Royal Affair

by Alice Gaines

  The words started to swim, and she had to set the letter in her lap.

  “I’ve hurt you,” Friedrich said. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Here’s the last of it, then.” He handed her another photograph. A very old one. It showed him and Pamela posed before an outdoor bistro, no doubt in Italy. He was the prince she’d fancied herself in love with as a child, and he had his arm around a beautiful blonde woman. They were obviously besotted with each other.

  “She saved it, and her husband sent it to me,” he said.

  “Oh, God.” She hadn’t meant for that to escape.

  “Marta?” In an instant he rose, rounded the desk, and sat in the chair next to hers. Taking her hands, he stared into her face. “You must realize all this happened a long time ago.”

  “Were you planning on telling me about her?”

  “I hadn’t decided. Perhaps.”

  “When?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” He stared down at their joined hands. “Cecile cried when I told her about Pamela. She thought it meant I didn’t love her. I didn’t want to hurt you that way.”

  “I see.” Words kept coming out of her mouth, but they didn’t make sense. Just sounds to fill the void while she tried to absorb it all.

  He looked back up at her. “I have hurt you, haven’t I?”

  She suddenly realized she’d been crushing the letter in her hand. She smoothed it out and set it and the pictures on the desk. “I’d resigned myself to being second in your heart—”

  “You’re not second in anything,” he said.

  “But I’m not sure I want to be third.”

  His fingers gripped hers. “Marta, no.”

  “It’s not your fault. I loved you, but you hardly noticed. You fell in love with another woman, and you still love her. It’s just the way life works out.”

  “No. It was years ago. I gave her up out of duty and found love again. I never told anyone about her other than Cecile…” His voice trailed off. “Except…yes, Felice.”

  She pulled her hand back. “Felice knew?”

  “I told her the story of my sacrifice to convince her she couldn’t marry Dev. Stupid, but I thought it was necessary.”

  So, he’d told Felice but not her. And now she’d found him in tears over another woman. How was she supposed to feel about that? How was she supposed to get her mind around it? At least, she wasn’t married to him yet. She had options. She’d have to decide how important this revelation was to her and then settle on where to go from here. Right now she needed space and room to breathe.

  “Cecile forgave me,” he said. “I hope you can, too.”

  “Forgive you for what? For falling in love and continuing to love? For caring so deeply you never stop? Where’s the sin in that?”

  “For hurting you. For not telling you,” he said. “Marta, you mean the world to me.”

  “Of course, I do now. The other two are dead.” She covered her mouth with her fingers. Had those words actually passed her lips? How cruel. “I can’t have said that. I would never utter anything so horrible.”

  “You’re upset.”

  “You don’t understand. I’d always be your third choice, the one you settled for.”

  “No,” he said.

  “I wasn’t your first, great love. I wasn’t your wife and the mother of your children. I’m just the one who came later.”

  “Don’t cry,” he said. “Gott, please don’t cry.”

  “Don’t you see? You were always first with me. I always wanted you above everyone else.” A tear slid down her cheek, but she did her best to hold the rest inside. “And still, I married another man. What kind of woman does that make me?”

  “None of that matters,” he said. “I love you.”

  He did now. He wouldn’t lie about that. But did he really have the depth of feeling he’d had for the other women? Could she ever be sure he did?

  She rose. “I’m going to have to think about all this.”

  He also got up. “I’ll help you. We’ll talk.”

  “Not here. I need to go home.” Her staff had left after the wedding. Everything would be ready for her in her own house where she could live with her own thoughts.

  “Don’t leave me, please.” He appeared absolutely stricken, as if someone had squeezed all the air out of him. “Not today, of all days.”

  Yes, she could stay and help him grieve for another lover who’d had the place in his life she’d craved since a very young woman. Where would she find the strength within herself to do that?

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t.”

  “All right.” He straightened, assuming the air of composure someone in his station had to summon even when his heart was breaking. She’d watched him do it when Cecile died, and she knew what turmoil it concealed. Misery she was creating. But she couldn’t stay.

  “You’ll call me?” he said.

  She made a futile gesture. “I can’t talk about this now.”

  He swallowed hard and nodded. As she opened the door, his voice stopped her. “I love you.”

  She turned back to find him standing stiffly, his eyes misted over. Before she started sobbing, she straightened her spine and left.

  *

  Friedrich had an official car drive him to Marta’s home. Let the entire country notice the family crest on the limousine as it drove through the city streets. He’d made so many damned mistakes with her, only one of which was hiding their relationship away as if they should feel ashamed of it. No longer. If she rejected him, as she had every reason to, he’d let the populace watch him ride in misery back to the palace. He’d hold his head high and get on with his life, even without the woman he loved.

  As the car turned off the road and headed up the drive, his stomach tied itself into a knot. He’d had a case of nerves before with her, but in the past, they’d involved excitement at meeting her for a tryst. This rendezvous held far more import.

  Reaching inside the pocket of his jacket, he touched the velvet box again. Since he’d bought the ring, he’d used it as a talisman of sorts. The magic object that would restore his love to him. Marta was far too wise to be impressed by baubles. She could buy all the jewelry she wanted. But she’d have to see the gesture for what it was—a declaration that his love for her took second place to none. And then, there was the manila envelope on the seat next to him.

  By the time they’d reached the top of the drive, the front door to the house had already opened, and the butler was coming down. Someone had noticed the sovereign’s car arriving, no doubt. He grabbed the envelope and got out and ascended the stairs. “I’m here to see Frau Damrov.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty. Please, come this way.” The man let him into the room where he’d encountered her on Herr Schmidt’s visit—the first day he’d made love to her. After taking Friedrich’s hat, the butler left and closed the door behind him.

  Gott, this space brought back memories. Ten years earlier, he’d kissed her here before running like a scared rabbit. Then many years later, he’d come back, disguised, to find her waiting for him to give him the ultimate gift—her body. Let this ring and his vow to adore her win that gift again for him. And her heart. She couldn’t have stopped loving him. She simply couldn’t.

  His gaze landed on the orchid he’d sent her. Still in bloom. He dropped the envelope on a table, went to the plant, and stared down at the petals. Imagine. If he failed today, their relationship wouldn’t have lasted as long as the life of these flowers. Eventually they’d fade, and she wouldn’t have to think about him at all.

  No, he wouldn’t fail. The leaden feeling around his heart told him he had to succeed.

  The door opened, and the sound of a soft gasp told him she’d arrived.

  He turned, and for a moment, he could only stare at her. Every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Even in a modest dress of gray silk, she reminded him of how she rested against his chest when
she asked for a kiss. How soft she felt against him.

  “They must have told you I was here,” he said.

  “They did. I just can’t get over the sight of you.”

  He held his arms out to his sides. “Do I look all right?”

  She gave him a tentative smile. “You’re a handsome devil, and you know it.”

  She could manage some humor. Good sign. “You won’t shoo me away, then?”

  She shook her head.

  He took his first real breath since leaving the palace. “I have a great deal to apologize for.”

  She didn’t say anything but tilted her head in puzzlement.

  “I was a perfectly abysmal suitor, but then, I’ve never had to ask a woman to marry me before.” She’d have to see the truth of that statement. With Pamela, there had never been any question of marriage, and Cecile’s and his parents had arranged everything for them. “You’re the first.”

  She brought her fingertips to her mouth. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “You might have if I’d mentioned it. There were a lot of things I failed to tell you.”

  “Pamela,” she said.

  “Pamela and much more important things, too.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the box, and handed it to her. “I should have given you this when you agreed to marry me.”

  She opened it and gasped again, more loudly this time. “It’s exquisite.”

  “I know it’s customary to give a diamond, but they seemed so ordinary,” he said. “Not worthy of you.”

  She removed the ring, set the box aside, and studied the sapphire. Not the largest stone in the world—although he’d buy her that, if she wanted—but excellent quality and clarity, and the complexity of the cut made it sparkle.

  “It’s old,” he said. “According to legend, a maharaja had it made for the woman he loved.”

  “He must have loved her a great deal.”

  “As I do you,” he said. “Instead of proposing on a dance floor surrounded by other people, I should have had you alone so I could tell you how precious you are to me. I should have gone down on bended knee.”

  She laughed again, such a sweet sound. “Please, not that.”

  “I shouldn’t have whispered that I love you as we left the dance floor. I should have shouted it.”

  The indulgent smile she gave him told him she didn’t expect that, either, but at least he appeared to be getting somewhere.

  “I do love you, you know,” he said. “And will for the rest of our lives.”

  “I love you, too.” She said it so softly, the words almost didn’t reach him, but his heart heard them well enough.

  He cleared his throat. Time for his ultimate weapon. He retrieved the manila envelope from where he’d laid it and held it out to her. After a questioning look, she took it with her free hand.

  “I don’t want you ever to think you have a secondary place in my heart.” He pointed toward the envelope. “Everything I have of Pamela is in there. The photographs and letter from her husband. A few love notes from her I’ve saved over the years plus more pictures.”

  She stared up at him. “Why…”

  “Do whatever you want with them. Toss them in the garbage. Burn them.”

  Her expression turned to utter shock. “I could never do anything like that.”

  “If she stands between us, she needs to go.”

  Shaking her head, she handed the envelope back to him. “No, Friedrich that would be wrong.”

  “Fine. Then, would you please put on that ring?”

  “Is that an order?” she said.

  Gott im Himmel, he’d made a mess of it again. He dropped the envelope to the floor and went down on one knee. Though Marta might forgive him for not making this moment perfect, he wouldn’t forgive himself. She needed romance, and he needed her. A simple equation.

  He took the ring from her. “My dearest love, please do me the honor of becoming my wife. Now that I’ve loved you, I don’t think I can live without you.”

  She gave him a full smile now, one that reached her eyes and lit them up. And she slid the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. Glory hallelujah.

  That settled, he rose and opened his arms. When she stepped into his embrace, he held her for the longest time, simply enjoying the feel of her against him and the scent of roses in her hair.

  “I should have known I could trust you,” she said. “I suppose I felt unsure of my place because you’d loved Cecile so profoundly.”

  “Love isn’t a limited commodity—as if you only have so much, and when you’ve spent it all, it’s gone,” he said. “The more you give, the more you have to give.”

  “You’ve taught me that.”

  “I don’t have many years left, but what I have, I hope you’ll share.”

  She gazed up at him. Her eyes might have misted over a bit, but they were full of love. “I will.”

  He almost sagged with relief, but joy held him upright. “Now, we’ll return to the palace and make a formal announcement.”

  She laughed. “So quickly?”

  “The sooner I make you my wife, the happier I’ll be.”

  Epilogue

  One would have thought that a wedding for two people who’d already been married could be a small affair. Marta soon learned that the marriage of a sovereign and head of state, like Friedrich, was always a large and complicated event. A white gown for the ceremony would have been ridiculous, but she nevertheless wore a beautiful creation of silk and lace with a train that went on for yards. All three of Friedrich’s daughters-in-law served as attendants, and as she’d knelt beside her new husband, the bishop had placed crowns on both their heads. Hers smaller, of course, but very old and studded with jewels.

  It seemed every dignitary from Danislova and every ambassador from other countries attended. The whole experience was dizzying, and the only thing that kept her sane was a visit from Friedrich before the ceremony with a kiss to calm her down. And a drink of his favorite brandy.

  Now dressed in yet another gown and with a tiara even finer than her own, she only had a ball to face before they could sneak off to their marriage bed. She was used to formal events, even if she’d never been the center of attention before.

  This time, when she danced with Friedrich, she did it as his wife. The idea still stopped her in her tracks occasionally, leaving her breathless. Perhaps she’d become used to it someday. Or perhaps every morning she’d awake to fresh knowledge that her dearest dream had come true.

  They moved and swirled in time with the music, their bodies completely tuned to each other. Honestly, she was running solely on nervous energy, and she’d likely collapse into sleep the minute she got a chance. But for now, she’d savor every minute of the day that wedded her to Friedrich VonRamsberg.

  Just as the song ended and the dancers came to a stop, Casey appeared in the middle of the crowd, a bit out of breath. “Hurry, or you’ll miss it.”

  “Miss what, my dear?” Friedrich asked.

  “Dixie’s about to give Vaclav a lesson in how to treat women,” Casey said. “Come on.”

  Friedrich winked at Marta. “I wouldn’t miss that.”

  “Not for all the world,” Marta agreed.

  They followed Casey through the crowd as she continued explaining. “The American ambassador had a young woman in his party. Professional and very pretty. She tried to be diplomatic with Vaclav, but you know how well that works.”

  “Not at all,” Marta said.

  “Dixie decided to come to the rescue. Here, see for yourself.”

  Dixie more or less had Vaclav cornered off to the side of the ballroom. An attractive young woman, no doubt his recent victim, stood nearby, and Felice had come to watch as well. Dixie had a smile on her face, but not the kind that would set her target at ease.

  “You see, Vaclav, sugar,” Dixie said. “You’re going about this all the wrong way.”

  She placed a hand on Vaclav’s shoulder and patted his ch
est. “If you want to make friends with a woman, you need to attract her to you, not climb all over her.”

  Vaclav sputtered like an aggrieved innocent. “I would never do such a thing.”

  “I’ve been watching you, and I’ve seen a lot of climbin’ and precious little attractin’,” Dixie said. “As my granny used to say, ‘the mule can tell whether you’re pushing or pulling.’”

  Vaclav spotted Friedrich and made a gesture in his direction. Or tried to. Dixie had him pretty well tied up.

  “Friedrich, you’re a man,” Vaclav said. “Explain to her.”

  “She’s doing just fine without my help,” Friedrich said.

  “Now, what you want to do is find a woman who’s interested in you,” Dixie said. “It looked to me as if that nice Fräulein Werksman kind of liked you.”

  “She’s a sweet thing but lacking in passion,” Vaclav said.

  “So, you cultivate it in her,” Dixie said. “Think of how much more successful you’ll be if the woman actually likes you.”

  Vaclav let loose with a few nervous “ha-has.” “You could be right, dear Dixie.”

  “I know I am. And just because we’ve become friends and all, I’m going to give you some advice.” She moved in until their noses almost touched. What Americans referred to as “getting in someone’s face,” no doubt.

  “Stay away from Americans,” Dixie said. “You know what they say about us.”

  “Applehood and mother pie?” Vaclav said.

  “We’re not fully civilized.” Dixie patted his chest with each word for emphasis. “And a lot of us have guns.”

  More nervous laughter from Vaclav. “You joke.”

  “Not at all.” Dixie glanced at the woman from the embassy. “What do you say, Miss…”

  “Carter,” the woman supplied.

  “Do you have a gun, Miss Carter?” Dixie asked.

  “I’m sure I could find out where to get one,” Miss Carter answered.

  “There, you see?” Dixie patted Vaclav’s chest one more time.

  Vaclav’s ha-has turned to yeses, and he nodded furiously.

  “Now, you go off and find Fräulein Werksman.” Dixie backed away from Vaclav, finally, and he took off as quickly as dignity allowed.