The Prince's Bride

by Joanne Wadsworth

  I must beg your forgiveness, madam, for this letter I write is of a distressing nature. A man in my father’s employ has taken your daughter as his hostage this day and set sail for the island of Paradiso off the coastline of Sicily. I must set sail after him, immediately, so I can claim her back. I give you my word I shall retrieve Olivia and return her safely home to you.

  Yours with unfailing loyalty,

  Anteros Bourbon.

  After folding the letter, he poured wax and sealed it with his cobra ring. Scraping a hand across his unshaven jaw, he crossed to his side table and gulped brandy directly from the decanter. Out his study window, the night sky remained dark and black, rain sleeting down and pinging off the glass. Guilt rose sharp and hard in his chest. Olivia had never asked for this when she’d offered him her aid. Now he’d placed her life in danger.

  Hell, he was such an idiot for not considering how far Father would go in ensuring he got his way.

  He threw the empty decanter into the fire and it smashed into a million glittering shards. His heart was no better off, just as completely broken as the fine crystal he’d tossed.

  Chapter 12

  Hot. So hot. Olivia opened her heavy eyelids and sweat dribbled into her eyes and hazed her vision. She blinked repeatedly then squinted as a sliver of light shone on the strangest angle from somewhere above her head.

  Lying on her side wrapped in a blanket, she tried to move her arms and legs, but only managed to tighten corded linen bound around her ankles and wrists, both roped together behind her back and making her arch awkwardly. Her back and shoulders throbbed. Her head thumped as if horses stampeded within.

  She tried to breathe through the chaos storming through her head.

  Wooden boards all around her. She must be in a crate, and that light streaming from between two planks, possibly the lid.

  Clothes had been stuffed in beside her, the red velvet gown and black hooded cloak.

  Pushing with her tongue, she tried to spit out a foul-tasting gag stuffed in her mouth, except another piece of linen held it firmly in place around her head. Everything dipped and rolled and she dry heaved. She had to get out of here, wherever here was.

  More rolling, and she slid across a floor, the crate banging into something. Rolling back. Another thump. She must be on board a vessel.

  A whiff of sea salt drifted through the cracks.

  Yes, definitely a vessel.

  Tears streaked down her cheeks and puddled on the scratchy wooden crating underneath her. Bruno had attacked Anteros. She should have fought Bruno too. Oh, and Mama. She would be beside herself with fear when she learnt of what had happened. “I need you, Anteros,” she mumbled into the cloth. “Find me. Rescue me. Please come.”

  Gritting her teeth, she pushed her cheek against the side of the crate and scraped the binding from her mouth. Success. She pushed the gag free and screamed.

  Chapter 13

  “Is the coach ready?” In the downstairs foyer, Anteros pushed his arms into the sleeves of his black greatcoat which Bellini held out for him.

  “Yes. All is packed, and I shall deliver your letter directly to the dowager countess.” His butler clipped his heels together. “Safe travels to Paradiso, sir.”

  “I’m ready as well.” Adrestia swept down the stairwell in beige breeches and knee-high boots, her midnight black hair pulled back with a strip of leather at her nape, a thick burgundy woolen coat flapping about her ankles.

  “Giovani sent word that all provisions have been loaded.” He opened the door for her and she strode through.

  “Yes, I heard.” Slotting a curved dagger in the leather sheath at her hip, she appeared every inch his sister, the formidable sorella del cobra.

  “It’s time to catch and kill the spy.” He settled himself inside his coach on the plush golden velvet squabs, his driver bounding into his seat atop the conveyance. They jerked forward and bumped along the streets toward the docks. Itching to be at the helm of his ship and underway, he grasped his knees, his knuckles going white.

  “We’ll find her before we reach Paradiso.” Adrestia rested her leather gloved hand over his.

  “Bruno’s attack was completely orchestrated. He came straight at me with a baton.” He didn’t doubt Bruno had already booked passage on a merchant ship too, which was why he’d taken the risk of entering his bedchamber to make a grab for Olivia. He had to have been running out of time. “There are thousands of ships moored along the length of the River Thames. It’s the largest, busiest port in the world, with hundreds of those ships carrying passengers bound for the Mediterranean.” The window curtain swayed, the brick warehouses lining the docks outside passing by in a blur. “He knows we’ll struggle to catch up to him, particularly when we have to stop every single vessel en route to Sicily to see if it’s carrying Olivia.”

  “We’ll target every merchant ship we can.” An unflappable answer from his sister, a squeeze of his hand too as he continued to stare out the window. “Look at me, Anteros.” A gentle request.

  “Sì?” He struggled to return his gaze to hers, but torturously, he did.

  “Do you love her?” Adrestia cupped his cheek.

  “I’d be a fool to fall in love with any woman. Father desires her death, and I fear ever telling her the truth about who I truly am—a lost Prince of Naples and Sicily. After I rescue her, it will be best if I remain out of her life.”

  “She won’t like that.”

  “She won’t have any choice.” The carriage slowed, rounded the corner to where his ships bobbed at berth. Once they rocked to a halt, he stepped down onto the wooden platform, offered his sister a hand and pulled her into a fierce hug. In her ear, he murmured, “I love you. Sail directly alongside me. Do you hear?”

  “I’ll be right beside you. I love you too.” She squeezed him back, broke away and marched up the gangplank to her ship. His sister took her position at the helm of her vessel, calling orders to her crew as she did.

  The moon broke through a heavy patch of black cloud and reflected its watery-white glow off the rippling waters of the Thames. With the wind blowing his greatcoat against his legs, he stormed onto his ship. His crew swarmed the rain slick deck as they stacked crates and carried supplies for the journey below into the hold.

  He climbed the short flight of stairs to the upper deck and rested his hands on the smooth, rounded lines of the wheel. Corded grooves in the solid wood warmed his palms and strength infused him. He would find Olivia. He’d allow no other outcome.

  “Cap’n!” A shout from Wills as he sprinted down the walkway to where his men now loaded the last crate on board. The boy jumped, landed on the boarding plank and raced in a blur past Giovani toward him. Skidding to a halt next to the wheel, the lad half bent over and gasped for breath.

  “What’s happened?” He lowered himself to Wills’ height and squeezed his shoulder. The lad’s hands shook on his knees. “Take deep breaths.”

  “Wills?” Giovani joined them, hunkered down too. “What’s wrong, lad?”

  The boy straightened, his brown woolen jacket smeared with dirt, his cheeks too. He swiped his sleeve across his face and eyed Anteros, clear worry clouding his eyes. “I was downstairs when Bruno slunk into your house. He’s been followin’ ye everywhere and I saw him leave too. He had something bundled in his arms, wrapped in a blanket. I thought he’d killed someone. It looked like a body ye see, in the blanket. I hid when Bruno ducked outside. He hailed a hackney and I jumped onto the backboard and kept my head down. We traveled all the way to the eastern embarkin’ quay where he boarded The Venture, a merchant ship sailin’ for Sicily then Greece.”

  He hauled Wills into his arms and hugged the lad, never more grateful. “You’ve done extremely well, Wills. Bruno kidnapped Lady Olivia a few hours ago and intends on sailing to Paradiso. This information you’ve now brought us will save us a great deal of time. Now I know exactly which ship she’s on.” He jerked his chin toward the companionway leading below deck. “Find a bun
k. You’re coming with me on this trip.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Wills saluted him.

  He rose and stalked to the edge of the upper deck and gripped the railing. Across from him, Adrestia perused maps at her helm as she marked her course. Leaning out, he called, “Wills spotted Bruno leaving the house with Olivia. He followed him to the eastern embarking quay. We’re searching for The Venture.”

  Eyes wide, she stared at him, then she beamed. “We’ll find her.”

  “Upon my soul, we will.”

  “Release the ropes!” Adrestia bellowed to her crew. “It’s time to depart.”

  “All to stations,” he ordered his own men. “Unfurl the sails.”

  Three of his crew pushed them off the wharf, bounded back on board and coiled the ropes. Men scurried up the rigging and dropped the sails. The wind hit them with a hearty thwap, and he steered them from their berth through the dark of the night along the muddied, churning waters toward the English Channel.

  Chapter 14

  Olivia tried to shove against whatever held her down.

  “Stay still, my lady.” A feminine voice. “You’re free of that awful crate and now lying safe in a bed. This is your cabin for the duration of your trip to Sicily. You’re on board The Venture.”

  “Bed?” She forced her eyes open then blinked at the harsh brightness of sunshine streaming through a square section of windows gone blurry with salty sea spray. Everything spun then slowly settled a little.

  “Yes, a bed.” The feminine voice belonged to a young woman wearing a high-collared navy gown buttoned to her chin. Glossy brown curls, her brown eyes filled with clear worry. The lady slowly released her wrists and straightened. “How do you feel?”

  “Dizzy, light-headed, achy.” Overhead, a gauzy yellow-colored canopy shifted over her head, moving with the gentle rock under the bed. Paneled walls were painted white, while high wooden beams crossed the ceiling. Two glass lamps swayed from the two central ceiling beams. In one corner sat a bench seat holding dark yellow squabs. A ship. She was definitely on board a ship. She pressed a hand to her dry and sore throat. “Is there water, or something I can drink?”

  “Your husband, Signore Bruno, asked a maid to leave a tray for you, which included a pot of tea. I’ll pour you a cup.” The petite woman swished to a side table next to a washbasin. Steam curled from the spout of a teapot.

  She rubbed her reddened wrists, her knuckles scraped red and raw. Taking care, she pushed upright and pressed her back against the headboard. A white bedsheet covered her from the waist down, a clean shift now donned in place of the chemise she’d last been wearing, and her right cheek, oh, it ached and when she touched it, her fingers came away with an icky green paste on them.

  “You had a nasty scrape on your cheek. Try not to touch it until it’s all healed. I applied plantain herb.” The woman poured tea into a cup, added a splash of milk and a spoonful of honey then sat on the bed beside her before carefully turning the cup on the saucer so she could take it from her. “My grandmother had an herb garden. As a child I learnt at her knee all about the healing qualities of various herbs. Plantain is used for cleansing wounds and preventing infection.”

  “Thank you for tending to my injuries.” She accepted the offered cup and sipped. Warmth streaked to her belly, the honey deliciously sweet and the drink soothing her parched throat. “Might I ask who you are?”

  “Miss Violet Russo, from Dartford.”

  “London?”

  “Yes, although I’m now traveling to Sicily. My father recently passed away and left me a rather large inheritance, which included a palazzo in Palermo. He was Sicilian, my mother English.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Miss Russo.”

  “Violet, and I barely knew him. My mother’s parents raised me after my mother passed away, twenty-five years ago now. My father only ever visited me a handful of times in Dartford over the years.” A wave of her hand. “A long time ago now. I’ve always wanted to travel, particularly to Sicily, my father’s homeland. Now I am.”

  “Alone?”

  “I’m thirty, a rather decrepit age. I’ve chosen to embrace my spinsterhood. I’ll employ a maid and housekeeper once I arrive at my new home.” She shuffled closer and patted her hand. “Now, tell me who you are, because I didn’t believe for one moment that Signore Bruno was actually your husband. He decreed that your marriage was a clandestine one, that he had to spirit you safely away from England, but, well I saw that crate.” Violet frowned something fierce. “Atrocious, I tell you. When I heard your screams from the cabin next to mine, I rushed over and found Signore Bruno being rough with you, and all while you were still bound and restrained inside your crated prison.”

  “I’m Lady Olivia Trentbury. Bruno kidnapped me. We aren’t husband and wife, not at all.”

  “Which is as I thought when he hauled you from the crate and dumped you on his bed, all without showing even an ounce of care for you. May I call you Olivia?”

  “Yes, please do.” She searched Violet’s gaze. “The last thing I remember was being in the crate and screaming for help.”

  “I demanded Bruno remove your bindings and bring you directly to my cabin so I could tend to your wounds, which thankfully he did, although that’s when he left us both and locked my cabin door behind him. I thumped the door and called out until an officer finally came. Unfortunately, the officer couldn’t help me. I demanded to see the captain, who then arrived along with Bruno. Your kidnapper has convinced the captain of this ship that you’re his wife and I’m his sister, that the two of us are unruly ladies and not to be believed should we speak out against him. Thus, we remain locked inside my cabin.”

  “Bruno’s cabin is next to yours, correct?” Her head was still a little foggy.

  “Yes, down the companionway, on the port side, a cabin which is booked for himself and you, his wife.” Violet blew out a long breath, her shoulders slumping. “I’ve let you down by not being able to secure our freedom. I’m so sorry. Since I boarded on my own, and no one on this ship can confirm I’m speaking the truth, it’s his word against mine.”

  “I’ll speak to the captain too.” She rubbed Violet’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault.”

  “You can try speaking to him, but Bruno carries a letter from the King of Sicily—Ferdinand III of the House of Bourbon. It states Bruno’s position amongst the king’s staff and that he must be shown every courtesy on his return to Sicily. The captain handed me the letter and it indeed holds the king’s signature and seal. I don’t see a way out of this mess.”

  “Wait.” She jerked, spilling her tea onto the saucer. “Bruno is in the possession of a letter from King Ferdinand?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I said.” Violet nudged her to drink. “Your head will be a little cloudy until you regain your strength. Your voice is rather raspy too. The honey I added to your tea will help soothe it.”

  Shocked, her mind spun in a hundred different directions. She sipped the soothing tea and tried to make sense of everything.

  Wringing her hands, Violet rose and paced the cabin. “We need to ascertain the truth of all that’s happened. If you’re willing to shed some light on what you know, we might be able to uncover what’s going on and find an answer.”

  “Of course I’ll share whatever I know.” She’d now unwittingly involved an innocent lady in her abduction, a lovely and caring young woman. “I’ve not known Bruno long.”

  “How did you first meet him?” A quick return to her bedside, Violet’s navy skirts swishing.

  “Bruno was placed on board Captain Anteros Bourbon’s ship by the captain’s father. When Captain Bourbon returned to England only a few days ago, Bruno was tailing him. That’s when I met Bruno, through the captain.”

  “Is Captain Bourbon aligned in anyway with the House of Bourbon? The last name of Bourbon is the same, which is impossible to miss.”

  “Bourbon is a common family surname.” She’d never associated Anteros’s s
urname with the Royal House of Bourbon.

  “It is common, but still a link we can’t dismiss in relation to our current situation.” Violet rolled a hand. “Please continue.”

  “Good grief. You’re right. It is a link we can’t dismiss.” Which would then point to Ferdinand being Captain Bourbon’s father. Oh my word. That would explain how Anteros had so easily gained an invitation to the Duchess of Genoa’s ball being held at the Royal Palace of Palermo. She gulped another mouthful of tea.

  Violet arched a brow. “You appear to be thinking rather deeply. Do share.”

  “Bruno kidnapped me because I’m marrying another man, or supposedly I am.”

  “Supposedly?” Eyes flaring wide, Violet leaned in. “I would never betray your confidence should you choose to place your trust in me.”

  “Since we’re both now locked in here together, and you’ve been ever so helpful and truthful, I shall be completely truthful in return. Although whatever I say mustn’t go any further than the two of us. Swear it won’t.”

  “I swear.” Violet crossed her heart.

  “I’m in love with a rather secretive man—Captain Bourbon. A few days ago he came to me needing my aid in an elaborate ruse. That is how we’re ‘supposedly’ getting married. It’s all a ploy in order to waylay his father who has demanded Anteros wed a lady he’s chosen for him. So, if Anteros is King Ferdinand’s son, not that Anteros has actually told me that, but if the king is his father, then a kidnapping makes sense. Ferdinand wouldn’t want me upsetting his grand plans for his son, not when the lady he’s chosen for him is the Archduchess Clementina of Austria.”

  “Oh, such intrigue.” Violet gasped into her palm.

  A jangle of keys and the door swung open.

  Bruno snarled as he ducked his head under the low entranceway.

  Her abductor had returned.

  Chapter 15

  Once clear of England’s shores, Anteros took the swiftest sea route along the coastline of Portugal toward the jutting southern point of Spain’s Gibraltar. Over the long hours and even longer days that passed, he barely left his position at the wheel. Here, he could keep a closer eye on the waters along the common trade route toward Sicily.