The Trouble With Princesses (35 page)

No desire at all.

There was only one woman he wanted, and she had refused him in the most explicit manner possible.

She had given him back his ring and left.

Ariadne was in his past. He needed to remember that and move on. His ministers were quietly hinting at him again to select a bride, and he supposed he should. But he had no stomach for putting up with some simpering gaggle of girls, certainly none of the ones who had been paraded before him at his father’s funeral last autumn.

Luckily he had the excuse of being in mourning to put them off. He would use it for a while longer.

In the meantime, he would work harder to extinguish the last of his emotions for Ariadne.

I shall banish her from my mind. And even more so, from my heart, once and for all.

“Do you not agree, Your Majesty?”

Rupert glanced at his private secretary, having heard not so much as a word the man had been saying. “What?”

“The arrangements for the coronation. Will you be wanting to personally review the guest list before the invitations are issued or shall we follow the traditional protocol?”

Rupert scowled.

The coronation again. It was months away yet, scheduled to take place in the coming summer, when dignitaries from all over Europe and beyond would be able to comfortably make the journey. He knew there was a great deal of planning to be done, but right now he could summon no interest in the matter.

“I have not yet decided,” he stated.

“Yes, but the grand chamberlain said he—”

“I do not care what the grand chamberlain may have had to say on the subject,” he snapped. “I will make a decision when I am ready and not a moment before. Is that understood?”

His secretary grew instantly silent, then nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty. Your pardon if I was too insistent. I clearly must have spoken out of turn.”

But he had not, and Rupert knew that if anyone should apologize, it was he. His temper was unusually volatile of late, and his household had begun being especially cautious around him for fear he would lash out at them with the wrong side of his tongue or worse.

He’d dismissed one of his father’s old retainers three weeks ago for bringing him shaving water that was too hot. He’d made amends later, giving the old man a generous pension, but the damage had been done.

He stifled a sigh and worked to moderate his tone. “Is there anything else this morning?”

“No. Only the correspondence. I have reviewed and organized it for your attention, everything except a letter from your sister, the archduchess, that is. I have it here.”

The younger man passed him the stack of mail, along with a single unopened missive written on elegant cream-colored vellum.

So Emma had written him again.

She, Dominic, and the children were back in England, busy passing the winter at their country estate, Lynd Park. Last he’d heard, Ariadne was not with them but in Scotland with Princess Mercedes and her family, where she had been since the autumn.

But what did he care? He wasn’t going to think about her anymore.

“Thank you,” he told the other man. “That will be all for now.”

His secretary bowed, gathered a few belongings, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

Rupert watched the snow for a long minute, then reached for the letter.

She spoke mostly of the Christmas celebration just past and how she wished he might have joined them, but understood that he could not get away easily. She relayed news of his nephews’ latest antics, a boat race Dominic was organizing for late spring, and her good health concerning her pregnancy.

It was on this last score that he came to full attention.

I had a note only the other day from Mercedes, who was just recently delivered of a strapping baby boy. She had an easy time in childbed. One can only hope the same will hold true for Ariadne when that day comes for her.

When that day comes for her? What in the blazes was that supposed to mean?

Ariadne wasn’t pregnant and she certainly wasn’t about to give birth in the near future. So what could Emma possibly mean?

Unless she was trying to tell him something.

Unless . . .

He felt the color drain out of his face.

Unless she is pregnant, and with my child!

Chapter Thirty-one

A
riadne snuggled deeper into her chair and stretched her slippered toes toward the toasty fire that blazed in the drawing room’s wide stone hearth.

Outside, the late February air was cold and damp, the winds that blew in off the Atlantic whistling around the castle walls in steady gusts that would have shaken a lesser building to its rafters. But they were all safe and warm and comfortable inside, the castle’s formerly drafty interior pleasantly snug now due to Daniel MacKinnon’s extensive, and most excellent, improvements to what had not long ago been a crumbling ruin.

Still, no matter how cozy she might be at the moment, tucked away with a book, a blanket across her lap, and a mug of hot cider, Ariadne knew she could not hide here with her friends forever. When spring arrived and the land turned green once more, she would have to make some decisions.

Maybe she would take a house in Italy or Greece for a few months. She’d been told the sunshine in such climes could chase away even the worst kinds of doldrums. If only the idea brought her some measure of excitement. But try as she might, nothing seemed to cheer her of late; not even Mercedes and Daniel’s adorable children could rouse more than a wan smile.

Back at the end of September, her twenty-fifth birthday had arrived at long last, and with it possession of her full inheritance.

She was an independent woman now; she could do whatever she liked, go anywhere her fancy might take her.

Yet what had brought her such anticipatory joy only a few months earlier no longer had the power to excite her. Once she had dreamed of traveling the world and making her mark as a notorious adventuress, but the thrill over such plans had gone.

The whole notion bored her now.

As for finding a new lover, the idea left her ice-cold. She couldn’t imagine inviting another man into her bed, not after Rupert. Anyone else would be a poor second, and she’d never been the sort of woman who was willing to settle for imitations. She’d given him her innocence and in turn he’d stolen her heart. She had nothing left to give anymore.

I wonder what he is doing?

Probably choosing a proper bride with lofty connections and a dowry that would line Rosewald’s coffers with gold for the next millennium.

Scowling, she forced herself to return to her reading, pushing her spectacles higher onto her nose so she could clearly see the page.

A soft knock sounded at the door about ten minutes later. The butler came inside. “Excuse me, Your Highness, but a visitor has arrived.”

Ariadne lowered her book. “A visitor? In this weather?”

Not to mention at this time of year. Daniel and Mercedes didn’t receive many calls during the winter, not even from their neighbors, who had far too much sense to venture out on raw, blustery days like this one.

“Whoever it is must be here to see the major or Princess Mercedes. Did you put them in the drawing room?”

“I did. However, the gentleman asked specifically for you.”

“For me?” she repeated, confused. “But who would call on me here?”

“I would,” said a deep, silvery voice she had thought never to hear again. “Hello, Ariadne.”

Her gaze flew to Rupert, her heart beating like a trapped bird as she drank in the sight of him.

He stood on the threshold, looking tall and magnificent and every inch a king. His golden hair was windblown, his cheeks ruddy from the elements through which he had so recently traveled. Had he come on horseback? The roads were notoriously slick this time of year; she wasn’t sure a coach could even make the trip.

Without waiting for her permission, he strode deeper into the room.

She gave a nod to the servant, dismissing him. When she looked again at Rupert, he was staring at her, his eyes raking her body with curious intensity.

She crossed her arms. “What are you doing here? Did Mercedes or Daniel know you might be arriving? No one mentioned to me that you were expected.”

Yes, why has he come?
she wondered, her pulse racing as she considered the possibilities. She could think of only one reason that made any sense and yet it seemed much too good to be true.

Could it be that he had missed her?

Could it be that he had come here for her?

“They did not know I was en route,” he told her. “I traveled quickly, sailing most of the way, and made the journey as fast, or faster, than a message could have been sent. But why waste our time exchanging useless niceties? You must know why I am here.”

Again, his gaze fell to her lap and he stared hard at the blanket covering her, as if he were puzzling out some mystery he couldn’t quite solve.

An answering frown settled across her forehead. “No, I am afraid I do not. You shall have to make it plainer.”

Without warning, he stalked forward. “Do not dissemble with me, Ariadne. I had Emma’s letter. I know that you lied to me.”

“Lied? About what?”

“Remove that blanket and quit hiding.”

“Hiding? You make no sense.”

“Fine. I shall do it for you.” Reaching out, he yanked the thick plaid up and away.

•   •   •

Rupert stared, prepared to find her belly round and heavy with his child. Instead, her figure was trim and slender, perhaps even a bit thinner than the last time he’d seen her.

Maybe she was one of those women who barely showed, even late in the pregnancy.

She rose from her chair and despite the new angle, he still couldn’t find so much as a curve. Her stomach was as flat as ever.

“I thought there would be some visible sign of the child by now,” he said.

“What child?” she demanded, her eyebrows arching.

He ignored her perplexed expression, reminding himself that she had deceived him. “The one you are carrying. Unless I miscalculated the date of conception, you ought to be about seven months along and displaying evidence of your impending maternity.”

Though how he could have miscalculated he did not know. They’d been fully intimate for only a short time late last summer; it narrowed the timing down considerably.

Her mouth fell open for a moment before she snapped it shut again. She crossed her arms over her chest. “So that is why you are here? Because you believe I am with child?”

“Clearly.”

“And how does Emma factor into this?” she questioned. “You say she wrote to you?”

“As you ought to have done,” he added, unable to keep the accusation from his voice. “How could you have lied to me like this? How could you have thought to keep my own son from me? My heir?”

All animation drained from her expression; then her chin came up at a dangerous tilt. “So that is what you think of me, is it? That I would be so low as to try to conceal a pregnancy and keep a baby from you?”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “What else am I to believe under the circumstances? Is that why you ran away? Because you thought I would not want our child?”

“I
ran away
, as you call it, because I refused to be forced to wed out of some misguided sense of honor. As for
your son
, assuming it would even be a son, I am afraid I must disappoint you on that score. There is no baby. I told you in Rosewald that I had not conceived and I have not. I am not with child.”

His fingers clenched at his sides. “But Emma—”

“Said exactly what? Did she actually tell you I am enceinte?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Then how, precisely?”

He cast his mind back, searching his memory for the wording. What had she said again? Something to the effect that she hoped Ariadne had an easy time in childbed when her time came. He supposed Ariadne was right; Emma had not come straight out and said Ariadne was pregnant. She’d simply insinuated, even though Emma wasn’t generally the type to insinuate anything.

His gaze locked with Ariadne’s.

Blazes!
I’ve been duped! And by my little sister, no less.

“Exactly,” Ariadne said, clearly reading on his face the conclusion he’d drawn.

“But why?”

“I can only presume that Emma wanted to play matchmaker. Even though I have told her our engagement was never real in a romantic sense, she has some misguided notion that we are in love. No doubt she thought if she got you to come chasing up here after me, we would talk and fall into each other’s arms again, happy evermore.”

She shrugged and looked away. “But all she has done is upset and inconvenience us both. You in particular. I am sorry that you traveled such a very long way for nothing. At least you can rest easy now that you know I am not with child.”

His shoulders sank, an unmistakable sense of disappointment sweeping through him. Had he wanted Ariadne to be pregnant? He realized now that he had. He realized too that for all his anger over her supposed deception, he’d been exultant, knowing he would have a reason to bind her to him again.

But without a baby, there was nothing.

A dreadful bleakness spread through him, a sensation akin to death.

He’d come here prepared to take her home with him. Was he really going to leave without her? Was he truly about to let her go . . . forever?

•   •   •

Ariadne turned her back, unable to bear looking at him for another minute. It was killing her being so close yet knowing he had come only for the child he’d believed she carried. He didn’t want her; he wanted his heir. He would have married her, of course, but out of duty again.

Always duty.

How could Emma have done this to her? And if she wasn’t mistaken, Mercedes as well. She could well imagine the two of them conspiring behind her back, convinced that Rupert felt much more than he actually did. But they were mistaken, tragically so, their interference nothing more than wishful thinking.