The Prince's Bride

by Julianne MacLean

  “What do you say we all take a drive over to Wolcott’s and see what’s what?” the Earl of Rutherford suggested. “We could play some cards.”

  Nicholas leisurely sat back, waiting for the other men to respond.

  “That sounds like a capital idea,” Danforth replied. “Though the wives won’t appreciate it.” He turned his attention to Nicholas. “Yours, especially.”

  Nicholas frowned. Did they consider it an inevitable outcome of his marriage—that his wife would be continually disgruntled? His gaze lifted and he regarded Danforth with a hint of displeasure. “How do you mean?”

  Danforth cleared his throat awkwardly. “Nothing … I only meant to imply that you are newlyweds. I doubt she’s ready to give you up yet. The fires of nuptial bliss are still burning brightly, surely?”

  “I certainly hope she thinks so,” Nicholas coolly replied, and the others chuckled uneasily.

  Lord Rutherford set down his glass. “Well, then? Who’s in?”

  Nicholas finished his drink and looked out at the shadowy movement of the traffic rolling by.

  Was it midnight yet? he wondered. Perhaps there was time for one quick game. Then he immediately resented his awareness of the hour, for he hadn’t had a curfew since he was fourteen years old. Just because he had taken a wife did not mean he must live like a recluse.

  “I’m in,” he said decisively as he set down his glass and rose to his feet.

  * * *

  Véronique woke late the next morning and realized with disappointment that it was the first night she had slept alone since speaking her wedding vows in the chapel at d’Entremont Manor.

  Immediately she began to explore the possibilities. Perhaps Nicholas had fallen asleep, for they were both in need of rest. She had not slept a full night—uninterrupted—since before the abduction in Paris.

  She rose from bed, rang for her maid, and enjoyed a light breakfast of honey ham, eggs, and toast with elderberry preserves. Just as she was finishing the last of her tea, however, she heard a ruckus in the courtyard outside the window, and rose from her chair to look below.

  A carriage had just pulled up. A groomsman was running to take hold of the team, while a footman lowered the iron step and opened the door.

  To her horror, out stepped her husband—looking quite decidedly disheveled. He climbed the palace steps and entered through the front door. Véronique immediately rang for a maid to collect her breakfast tray.

  So. He had not come home at all last night.

  Where in the world had he been?

  Fighting against an instinctive wave of feminine suspicion, she forced herself to sit down and remain calm. She must not presume the worst. She promised herself that when she saw Nicholas, she would not accuse him of anything, and she would certainly not behave like those other women, who threw jealous fits and tantrums, and stormed out of rooms.

  But where had he been?

  Since it was her usual habit to stroll in the back garden with Alexandra in the mornings, she decided she would not alter that routine. She made her way to the family drawing room to meet her sister-in-law, but found it empty. Perhaps Véronique was too late, and Alexandra had already left the palace without her.

  Véronique was on her way to the back terrace when she encountered her husband descending the stairs. He stopped halfway and said, “I was just looking for you.”

  “Were you indeed?” she cheerfully replied.

  He inclined his head as if he were suspicious of her overly decorous response, then continued down the steps in a relaxed fashion.

  She noticed with some discontent the dark shadow of stubble at his jaw, and the fact that he wore the same clothes he’d had on the night before. Had he removed them at any point and dressed himself again this morning? Where had he slept? A wild assortment of images whirled about in her brain, and she found it increasingly difficult to convey a casual cheer.

  “All right, let’s have it,” he said, bracing both feet on the floor and folding his arms. “You’re angry with me.” He spoke as if he wanted it to be so.

  “No. I am not.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that you failed to notice my absence last night?” he asked. “That you are oblivious of the fact that I didn’t come to your bed?”

  She let out a huff. “Fine, Nicholas. I noticed, all right? If you wish to torture me with it, you have achieved your goal. Are you satisfied?”

  “Not really, because torturing you was not my intention.”

  Véronique hesitated, and ran her hands over her skirts. “Where were you last night?” she asked. “I waited and waited … then I couldn’t stay awake any longer.”

  His eyebrows lifted and his eyes smiled at her, as if all the problems in the world had just been resolved. “I apologize for keeping you waiting,” he said. “I did think of you last night, my love. Might I mention you look splendid today?” His gaze dipped to her breasts and the full length of her gown. “That color becomes you.”

  What a perfectly charming and evasive answer, Véronique thought.

  When he offered no more explanation about his whereabouts the night before, she resisted the urge to question him further, turned away, and crossed the hall to the back doors. “If you will excuse me, darling, I must meet Alexandra for our daily walk.”

  “Very well, then,” he replied as he, too, turned to walk in the opposite direction. “I shall see you later.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “He didn’t come home last night,” Véronique said to Alexandra as they strolled together across the wide expanse of green lawn beyond the cedars.

  Alexandra twirled her lace-trimmed sunshade. “Well … it’s not the first time he’s stayed out until dawn, though he hasn’t done that since he brought you home.” She paused, then spoke carefully. “If it makes any difference, you should know that he is not the same man he was before you entered his life. The fact that he wanted marriage at all is a miracle in itself. So you have caused a transformation in him, Véronique. Randolph and I are quite astounded by it. We almost do not recognize him.”

  Véronique contemplated the rhythm of their matched footsteps as they spoke openly in the warm autumn sunshine. “I am happy you are pleased about our marriage, but I don’t want to be the sort of wife who tries to change the man she married, and honestly, I am not even sure I know who that man is, now that we are here. Our honeymoon was lovely, but everything is very different in Petersbourg.”

  Alexandra considered that. “You believe he was not himself in France?”

  “Honestly, I do not know. I always knew he had a reputation, but I saw something more in him. I still see something more. I believe he is ten times the man his father made him out to be. I just hope Nicholas believes it, too.”

  They continued to walk at a steady pace. “Are you worried about other women?” Alexandra asked.

  Véronique squinted up at the sky. “They do have me a bit unhinged, I’m afraid. I see how they look at him, and who can blame them? I am working hard to keep my head on straight, however. I just wish I knew where he was last night.”

  Alexandra linked her arm through Véronique’s. “Oh, my dear sister. The first year of marriage is often the most difficult, especially when you don’t know each other very well, but you will both soon settle in. Give it time.”

  Véronique thought of her home in France and her sister, Gabrielle, now married to the great love of her life and living happily in the country with a child on the way. Perhaps Robert was carving their names into a tree at this very moment and circling them with a heart.

  For the first time since her arrival here, a wave of homesickness washed over Véronique, but she did her best to send it back out to sea.

  * * *

  Véronique took her time dressing for dinner, for she required some peace and solitude after a full afternoon at the hospital with Alexandra.

  It had been her first official function as a royal, and though she took great pride in the work they had accompl
ished in addressing the need for a new hospital, she had not relished the crowd’s intense and probing fascination with her as a person.

  Eyes were trained on her constantly. Ladies whispered to one another while openly judging her hairstyle and choice of gown, even the set of her shoulders and the length of her strides.

  Though she did her best to smile and shake hands with everyone, it had been an exhausting experience, and she was relieved when it came time to return to the coach and drive away.

  This evening, as she stood before the cheval glass watching her maid fasten the pearl buttons at the back of her gown, she took a moment to be grateful for her situation. She had made a spectacular marriage and had wedded a handsome prince, and was now a duchess living in a royal palace. In addition to all that, her husband was a wonderful lover—

  A knock sounded at her door, and Nicholas walked in. He was clean-shaven and impeccably dressed, which was a stark contrast to his appearance earlier that morning.

  “Leave us, please,” he said to the maid, who immediately scurried out.

  As soon as they were alone, Véronique faced him. “What are you doing here?” Her tone was less intimate than she’d intended.

  But why? Was she worried that his warnings were coming to pass, that he could not live up to her lofty expectations and be the faithful husband she believed he could be?

  “I wanted to see you,” he replied, striding closer and reminding her how easily she could tumble into the tempting splendor of his good looks and impossible charm, for he was wielding both with full force this evening.

  He stood before her and held up a blue velvet drawstring bag, which he dangled before her eyes.

  “What’s this?” she asked, making no move to touch it.

  “A gift.”

  “What for?”

  He continued to hold it suspended between them. “Can a husband not present a gift to his wife, for no reason at all?”

  Still, she did not reach for it. “Perhaps.”

  His shoulders slumped in disappointment, and he lowered the velvet bag to his side. “What is wrong, Véronique?”

  “Nothing. I just—” She swallowed. “—I would like to know where you slept last night.”

  There. She’d said it. She’d laid it all out.

  “I didn’t sleep anywhere,” he explained as he watched her sit down on an upholstered stool and slip on a pair of shoes. “Did you think I was with someone?”

  “No, of course not,” she replied.

  “But you’re lying to me,” he said. “I can hear it in your voice … see it in your eyes. You are not sure. You think I may have betrayed you last night.”

  She did her best to maintain an aura of faith in him. “No, Nicholas, that is not true.”

  “I have nothing to hide,” he assured her. “If you want to know every detail, I was with a few old friends at Wolcott’s playing cards until dawn—and winning, I might add. Ask them if you want. They will vouch for me, though I would prefer it if you would take me at my word.”

  “Cards?” She faced him.

  “Yes.” He seemed very disappointed in her, and she wanted to sink through the floor. Then he slipped his fingers into the velvet bag and withdrew a diamond necklace. “This is what I purchased with my winnings this morning. Do you like it?”

  She stared numbly at the exquisite adornment, which was worth more than anything she’d ever worn in her lifetime. The diamonds sparkled like exploding stars. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “May I put it on you?”

  She laid her hand on her bare throat and let out a small laugh, for she was determined to lighten the mood and put that disagreeable—and regrettable—conversation behind them. “A man who offers diamonds to a lady may do anything he likes.”

  With a somewhat subdued smile, her husband moved around her to fasten the chain behind her neck. Véronique walked to the looking glass. “It’s too much,” she said.

  Was it possible for a woman to be blinded by such dazzling extravagance?

  “Not for you,” he replied as he laid both hands on her shoulders.

  His touch sent a wave of heat into her depths. He had been playing cards with old friends, and he had spent his winnings on her.

  Véronique turned to face him. “I am sorry for doubting you,” she said. “You did not deserve that, and it was wrong of me.”

  His gaze fixed upon her lips, and desire sizzled through her body as he pressed his mouth to hers. Seconds later he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  * * *

  “Did you see the paper today?” Randolph asked Nicholas when he entered the sunlit breakfast room.

  Nicholas poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “No. Is there a headline worth reading?”

  He already knew by the tone of his brother’s voice that it was something out of the ordinary, perhaps even shocking. It would not be the first time Randolph had thrown a newspaper at him over the breakfast table, for Nicholas had been the subject of many colorful headlines over the past decade. Usually they required clever maneuvering to control the damage.

  This morning, however, Randolph slid the paper across the white tablecloth and sat back looking pleased.

  Nicholas picked it up.

  DUKE AND DUCHESS OF WALBRYDGE WIN HEARTS AT LOCAL ORPHANAGE

  The article went on to praise Nicholas and Véronique for their recent visit to Gibson House, where they inspected the grounds, played ball with the children, then Nicholas gave a speech to encourage donations to the city’s oldest orphanage.

  “How does it feel to be the subject of adoration for a change?” Randolph asked when Nicholas set the paper down.

  “It feels better than being the subject of scorn,” he replied, “but I don’t trust the editors to keep it up. I’ve been a target long enough to know they can adjust their aim in a heartbeat.”

  Randolph sipped his coffee. “You are too jaded. Enjoy it for once, will you? And thank your wife for charming everyone within a twenty-mile radius. I don’t believe she realizes how lovely she is, and how popular she has become. They are quite fascinated by her.”

  “Because she has captured and tamed the wild dog,” Nicholas finished for him.

  “Yes, I suppose that is part of it, but what does it matter? The people are taken with her, and they admire your new respectability.”

  Nicholas looked up. “So I shouldn’t disappoint them, then.”

  It was a loaded question, but he wanted to hear his brother’s opinion on a matter they had not discussed since the day he arrived in Petersbourg.

  “You are referring to your inheritance in France,” Randolph said.

  “Yes. I need to know what you think about it. The way I see it, there are two choices: I could quietly dispose of the property and bury the scandal, and continue to shock the world by being faithful to my wife. Or I could confess my illegitimacy and prove to everyone that I am—and always will be—a permanent disaster.”

  “Does it matter to you what they think?” Randolph asked.

  “Six months ago, I would have said no, it doesn’t matter a damn—but that was before Véronique. Now, I find I do not want to disappoint her.”

  It was an unusual concern for him—to care what a woman thought of him outside the bedroom, long after the initial seduction and conquest had taken place. But Véronique was different. She saw something in him—something worthwhile—and she had helped him when he needed her. He owed her a great debt.

  And he craved her body every waking moment of the day.

  He suddenly felt like a man on a ledge, teetering at the mercy of the wind, which could blow him over at any moment. He, who’d never wanted a wife, was terrified that she would eventually discover the truth and find him lacking in all qualities that made a man worthy of being a husband.

  He was afraid he would take a wrong step and prove himself unfit for a life of matrimony. In truth, he felt almost destined to disappoint her.

  “I bel
ieve it should be your decision,” Randolph said. “So what will you do? Will you keep d’Entremont Manor, or wash your hands of what happened in France, so that no one ever knows?”

  Nicholas experienced a flash memory of swimming naked in the lake at d’Entremont Manor with Véronique one night at dusk. He also recalled lying beneath the stars on the lawn overlooking the Channel the night before they departed for Petersbourg. They had been happy there, near to her family.

  The memories continued.…

  He thought of the afternoon he spent with her father patching up a hole in the plaster ceiling of Véronique’s childhood bedchamber, which Mrs. Montagne wanted to convert into a sewing room, so that she could make little shirts and dresses for her future grandchildren.

  How could Nicholas wash his hands of such a life? It was a very different world, and he did not wish to let it go.

  “I do not know what I will do,” he replied, “but I am certain of one thing. I would die before I dragged Véronique into a scandal. She doesn’t deserve it, nor does her family. They believe I rescued them from the very depths of dishonor and despair, and I suppose I did. I do not wish to drag them back down again.”

  Randolph considered all of that. “You asked me what I thought, and I will tell you now. I believe it is the right decision to keep Mother’s infidelity a secret. I don’t see what good could come of revealing it now, after all these years. Lord d’Entremont is gone—therefore, he has no hold over you, nor can he be a true father to you. Your life is here in Petersbourg. You are my brother. Nothing will ever change that.”

  Nicholas stood up and paced around the room. He stopped to look up at the portrait of his parents over the mantel, and wished there were a way to understand the decisions his mother had made.

  His father, King Frederick, had been an intimidating man, and it was not surprising that she had obeyed his command and returned to her post as his queen. At the same time, Nicholas suspected she would have returned regardless, out of a sense of duty and a love for Randolph.

  His brother was right. What good could come of smearing all their names and endangering the future stability of the country, when it had taken so long to achieve peace and see people satisfied with their new monarchy?