“Well then, it seems to me that one sister should be just as good as another. I realize you will have to supplement my own bride price a bit to sweeten the pot, since I am a widow. On the other hand, Carlo left me a considerable inheritance upon his death that I am sure Otto will not be loath to add to his accounts.” She smoothed a hand over her skirt. “So you see, I shall wed Otto and poor Emma will marry her beloved earl.”
Emma met Sigrid’s gaze, all her earlier feelings of anger and betrayal fading as if they had never existed at all. Could the answer really be so easy? Was it possible that she could marry Nick, and Rupert would still be able to achieve the political alliance he required for their country?
But at what price?
“Sigrid, are you sure?” she asked, easing out of Nick’s embrace and crossing to her sister. “This is a tremendous sacrifice that you are offering to make. I do not know that I have any right to ask it of you.”
“But of course you do,” Sigrid said, reaching out to take her hand. “I am your sister and I want only your happiness. That is what sisters are for, is it not? To look after one another as best they can?”
Emma blinked away fresh tears. “But what of you? What of your own happiness?”
Sigrid laughed and gave Emma’s hand a quick squeeze. “You are a sweet child. You really are. But not to worry, I shall be more than content with my lot. And truthfully, I do not at all mind the idea of being a queen. Her Majesty, Queen Sigrid. It has rather a magnificent ring to it, do you not think?”
Laughter burst from Emma’s lips this time and Nick grinned.
Rupert did not. “That is all well and good, Queen Sigrid,” he stated in a serious voice. “But what about Otto? You realize that his consent will be required for this newly proposed match?”
Sigrid turned to her brother. “Oh, Otto won’t mind a change of bride. He was telling me only yesterday while we were riding to hounds how unfortunate it is that Emma does not share his love of sport. He confided that he has far more fun with me and asked if I had ever considered remarrying. Besides that, he is an unprincipled flirt and has been making overtures toward me since the first evening we met. I confess I have done little to discourage him. Dreadful rogue, old Otto.”
“He is what?” Rupert roared. “Why that—”
“Yes, his flirting is in rather poor taste under the circumstances,” she agreed. “But it works to our advantage. As for producing sons to carry on Otto’s legacy,” she added, addressing what she obviously felt would be Rupert’s next point, “I am still young enough to give him an heir or two. He can have no worries over my ability to bear children, seeing I am already a mother twice over.”
“But, Sigrid, are you absolutely certain you want to marry him?” Emma asked again with a frown.
Her sister gave her a serene look. “I am. For all his faults, Otto is not a mean-spirited man. More important, he will be good to my daughters. At their age, they have great need of a father and, as I have clearly seen, he will make a fine parent. He makes the girls laugh as they have not done since before Carlo died. I want to see them laugh and know they are happy. Marriage seems a small price to pay for that, and for you as well, dear Emma.”
“But what of love?”
Sigrid shrugged. “Some of us are luckier in that regard than others. You have that luck, Emma, since I can see that you love and are deeply loved in return. So do not worry over me. Just go and enjoy your life. And who knows, mayhap Otto and I shall tumble head over heels for each other and realize we are soul mates after all.”
Emma hesitated only a moment more before hurrying across to envelop Sigrid in a fierce hug. “You are the best sister anyone could ever have,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
Sigrid returned the embrace for long moments before easing away. “Be careful. You might break a rib,” she teased, her eyes glistening more brightly than usual.
Stepping away, Emma couldn’t help but grin. Then, heart brimming, she turned back to Nick and reached out a hand for him to take.
Before he could do so, Rupert’s voice cut through the air between them. “That still doesn’t mean I am giving my permission for you and Lyndhurst to wed. I don’t know anything about him, other than the fact that he claims not to care about your fortune.”
“Luckily for us all, I know a great deal,” Sigrid declared. “Lord Lyndhurst is a highly respectable man and an esteemed peer of the British realm. He is a decorated war hero, who fought the French with distinction as the captain of one of His Majesty’s finest battleships. As for his wealth, he indeed has no need of Emma’s. He is nearly as wealthy as you, Rupert, so do not even consider the idea that he might be a fortune hunter.”
Rupert crossed his arms over his chest again and scowled.
“Your pardon, Your Highness,” Nick said, gazing at Sigrid. “But how is it you come to know so much about me?”
She gave him an imperious look. “You don’t think I would let my little sister marry a man of whom I know nothing, do you? Give me credit for having some intelligence. I had you investigated, of course.”
Nick gave his head a little shake, then reached out and took Emma’s hand, pulling her into his arms. “Remind me never to get on your sister’s bad side.”
“Or my brother’s.” Emma sighed. She looked at her brother, her eyes imploring. “Rupert? Please say you’ll give your consent for Nick and me to marry. If you do, I promise not to ask you for another thing ever again.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s a complete load of—” he grumbled.
“Rupert,” Sigrid admonished.
His jaw worked, as if he were grinding his teeth. Suddenly, he threw up his hands. “Fine. The two of you may marry—assuming Otto will wed Sigrid, that is.”
“He will,” Sigrid chimed with complete certainty.
“Then so be it.” He jabbed a threatening finger toward Nick. “As for you, Lyndhurst, I’ll remember what you said about making my sister happy for the rest of her life. Be warned that I’m going to hold you to that promise.”
Nick pulled Emma closer, love shining like quicksilver in his eyes; Emma’s heart turned over in her chest. “Please do, Your Highness,” he said, “since that’s one promise I shall never have trouble keeping.”
Then, clearly not caring that they were being watched, Nick bent his head and kissed her.
Closing her eyes, Emma kissed him back.
Epilogue
February 1816
Somewhere on the Mediterranean
Emma ran a lazy palm over Nick’s damp, bare chest where they lay together in a wide, soft bed. The sheets were draped in a wild tangle around their naked bodies, three big feather pillows twisted at odd angles beneath their heads. A sultry sea breeze wafted into the cabin through a pair of round, half-opened windows, late-afternoon sunshine bathing the room in a mellow golden haze.
Proceeding with her idle exploration, she paused to circle a fingertip around a flat male nipple she found nestled within a thicket of short, dark curls. She flicked the small bud of flesh with the end of her nail, watching it tauten even more.
Without warning, her hand was smashed flat, Nick’s palm holding it captive. “I thought you wanted to catch your breath for a few minutes,” he drawled without opening his eyes. “But if you’re ready for another round, I can oblige. Especially if you keep that up with those fingers of yours.”
A well-satisfied smile moved over her and she chuckled. “I can keep lots of things up with my fingers. You’ve taught me that over the past few days of our honeymoon, my lord. Or should I more correctly say Your Grace?”
Nick groaned. “Don’t remind me. Learning to be the Earl of Lyndhurst has been difficult enough without having to become some Rosewaldian archduke.”
“Most men would be thrilled to receive such an esteemed elevation in title.”
He opened his eyes and pinned her with a look of affronted pride that she knew well by now. “Most men aren’t granted a title solely because they are marrying a princ
ess. I’m an Englishman, for God’s sake. How can I expect my friends and relatives to start addressing me as Herzog von Wiessenschloss?”
“A simple Duke will do. And, of course, you can always go back to using Lyndhurst when we are in England. Rupert shall never know.”
“But I’ll know,” he grumbled.
“Don’t be cross with Rupert,” she said. “He only wanted to guarantee that you would be accepted as my husband by the Rosewaldian aristocracy and our people.”
“He just wanted to make sure you weren’t marrying a nobody, you mean.”
She took his face in her hands. “You could never be a nobody, even if you had no titles at all. You know such things matter to me—not in the slightest.”
“I know,” he said, mollified, then kissed her palm. “Forgive me. It’s just going to take me some time to learn to deal with your brother. Despite his consent to our marriage, I can tell it is still begrudgingly given.”
“Once we have two or three sons, he’ll realize there is no separating us and he’ll come around.”
“So, it’s going to take two or three children to earn his acceptance, is it?” He slid a hand along her spine in a way that made her quiver. “At least I’ll enjoy the process of conceiving them.”
“As will I,” she said with gentle promise, returning her hands to his chest. “And remember that it was very generous of him to loan us his yacht as a wedding present. Believe me, he likes you more than you think, since this vessel is one of his most prized possessions.”
“He only loaned us this ship so I wouldn’t take you out on my own.” A slow smile moved over his mouth. “By the way, I’m thinking about starting a ship-building business with that captain I mentioned, the one in Bristol. I suppose some may say it smacks of trade, but I want to keep my hand in somehow. Sailing is in my blood, even if I’ve given up daily life on the sea.”
“Then you must proceed with your plans. I never want you to have regrets.”
“I won’t. How could I when I achieved my heart’s desire the day I married you?”
“Oh, Nick. I feel exactly the same,” she said, stroking a palm over his cheek. “I am so happy. And so looking forward to returning home to England to set up our household.”
“You have leave to do anything you wish with both the town house and Lynd Park.”
“Be careful,” she teased, “or I may just spend that fortune of yours.”
“I’m not worried, even if you are a princess,” he teased back. “I am glad, though, that your brother put your dowry in trust for our children. As I told him, I do not want it and the money will be a nice legacy for their future.”
“Yes, it will.” She fell silent for a moment, then resumed her tracing across his chest. “Speaking once more of the household, I was wondering if you would mind having company this summer.”
“What kind of company?”
“Ariadne—and Mercedes, if her family will let her stay. They will both graduate from the academy in June. After that, I am not sure what either of them plans to do exactly. But I know that Ariadne in particular has no one but her guardian. He’s an older man and not the kind with whom a young woman wants to stay. I thought, if you don’t mind, that we could—”
“Of course they may stay. Their Highnesses are always welcome in our home. If not for them, we might never have found our way back to each other again. I owe them a very great deal.”
A brilliant smile spread over her face. “You are too good.”
“You are better.” Finding her mouth, he claimed her for a long, ardent kiss.
At length, he came up for air. Once they had both regained their breaths, he resumed their prior conversation. “Your sister is always welcome to visit too, although I suppose once she marries King Otto this autumn she’ll have scant time for trips abroad.”
“No, I don’t suppose she will,” Emma mused. “She seems truly satisfied with the engagement, you know. Really happy. At our wedding she was bubbling over at the prospect of the new trousseau Otto is having made for her. And here Rupert bought her one only a couple months ago.”
“That sounds like Princess Sigrid.”
“And my little nieces are over the moon at the prospect of being flower girls. It will be quite the event seeing her wed with all the pomp and circumstance due a queen. She’ll be in heaven.”
“She will indeed. And we will journey to Rosewald for the ceremony, so long as there aren’t extenuating circumstances that prevent you from traveling.”
She raised a brow. “And what extenuating circumstances might those be?”
He bent his leg up so that his thigh slipped snuggly between her own, causing a delicious shiver to chase over her skin. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe being big with my child.”
“Oh.” She sighed, her eyelids sliding low as his hand moved over her bare bottom to shift her even higher, his shaft fully aroused again. “I suppose if we work on it, it’s possible I could be several months along by October.”
“Yes,” he said, gliding his lips over her cheek, then lower to nuzzle an area along her neck that never failed to drive her wild. “I think we’re both sufficiently rested again and should devote ourselves to the endeavor.”
Turning her head, she found his mouth and kissed him long and slow and deep, knowing this was but a taste of all the years of love and pleasure to come.
“Yes,” she said, letting him settle her fully over him. “Let’s not waste another minute, liebling.”
And laughing with happiness, he made certain they did not.
Read on for a special preview of the next
enchanting romance in
Tracy Anne Warren’s Princess Brides trilogy,
Her Highness and the Highlander
Available November 2012 from Signet
June 1816
The Scottish Highlands
“Run, Your Highness! Run!”
Princess Mercedes plunged through the forest, barely aware of the stinging scrapes to her arms and face as she pushed past leafy bushes and low-hanging tree branches. Her lungs burned as she forced herself onward, her feet aching inside her thin silk slippers, which were no match for the rough, uneven terrain beneath her. She staggered slightly as the hem of her gown snagged on a piece of nettled undergrowth. With her heart drumming like a frantic bird’s, she yanked the garment free, not caring when the elegant green silk tore along one edge. On she ran, knowing that her pursuers were only yards behind, each of their long strides surely gaining on her own shorter ones.
Images of the attack flashed again through her mind—of her guards fighting bravely against the band of ruthless highwaymen who had waylaid their coaches along the road.
Before that, everything had been calm, boring even, as she, her maid, and the men sent to escort her on the long journey to London had traveled south. Only that morning she had set off from Countess Hortensia’s Academy for Elegant Young Ladies of Royal and Noble Birth and the Highland castle that had served as her surrogate home for the past six years.
Inside her coach she’d been on the verge of dozing off, with the book she was reading lying slack in her hands when the first gunshots sounded. The horses had whinnied in terror and the men had shouted as the coaches drew to shuddering halts. More gunfire, then rough voices that mingled menacingly with those of her guard, before the metallic clash of swords began to ring out.
Suddenly the coach door on the side farthest from the fighting was wrenched open. The captain of the guard stood before her, his eyes fierce as he reached in to pull her out and onto the ground.
“It’s you they want,” he said, urging her toward the thick woods, which spread outward like a vast green ocean. “Go. Hide. We’ll search for you when this is over.”
But she knew there was no one left to search for her—except her pursuers. For in spite of her guards’ best efforts, her last glimpse had been of them losing the fight. Even her poor maid was dead, she realized with an anguished pang.
S
he was alone now and no one would be coming to her rescue.
She stifled a whimper as she heard the brigands crashing through the foliage behind her. They called to one another, their voices carrying on the wind with ease, as if there was no doubt they would find her.
Did they want to kill her too?
Or worse? Because even she wasn’t naive enough not to realize there were things in this world more terrible than death.
Her breath rasped loudly in her ears, and a cruel stitch burned in her side as she forced her feet to keep moving ahead.
But ahead to where?
The forest all looked the same, dense and green and rough. She’d given up making any sense of her path and was hopelessly lost.
Hide, the guard captain had said. Yet as she scanned the nearby trees and bushes and rocks, she found nowhere that offered a likely place of concealment.
Then without warning she stumbled, the edge of her toe catching on a tree root. Her hands flew out instinctively to break her fall, and she landed with a muffled thud against the loamy earth, a tiny cry escaping her mouth before she could prevent it.
Everything grew silent—everything, that was, except the thunderous pounding of her heart. She heard the highwaymen stop and call to one another again. Her mouth went dry, listening like a hunted doe as they changed direction and began beating their way through the woods toward her.
It’s over, she thought as she bit her lip to hold back a sob. Any second now and they’ll have me.
Then she saw it—a dark, narrow fissure created by a pair of large boulders. The opening wasn’t obvious, certainly not from a standing position. If she hadn’t been lying on the ground, she would never have noticed it. The opening was obscured by a wide tree trunk that had fallen at a slant in front of the rocks. The decaying wood was covered in a velvety carpet of lichen, moss, and mushrooms, the greens and browns causing it to blend into the surrounding foliage so that it appeared all but invisible.
With only moments remaining until the brigands caught up with her, she crawled as fast and quietly as she could. She ducked beneath the trunk, passing only a hairsbreadth away from the wood, which was pungent with decay. She shuddered at the small army of insects moving in winding trails over the trunk, ignoring the creeping sensation that chased across her skin at their nearness. Reaching the other side of the fallen tree, she squeezed herself into the cold stone fissure beyond, then worked quickly to make herself as small and undetectable as possible.
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