Their eyes met once more with a shared look of desire, their pent-up urges screaming for release.
“I suppose this is rather profound,” she said, “for not long ago, Lord d’Entremont had taken possession of my home and everything I held dear. Now I have taken possession of his home, so to speak, for I am now mistress here.”
“Yes,” Nicholas replied, moving closer. “All that I possess is now yours. Would you like to explore the bed? I am sure you will find it more than adequate to meet your needs.”
“Our needs,” she countered with a mischievous grin that sent a shiver of lust through his body.
For a moment he stood before her and drank in the intoxicating essence of her beauty and innocence in the firelight—knowing that after tonight, he would forever be the possessor of her virginity.
Aroused by that thought, he turned her around and slowly began to unhook her gown, until it fell loose over the creamy curve of her shoulders.
He kissed the back of her neck and felt her body tremble beneath his touch. “Are you afraid?” he whispered.
She tilted her head back. “No.”
Slowly, he undressed her, piece by piece, letting each article fall to the floor in heaps of light fabric, until she stood naked before him, as radiant as a burst of firelight before his eyes.
He folded her into his arms and held her for a rapturous moment before covering her mouth with a deep open kiss that blazed through his senses and thrust him into this marriage with the full force of a cavalry charge.
He had been waiting too long for this. The need to feed his hunger for her was immense. Perhaps he should have moved more slowly, for it was her first time, but his desires were out of control. He simply had to have her, and could not wait another moment.
Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her to the bed and set her down. He marveled at her splendor as she lay before him like a lush golden goddess, exquisite in her nudity. He tugged roughly at his cravat and ripped it from his throat. After tossing it carelessly aside, he unbuttoned his brocade waistcoat, shrugged out of it in a mad rush to rid himself of his clothes, pulled his shirt off over his head, and stepped out of his breeches.
The warm summer air touched his flesh and heightened his senses. He clenched his hands into fists as he beheld his bride on the bed. She was watching him with burning eyes. Her gaze traveled down the length of his form, pausing to stare in fascination at his large, rigid erection.
“I’ll try to be gentle,” he said in a strained voice, though he wasn’t entirely sure he could be, for he wanted her like a raging, bucking stallion after a monthlong confinement in the stalls.
As he climbed onto the bed and settled his weight upon her, he reveled in the softness of her breasts and the flavor of her tongue, like sweet candy in his mouth. A wave of sensual pleasure flooded to his groin and filled him with fierce carnal urges that were violent in their intensity.
He stroked a hand down the luscious curve of her hip and the top of her soft warm thigh, hooked his arm under her knee to allow his body to fit snugly into the warm valley of her legs, parted just for him.
“I apologize in advance,” he said, “for my artless lack of foreplay, but I am impatient.”
“No need to apologize,” she replied in a rush of desire that matched his own in its impetuosity. “All I want is to be yours, and give myself to you fully—body and soul.”
They were romantic words—too romantic for a man like him, who was accustomed to licentious talk more suitable to endless nights of debauchery in unfamiliar rooms with nameless strangers.
This was something else. Her heartfelt words touched his emotions and stirred his passions in a way that was rare and new and completely foreign to him. He didn’t know what to make of it.
* * *
Véronique sucked in a breath as Nicholas pushed into her, breaking at last through the tight barrier of her virginity.
The pain was sharp and instant, unlike any other sensation. She did not possess the experience to understand why she welcomed it, and was therefore amazed at the pleasure that pulsed through her body, filling her with an urgent need for more. The pain did not matter. To the contrary, she was enchanted by its intensity.
Nicholas let out a groan of profound satisfaction when he thrust as far as he could into the feminine depths of her body. Véronique dug her fingernails into his back and realized she was panting like an animal, wanting more.
He remained still, as if allowing her to become accustomed to the feel of him inside her. Then slowly he began to move. He slid almost all the way out, then pushed in again, filling her with sweet pulsating ecstasy for a second glorious moment.
Each time he withdrew, she clung to him and arched her back in sizzling anticipation, knowing he would plunge into her again, and shoot an even hotter bolt of pleasure into her core.
Then he rose above her, both arms braced on either side of her on the bed, and watched her face as he perfected the rhythm of their coupling. Her eyes were open, but she felt lost in a fog of sensual delight, all her attention focused on this sweet, hot, pounding friction.
She let out a moan and writhed like a woman possessed.
Soon Nicholas’s movements quickened, and he shut his eyes as his mouth found hers, wet and open in the fever of the night. She drank in the delicious taste of him as their bodies pounded together in a rhythm that was both violent and graceful.
Their orgasms came quickly—hers first, as a trembling wave poured through her like wine. She cried out while he continued to pump into her, prolonging the duration of her climax until her body could throb no more. Then he released his own passions, ejaculating into her with a hot rush of his seed.
Nearly delirious with exhaustion, Véronique let her arms fall to the sides while he collapsed on top of her, his body heavy and damp with perspiration.
“Can you breathe?” he asked, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
“No,” she answered honestly, for he was built of hard sinewy muscle and fine thick bones. The weight of him upon her slender frame was crushing.
He gently withdrew from her sweltering depths and rolled to lie beside her on the bed. She welcomed the cool air upon her damp flesh, but regretted the loss of their physical connection.
Lying on her back, she turned her head to look at him. With a slight frown, he was staring up at the crimson velvet canopy over their heads. She worried that she had not performed as well as others in his past.
He seemed to sense her eyes on him, and rolled to face her. “What did you do to me?” he asked, his expression curious and bewildered.
“What do you mean?” she replied. “I thought it was you who did something to me tonight.”
His eyes searched all the corners of her face as if hoping to find answers; then he searched lower, pausing at her breasts and taking in all the curves of her body in the warm glow of the firelight. “I don’t want to go back,” he said. “Not yet.”
She leaned up on one elbow. “You mean to Petersbourg?”
He nodded and slid an arm around her waist to pull her closer. “We were married just today. Don’t you think we deserve a honeymoon?”
She could not suppress a grin. “So we can do more of this?” She wiggled her hips to rub up against him. “I think it is a brilliant idea, because I still have so much to learn.”
“And I intend to teach you everything. Besides that, we can attend your sister’s wedding.” He flipped her over onto her back again and pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her firmly, as if staking one more claim upon her; then he drew back and rose up on all fours above her. His hair fell forward over his temples.
With a sudden burst of energy, he leaped off the bed and strode naked to the desk. “I will write to my brother tonight and convey our happy news.” He searched around for paper and quill, flipped open the lid of the ink jar, and immediately dipped his writing utensil into it.
Véronique sat up and hugged the silk sheet to her breast. “How will you ever ex
plain any of this?” she said with a laugh.
“I’m not sure yet,” her husband replied. “I only hope he survives the shock of it.”
Petersbourg Palace, one week later …
King Randolph’s breathing was suspended momentarily as he blinked a few times and struggled to refocus his vision on the words he could not possibly have read correctly.
He rose from his chair at the large table in the Privy Council Chamber and walked to the window to hold the letter up to the light.
“What is it?” his wife, Alexandra, asked with concern as she set down her quill. She had joined him at the table in the chamber a short while ago to answer her own correspondence, and had obviously taken note of his surprise.
“It’s a letter from Nicholas,” he told her as he continued to read the rest of it.
“What does it say?”
Randolph laughed and lowered the letter to his side. “You will not believe it. He is married!”
“I beg your pardon?” Alexandra held out a hand. “Let me see it for myself.”
Rand circled around the table and handed it to her. She read it quickly and looked up. “It cannot be possible. This must be a hoax.”
“I don’t believe so,” Randolph replied. “I know my brother. He would never joke about something like that. I assure you, he would find no humor in it.” He took the letter back from her and reread some of the details. “It says he plans to stay in France for a month to enjoy his newlywed status, but asks that we do not alert the newspapers just yet, for he wants to present his bride properly upon his return.”
Alexandra shook her head in disbelief. “Who in God’s name is this unlikely bride? She must be quite a woman to have succeeded where every other woman has failed before. Nicholas! Married!”
Randolph laughed in agreement. “It is a miracle, isn’t it?” He stared at his beloved queen and smiled before referring back to the letter. “According to Nicholas, she is of French descent, and he met her at a masked ball. He will explain everything when he arrives at the end of the month. Until then, he intends to remain at d’Entremont Manor, which he says is on the coast, near Dieppe.”
“I wonder if that is her family’s estate?” Alexandra asked.
Randolph flipped the letter over to look at the back. “He doesn’t say. He hasn’t even told us her name. That is so like Nicholas.”
Alexandra’s eyebrows lifted. “I just hope he doesn’t find a way to turn this happy event into another scandal—for that, too, would be so like Nicholas.”
Randolph sat down, tipped his head back to look up at the ceiling, and squeezed the chair arms. “My God, you’re right. What if she’s a barmaid?”
“Or a widow with six children.”
He sighed as he regarded his wife in the fading light. “I suppose we should brace ourselves for anything.”
PART II
A Prince’s Homecoming
Chapter Twenty
“Is something wrong, Nicholas?” Véronique asked as she sat forward in the coach and laid a hand on her husband’s thigh. “You’ve seemed irritable since we crossed the border.”
Not just irritable, she thought. Distant. All those leisurely days of sensual enchantment at d’Entremont Manor had been magical. They had gone riding together each morning at dawn, and had dined privately by candlelight in his bedchamber each night. He had loved her unreservedly and been a perfect husband, but now it all seemed a lifetime away—as if it had been a mere dream, but it was time to wake up. Soon they would return to his world, which would be strange and unfamiliar to her.
He propped an elbow on the windowsill of the coach while resting his temple on a finger. Eventually he turned to look at her. “Have I?”
“Yes. You’ve hardly spoken to me. You seem lost in thought. I hope—now that we are returning to your home—that you are not suddenly steeped in regret.”
She had known when she entered into this that it was a stretch to imagine he would be a faithful husband. Even Nicholas had warned her against believing such a thing. But she couldn’t help herself. She would not give up on him.
He angled his body on the seat to face her. “I suppose I don’t enjoy endless coach rides over bumpy roads, but you are mad if you think I could have any regrets. How many times must I tell you? You are my obsession.” He pressed his lips to hers, and she was immediately pulled into the intoxicating fire of his allure.
He was her husband now, and their month together in France had been the most pleasurable of her life. Surely she had nothing to fret about, for later today, they would reach Petersbourg Palace and she would meet his brother, the king.
She had married a handsome prince, and she was the luckiest woman on earth. It was time to embrace her new life.
* * *
There was some talk of having Véronique formally presented to Randolph and Alexandra in the throne room, but Nicholas quashed that idea when he barged into his brother’s private apartments and found him dozing on the bed at four o’clock in the afternoon.
“I roll into the courtyard after two months in France, and you cannot be bothered to get out of bed and welcome me home?”
Randolph sat up. “Nicholas!” He leaped off the bed, strode quickly across the room, and pulled Nicholas into his arms. He slapped him heartily on the back. “Welcome home! We didn’t expect you until next week.”
Nicholas collapsed into a chair before the unlit fireplace. “The weather was good. We made excellent time.”
“The weather was good? That’s all you have to say?” Randolph chuckled as he uncorked a decanter and poured a couple of brandies.
“Should there be more?” Nicholas responded with teasing mischief.
“Bloody well right there should be. Your letter nearly knocked me unconscious when I read it.” He handed the drink to Nicholas and sat down in the facing chair. “And poor Alexandra … The next day she thought she had been hallucinating.”
Nicholas contemplated the amber liquid in the crystal glass and swirled it around. “I thought the same thing myself when I woke up to find myself in bed with a wife. Good God.”
Randolph laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “What the devil happened? Did the woman put some sort of spell on you?”
“Not exactly. She drugged me with laudanum, though,” he casually added as he tipped up his glass and poured the entire contents down his throat.
Randolph threw his head back and laughed. “I’m sure she did. Then she tied you up like a prize sow and dragged your drunken ass to the altar, no doubt.”
Nicholas leaned forward. “We both know I am no sow.”
“Indeed.” Randolph raised his glass as if to toast to Nicholas’s gentlemanly charms and renowned good looks. He took a drink, then lounged back in his chair again. “Damn, it’s good to have you back. And I might as well tell you now. I’ve already bestowed a new royal title on you. You are the Duke and Duchess of Walbrydge. It comes with a property, of course. Now, tell me, really—how did you two meet, and how in God’s name did she convince you to propose? No doubt she is a beauty, but did she have any idea what she was getting into when she said yes?”
“Probably not,” Nicholas replied, “and she is indeed a beauty. You will see for yourself when you meet her, but I warn you, the French accent is somewhat … inebriating.” He raised the empty brandy glass to reference the effect.
“I don’t doubt it.” They clinked their glasses together; then Randolph reached for the decanter and refilled Nicholas’s drink. They sat back in easy companionship and sighed heavily.
“How is Rose?” Nicholas asked about his sister, who had recently married the future emperor of Austria.
“She is very well,” Randolph replied. “She writes often and tells me that Joseph is recovering from the wounds he suffered at Waterloo. She is eager to put the past behind her, and seems content with the choices she has made.”
Rose had nearly married another man entirely, but came to her senses when that man turned out to be a secr
et Royalist and an enemy of the Sebastian monarchy. Leopold Hunt was rotting away in prison when she finally walked down the aisle in Austria … though Hunt was a free man now, after commanding the Petersbourg cavalry at Waterloo.
“I hope she can be happy,” Nicholas said, though he was not entirely confident, for Rose had been quite passionate about Hunt.
But he mustn’t think of that now. He had his own wife to present to the country and a great deal of explaining to do in regards to his inheritance of d’Entremont Manor.
Setting the brandy aside, he rested his elbows on his knees. “We’ve been laughing and joking,” he said to his brother, “but I do have something to tell you, which you may not find quite so amusing.”
Randolph’s brow furrowed with concern. “I had a feeling there was going to be something.”
“Yes … well … Remember when I said my new wife drugged me with laudanum?”
Randolph regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Yes?”
“That’s not the worst of it,” Nicholas continued. “I wasn’t joking, you see, and she did tie me up and drag me out of Paris like a piece of cargo.”
There was a pause.
“Why?”
“She was hired to lure me out of the ball … to kidnap me.”
The hands on the clock ticked a full five seconds before Randolph voiced any response.
“Kidnap you!”
“Yes,” Nicholas replied. “And she performed this task for reasons I must now explain to you, Randolph. But I warn you … it will not be easy for you to hear. For it concerns our mother.”
Randolph frowned. “It sounds like we might need more brandy.”
“Most definitely. Perhaps you should send for a rather large bottle.”
* * *
“What in the world is he going to do?” Alexandra asked later that afternoon as she rocked young Frederick to sleep in her arms. “First of all, does he believe it’s true? Is there any proof?”
Randolph paced back and forth in front of the fire. “He said he saw enough to be convinced, and he has brought much of the evidence with him.”
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