The Trouble With Princesses

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “That is highly unlikely.” She shrugged and pushed her nightgown strap back up. “If that is your only concern, all we need do is wait a couple of weeks and see if my monthly arrives. Once it does, we’ll know there is no child.”

  He tugged the strap back down, baring her breast with it. “But the scandal will be raging out of control in two weeks. We cannot afford to take that risk.”

  “I am willing to withstand any storm that may come.”

  “But I am not.” Wrapping his hands around her shoulders, he urged her gently back onto the bed, then followed her down. “Your blood is as blue as mine, your pedigree as sound. You will make an admirable queen for me when the day comes.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be queen,” she protested.

  “Of course you do. You’ll thrive on having all the ladies and gentlemen of the court at your beck and call. You love managing people.”

  “I do not manage people, not in the way you mean.”

  “Then let us say you steer them in a direction that is most in accordance with your wishes.”

  “As if you don’t do the same thing yourself. You’re always ordering someone about. Now you’re trying to order me.”

  “I am a prince. Helping others follow the proper path is what I do best.”

  “Hah!” she retorted. “I believe I can decide the proper path for myself without your wise guidance.”

  “In this circumstance, my dear, I must disagree.” He threaded his fingers into her hair. “You will marry me, Ariadne. It is the only reasonable course.”

  Reason. Logic. Necessity. Those were the only points he had to make.

  Where was affection?

  Where was love?

  “I don’t care about being reasonable.” She put her hands on his shoulders and tried to push him away. As always, she couldn’t budge him an inch. “Let us wait and see if I am with child. Then we shall decide.”

  “No. You swore to me last night that you were willing to accept the consequences, so accept.”

  “B-but I didn’t know that marriage was what you meant,” she said on a note of desperation.

  “Accept, Ariadne. You’ve taken me as your lover. You will agree to take me as your husband now too.”

  “But you don’t want this. You know I’m not what you wished for in a bride.”

  He reached down and drew her nightgown up and off, baring her body to his hands and eyes. “I want you. That is enough.”

  “Rupert, we—”

  But before she could say another word, he was kissing her, claiming her mouth in a way that demonstrated his possession and the endless depths of his demand.

  She could have tried to push him away again, but it was no use. And deep inside, she didn’t want to, no matter how much heartache might be waiting for her in the future.

  Sliding her fingers into his hair, she kissed him back.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  As Ariadne sat down to breakfast the following morning, she realized, without entirely knowing how it had happened, that she was engaged to Rupert.

  She had never actually accepted his proposal—as if anyone could call the royal edict he’d issued a proposal. She’d even refused him—more than once—and not only to his face, but in front of witnesses.

  But even her chief witnesses, Emma and Nick, had apparently turned traitor overnight. She realized that only moments after taking her seat and laying her napkin across her lap when she looked up and found Emma grinning at her. Her friend’s vivid eyes were alight with a jubilant twinkle—eyes that suddenly, uncomfortably, reminded her of Rupert.

  Somehow, before the morning was out, she would have to find a way to put an end to this farce. Whatever Rupert thought—whatever they all assumed—she was not marrying him.

  But right now she was just too tired to continue the battle.

  Rupert had kept her awake half the night making love, then roused her again near dawn to take her with a vigorous enthusiasm that had the power to send shivery tingles rippling over her skin even now.

  She murmured a quiet “Good morning,” then concentrated on stirring milk and sugar into the cup of strong black tea the footman had poured for her. Eyelashes lowered, she took a long, grateful sip and let the beverage’s sweet heat sink into her system.

  When she looked up again, she found Nick watching her over the top of his newspaper with an expression of amused sympathy. She could tell he thought the battle between her and Rupert already won—in Rupert’s favor.

  She supposed if anyone knew about the art of skirmishes with the Whyte siblings, it was Nick. The knowledge did not cheer her.

  And then there was Rupert himself.

  “Good morning, my dear,” he said from his seat opposite her at the linen-covered table. He folded his newspaper in half and laid it aside. “I see you did not make a selection from the buffet. Allow me to have a plate prepared for you.”

  “I just want tea.”

  Ignoring her, he signaled one of the footmen. “A selection for the princess and more coffee for me.”

  “Of course, Your Royal Highness. Right away.”

  She scowled across at him. “I said I do not wish to eat.”

  “Have something regardless.”

  Grumbling under her breath, she drank more tea.

  The servant returned shortly, bearing a plate laden with what looked to be a little of everything the cook had prepared.

  “Try a few bites,” Rupert encouraged once the footman had withdrawn. “You may find you have an appetite after all.”

  She glowered at him, but rather than argue, she picked up her fork. As she did, she noticed Emma looking on, an expression of happy bemusement on her face.

  Resisting the urge to turn her scowl on her friend, she glumly ate some eggs. To her marked irritation, they proved delicious. She ate some more.

  Five minutes passed while everyone continued the meal, the men opening their newspapers again to read. Emma sipped her tea and made a few pleasant observations about some of their mutual acquaintances.

  Ariadne replied when appropriate and continued working her way around her plate. Yet every time she met Emma’s gaze, it was to find that twinkling gleam in her eyes again.

  Finally, she’d had enough. “What?” she demanded.

  Emma seemed startled. “What do you mean, ‘what’?”

  “That look you keep giving me.” Ariadne laid down her fork. “And the smile. What are you thinking?”

  “Oh.” Emma had the grace to look a little sheepish at having been so transparent. “I was only thinking how nice it is that we shall be able to have more mornings like this.”

  “You mean with Rupert tormenting me like some feudal tyrant about how much I eat?”

  Nick guffawed and turned a page of his newspaper.

  Rupert arched a single golden brow.

  “No,” Emma said, “I mean with the four of us being together.”

  “We’ve eaten in each other’s company before. Why is this morning any different?”

  “Because you are to be my sister in truth now.” A beatific smile spread over her face. “Once you marry Rupert, we shall be sisters, bound not just by inclination but by blood. You truly will be part of my family, properly, for all the world to see.”

  Family.

  For a long moment Ariadne could not speak, her throat growing tight. Family was something she no longer had, all of them having been taken from her by war and murder and illness. Part of her grew wistful, thinking what it might be like to have those kinds of ties again. To know herself to be part of a group whose links could not be divided or dissolved. What it would be like to truly belong again.

  Yet as much as she would like to call Emma sister, this marriage to Rupert wasn’t right. It was based on all the wrong things, and no matter how much she wanted him, how much she loved him, she couldn’t allow it to proceed.

  She froze, staring blindly down at the pretty pattern on the china.

  What did I just think? Did I r
eally hear myself say that I love him?

  Yet as soon as the thought had gone racing through her mind, she’d known it to be true.

  I do love him.

  Probably had for far longer than she cared to admit.

  No wonder she melted when he came to her bed. No wonder she couldn’t resist his wheedling and cajoling, letting him bully her into eating breakfast and talk his way around any number of her protestations. If she weren’t careful, she’d find herself bending to his will like a willow tree in a storm, begging for just a little more of his time, an extra measure of his attention.

  But love him or not, that didn’t make this marriage plan any less impossible. It didn’t mean he loved her back.

  What was it he had said last night?

  I want you. That will be enough.

  But it wouldn’t and she wasn’t naive enough to believe in faerie stories and tales of happily ever after.

  “About that, Emma, I—,” she began.

  But Rupert interrupted, putting down his paper. “Yes, about that. I have made inquiries into obtaining a special license so that we may be married here in England. It should be ready in time for us to wed either tomorrow or the day after. Of course, we will have to have an official state ceremony once we return to Rosewald, sanctioned by the church and the government, but that will take some months and we cannot afford to remain unwed until then. We’ll do something small but official here, then have the real wedding once we return home.”

  “Tomorrow?” Ariadne exclaimed.

  “Or the next day?” Emma said at the same moment, both of them talking over each other again.

  Ariadne couldn’t believe he was hurrying this marriage idea along so quickly.

  He must be insane. Tomorrow, or even the day following, was entirely out of the question. Besides, as far as she was concerned, it wasn’t going to happen at all.

  Before she could sputter out a refusal, Emma stepped into the conversational breach. “But that is not enough time, Rupert. Ariadne has to have a dress.”

  Of course, a wedding dress. What an excellent excuse to postpone.

  “That’s right,” Ariadne chimed in agreement. “I cannot possibly be wed without a proper gown.”

  Rupert’s golden eyebrows drew close. “Surely you must have something in your wardrobe that would be suitable.”

  But Ariadne shook her head vehemently. “Nothing in the right color and style. It must be white and you know I never wear white.”

  “No. Why would an unmarried young woman wear white?”

  She ignored his sarcasm. “A new gown must be commissioned. With the selection of materials, sewing, and fittings, I doubt anything can be made ready in less than three or four weeks.”

  He shot her a narrow-eyed look. “You have one week. Send for the dressmaker and tell her that price is no object. She may hire as many seamstresses as necessary to complete the task on time.”

  “But a week still isn’t—”

  “One week,” he repeated firmly. “That is the most I will allow. Now, finish your breakfast. It’s getting cold.”

  “I am finished.” She’d had enough of his dictatorial ways for one morning. Folding her napkin, she laid it next to her plate.

  He said nothing more, obviously aware she had reached her limit.

  “I need to be off,” Nick said, tossing back the last of his coffee before getting to his feet. “I’m meeting a man about some cargo I’m having brought in from the Americas. He’s a hard-bargaining sort and I’d just as soon not be late.”

  Emma stood and accompanied him out into the corridor.

  Ariadne got to her feet as well and started around the table. As she went past Rupert, he reached out and caught hold of her wrist.

  His eyes were a sharp blue. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Oh? And what might that be?”

  “You don’t care a jot about that dress. I know you’re just using it as a way to postpone the wedding ceremony.”

  How had he known? Double drat him.

  “Don’t think you’re getting out of this wedding,” he told her. “We’ve been through this and the decision is made.”

  “By you. I never have agreed to marry you.”

  “Yes, you have.” His eyes darkened. “You did again last night. You do each time I touch you.” He stroked his thumb along the inside of her wrist and made her tremble.

  He smiled, clearly aware of her response. “Have your gown made, since it will please Emma. But know this, Ariadne. A week from now, you will be my bride.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  For the first time in her life, Ariadne feared that she had met a force that was truly stronger than she was—and his name was Prince Rupert of Rosewald.

  While preparations were being made for the wedding—including numerous fittings for the bridal gown and small trousseau that were being painstakingly sewn by a virtual army of seamstresses—she found herself being swept along on a seemingly unstoppable current.

  As each day passed, she came no closer to reaching a satisfactory resolution, no nearer to convincing Rupert—or even Emma or Nick—that the wedding should not take place.

  Emma was living in some romantic fantasy, certain that her brother loved Ariadne and that Ariadne was just too stubborn to see the truth. But she knew Emma was wrong. Rupert might want her—of that she had no doubt—but love?

  She knew what he thought of love—romantic love anyway. He had no time for such nonsense, as she’d heard him call it on any number of occasions over the years. In fact, she’d once accused him of having no heart, sure that his sole guiding principle was a dedication to honor and duty, with no room for emotions. It was his unswerving sense of honor on which he was acting now—that and a raging case of lust.

  He came to her bedroom each night and despite her pleas that they exercise some caution, he took her with a fierce possession that she seemed utterly helpless to deny. In a strange way, it was almost as if he wanted to get her with child. But that made no sense, since she knew he assumed he’d already won the wedding battle.

  And to be truthful, there wouldn’t have been a battle at all if he had even once said those three little words. A single I love you from him and she would have given in.

  Having finally admitted her own feelings, she found herself strangely unable to fight him toe to toe the way she had in the past.

  Part of her desperately wanted to be his wife.

  But part of her was horribly afraid.

  There had to be more to a marriage than passion, even the all-consuming kind she and Rupert now shared. Flames like those burned fiery hot, but eventually such needs found a way of cooling. Without love as a foundation between them, what would possibly remain?

  She couldn’t bear the idea of someday waking to find herself in a one-sided marriage where she was the person with the broken heart. She couldn’t bear to repeat the mistakes of her parents, with their endless fights and infidelities and bitter recriminations. They had married for duty and she didn’t want that kind of life. She’d gone out of her way to avoid it.

  Yet she did love him—too much, she sometimes thought.

  But maybe, some tiny corner of her mind whispered, she might still have some chance of making him love her back. Not if she drove him away, though. Not if she fled and refused to go through with the wedding.

  And so she drifted, caught in the grip of the most terrible indecision of her life, each day speeding by faster than the last.

  She wakened with only three days remaining and stretched against the sheets, her muscles pleasurably sore from the heated lovemaking they’d shared the night before.

  God, the things that man can do. He might be a prince, but his true calling clearly lay in the bedroom arts.

  Padding to her bathing chamber, she washed, then let her maid help her dress for the day.

  Nick, Emma, and Rupert were at breakfast when she walked in, Rupert looking splendid in a coat of mallard green that set o
ff both his golden hair and the vibrant color of his eyes.

  He smiled at her and said good morning. She answered the same, with greetings to Emma and Nick as well, then went to the buffet.

  She had just taken her usual seat at the table when Symms appeared at the door, a silver salver in hand.

  “Excuse me, Your Royal Highness,” the butler said, approaching Rupert. “This message just arrived for you. I am told it is of an urgent nature.”

  “Thank you, Symms.” Taking the missive, which bore Rosewald’s royal seal, Rupert broke the wax and opened the letter.

  They all watched as he read, his mouth settling into a grim line.

  “What is it?” she asked, her breakfast forgotten.

  “Yes, Rupert,” Emma said, her eyes wide with concern. “What has occurred?”

  He looked at Ariadne for a moment, then at his sister. “Papa’s health has taken a grave turn. His physicians say he is dying and ask that I return home at once.”

  “Oh!” Emma’s lip trembled, her eyes filling with sudden tears. “Dying? But in his last letter, he said he was feeling so much better. Perhaps they are mistaken.”

  Nick reached across the table and took his wife’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  “I hope that too,” Rupert said, “but from this report, it does not look good.”

  “You must go without delay, of course,” Nick said, his voice ringing with the calm authority of his former naval command. “We’ll all follow you as soon as the necessary arrangements can be made to travel with the boys. I know Emma will want to see her father before he passes. We will make all due haste.”

  Emma nodded, looking distraught. “Yes, yes.” She paused, her gaze going to Ariadne. “But what about the wedding? You were to be married in a couple of days.”

  “Obviously the wedding must be postponed,” Ariadne said. “Rupert and I can be married once you know more about your father’s condition.”

  Rupert turned his gaze on her. “I have the license. We could call for the minister to come to the house. I shouldn’t think it would take above an hour or two.”