The Prince’s Bride (29 page)

Véronique received her fair share of scratches as well, for everyone was suddenly
questioning her basic morals, and asking why any woman would choose to marry a man
with such a terrible reputation. Did she not see it? Was she a fortune-hunter or social
climber?

Or had she been seduced like all the others? Perhaps even ravished?

Then, there were strange, preposterous rumors of a kidnapping.…

Nicholas tossed the newspaper onto her bed and spread his arms wide, as if surrendering
completely to whatever dreadful fate was about to befall them next.

“See for yourself,” he said. “Then sharpen your sword, darling, like everyone else,
and take a swing. Cut me to pieces. Here I am.”

Recognizing his frustration, she walked to the bed and picked up the paper.

PETERSBOURG PALACE DISGRACED AGAIN

Since the announcement of his illegitimacy, Bastard Prince Nicholas has been hiding
behind the palace gates to avoid public censure. It has recently been discovered,
however, that the wild young buck has been slipping out in the early mornings to exercise
his freedoms.

May we take this time to remind our readers about a scandal from a previous year,
when the notoriously rakish royal seduced and ruined a respected duke’s beloved daughter
at the Hanover Hotel?

The editors of this paper have lately discovered that the Bastard Prince secretly
met with the young lady—who has come forward to expose his ungentlemanly conduct—both
on the night of her seduction more than a year ago, and on another more recent occasion
when he came upon her in the park during her morning ride.

Again, he attempted to charm and lure her into the forest, surely to engage her in
scandalous activities that shall remain a mystery—for the young lady was fortunate
enough to escape the notorious Bastard’s clutches and gallop away as fast as her mount
could take her.

Véronique immediately crossed to the hearth and tossed the gossip sheet into the flames.
She watched it burn and crumple to ash; then her husband’s hand came to rest on her
shoulder.

She turned to look up at him. “How much of it is true?”

“Some of it,” he replied. “I did have an affair with that particular woman at the
Hanover Hotel more than a year ago, and there was a noisy scandal about it at the
time. But who seduced whom remains a question that will go unanswered, for we later
discovered that her family took bribes to help smear my family’s name. It was a Royalist
plot to set wheels in motion that would remove my brother from the throne, to be replaced
by another. We believe the young lady played a part in it, and lured me to her room
in the hotel, not the other way around.”

“Did you really ruin her?” Véronique asked.

He chuckled bitterly. “I assure you, she had been ruined long before I entered the
scene.”

It was never a pleasant thought, to imagine her husband making love to another woman,
but Véronique could not blame Nicholas for things that happened before they met.

“What about this week?” she asked. “I know you have gone riding alone in the mornings.
Did you see her in the park?”

“No. That part of the story is pure fiction. I have gone riding, but I have neither
seen nor spoken to anyone. Perhaps someone else saw me, however, and recognized an
opportunity. This is all lies, Véronique, for the purpose of selling papers. Can you
continue to weather it?”

She had to admit, after reading all the gossip printed about them over the past week,
a small part of her was tempted to summon a carriage and travel straight back to France,
where there would be no more spiteful stories about her husband’s infidelities and
ungentlemanly conduct, and her own immoral behavior.

Every word published stung her like a poisonous insect, and it took great strength
of will to remember that these were the words of strangers, and no one knew the honest
truth about her husband’s heart, or the integrity of his character. Or hers.

She laid a hand on his cheek. “For you, I can weather anything, because I love you
more than life itself.”

He turned his face into her open palm and kissed it, then placed it over his heart.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Over the next seven days, Nicholas and Véronique went riding together in the park
each morning. They galloped fast across the snow-covered meadows in plain view, shamelessly
inviting anyone to secretly follow and write about their laughter and togetherness.
Not surprisingly, no one seemed the least bit interested in their success as a married
couple. There was no news in that. So Nicholas and Véronique simply enjoyed the crisp
winter air on their cheeks and the opportunity to escape prying eyes for a part of
each day that belonged solely to them.

On the eighth day, Nicholas was invited to a private breakfast alone with the prime
minister, which he and Véronique discussed at great length the night before.

“What do you think he wants?” she asked. “You don’t suppose it has anything to do
with his niece, do you?”

Nicholas slipped into bed beside her. “God forbid, I cannot imagine Mrs. Kennedy would
have allowed her uncle to discover the truth about her infidelities. But I suppose
anything is possible in this age of scandal-rousing. The country seems obsessed.”

“The war is over and Napoléon is gone,” she said. “They have nothing else to write
about. But if the prime minister does know, what will he do, Nicholas? Should we be
worried?”

Nicholas gathered her into his arms. “Mr. Carlton is a good man, and I consider him
a friend. If anything, I believe he may wish to offer a show of support. Perhaps he
wants to help us emerge from this nightmare unscathed.” He rolled on top of her, settled
his hips snugly between her thighs, and lit her body on fire.

“I would hardly call this a nightmare,” she breathlessly replied as he entered her.

Closing her eyes, Véronique arched her back and cupped her husband’s muscular buttocks
in her hands, pulling him deep inside. A spark of pleasure flared in her blood, while
she reveled in the incomprehensible joy of this lovemaking.

In that moment, she didn’t give a damn what the newspapers printed about either one
of them. This was all that mattered.

*   *   *

Nicholas knocked on the door to the prime minister’s private residence a few minutes
before nine the following morning. The butler greeted him with a bow and invited him
into the main hall, where he collected Nicholas’s hat and coat. “If you will follow
me this way, Your Grace, breakfast is being served in the green room.”

The house, located in one of the fashionable new neighborhoods on the outskirts of
the city, boasted large, south-facing windows. For that reason it was brightly lit
by the sun reflecting off the fresh white snow that covered the grounds outside.

Nicholas followed the butler to the rear wing of the house, which overlooked the river,
and through a set of double doors that opened to reveal a large table covered with
bowls of ripe, colorful fruits; biscuits on platters; cheeses and meats. The delicious
aroma of fresh coffee filled the air.

No one was present in the room to greet him, however, so the butler left him alone.
He backed out and closed the double doors behind him.

Nicholas stood in silence; then the clock on the mantel began to chime the hour. It
was nine o’clock. He was exactly on time, but where was Mr. Carlton?

His stomach growled with hunger as the scent of the warm biscuits reached his nostrils.
At last the clock finished its ninth chime, and the door on the opposite side of the
room opened.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” his hostess greeted cheerfully.

Nicholas lowered his head.
Damn.

“Good morning,” he flatly replied before he looked up and watched Elizabeth Kennedy
enter the room, take a seat, and gesture for him to join her at the table. “Where
is your uncle?”

“He left for the country house yesterday,” she replied. “Did no one tell you?”

“Of course no one told me,” Nicholas testily replied. “I received his invitation only
yesterday. Was there a change of plans?”

He knew, however, that there had been no change, for there had never been an invitation
from Mr. Carlton to begin with. It had come from Lizzie, alone.

A clever scheme, he thought, but it would get her nowhere, for he had no intention
of staying.

“I am sure you’ve realized by now,” she said, “that I am the one who invited you.
Please sit down, Nicholas. I had the cook prepare all your favorites. Look, there
are raspberry cakes with chocolate.”

“I’m not hungry,” he snapped, then turned to leave. He reached the door, but it was
locked. Bloody hell. Clenching his jaw, he turned to face her. “Where is the key?”

She grinned shamelessly and pointed into her cleavage. “Come and get it, darling.”

He flexed his fingers while the beat of his pulse intensified. “No,” he firmly said.
“You will fetch it yourself and open this door at once.”

“Or else …
what
?” she asked. “Will you throw me over your knee and spank me? I really wish you would,
Nicholas. Ever since you left for France, I’ve been a very naughty girl with very
naughty thoughts.”

He glared at her maliciously. “Are you going to unlock the door?”

She reclined back in the chair, parted her legs, and slowly lifted her skirts above
her knees. “Surely you know me better than that. You know I won’t surrender until
I get what I want.”

“Fine,” he growled. Then he reached into his jacket pocket, withdrew his pistol, loaded
it on the spot, and shot the lock and doorknob to bits.

Mrs. Kennedy screamed and leaped out of her chair. “What the devil are you doing?”

He swung around and bowed with a flourish. “Exactly what it looks like, madam. I am
letting myself out. Please inform your uncle that I will cover the cost of the damages.
Feel free to explain why I was forced to take such extreme measures. Good day to you.”

With that, he pulled the door open and strode into the corridor.

“Wait! No! You cannot leave!” Elizabeth ran after him and grabbed hold of his arm.

He shook her off and continued toward the stairs.

“
Please!
Stay … just fifteen minutes more.”

He stopped dead. “Why fifteen minutes?”

She stared at him with panic, and suddenly he understood exactly what was happening
here. She hadn’t invited him to tempt him into resuming their affair. This was a trap.

A rush of adrenaline burned in his muscles, and he shoved her up against the wall.
“What’s going on?”

Recognizing the dangerous fury in his eyes, she wisely revealed what she knew about
a plan that was already in motion.

Nicholas immediately released her and dashed out of the house to return to the palace,
where Véronique would soon be taking her morning ride.
Alone.

*   *   *

With her groom, John, following close behind, Véronique trotted into the bridle path
that would take her through the forest to the look-off point at the top of the ridge.

It was a quiet, windless morning. There was only an inch of snow on the ground, but
it was coated in a thin sheet of ice that sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight.

As she was on her way up, she passed a few others on their way down, and greeted them
with a smile. They responded courteously, but after they passed, she wondered what
they would say behind her back. Perhaps they would report her husband’s absence and
speculate about his whereabouts.

She told herself it did not matter, for he had a perfect alibi. He was having breakfast
with the prime minister, and surely some good would come of their meeting.

When she reached the clearing at the top of the ridge, she dismounted and handed the
reins over to her groom, so that she could rest awhile and enjoy the view.

Her boots crunched over the crystalline snow as she walked, and she tugged her fur
hat lower to cover her ears. Sniffing in the cold, she reached the edge and looked
out over the grand cityscape below. The morning sun reflected off the snowy rooftops,
and tendrils of smoke rose up from thousands of stone chimneys all over the city.

Véronique gently blew out a puff of air to watch her breath float away like steam.
The world seemed completely still and quiet from this height on the mountain, and
she relished the peace … until she heard the sound of her groom’s voice.

Turning, she saw that John was addressing a man on a horse. Then he pointed at her.

Her thoughts darted back to the guard who had accompanied Nicholas into the alehouse,
then subsequently sold information to the newspapers. She wondered if this stranger
on the horse—or her groom, for that matter—could be trusted.

As the rider dismounted and began to approach her, however, she recognized his familiar
gait and the set of his shoulders.

What in God’s name was Pierre doing here?

He wore a friendly expression and held out his gloved hands, as if to assure her that
he meant no harm. Her defenses rose up regardless, for she knew what he was capable
of and wouldn’t trust him for an instant.

She looked toward her groom, who remained with the horses, watching carefully.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Pierre said. “What a lovely winter morning.”

Dispensing with the customary pleasantries, she faced him squarely. “What do you want,
Pierre? And I warn you, my guard is armed.”

Pierre glanced over his shoulder at the young man. “Well, that is a relief, I must
say. I was a bit concerned for your safety when he allowed me to come and speak to
you. I told him we were neighbors from France, and he didn’t even ask my name.”

She shivered in the cold. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”

“To talk to you. That is all. I have a proposition.”

Véronique began trudging through the snow, back to her horse. “I have no interest
in hearing it.”