The Prince's Bride

by Julianne MacLean

  He blinked down at her, pleased of course that she was making plans, but he was not so clearheaded at the moment. “Honestly … I haven’t thought that far ahead,” he replied. “I will need time to consider that.”

  But of course he had to return home. He could not stay away forever, or keep the news of these events from his brother, Randolph. He was Prince Nicholas of Petersbourg, and he had a duty to his family and his country.

  But wait … no … he was not Prince Nicholas.

  He was the half-French bastard son of a dead Bonapartist.

  The realization struck him hard, and he found himself suddenly pulling Véronique into his arms and holding her tight. “I will need to ask your father’s permission to marry you,” he whispered in her ear. “We will leave tomorrow.” That would give him time to decide what he would do with this place.

  Véronique laid her hands on his chest. “Do you really mean this, Nicholas? You are not just trying to seduce me into your bed? You truly want me to be your wife, even though we barely know each other?”

  “I know enough,” he replied. “And though it defies all reason, I know that I must have you, and I cannot fathom the idea of leaving you behind. Never seeing you again.”

  “I would be a fool to say no.”

  “That’s right, because I can make everything well for you—and for your sister.”

  She tipped her head back against the door and closed her eyes. “I must be dreaming. Someone needs to pinch me.”

  He gazed at her soft, moist lips and lightly kissed them. “There will be no pinching, for I do not wish to startle you.”

  Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed up at him with an unreadable emotion. “I am going to leave the room now, and give you time to reconsider what has just happened here. If you wake up in the morning and realize you were mistaken to have made such an offer, I will not hold you to the proposal.”

  He smiled at her. “Never will I feel this was a mistake. All I will do, after you walk out of here, is lie on my bed in agony, imagining the moment I will deflower you on our wedding night.”

  Her smile was as dazzling as the sun.

  She reached for the doorknob, and he stepped back to permit her to leave—for she had given him the answer he wanted.

  “Good night, Nicholas,” she said with another smile as she slipped out and closed the door behind her.

  For a long moment he stood motionless, transfixed, as he stared at the door and listened to the sound of her footsteps growing distant down the corridor. He wanted her back this instant, but fought the urge to follow. He must wait until the morning to see her again.

  He realized that respectability such as this was a novel concept for him. It was an unnerving thought, to imagine how he was going to navigate in these waters, long into the future.

  Eventually he backed away from the door and turned around to look at his empty bedchamber—in particular the rumpled bedcovers where he had lain with Véronique just now, and come very close to the conquest of her virginity.

  He had never been so close to intercourse, then been forced to restrain his desires. The women he usually bedded were never virgins. They were always seasoned lovers, willing and eager. There was nothing to prevent them from enjoying themselves.

  Véronique, however, was different. She was pure, and she needed him like no other woman had ever needed him before.

  He had proposed marriage.

  Marriage.

  Something squeezed in his chest, and he sank down onto the chair in front of the fire, in shock. He slouched low, tipped his head back, and blinked up at the ceiling.

  He would take her home to Petersbourg and introduce her as his bride.

  There would have to be some sort of celebration.

  Would they marry here, or wait until they reached Petersbourg?

  What would the newspapers have to say about it?

  He began to sort through all the logistics. Randolph would likely bestow a new title upon them as a couple—perhaps make them duke and duchess of something or other.

  Certain women of his acquaintance would not be pleased. They would likely throw vases or other china knickknacks at the back of his head.

  He sat forward, steepled his fingers together, and rested his forehead on them as if in prayer, while a slow wave of discomfort poured into his stomach.

  A royal wedding. His royal wedding. Good God.

  Had he really just proposed?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gabrielle chattered exuberantly during the journey from d’Entremont Manor to their family home, farther inland to the south.

  They did not depart until well after luncheon; otherwise, Gabby would have had her head in a bucket for the first ten or so miles. Perhaps that might have been preferable to this, Véronique thought, for she was well-nigh bouncing off the walls, eager to return home and see Robert.

  Véronique was seated beside her, across from Nicholas, who listened to Gabby’s chatter and seemed genuinely amused by her enthusiasm. He responded to her riddles and agreed with her opinions about the weather and the end of the war.

  At least they shared the same political opinions about Emperor Napoléon and his voracious hunger for territory and power. That was over now, however. Napoléon was in the custody of the British, and with any luck, they would never see or hear from him again.

  And so, the journey by coach continued with no lack of conversation, which was a blessing for Véronique, as she was nervous about reaching her home. In fact, she was almost sick with dread.

  What would Nicholas think when he met her father? There would be no advance warning about their visit. A royal prince would stride up the Montagne steps carrying the deed to their home, and her mother would most certainly be caught off guard. Perhaps she would not even be dressed, and her father might be in his cups, weeping with shame under the stairs, or searching for coins in the sofa cushions so that he might join a card game somewhere in the village—or, heaven forbid, Paris—and turn his luck around.

  Oh, God. Sitting forward, she peered out the window. It was nearly dusk, and she recognized this particular pasture. They would reach her home in less than an hour.

  She jumped at the shock of Nicholas’s hand upon her knee, and was aware of Gabby taking notice as well—then pretending not to notice by closing her eyes and resting her head on a pillow against the window glass.

  “Are you all right?” Nicholas quietly asked. “You seem distracted. Are you anxious?”

  She sat back and folded her hands on her lap. “I suppose I am. It’s not every day a young lady brings a prince home to meet her parents.”

  “Nor is it every day a prince asks a man for permission to marry his daughter,” Nicholas replied. “I am anxious as well. Will they approve of me, do you think?”

  She could have laughed at that, but managed to refrain. “I believe you have no reason to be concerned, sir. I am quite certain you will be well received.”

  He smiled that slow, confident grin that sent flames of heat licking through her bloodstream.

  “But what if they have heard about my notorious reputation?” he asked mischievously. “Perhaps they will wish to protect you from my clutches.”

  He slid a glance at Gabrielle, knowing of course that she was not asleep, but listening.

  Véronique smirked at him and mouthed the words, You are very wicked.

  He raised his eyebrows unapologetically, then leaned back in the seat, gazing at her with dark seduction in the early evening light.

  They had not yet discussed a wedding date, and she wondered how long it would be before she could enjoy the pleasure of her deflowering, for he was a tempting and tantalizing man who was clearly well versed in the art of lovemaking.

  But would he be faithful? she wondered uneasily as the coach rumbled along the lane. She wanted to believe that he would. She wanted very badly to believe in him in every way. Some might think her a silly fool to expect fidelity from a man like him, and perhaps they would turn out
to be correct about that. Perhaps the Prince of Petersbourg would take her as a wife and live happily ever after with her for a few brief months at most—then return to his endless string of mistresses while she did her duty at the palace and turned a blind eye. That’s how it was done in most royal courts, and this marriage was certainly no love match. She didn’t know what it was.

  Still … she couldn’t help but believe that he was capable of more.

  She looked at him carefully in the fading light. This marriage would solve all her family’s problems without a doubt, and quite possibly rescue Gabrielle from disaster as well. Véronique wasn’t sure exactly how Nicholas would accomplish such a feat, but he had implied as much, and he was a powerful man, so she would do what she must. She would become his bride and hope for the best.

  Closing her eyes, she propped a pillow up against the glass to rest her head and tried to relax for the remainder of the journey—for surely when they arrived, the shock and upheaval in her father’s household would be momentous.

  * * *

  It was just past dark when the coach pulled to a halt in front of Montagne Manor. Véronique waited for Nicholas to unlatch the door and push it open. He leaned out, looked up at the front of the Tudor-styled, ivy-covered structure—with only one light visible in an upstairs window—and turned to her. “No servants?”

  She shook her head. “We had to let most of them go. It’s a spare household now, but I am sure someone will be out shortly.”

  The front door opened and Gailliard, their devoted butler, appeared carrying a lamp to greet them. “Good evening, mademoiselle,” he said as he approached. “We did not expect you.”

  She took Nicholas’s hand and stepped onto the gravel drive. “Bonjour, Gailliard. My apologies for not sending word in advance, but our decision to return home was rather spontaneous. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

  “Not at all,” he replied with impressive composure as Nicholas assisted Gabrielle out of the vehicle.

  Véronique gestured toward him. “As you can see, I have brought a guest.” She turned and spoke to Nicholas. “Please allow me to present our butler, Gailliard.”

  Nicholas inclined his head at him.

  She turned back to the butler. “And this is His Royal Highness, Prince Nicholas of Petersbourg.”

  Gailliard’s eyes widened in shock. Then he bent at the waist and bowed with a deep, sweeping flourish. “Welcome, Your Highness, to Montagne Manor.”

  “Thank you,” Nicholas casually replied.

  Gailliard nearly stumbled backwards as he indicated the front entrance. Then he quickly hurried to speak to the coachman about guest room arrangements for the servants, and told him where to take the horses, for they had no groomsman to attend to such matters. Véronique glanced self-consciously at Nicholas, who politely ignored Gailliard’s quiet explanations and apologetic tones as they made their way inside.

  The front hall was shrouded in darkness, which came as no surprise, for her family had been conserving candles for quite some time. Nevertheless, a somber feeling settled into her heart, for this house had once been full of bright lights and laughter.

  “Will you inform my parents that Gabrielle and I have returned?” she said to Gailliard as he entered behind them. “And please prepare a guest chamber for Prince Nicholas. Have my parents dined yet?”

  “Not yet, mademoiselle. Dinner will be served at—” He paused uncomfortably. “—nine o’clock.”

  She knew of course that there was no dinner planned, and hoped that something reasonably palatable could be thrown together at the last minute, for she was famished, and they were, after all, about to entertain a prince.

  “Lovely,” she replied. “In the meantime, please bring a decanter of wine to the parlor. We shall make ourselves comfortable there until dinner.”

  Poor Gailliard. He looked completely flustered as he gathered Gabrielle’s and Véronique’s cloaks.

  “I will send the maid to light a fire for you,” he said.

  Again it came as no surprise to find the parlor shrouded in darkness as well. Gaillaird carried his lamp across the room to the pianoforte and lit all three wicks on the candelabra—a tremendous extravagance when the candles were already burned down to short stubs. She hoped he would return shortly to replace them.

  They took seats in the dimly lit room to wait for her parents.

  Nicholas sat leisurely at one end of the sofa, while Gabrielle sat forward on the edge of an upholstered Queen Anne chair, impatiently tapping her foot.

  Véronique sat at the other end of the sofa, feeling an odd mixture of excitement and dread. She was about to deliver shocking news to her parents—that Lord d’Entremont was dead, but that she had secured the deed to their home, which Prince Nicholas had in his possession this very evening.

  Not only that, but she would then reveal the fact that she was about to marry into a very prestigious European royal family.

  She tapped her finger on her knee, only half-believing that the second part would ever come to pass, for everything had happened so quickly. It still seemed too outrageous to believe.

  She glanced at Nicholas. He was watching her intently in the candlelight, his blue eyes gleaming almost broodingly. He spoke not a single word.

  At last the maid arrived with a tray of wine and glasses, and set it down on the table. A short time later, the fire was blazing in the hearth and they were sipping her father’s best cabernet. They chatted about a few light matters until the glow of a lamp appeared in the doorway, and her father and mother entered the parlor at last.

  Nicholas stood. Véronique and Gabrielle followed suit. Introductions were made and everyone took seats on the sofas and chairs around the fire.

  While her parents asked politely about the weather, roads, and duration of the journey, Véronique took careful note of her mother’s appearance. It was clear she had donned her best gown, combed and swept her hair up into a fresh knot, and had opened her jewelry box this evening—probably for the first time in months. She spoke courteously to Nicholas as if she were happy and well, but the dark circles beneath her eyes were still evident, and Véronique knew it was a struggle for her to be sociable, and she would be overcome by exhaustion later.

  As for her father … he, too, had combed his hair, donned a freshly laundered pair of breeches and a clean jacket, but that woozy, sleepy look was ever present in his eyes. She wondered how long it would be before he nodded off.

  Soon after they sat down, the polite conversation ground to an awkward halt. Véronique was about to bring up the death of Lord d’Entremont, and the reason for Nicholas’s presence here, when he spoke first, to her father.

  “I am sure you must be wondering, sir, why your daughters have brought me here to meet you. There is certainly much to discuss. Is there a place where we can speak in private?”

  “We could go to my study,” her father helpfully suggested.

  Véronique experienced sudden heart palpitations and turned her body at an angle on the sofa to face Nicholas. “Perhaps I should join you.”

  She couldn’t bear the thought of what might be expressed in her absence. Would Nicholas tell her father that she had abducted him from a masked ball where she’d had no chaperone? Would he allude to the physical intimacies that occurred in his bedroom?

  Similarly, what if her father said the wrong things, or lied to Nicholas about his gambling? She must be there to ensure he did not make a fool of himself, or any of them.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Nicholas firmly replied, leaving no room for argument, and suggesting, without ever saying so, that she must learn to trust him. He would take care of this, as he would take care of many things over the coming weeks and years.

  She never found it easy to let others do the work, however. She preferred to make sure things were done right by doing them herself and never passing the reins to another. It was not easy for her to watch them rise from their chairs and leave the room alone together. But she weathered
it. She would put her trust in Nicholas.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “We met at a ball in Paris,” Nicholas explained, “where your daughter lured me into a coach, fed me enough laudanum to knock me unconscious for hours, then delivered me to d’Entremont Manor, where I eventually learned that my presence was urgently required by the marquis.”

  Montagne’s head drew back in shock, and he laughed. “Surely you jest! She was visiting her aunt, sir. Why in the world would she do anything like that?”

  “Because the marquis needed to ensure my prompt arrival at his home, and Véronique was willing to accept the task of delivering me there, for she wanted something from d’Entremont in return. I am sure you know what that is.” He regarded Montagne with unwavering scrutiny and a look of warning, which encouraged him to speak truthfully.

  “She did it in exchange for money?” the man asked.

  “Not money,” Nicholas replied. “She wanted the deed to this property, and I am pleased to inform you that she has acquired it. From me.”

  “From you.” The chair creaked as Montagne shifted uneasily. “Why would you have it? Did you purchase it from d’Entremont? Or perhaps you won it in a card game,” he added bitterly.

  “Neither is accurate, sir, for I have inherited all of the marquis’s properties and assets, including d’Entremont Manor, which brings me to the unfortunate news that Lord d’Entremont passed away only yesterday. There is to be a funeral in a few days’ time, and I shall be returning for that.”

  Montagne shook his head. “I do not understand. You said that Véronique acquired this property from you. Why would you give it to her? She has no money. She could not have purchased it.” He slouched back in his chair and buried his forehead in a hand. “Oh, good Lord. Please do not tell me that she compromised her honor. I would never forgive myself.”

  Nicholas quickly leaned forward. “Not at all, sir. You have every reason to be proud of your daughter. Both your daughters. Despite our tumultuous beginnings, they were exceedingly helpful to me at d’Entremont Manor, and I wished to repay their kindness and fulfill the promises that d’Entremont had made to them. That is why I have signed the deed over to you. We will require a solicitor to witness the transaction, of course, and make sure everything is properly and legally transferred. But there is more,” he added, charging forward with surprising vigor.