Bronwyn Scott (23 page)

* * *

Mercedes Lockhart took Brighton by storm, as she had fully intended to do. The gown she’d chosen for the tournament was black with a moderately full skirt to facilitate easy movement, but not nearly as full as common fashion dictated and it was most certainly being worn
without
a petticoat—only the gored folds of the skirt kept it from indecency. But nothing kept the bodice from earning such a label, what there was of it. There were no sleeves or neck, only the heart-shaped torso of the bodice, leaving her
décolletage
entirely bare save the single piece of jewellery she wore on a thin black ribbon: Greer’s star, shining and silver. Her hair was worn in her customary drape over one shoulder. She smiled at the nearly quieted crowd, only to have it go wild again. Kendall Carlisle, the tournament’s designated master of ceremonies, let it. Mercedes Lockhart was good for business. She sailed through the preliminary rounds, her luck and skill holding unchallenged. But in the quarter-finals her luck failed. Her father was still alive and playing spectacularly well.

So be it. Mercedes studied the table, steeling herself for the upcoming match. If she meant to win the tournament, facing her father was inevitable any way. She
did
need to win this game for her plans to advance. Beyond the match with her father lay the semi-final bracket in which she’d face Greer, just as she’d hoped and intended. But first, she needed this game to prove herself to her father once and for all. Mercedes chalked her cue, bent to the table, and broke with a smile. She could do this.

And she did, sweeping the match in three straight games to thunderous applause. If her father had deliberately thrown the match or lost on purpose out of some misguided effort to apologize, she couldn’t tell, nor did she want to know. She could no longer feel responsible for his private agendas. She only knew she had what she wanted, a chance to send Greer to the finals and a chance to secure his inheritance in a roundabout way. She couldn’t actually claim the trust for him but she could secure the amount he’d given up by coming after her. All he had to do was keep his promise.

Mercedes studied the semi-final brackets on the pairings board. The winner of her semi-final match with Greer would face a flirty rogue of a player from York, Alex Cahill. She’d seen the man play. He was devastating and attractive—an absolute showman. She smiled to herself: Greer would know exactly how to beat him. Mercedes fingered the large roll of pound notes she’d accumulated and went to place a bet.

Greer met her at the table for the semi-finals, his voice low. ‘All right, Mercedes. I stayed alive long enough to face you. Will we survive it?’

She turned and smiled at him. ‘We will.’ There wasn’t time to say more. The games would start very soon. Tonight would decide everything. ‘Remember what you promised me?’

‘I remember. Do you remember what you promised me?’

‘Absolutely.’ Mercedes picked up her cue and began to chalk with a smile.

She made sure they gave the crowd a show. She was mesmerising and deadly with her splits. Greer was dominating with his slices. She smiled and dazzled, he laughed and charmed, brushing his hair out of his eyes every so often. People would long remember that match. She won the first game. He won the second and when the third game looked like it would somehow end in a dead heat, Mercedes caught Greer’s gaze over her cue and bit her lip, sending him the only signal she could. Then she took her decisive shot, deliberately too hard, and the cue ball followed the other into the pocket. The crowd groaned and Greer shot her a thunderous look across the table. There was going to be hell to pay for this.

Kendall Carlisle grabbed Greer’s arm and raised it high, declaring him the winner amid applause, but that only delayed the inevitable.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Greer seized her none too gently and guided her to a private room the moment they could escape. ‘Have you forgotten I’ve seen that shot before? You forfeited that game.’

‘Have you forgotten you promised to trust me?’ Mercedes answered. ‘You are the one who has to advance.’ The words rushed out. ‘Please listen, Greer.’ She gripped his lapels. She’d known he would be mad, but the reality was far worse than the theory. ‘You promised you’d play for me. I am holding you to it. I need you to play for me now.’

Greer paused, his eyes past her in his anger. ‘You’re the one, Greer, who has the best chance to beat Cahill. I’ve already secured my reputation by making it this far, but you need that money and you need
your
reputation.’ Mercedes held his gaze, willing him to believe her.

‘And what do you need?’ Greer asked gruffly.

‘I need you, Greer.’ She kissed him hard on the mouth, then. ‘And I need to go pick up my winnings.’

He arched his eyebrows. ‘What winnings would those be?’

‘The money I placed on you.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘The odds were more lucrative on you to win.’

Suspicion crossed his face. ‘How much did you wager, Mercedes?’

‘How much do you think? Enough to make sure you won’t miss that inheritance you’re giving up,’ she said softly. ‘I couldn’t let you give it all up, Greer. I promised myself I’d make it back for you. But now is not the time to get emotional about money. Lesson number one, remember? Don’t get emotional about money. Yours or anyone else’s.’

Greer protested, ‘At least you should have told me.’

‘And risk having you throw the game first?’ She shook her head. ‘I know you, Greer Barrington, and you would have meddled if you thought for a second it wasn’t my best game. Besides, tonight I wasn’t betting on you, I was betting on us. Go out there and win this, Greer.’

‘You’ve taken an enormous risk, Mercedes,’ he began.

‘Of course I have. But you’re worth it.’ She twined her arms around his neck and drew him down to her. ‘For better or for worse, isn’t that how it goes?’

‘I thought a good gambler knew when it was time to quit?’ Greer quizzed sternly.

‘If there is such a time, I haven’t found it.’ She kissed Greer hard. She’d learned her lessons well and knew that sometimes it paid more to lose than it did to win. Just look at what she’d gained when she’d lost her heart.

* * *

Three days later, Mercedes Lockhart married the newly crowned All England Billiards Champion at St Peter’s Church, the closest thing to a cathedral Brighton had. The church was filled with flowers and friends, and even strangers who’d been caught up in the drama of the tournament. Mercedes had very little attention to spare for those details, though. All of her focus was spent on the man at the altar. Was there ever a more handsome man than the one waiting for her or did every bride think that on her wedding day? No, surely not.

She concentrated on every detail of him: how the filtered sunlight hit his hair, firing it to a platinum sheen; the clean-shaven strength of his jaw and the piercing quality of his blue eyes as they found her; the square set of his shoulders in the red coat of his uniform, every last button and brass polished; his legs long and lean in the pristine white trousers, a ceremonial sword hanging at his side. It would be one of the last times he wore it before giving up his commission. But the uniform had been chosen to send a message, perhaps for her as much as for the crowd, Mercedes thought. Here stood a man who knew and did his duty—his honour was not in question nor should be his choice of bride. She would have his protection and his devotion all his days and let no man gainsay him—not his father, not his brother.

He took her hand, giving her father a short bow. ‘Thank you, sir.’

She could feel the covert squeeze of his hand as they turned to face the vicar, a happy round-faced man. He began the service and she let the words flow around her, aware that they were nothing more than a pleasant sound. She was riveted on Greer, on this man who’d pledged himself to her, who stirred her to a passion so great she’d defied her father.

Greer bent close to her during a prayer. ‘Your father spoke to me this morning. He has given his blessing.’ Her father had been slow to forgive Greer for deserting him in Birmingham.

‘I know. I played him for it.’ She kept her eyes straight ahead, fixed on the cross above the altar.

Greer chuckled, drawing a moment of censure from the vicar who shot him a reproving look over the prayer book. ‘Of course you did. You know, you can’t settle everything with a billiards game, Mercedes.’

‘Not everything,’ she agreed. ‘But those things that can be, should be.’ She elbowed him. ‘Look reverent. It’s a prayer, after all.’

‘I should have guessed sooner. He said you’d talked to him last night. I couldn’t imagine what you might have said.’

Mercedes shot him a quick look as the vicar closed the last prayer. ‘I did talk to him. I told him I loved you.’

‘Was that before or after you ran the table?’

‘After, of course.’

The vicar intoned the closing words of the ceremony, pronouncing them man and wife.

‘It just so happens,’ Greer whispered, his mouth hovering above her lips ever so briefly, ‘that I love you too.’ Then he kissed her so as to leave no doubt that all parties approved of this match, no one more heartily than the groom himself, and her heart sang with the knowledge that Greer Barrington loved her even though he’d promised not to.

* * *

There was a wedding breakfast hosted at her father’s club to accommodate the many guests. By the time they could decently take their leave, Mercedes was exhausted, her mind riddled with names and faces. Who would have guessed weddings could be so tiring?

She was more than eager to slide into the closed carriage that would take them across town to their property. They would live above the subscription room for now. Greer joined her with a firm slam of the door and sank into the seat.

‘Alone at last! Are you as hungry or as tired as I am?’ His blue eyes sparkled. ‘I never realised how little time the bride and groom have to actually eat at their own wedding breakfast.’ He laughed and reached under the seat. ‘Fortunately, the cook packed a few extra victuals for us.’

Her stomach rumbled and she smiled. ‘Fortunately. We have to keep your strength up, after all.’

Greer uncorked a bottle of champagne, slopping a bit on his trousers when the carriage hit a bump. ‘I must apologise—it’s not your father’s carriage.’

‘I don’t care.’ They were on their own now, wanting to build their life from the ground up. She took the glass, more bubbles than wine in it. She sipped carefully. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever drunk champagne in a carriage before.’

Greer gave her a most wicked grin that warmed her to her toes. ‘What else haven’t you done in a carriage, Lady Barrington?’ He slid onto the seat beside her. ‘Have you done this?’ He blew gently in her ear, nipping the tender flesh of her lobe. ‘Or this?’ His hand cupped her jaw, turning her face towards him for a soft kiss on the mouth. She sank into it, revelling in his touch. She had missed this!

‘How about you, good sir? Have you done this?’ Mercedes reached for him, finding him hard and ready. He laughed into her mouth, tasting faintly of champagne, letting her unfasten his trousers.

‘You are most shocking, madam. I do not think I’ve ever been undressed in a carriage before.’

‘Ha, and you said nothing I did surprised you.’ She shot him a flirtatiously sly look. ‘I bet I could “surprise” you a little more.’ With that her hand began to move. ‘Maybe after this, you could “surprise” me.’ But, in truth, he already had.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
The Accidental Prince
by Michelle Willingham.

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Chapter One

The outer borders of Lohenberg—1855

K
arl von Lohenberg had always been a bastard. For twenty-five years, he’d merely thought it was a personality disorder rather than a reflection of his birth.

He’d been raised to believe he was a prince, the
fürst,
who would one day be king of Lohenberg. And only a fortnight ago, one word had stripped away his future:
bastard.

His father had ordered him out of the palace, granting him land and a manor house near the borders, as if to say:
hide him where he won’t cause any trouble.

Bitterness smouldered within him, at the way they’d turned their backs on him so quickly. Did they believe he was planning to kill or overthrow the true prince? Were the years of obedience and loyalty nothing to the king and queen? They treated him like a lighted fuse, leading to a keg of gunpowder.

Karl was stronger than that. He knew, well enough, that he’d never regain the throne of Lohenberg. It rightfully belonged to his half-brother Michael, and he wouldn’t blacken the royal family or his country with scandal, fighting for something that wasn’t his.

He’d given his life to his homeland, believing that one day he would be king, responsible for the lives of many. He
liked
being in command, and by God, he’d been good at it.

Fate might have picked him up by the collar and beaten him into a bloody mass, but he wasn’t about to slink quietly into the shadows to lick his wounds. This was his life, and he intended to live it on his own terms.

For there was another way to restore his position. Cold-hearted and villainous, yes, but it
was
a solution.

He simply had to marry a princess.

Karl reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter he’d received a few days ago like the shred of hope it represented. His betrothed, Princess Serena of Badenstein, was leaving the palace on an impromptu holiday to her grandfather’s hunting lodge in Hamburg. Alone. The letter from her sister Anna thanked him for his promise to accompany Serena as her protector.

At first, he hadn’t understood the letter. He’d made no such promise, since he’d known nothing about Serena’s plans. They hardly knew one another, for Karl had only met the princess twice in the six years they’d been betrothed. She was beautiful, with a heart-shaped face, dark blond hair, and green eyes that held years of unhappiness.

Not once had he seen her smile. When they’d first met, she’d eyed him with distrust and more than a little fear. He didn’t know what falsehoods her family had told her, but he wasn’t
that
bad. He wasn’t a man who caused small children to flee into hiding. Usually.

Why would the princess make a journey where her sister felt she needed protection? Wouldn’t she have her father’s guards and a hundred servants to keep her safe?

His instincts warned him that something was wrong with this so-called holiday. It was doubtful that Serena had invited him at all. More likely, the princess had lied to her sister, to appease her.

But Anna had turned the tables, letting Karl know that his bride was up to something. He didn’t doubt that Serena would carry out her plan of leaving the palace, but why was she planning to go alone? Was she running away? Or meeting someone else—a lover, perhaps?

Grimly, Karl folded the letter, his mind taking apart each possibility. It was too soon for anyone in Badenstein to know of his fallen status. At the time Anna had sent this letter, he’d still been the heir to the
Lohenberg throne.

If he joined the Princess on her holiday, as Anna had suggested, his presence might grant her protection—but it would also compromise Serena’s reputation beyond repair. She’d have no choice but to wed him, even if he never laid a hand upon her.

There would be hell to pay afterwards, but he could live with that. Once he became her prince consort, the scandal would eventually die down, and she could live her life as she wished.

Karl stared outside the window of the inn where he and his men were staying. The skies were growing dark, and he was within a few hours’ ride of the palace. In the morning, he would put his plan into action. With any luck, he could claim the princess as his bride before anyone learned the truth about his lost kingdom.

* * *

Serena dragged out the small trunk she’d packed with a few days’ worth of clothing. Today she would leave the palace, seizing the freedom she craved. She would depart Badenstein with a handful of servants and reclaim her life. Although the risk of discovery was terrible, it was worth it.

Beneath her tightly laced corset, her broken ribs had finally healed after so many weeks. Though it sometimes hurt to breathe or to lift her arms above her head, she’d grown accustomed to the pain. And after today, everything would be different.

Serena ran her hands over the brass-bound trunk and then ordered Katarina, one of her most trusted ladies, to ensure that the trunk was placed inside the coach she’d carefully prepared. Her heart was beating so fast, she pressed her hand to her chest as if she could steady it.

She had no doubt it would be only a few days before the messengers alerted the king that she was missing. Nothing escaped his notice, and Serena had to plan this carefully, so as to avoid getting anyone else in trouble.

For now, she would go to her grandfather’s hunting lodge. Her father owned several estates in Badenstein and in Germany, but the lodge was rarely used any more since it had fallen into disrepair. Although they might search for her there, perhaps not until they’d investigated the other houses. It would grant her some time. She hoped to sell some jewels and purchase a small house or property somewhere no one would find her.

Her head spun with all the details, and she worried about being caught. If her father learned of this...she shuddered to imagine it. Princesses were not supposed to run away. And although she had enough loyal servants to help her, it might not be enough.

For now, she would concentrate on getting out of the palace. She couldn’t think too far ahead, or the worries would consume her. One moment at a time, one hour at a time, she decided. And before she left, she needed to see her mother.

Serena chose a single rose from the arrangement in the crystal vase upon the end table. Queen Clara had always loved flowers. During the spring, she often sat in the garden where she could admire the blossoms.

Flanked by her ladies, Serena walked down the long corridor leading to the east wing. Before she reached it, two footmen blocked their way and bowed.

‘Your Highness, His Majesty has commanded your presence.’

A layer of ice coated her stomach, but Serena lowered her head in acquiescence, following the footmen to her father’s chambers. Each time the king summoned her, she knew what was coming—a punishment for some imagined misdeed. Every moment she spent in her father’s presence was a mind-numbing game of trying to guess what sort of behaviour would help her to avoid his fists.

No one could protect her from His Majesty. Not the guards or her ladies, for they’d lose their positions. Not her younger sister or her mother, who was confined to a sickbed. She was defenceless against him.

Serena hated the pity in the eyes of the servants, for she didn’t like appearing weak. But after the last beating had left her unable to move, she’d had enough. Six years of suffering was too much to ask of anyone. Nothing would stop her from escaping.

One of her ladies, Katarina, offered her a look of silent support. Serena squeezed the woman’s hand, and then withdrew, needing the time to gather up her courage.

When the footman opened the door and announced her presence, Serena stepped forward. Her father, the king, stood with his back to them. He was a tall man, with greying hair and a physical form that rivalled his best guards. King Ruwald prided himself upon his strength, and he wore close-fitting clothing to show off his muscular arms and legs.

‘Were you planning to go somewhere?’ he asked softly, dismissing his men and her ladies with a hand. Serena curtsied and stared down at the Oriental carpet, her hand clenching her mother’s rose.

Do not make him angry. Be demure and modest in your bearing. And perhaps he’ll leave you alone.

The king moved closer, until he stood directly in front of her. ‘Answer me.’

‘N-no, Father. Of course not.’

‘Don’t lie to me!’ He seized her by the arm, jerking her upright. The grip of his fingers was so tight, she gritted her teeth against the pain.

‘My men informed me that you sent a trunk full of clothes to a waiting coach.’ Softening his voice to a low murmur, he released her arm. ‘Now why would you do that?’

‘They’re for Anna,’ she lied, rubbing the bruised skin. ‘The men were supposed to put the trunk with her belongings. That’s all.’ Tears spilled over her cheeks, as she stared down at the carpet.

‘Do you think I don’t see your defiance? I know everything you do. And you’re going nowhere.’

His fist struck the back of her head, and stars exploded in her vision. The king knew exactly where to punish her so that it would not leave a visible mark. ‘My men have their orders. You won’t leave the palace.’

Why does he hate me so?
she wondered.
What have I done?
Never had he laid a hand upon Anna, thank God. But for whatever reason, she infuriated her father. And she feared that if he lost control of his temper one day, she might not survive it.

Darkness swam in her vision, and she backed away, folding her body inwards as if to protect it. As the king advanced toward her, Serena let out a broken supplication, ‘Please, Father.’

But her words meant nothing to him as he curled his fingers and raised his fists.

* * *

Serena lay with her body pressed against the carpet. Though her father had left, she couldn’t bring herself to move. Her hand touched the tender skin at her throat, the pulsing fear returning. She tasted blood in her mouth, and pain radiated throughout her body.

It only renewed her resolve to leave.
I won’t stay here. I can’t.
The door opened, and she saw the stricken faces of her ladies. Serena said nothing, but allowed Katarina to help her to her feet. The woman picked up the fallen rose with its crushed petals and held it to her.

Though not a word was spoken, she was certain they’d heard her father’s tirade. Serena accepted the rose and leaned upon Katarina as she entered the hallway.

‘Your Highness?’ Katarina asked, her voice fearful. Her maid stopped walking and reached for a fallen lock of Serena’s hair, pinning it back into place. In her lady-in-waiting’s eyes, Serena saw the worry. But she could say nothing to reassure them.

‘I am going to see my mother,’ she insisted.
One last time, before I leave.
Her ladies surrounded her and led the way.

As she walked, Serena rested her hand against her bruised side, fighting to calm herself. Though not every servant was loyal to her, there were enough men and women to turn a blind eye to her escape. She believed she could get out of the palace with little trouble. The true problem was reaching the hunting lodge before the other guards caught up to her. They had no choice but to follow and bring her home again.

When they finally arrived at her mother’s chambers and her presence was announced, Serena tried to smile.

Queen Clara was propped up with several pillows, her light brown hair streaked with grey. She wore a cap and a white nightgown, but the pale linen only accentuated her wan face.

‘How are you feeling today, Mother?’ Serena asked, handing her the rose.

Clara took it and smiled, before she waved her hand, dismissing the ladies. ‘Come and sit beside me.’

When the queen took her hand, her expression turned grim. Slowly, she reached out and touched Serena’s reddened throat. ‘What happened?’ Her hand traced the marks, as if the caress could take away the pain.

A hard ball of fear rose up in her throat and Serena forced back the denial. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she could only lift her shoulders in a shrug. ‘I’ve...tried to be better. More like the princess he wants me to be. But he seems to hate the very air I breathe.’

Clara closed her eyes, her hands gripping the coverlet. ‘Your lady-in-waiting, Katarina, confessed this morning that your father has...taken your punishments too far at times. And she said you’re planning to leave.’

Serena masked her frustration. It was her secret to keep—not theirs to tell.

‘You should have told me about this,’ her mother insisted, her face rigid. ‘I thought he only...hit you once in a while. I thought it was discipline.’ A tear slid down the queen’s face. ‘But Katarina said he broke your ribs.’ Her mother’s eyes stared hard at her, as if trying to determine if it was true. Serena dropped her gaze, unwilling to answer.

‘
Why
would you hide this from me? I could have done something to help you.’

‘And what would you have done?’ Serena demanded. ‘You’re ill. If you tried to fight him, he would have taken his anger out on you. I’m strong,’ she whispered. ‘You’re not.’

‘I know it, but surely—’

‘Don’t try to stop me from leaving,’ Serena warned. ‘I...I need this time to decide what to do, Mother.’

The queen’s shoulders lowered in defeat. ‘You’ll be married this summer,’ she reminded her. ‘And after that happens, your husband will keep you safe.’

Serena didn’t believe it, though she nodded to her mother as if she did. Clara reached out and took her hand. She hid her dismay at how fragile her mother’s knuckles were, how pale the skin.

‘Take the next fortnight at our estate in Oberalstadt, if you need some time to recover. If your father returns and asks where you are, I’ll tell him I sent you to visit my relatives.’ Her mother tried to smile. ‘And when you return, I’ll do what I can to protect you from his temper.’ Her gaze shifted over to the wardrobe that contained her day dresses. ‘Perhaps I’ll be strong enough to speak to him myself.’

Serena doubted if her mother could do anything, but she demurred. ‘I love you,
liebe Mutter.
’