Seduced At Sunset (27 page)

Though he would likely never wear the crown, for his
brother’s wife, Queen Alexandra, had recently given birth to a son.

None of that concerned Veronique, however. She had a job
to do, and she must stay focused on the task at hand.

“Yes, I will be able to pick him out,” she replied as she
snapped the spyglass shut and handed it back to Pierre.

“He’ll be wearing a mask,” he warned.

Veronique turned to walk back to the coach. “Don’t worry.
It won’t be a problem.”

Yet here she sat this evening, reclining on the soft
upholstered seat in the overheated coach, smiling at her captured prince with
tempting allure, wondering how much time she had. How long would they be alone
before the laudanum took effect? Five minutes? An hour?

Her desire for him was alarming, and she realized she may
not be in full control here. She supposed she had known that before she stepped
into the coach, for everything had turned rather warm and hazy in the ballroom
when they first met. Something very potent had sparked between them, and now
she was caught up in a delicious sexual current, which she feared might sweep
her off her feet.

“I didn’t expect this tonight,” Nicholas said in a low,
husky voice that heated her blood. “It was supposed to be a night of political
debates and endless arguments.”

“You’ve all been arguing for days,” Veronique replied,
referring of course to the fate of Napoleon, who had been defeated at Waterloo
less than a month ago, and had just surrendered his fate to the British. He had
boarded the HMS Bellerophone at the port of Rochefort, but no one could agree
on what to do with him. “Haven’t you had enough?”

Nicholas slid closer, slowly removed his gloves one finger
at a time, then cupped her chin in his hand. “Enough talk of politics, yes, but
not nearly enough of you.”

There it was... the famous charm. She would have liked to
believe she was immune to it, for she was the seducer in this situation, but
when he spoke to her in that velvety voice and touched her with those strong,
gentle hands, she melted like every other woman who found herself blinded by
his impossible charisma.

Keep your head, Veronique. It won’t be long now....

“Are we going somewhere?” he asked, while his gaze dipped
to her parted lips. “Or did you invite me to your coach for some other decadent
purpose?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

The corner of his mouth curled up in a devilish grin. “I’m
not sure, darling, but you seemed rather determined to lure me out of there.
Where do you live? Is it far? Or do you have some other plan for me? A hotel
perhaps, or a long, leisurely drive through the city?”

The coach lurched forward just then and pulled away from
the curb.

Prince Nicholas’s eyes remained fixed on hers, and he
smiled. “A drive it is, then.”

With a simmering look of desire, he kissed the side of her
neck, and the moist heat of his lips lifted her into a dreamlike cloud of
arousal. Letting her head fall back on the seat cushion, she laid her hands on
the gold epaulettes on his broad shoulders and closed her eyes. How relaxed she
felt in his arms.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to
let it go this far....

Nicholas continued to lay a trail of hot kisses across her
collarbone and down to her cleavage. “You taste sweet, my darling” he
whispered. “Like honey.”

Then he lifted his head and gazed intently at her for a
heart-wrenching moment.

Slowly he reached up and pulled his own mask away. Tossing
it to the floor, he said, “I am glad I found you tonight, and that you dragged
me out of there.”

Seeing his whole face for the first time in the golden
lamplight caused a shiver in her heart—a sudden twinge of uncertainty. Or
perhaps a better word was regret for what she was about to do to him.

What was it about this man? she wondered frantically. Was
she foolish to think there was something more between them than a devious plot
on her part, and a casual sexual seduction on his? Perhaps he made all women
feel this way when he held them in his arms, as if there was something deep and
profound between them. True love at first sight, so to speak.

She didn’t love him. No, of course she didn’t. To her, he
was a just a means to an end.

“May I have the pleasure of removing your mask,
Veronique?” he asked. “I would like to see your face.”

She laid her gloved fingers upon it to hold it securely in
place. “But isn’t this part of the allure?”

Her voice was full of a confident, teasing melody, but she
felt her lip twitch at the dishonesty, for they were alone now, like true
lovers. She reminded herself that she was being paid to seduce him, and very
soon the mood in the coach was going to take a severe turn.

He surprised her then, by sitting back, slouching in the
seat, and grasping her gloved hand. He looked down at it with curiosity as he
weaved his fingers through hers. “You still haven’t told me your full name. Why
ever not? Do you feel you must keep secrets from me? Is it because of who I
am?”

A ball of heat caught fire in her belly. “I didn’t think
the details of my identity—or yours—should matter to either one of
us tonight. Napoleon will soon be dealt with, and for that reason, you won’t be
in Paris much longer. Besides, I am no fool. I know your reputation. You want a
single night of pleasure with me, no strings attached, isn’t that right?”

He paused. “Is that really what you think of me? Of this?”

She chose her words carefully. “Am I wrong?”

He said nothing for a long moment while he rubbed the pad
of his thumb over the back of her gloved hand, which made her breath catch in
her throat. Then he raised it to his lips.

“I don’t know what has been happening to me lately,” he
confessed, with eyes closed. “I am not myself.”

“How so?”

He shook his head as if he had no answer to give, then he
looked at her. “Perhaps it is the end of this bloody war. The world seems
different somehow. Or maybe it’s the fact that my brother now has a wife and a
son, and my sister has gone off to become a married woman as well.”

“Do they seem happy?” Veronique asked, curious about his
perceptions of the world, and his illustrious family.

His chest heaved with a long exhale. “My brother does. I
am not sure about my sister. She is in Austria now, and I worry for her.”

“She is married to the future emperor. I am sure she will
be fine.” Veronique looked out the window and wished she did not have to do
what she must this evening. She wanted things to be different. “I heard that
her husband was wounded at Waterloo.”

“Yes, but the archduke is on the mend. Thank heavens for
that.” Nicholas was slouched very low in the seat with his head tilted back. He
closed his eyes again. “Did you lose anyone at Waterloo, Veronique?”

She remembered certain days of the war and thought it
would be best to avoid that painful subject. So she turned toward him again,
her body at an angle, and rested her cheek on a hand. “We lost a
neighbor—a young man who had been a playmate for my sister and me when we
were young.”

Nicholas opened his eyes and regarded her in the dim
lamplight. “You have a sister? Younger or older?”

“She is nineteen and in love with a gentleman who cannot
marry her.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“His parents will not approve the match. They have
threatened to disinherit him if he makes a promise to her. They do not consider
our family worthy enough for their son. He is a viscount,” she explained with a
sigh. “My father owns a lovely piece of property in the south of France. It
borders theirs, but he has no title, and money is...” She paused and swallowed
hard. “The war was hard on us.” A shiver moved through her, and as the coach
rolled on, she found she could not avoid the truth after all.

“I did not tell you everything just now,” she continued.
“We lost more than a neighbor. Both my older brothers... very early during
Bonaparte’s campaigns.”

Nicholas’s dark brows pulled together in a frown. “So your
family... they are Bonapartists?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore. It’s been years since
that Corsican tyrant had a single shred of loyalty from us. We are relieved the
king is back on the throne, but my father...” She paused again. “He is not the
same man he once was. He has taken to gambling and drinking.”

Nicholas raised her hand to his lips and kissed it
tenderly. “I am sorry to hear that, Veronique. I know what it’s like to lose
someone.”

Her heart warmed at the kindness in his words, and for a
moment she forgot what she was doing here. All that seemed to matter was the
way he made her feel—like a woman who was meant to be loved.

By him.

But this was not love.

Still... there was something strangely enchanting about
this encounter.

“You are referring to your father, the king?” she asked,
in response to his last comment, for it was a well-known fact that the king of
Petersbourg had been lethally poisoned the previous year.

Nicholas continued to kiss her hand and began to journey
up her wrist while she tingled all over with pleasure. “And my mother died when
I was very young. They say I took it hard.”

“You don’t remember?”

He seemed lost in thought, or very sleepy.... “I remember
everything.”

The coach rocked back and forth as they made their way to
the outskirts of the city.

“God, I’m tired all of a sudden,” he said as he reached
out to pull her into his arms. “Come here, I want to hold you.”

She snuggled closer and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

“You smell good,” he whispered, as he kissed the top of
her head.

He smelled good, too. Veronique turned her face into the
crimson wool of his jacket, which was decorated with a navy sash and a black
belt with brass buttons. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the delectable scent
of his body.

He was a handsome royal prince, and his clothes smelled
clean and regal, like nothing she’d ever smelled before.

She wanted to know so much more about him. If only they
could continue talking this way, but the drug was taking effect. Soon he would
be unconscious, they would reach the little farm house on the outskirts of the
city, and everything would change. He would not say caring words to her when he
learned what she had done to him.

She sat very still for the next few minutes. She did not
move a muscle, nor did she initiate any further conversation. When the sound of
his breathing grew slow and even, she carefully lifted her head to study his
profile.

What a beautiful man he was. His dark features were
perfectly sculpted. He had the enticing aura of someone born to be a woman’s
dream lover, her prince charming in every way. It was almost comical that he
was a true prince.

In that regard, his brother, King Randolph, would no doubt
take notice of his mysterious disappearance from the Paris ball, and leave no
stone unturned in the quest to locate him and punish those responsible for the
abduction.

With a sudden pang of dread for all that she would face in
the coming weeks, Veronique carefully disentangled herself from Nicholas’s
embrace, placed his arm gently upon his lap, and slid across to the opposite
facing seat.

She watched him for a long time and wondered what he would
think of her when he discovered her treachery.

She regretted it already, for there had been something
truly extraordinary between them this evening. It had been both sexually
exciting and surprisingly intimate in a way she had not expected. As a result,
this mercenary task had become a secret indulgence. For a while, she had
forgotten that this was wrong, and that she was a corrupt, false-hearted
charlatan.

If things were different, she would not have chosen this
path for herself, but she was duty-bound to her family, in particular her
mother. She could not allow their entire world to come crashing down around
them. Veronique would therefore do what was required and pray that somehow she
would emerge unscathed.

The coach pulled to a halt, and she peered out the window.

The door flew open suddenly and banged against the outside
panel. Veronique frowned at her sister Gabrielle, who wore a black cloak with
the hood pulled up to hide her fiery red hair.

“For pity’s sake, be quiet,” Veronique whispered to her
sister. “We must be careful not to wake him.”

Gabrielle grabbed hold of the rail and swung into the
dimly lit interior. She took a seat beside Veronique and stared with
fascination at Prince Nicholas, who was sprawled out on the opposite seat like
a gorgeous work of art. He slept soundly.

“How long has he been out?” Gabrielle asked.

Veronique removed her mask and gloves and rubbed her
fingers over her cheeks where the stiff fabric had been too tight. “Not long.
Ten minutes perhaps?”

Gabrielle inclined her head and leaned a little closer.
“Upon my word, he is deadly handsome. How in the world did you keep your head?”

“It wasn’t easy, I assure you.”

“Did he kiss you?”

Veronique let her memory take her back to those first few
moments...

“Not on the mouth.”

Gabrielle’s eyebrows lifted. “Not on the mouth?” She spoke
as if scandalized, but Veronique knew her sister was thrilled at the
possibilities. “Care to explain?”

“No,” Veronique said. “There’s no time for that. I don’t
know how long he will sleep. Did you bring the rope?”

Gabrielle pulled it from her cloak—like a rabbit out
of a hat. “I’ve got it right here. Which one of us gets to do the honors?”

Veronique immediately snatched the rope from her sister.
“I caught him,” she said, “so it’s only right that I get to bag him.”

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