the musket ball went straight through and completely missed the bone.”
He stopped talking suddenly and shook his head. “I do beg your pardon, Rose. Surely you did not wish to hear such gruesome details.”
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