The Prince's Bride (2 page)

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” Jocelyn said firmly, ignoring the second question. “And now I shall have it.”

Marianne’s gaze searched her face. Her voice was soft. “And is it worth what you won’t have? What you might never have?”

Without warning the years of their impoverished childhood flashed through her head. Of making do with little. Of overly mended clothes and frugal meals and leaking roofs. Of dreams of wealth and position and, yes, a prince. And any doubts in the back of her mind vanished.

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” she said again and favored her sister with a reassuring smile. “I shall be very happy.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Marianne returned her smile, squeezed her hands and released them.

“I should think there are all kinds of plans to be made.” Becky chattered on and Jocelyn nodded at appropriate moments but her mind wandered.

Alexei was not in her sight and the gathering had turned its collective attention elsewhere. Still, speculation hovered in the air. Jocelyn and the prince had already given gossips a great deal to fuel their talk. She was confident tomorrow the curious would have a royal announcement to discuss and consider and dissect. It would be the talk of London. And why not? It would be the match of the season. Maybe of any season.

In something less than an hour, all her dreams would come true.

Jocelyn pushed open the door. “Your Highness?”

Jocelyn thought it was a very good sign that it had been remarkably easy to slip away from the reception and find the music room. But the chamber was empty.

She couldn’t possibly be early. If anything she was a bit tardy. Perhaps he had already come and been too impatient to wait for her, though more likely, he was making
her
wait for
him.
She wouldn’t, of course. Not for longer than a minute or two at any rate.

She glanced around and stepped farther into the room, closing the door behind her. It was impressively large, a space eminently suited for the musicales the ton was so fond of publicly but privately and individually abhorred. There were sofas scattered here and there. A large shape, probably a pianoforte, stood near the far wall, which she assumed, from the glittering reflections, was lined with windows or possibly French doors. She was quite good at interpreting her surroundings, but then she’d had her entire life to practice.

She heaved a resigned sigh. Maybe she should give serious consideration to her sister’s continuing suggestion that she at least try donning spectacles. It did get wearing to live one’s life within a small circle of clarity bounded by a large fuzzy, indistinct world. Jocelyn freely admitted that nothing more than vanity kept her vision impaired, and acknowledged it might not make one whit of difference. After all, Marianne wore glasses and she was about to marry the son of a duke. Jocelyn could surely do as well with spectacles.

But Jocelyn was to marry a prince. A smug sense of victory washed through her. She stepped away from the door. She had no doubt what he wanted to discuss. No doubt why he wished to see her in private. He would declare his intentions to her before formally asking for her hand. It would be the height of romance. The thrill of a lifetime. The ultimate social triumph. And what she had always wanted.

Still, he should be here by now. Absently she wondered if life with Alexei would be a series of little games like this with each of them striving to get the upper hand. She had to acknowledge that he was a prince and would no doubt win the majority of the time. And she could accept that. Well, she would have to work on accepting that. It would be well worth it. She would be a princess and live in a castle with servants to attend to her every whim. Her life would be a series of royal balls and state events, and people would seek to curry her favor. And if she never had what her sister and Thomas shared, well, that was the price one paid for achieving one’s dreams. Besides, there was no reason why love couldn’t follow marriage. She did
like
the man after all.

Her toe caught the edge of the carpet and she stumbled, dropping her fan, which skittered across the floor to disappear beneath a sofa. Annoyed, she bent to retrieve it and dimly heard a door open on the far side of the room. Damnation. She certainly didn’t want the prince to find her crouching on the floor. It was not at all the way a future princess would behave.

“Is it wise to meet like this?” a male voice asked.

Another man chuckled. “There is no better place to be alone than in a crowd.”

Relief coursed through her. It obviously wasn’t Alexei. Simply two guests seeking a place for a private conversation.

“Do you think he suspects?” the first man said.

“Not at all. As long as we are discreet, neither he nor anyone else can put the two of us together. At the moment, nothing connects us. We simply have to make certain nothing ever does.”

Private but definitely unusual. Not that it was any of her business. Her fingers closed around the fan and she started to rise.

“He has far more interesting things on his mind this evening.”

The men shared a licentious laugh and Jocelyn paused. There was something about their laugh and their tone that was distinctly unnerving. She brushed aside the uneasy feeling, attributing it to the discomfort anyone would have when caught, however innocently, eavesdropping.

She pulled a deep breath, stood, and cast them her most charming smile. “Do forgive the intrusion. I had no idea anyone—”

“You! What are you doing here?” the one on the right snapped although it could have been the one on the left. They were little more than dark-clad, blurry figures.

Indignation lifted her chin. “There is no need to be rude, particularly since I believe I was here first. I simply came in—”

“She’s seen us.” The low voice of the second man carried a note of menace, and a curious tremor of fear fluttered through her. “Take care of it.”

“I scarcely think you need to
take care
of anything.” She backed toward the door. “Given your attitude, I am more than happy to take my leave, although I daresay those who have something of a serious nature to discuss can find better locations than—”

Beside her, the door creaked in advance of opening. The prince? She moved toward it. A twang sounded near her ear.

She turned and her heart plunged to her knees.

A knife quivered in the door frame beside her.

In an instant, a hundred impressions, a blur of activity, panic, and terror crowded in on her. A curse sounded from across the room, accompanied by the frantic sounds of fleeing footsteps. The door beside her flew open and crashed into the wall. She opened her mouth to scream.

Without warning, strong hands gripped her shoulders and whirled her around. She caught a flash of men rushing toward the French doors and an even briefer glimpse of dark hair and darker eyes.

Before she could so much as utter a sound, warm lips clamped over hers in a kiss hard, firm, and stifling. She tried to pull away but was trapped against the wall, held tight to a body as solid as the barrier at her back. Against a man tall and strong and completely unknown.

What on earth was happening? Her heart thudded in her chest. A knife barely missing her head and a kiss from a stranger? And what was she to do about it? What
could
she do? He was quite overpowering. She fought in vain against him, and against panic.

She forced herself to think. Perhaps her implied acquiescence would convince him to release his grip long enough for her to escape his clutches. She ceased struggling. But even as she relaxed, she noted the altogether too pleasant sensation of his mouth on hers. This was definitely a man of experience. A man who knew what he was doing, at least when it came to kissing. It might well be a mistake, but instinctively her fear faded, swept away by a curious passion.

The pressure of his lips eased and his mouth whispered against hers. “Are you still going to scream?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Very well,” he murmured, and once again his lips crushed hers in a kiss as firm as the last but somehow different. As if he was exploring now as much as conquering. Physical resistance was impossible but she swore to herself not to enjoy this onslaught by this obviously expert, and just as obviously arrogant, stranger. She promised she would ignore the small flicker of heat warming her toes and reaching upward to curl in the pit of her stomach. She vowed she would disregard the odd sensation of melting that weakened her knees. And she pledged, in spite of the strange sense of yearning that washed through her and inadvertently pressed her lips closer to his, she absolutely would not kiss him back.

After a very long, rather delightful moment, he raised his head from hers. Eyes dark as a winter’s night stared down at her from a face too sinfully handsome to trust. “Are you going to scream now?”

Her gaze slipped from his eyes to his lips. Full and finely sculptured and ... inviting. She raised her gaze to his, to the amused light dancing there. At once any sense of temptation vanished.

“You kissed me,” she said in the haughtiest manner she could muster. “The moment you release me, I shall slap your face. You had no right to accost me like that.”

“I had to shut you up.” His voice was somber but his eyes smiled. It was most annoying. “It would not do to attract a crowd.”

“You couldn’t simply have clapped a hand over my mouth? Isn’t that what one does to keep someone from screaming?”

“I could have, I suppose, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as—”

“Effective?”

“Enjoyable.” He grinned.

He was outrageous and, well, a touch amusing. Not to mention his good looks and the fact that he certainly was an outstanding kisser. Still, it would never do to let him, whoever he was, know, although she suspected he already did.

“Are you all right then?” he asked.

“I daresay I will be when you release me.”

“I would like nothing better but wisdom dictates otherwise.” He shook his head in mock reluctance. “You have vowed to hit me and I suspect you are far stronger than you appear. Or at least far more determined, which can lend a great deal of power to even the weakest—”

“Very well.” She huffed a short sigh. “I will not slap you although it will take a great deal of self-control on my part.”

“Excellent.” He released his grip on her shoulders and stepped back, studying her curiously. “You’re not scared?”

“Why should I be?” she said blithely. “I have been kissed a time or two before. It’s not always as pleasant as one would hope but it’s scarcely frightening.”

“Actually,” he said, the twinkle once again in his dark eyes. “I wasn’t referring to the kiss.” He reached out and she wondered if he was about to pull her back into his arms. “I was talking about this.”

He jerked the knife from the wall and held it out to her. It was long and decidedly wicked, and her stomach lurched at the sight.

She stared at the weapon with growing horror. It was easy to ignore, in fact to forget, with his lips on hers. But now ... Her head spun. The room seemed to narrow and she felt the wall moving behind her. Or was she slipping down the wall?

“Now, now, we’ll have none of that,” he said in a no-nonsense tone.

He tossed the knife aside and caught her up in arms strong and hard and carried her to a nearby sofa. For a moment a lovely sense of warmth and safety filled her.

“Put me down,” she murmured and nestled against him in spite of herself.

“You were about to faint.”

“Nonsense. I have never fainted. Shelton women do not faint.”

“Apparently they do when their lives are in danger.” Abruptly he deposited her on a sofa and pushed her head down to dangle over her knees.

“Whatever are you doing?” She could barely gasp out the words in the awkward position. Jocelyn tried to lift her head but he held it firmly.

“Keep your head down,” he ordered. “It will help.”

“What will help is finding those men. There were two, you know. Or perhaps you don’t.” It was rather confusing. All of it. She raised her head. “Aren’t you going to go after them?”

“No.” He pushed her head down again and kept his hand lightly on the back of her neck. It was an oddly comforting feeling. “I have my men searching now but I suspect they will be unsuccessful. One of the rascals is familiar to me. I was keeping an eye on him tonight. He is no doubt the one who threw the knife.”

“Apparently you weren’t keeping a very good eye on him,” she muttered.

He ignored her. “I have yet to discover the identity of his accomplice and they obviously wanted to prevent you from identifying him. I doubt that I will learn anything further this evening. It’s far too easy to fade unnoticed into a crowd of this size.” He paused, the muscles of his hand tensing slightly on her neck. “Would you know him again if you saw him?”

“Not really,” she lied. In truth, not at all. They were nothing more to her than blurry figures and dimly remembered voices. “He could be anyone then, couldn’t he?”

“Indeed he could.”

It was a most disquieting thought. Well matched to her most discomforting position. “I feel ridiculous like this.”

“Quiet.”

It was no use arguing with the man. Whoever he was he obviously knew what he was doing. She was already feeling better. Even though someone had just tried to kill her.

“Am I in danger?” she said in a meek voice that didn’t sound like herself at all.

He took a moment to answer. “Probably not.”

His hesitation was not reassuring. Still, this had to be a mistake. Why would anyone want to do away with her? Oh, certainly there were more than a few of this year’s debutantes who were green with envy at Jocelyn’s triumphant season but surely none would resort to violence. Even a few of their more overzealous mothers would never go so far. Perhaps those two vile men had confused her for another lady here tonight?

“Do you think this was a mistake then? They thought I was someone else?”

Again he took his time in answering. It was an annoying habit that did not bode well. “Possibly.”

She ignored his hesitation and clung to the single word. Of course, that was the answer. Tonight’s gala was rampant with political rivals and foreign dignitaries and who knew what else. Intrigue was probably seething in every shadow. Still, it was not a pleasant thought. The very idea that someone would wish to harm anyone, let alone her, here, at a reception for the—

“Good Lord! Al—the prince!” She jerked upright, shoving his restraining hand away.

“What about the prince?” The man’s eyes narrowed.

“He was supposed to meet—” She bit back her words. What was she thinking? She certainly couldn’t tell this man, this stranger, that she was about to meet the prince. Privately. In a secluded setting. With no chaperones whatsoever. Aside from his rescue of her she really had no reason to trust him. Her reputation would be ruined if word got out, and Alexei would never marry a woman touched by scandal. Oh, certainly it was worth the risk initially because he was going to ask for her hand and that would put their meeting in the realm of romance rather than impropriety. But now ...

And she had kissed this stranger! Or rather he had kissed her, but the distinction would scarcely matter.

She rose to her feet. “Who are you?”

He stood. “I should be crushed that you do not remember although we have never been formally introduced.” He swept a curt bow. “Viscount Beaumont, my lady, at your service.”

The name struck a familiar chord. “Have we met then?”

“Not really.” Beaumont shrugged. “I am a friend of Lord Helmsley.”

“Of course.” How could she forget? Viscount Beaumont, Randall, or rather Thomas called him Rand. She’d seen him only briefly once, in a darkened library, but his name was all too familiar. Beaumont had taken part in an absurd, and highly successful, plan to dupe her sister Marianne into accepting marriage with Thomas less than a fortnight ago. She couldn’t suppress a twinge of gratitude for his role in uniting the couple. “And an excellent friend too from all I’ve heard.”

“One owes a certain amount of loyalty to one’s friends.” He paused as if considering his words. “As well as to one’s country.”

At once the mood between them changed, sobered. She studied him for a long moment. He was tall and devastatingly handsome, and before someone had thrown a knife at her she would have noticed little more than that. Now she noted the determined set of his jaw, the powerful lines of his lean body like a jungle cat clad in the latest stare of fashion. And the hard gleam in his eye. She shivered with the realization that regardless of his charming manner, his easy grin, and the skill of his embrace, this was a dangerous man.

She met his gaze directly with a courage she didn’t entirely feel. “What is going on, my lord? Who were they?”

“It would be best if you knew as little as possible,” he said in an irritatingly firm manner.

“Then all is well since I know nothing at all,” she snapped. “I did no more than overhear a few comments and the next thing I knew, knives were whizzing by my head.”

“One knife,” he said absently and fixed her with an intense stare. “What exactly did you hear?”

“Nothing that made any sense or seemed of any real significance.” She shrugged and repeated what she’d overheard. “Is it important?”

“No.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “It wasn’t what you heard that makes you a threat but what you saw.”

“How can I be a threat? I told you I didn’t see anything.”

“Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”

“Once again, my lord.” She emphasized each word.
“I didn’t see them.”
The man might well be handsome and dashing but his comprehension of the English language was questionable.

“They don’t know that,” he said as if he was talking more to himself than to her, his manner more considering than concerned.

She stared in disbelief. “Surely they’ll know that if we pretend this whole thing never happened. Once they realize you have no idea who they are—”

“Who one of them is,” he corrected.

“Whatever.” She waved an impatient hand. “Once they realize I didn’t identify them to you, they’ll know they have nothing to fear from me and I’ll have nothing to fear from them. There will be no problem. You did say it would be impossible to find anyone wishing to blend into the crowd?”

“I did.”

“Well, then we must simply leave it at that.” She stepped closer to him. “You must promise not to tell anyone about this. I never came in here. I never saw them.” She glanced at the knife on the floor and grimaced. “I never saw
that.
You never saw me. We were never alone here together. You never—”

“Kissed you?”

“Kept me quiet.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It scarcely counted as a kiss.”

“Perhaps not the first,” he murmured, “but the second—”

“Promise!”

“Very well,” he said slowly, “you have my word not to reveal what has happened here unless ...”

“Unless?” She stared in suspicion.

“Unless it becomes necessary.” The look in his eyes brooked no argument.

“That’s something at any rate.” She stepped to the door, then turned back. “Thank you”—she waved a wide gesture at the room—“for everything.”

“For saving your life?” He swept an exaggerated bow. “It was entirely my pleasure.”

“It wasn’t a mistake, was it?”

He raised a brow. “That’s yet to be determined.”

“Not saving me.” She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “This whole incident. It wasn’t a case of mistaken identity or anything remotely like that, was it?”