The Prince's Bride

by Julianne MacLean

“Yes.” There was no point in being coy, especially when she was reminded of his beautiful half-naked form on the bed.

  His chair creaked. She imagined him lounging back in it with his long, muscular legs stretched out before him.

  “I find it rather unsettling,” he said, “that there is a sliding door for the delivery of supper trays. I wonder how many others have been held captive in this room, and for what purpose.”

  “I could hazard a guess,” she replied, “but I shouldn’t speculate. I could always ask Pierre. He has lived here, in this wing, all his life.”

  “Is he related to the marquis?” Nicholas asked.

  Sadly, she knew the whole sordid story of Pierre’s history here at d’Entremont Manor. His presence was no secret in the village. It had been a source of gossip for years.

  “He is, in a way,” she replied, “for he is the illegitimate son of the marquis’s younger sister. She fell in love with one of the grooms when she was only sixteen. When it was discovered that she was carrying his child, the young man in question was found floating dead in the fishpond. She was locked up in the house during her confinement, and perhaps this was her room. Regrettably, she died on the birthing bed, but the child survived. That child is Pierre.”

  “So he is the marquis’s nephew. I thought he was a servant.”

  “He was always treated like one.” Véronique laid her hand on the door again and listened for any sounds. “From what I understand, when the current Lord d’Entremont inherited his title and became master of the house, he was more generous with Pierre, for he loved his sister. That is why Pierre lives in this wing and not with the other servants. He serves the marquis quite faithfully as his driver and private secretary, though the marquis still refuses to recognize him as his nephew.”

  “It sounds like a scandalous French novel,” Nicholas replied. “Does the marquis have any children of his own?”

  Véronique hesitated, for she felt uneasy revealing details of someone else’s private life, but supposed it was common knowledge here in France. Besides, she owed nothing to the marquis. To the contrary, he owed a great deal to her.

  “Lord d’Entremont had three children at one time, but lost the two eldest daughters to consumption ten years ago. Then he lost his wife to some other illness a short time later.”

  “And the third child?” Nicholas asked.

  Again, she hesitated, for this was personal information and was perhaps part of the reason for the abduction. She had suspected it, but was not yet sure.…

  “He lost his only son a month ago at Waterloo,” she said. “He was a leader in Napoléon’s Imperial Guard.”

  “A very prestigious position,” Nicholas replied. “Do you think that has something to do with the marquis wanting to see me? The Petersbourg cavalry was instrumental in Napoléon’s defeat on that battlefield. Could it be vengeance?”

  She swallowed uneasily. “I don’t know. I suppose it could be.”

  Lord, what was she doing?

  “Where is the marquis now?” Nicholas asked. “From where is he traveling?”

  She knew then that she had indeed been brought here to be interrogated, not to help pass the time.

  Véronique sat with her back ramrod straight, her hands folded on her lap.

  “Véronique?”

  “Yes, I am here,” she quickly said, “and I do not know where the marquis is at the moment. I have been dealing mostly with Pierre since the initial deal was struck.”

  The chair creaked on the other side of the door. “You must understand that it is not easy for me to remain here,” he said, “like a sitting duck.”

  “I do understand.”

  “Then why won’t you help me?” he asked. “Whatever it is that you need, Véronique, I promise I can give it to you. If only you would offer me some assistance.”

  “To do what? Escape?”

  The chair creaked again as he sat forward and spoke closer to the door. “Yes.”

  Her heart began to pound at the mere sound of his voice … so close to the door while she waited for him to continue.

  “If you would only come to my rescue,” he whispered, “I would see to it personally that you would be rewarded. Not only would you be exonerated from all charges concerning my kidnapping, but I would ensure that you would have whatever it is that d’Entremont is promising. Won’t you please tell me what that is?”

  All her instincts were screaming at her to confide in him. To accept his offer. To unlock the door and become his partner in an escape. But could he be trusted to keep his word, and was it even possible for him to help her and Gabrielle? Could he give her back her home if d’Entremont refused to part with it?

  “Please come inside,” Nicholas softly said. “I want to see you, talk with you. We could help each other.”

  “Nicholas, please do not ask me.”

  “But I must,” he replied. His tone was silky with a veiled passion that aroused her senses, even though she knew it was a clever manipulation.

  “There was something between us the other night,” he continued. “Something quite wonderful, as if it were destiny that we should meet. I believed it at the time, and I still believe it now. There is a reason you were chosen for this task, Véronique. You imply that you are trapped by d’Entremont, which is why you agreed to this. But I know you are no villain. He is the villain, and I have the power to buy your freedom from him, and erase this crime you have committed. You are not my captor, Véronique. He is. You are my rescuer, and I am yours.”

  There was a sudden terrible clatter somewhere else in the house, as if a maid had dropped a silver tray on a marble floor. It caused Véronique to jump in her chair. Her gaze darted to the far end of the corridor.

  “What was that?” Nicholas asked.

  “I am not sure,” she replied. “I don’t think it was anything.”

  Then why was her heart pounding as if she had been caught in some secret act of thievery?

  “Listen to me, Véronique,” he said. “This can all work well in your favor if you will unlock this door and come inside. We can plan something together, find a way out of this. I cannot do it without you, and I do not believe you want to be a part of something as ugly as what this might become. I do not know what the marquis wants from me, but clearly it is not a friendly invitation. This is sinister. I feel it in my bones, as you must feel it, too.”

  She realized she was nodding her head. She had been uncomfortable about this assignment from the beginning, but had ignored any inclination toward feelings of guilt or doubt. She had intentionally steeled herself into a woman driven by necessity, duty, and love for her family—for she must get her home back from the marquis. Nothing else outside of that mattered … until now.

  Prince Nicholas had become so much more than a mere package for her to deliver. He was a man—a handsome, regal prince who had aroused her desires and touched something inside her, even when she knew he was manipulating her to get what he wanted. What she felt was something quite unfamiliar, which she did not yet understand.

  She didn’t want this to turn ugly. That would be a terrible tragedy. She would never be able to live with herself if d’Entremont did something foul, and she did not trust him, for he was no gentleman.

  “I do not have a key,” she told Nicholas at last. “Pierre has it. But there must be another. The housekeeper would surely have one.”

  Oh, what was she saying?

  “Could you get it from her without Pierre knowing?”

  “I could try.”

  A heavy silence ensued while she considered all the possible consequences of this decision. Was she really going to do this? Was it the right course of action? Or was she letting her emotions, and her desires, rule her intellect?

  “We do not have much time,” Nicholas said. “D’Entremont will be here in less than two days.”

  Despite everything, Véronique found herself nodding her head again. “I will do my best. So I must leave you now. Expect me later, at dusk, a
fter the supper trays have been delivered.”

  She stood up and turned the back of the chair against the wall, then heard the deep timbre of Nicholas’s voice behind the door. “When you slip the key into this lock, Véronique, I should warn you about something.”

  She listened.… “Yes?”

  His voice, though quiet, possessed a raw, ominous quality. “I will need to kiss you.”

  A sizzling, almost alarming spark of anticipation danced down her spine at the mere thought of being in this man’s arms again and accepting his gratitude. She had spent far too many moments over the past two days conjuring him in her imagination, fantasizing about what might have occurred in the coach if she had not put laudanum in his champagne at the ball.

  But could she trust him? Should she?

  Surely this was madness.

  “I will return at dusk,” she said nevertheless in a steady voice. As steady as she could manage.

  Then she hurried back to her room to talk this over with Gabrielle.

  Chapter Five

  “Are you certain we can trust him?” Gabby asked while Véronique paced back and forth across the thick red carpet. “What if he turns us in for kidnapping and refuses to honor the agreement? What would happen to Mother?”

  Véronique stopped pacing and cupped her forehead in her hands. “That would be the worst possible outcome. But somehow, for some reason I cannot explain, everything in my heart is telling me that he will keep his word if we help him. I despise d’Entremont, and I know you do, too. How can we trust him more than we would trust Prince Nicholas, who has been most unfairly treated?”

  “By us,” Gabby reminded her. “You especially, when you drugged him and carted him off to parts unknown, bound and gagged like an animal.”

  “He was never gagged,” Véronique corrected her. “Now you are just being dramatic.”

  “How can I help it? This is quite an unbelievable situation. Worse than any farcical play.”

  Véronique faced her sister. “Do you know if Pierre keeps the key on him, or would it be in his room?”

  “Do you really intend to steal it?”

  “Yes, if I can. If not, I will try the housekeeper.”

  Gabby crossed the room to meet Véronique at the foot of the bed. “I saw him slip it into his coat pocket after we locked Nicholas inside on the first night. I do not believe it’s been used since then. It could still be in his pocket, or he may have hidden it in his room.”

  Véronique experienced a fluttery feeling in her belly, accompanied by an acute sense of purpose. “I will check his room this afternoon.”

  “Should I go with you?”

  “No, but you could be my decoy. Go for a walk in the garden so that Pierre will follow to keep an eye on you, as he always does. He is very suspicious. It’s warm outside. He won’t likely be wearing his overcoat. With luck, he will leave it in his room.”

  Gabrielle hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” Véronique asked. “Do you not want to do this?”

  “It’s not that,” she replied as she moved to a chair and sat down. “I am just not feeling well this morning.”

  “You do look pale.” Véronique crossed to her sister and placed the back of her hand on her forehead. “Your temperature seems normal.”

  Gabrielle pushed her hand away. “I am fine. It’s nothing.” She quickly stood up and reached for her bonnet, slipped it on, and tied the ribbons under her chin. “Very well, then. Off I go.”

  Véronique escorted her sister to the stairs, then returned to their guest chamber to watch from the window.

  A few minutes later, Gabby strolled leisurely toward the cherry orchard. Sure enough, Pierre appeared from the stables to follow her at a distance.

  * * *

  The door to Pierre’s chamber was unlocked, and the rest of the wing was deserted, so it was an effortless undertaking to slip inside. Véronique quietly closed the door behind her and glanced around.

  It was a comfortable room, well lived in, for Pierre had occupied this space for many years, since the death of the former marquis. Heavy, dusty-looking fabrics covered the windows, and the furniture was faded and threadbare in places. A bookcase was stuffed tight with clutter, where papers lay horizontally on top of books with the spines out.

  Her gaze shifted to the wardrobe. She walked quickly to it, opened the door, and found the coat he had been wearing on the night of the abduction.

  With fast-moving fingers, she searched the pockets, but found them all empty.

  Véronique huffed in frustration, then searched all the other pockets.

  After closing the wardrobe doors, she turned to peruse the room. Her gaze settled on the desk in the corner, which was buried under a mountain of books and papers.

  Véronique walked toward it and pulled open each drawer. She gasped with surprise when the bottom drawer revealed a large collection of keys. Surely it contained every key in the entire manor house.

  She searched through them and found them to be labeled according to each floor and wing, which made it easy to narrow it down to the correct set.

  Gently, she closed the desk drawer before tiptoeing out of the room. On her way out, she spotted Nicholas’s dress sword and belt leaning up against the wall. Grabbing hold of them, she ran out and shut the door behind her, then hurried back down the corridor to her own chamber.

  Once there, she crossed to the window to ensure that Gabrielle was still leading Pierre away from the house. When she spotted her sister, however, a wave of panic rose up within her, for Gabby was running back to the house with Pierre in hot pursuit.

  Véronique dropped the keys into a flowerpot on the windowsill and ran quickly to reach her sister.

  * * *

  By the time Véronique found Gabrielle, she was up against a tree behind the thick cedar hedge, slapping and punching at Pierre, who was fighting to restrain her while he tried to lift her skirts.

  A violent shaking began in all Véronique’s extremities, and her vision turned red.

  “Stop!”

  She bolted forward and launched her body sideways into Pierre, knocking him away from her sister. He stumbled and nearly fell, but managed to remain on his feet before wheeling around to return and smack Véronique across the side of the head.

  Pain reverberated in her ears. She responded by kicking him between the legs. He doubled over, knees pressed together, and crumpled to the ground.

  Staring down at him in shock—while her gut twisted fiercely and her muscles strained against her skin—she was about to kick him in the stomach when Gabby dragged her away.

  “If you come near her again,” Véronique shouted in a penetrating voice she barely recognized as her own, “I will kill you! Do you understand?”

  Writhing in agony on the ground, Pierre gave no response, which was fortunate; otherwise, she might have broken away from her sister and followed through on that threat, right there on the spot.

  As Gabby led her back to the house, a sudden dizziness swirled in Véronique’s brain. She stopped and grabbed hold of the cement post at the bottom of the stairs.

  Gabrielle stopped as well. Her cheeks were pale.

  “Are you all right?” Véronique asked. “You look like you are about to be ill. Did he hurt you?”

  Gabby laid a hand on her belly, turned away from Véronique, bent over the side of the cement balustrade, and retched into the rose garden below.

  Véronique hurried to her side. “Everything will be all right now,” she gently whispered. “He won’t ever touch you again. I found the key to Nicholas’s room, and thanks to Pierre—and what he did to you just now—any doubts I had about helping Nicholas escape are now completely forgotten. I will tell him what Pierre tried to do to you, and I am sure he will come to our aid in every possible way. I found his sword in Pierre’s room. We will return it to him, and we will sneak away tonight.”

  Gabrielle recovered from her sickness and turned toward Véronique in the warm sunshine. Her face was g
ray, and there was a shiny film of perspiration on her forehead and upper lip.

  “I am not sick over what he tried to do to me,” Gabby said. “It is something else—something which has caused me great anxiety over the past few weeks. I should have told you before, but I thought I might be mistaken. Now, I do not think I am.”

  Moving away slightly, Véronique began to guess the truth. “Is it what I think it is?”

  Gabby nodded somberly.

  “You are with child?” Véronique asked.

  Tears filled her sister’s eyes. “Yes, I am so sorry. I know this is the worst possible time to tell you such a thing, when we are about to be tossed out of our home. You have more than enough responsibility, trying to manage this situation. I assure you, I did not mean for it to happen.”

  Véronique frowned. “Does Robert know?”

  “Not yet,” she replied. “I haven’t told him, because I wasn’t completely sure, but now I am. My worst fear is that he will think I did this intentionally to trap him.”

  Véronique inclined her head a fraction. “You didn’t, though … did you?”

  “Of course not!” Gabby replied. “I love him with all my heart and soul, and I know he loves me, too. We have been waiting so long, hoping his father would change his mind about allowing us to marry. We just couldn’t wait any longer.”

  “Well, you should have!” Véronique sank down onto the steps and pressed her forehead into the heels of her hands. “Oh, Gabby. What have you done? He is not free to marry you. His father will not appreciate being backed into a corner. This will make no difference. In fact, it will only worsen your chances of winning his approval. I thought perhaps when we got our house back, Father would stop drinking, and Robert’s father might feel differently about your marriage, but now…”

  Véronique was only vaguely aware of her sister sitting down beside her, for her mind was swimming with images of disaster. Just when she thought it could get no worse—when her family was about to lose everything—her sister had thrown another log into the inferno.

  Gabby laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Everything will be fine. Robert loves me. He would never abandon me.”