The Prince’s Bride (16 page)

What would Nicholas think when he met her father? There would be no advance warning
about their visit. A royal prince would stride up the Montagne steps carrying the
deed to their home, and her mother would most certainly be caught off guard. Perhaps
she would not even be dressed, and her father might be in his cups, weeping with shame
under the stairs, or searching for coins in the sofa cushions so that he might join
a card game somewhere in the village—or, heaven forbid, Paris—and turn his luck around.

Oh, God.
Sitting forward, she peered out the window. It was nearly dusk, and she recognized
this particular pasture. They would reach her home in less than an hour.

She jumped at the shock of Nicholas’s hand upon her knee, and was aware of Gabby taking
notice as well—then pretending
not
to notice by closing her eyes and resting her head on a pillow against the window
glass.

“Are you all right?” Nicholas quietly asked. “You seem distracted. Are you anxious?”

She sat back and folded her hands on her lap. “I suppose I am. It’s not every day
a young lady brings a prince home to meet her parents.”

“Nor is it every day a prince asks a man for permission to marry his daughter,” Nicholas
replied. “I am anxious as well. Will they approve of me, do you think?”

She could have laughed at that, but managed to refrain. “I believe you have no reason
to be concerned, sir. I am quite certain you will be well received.”

He smiled that slow, confident grin that sent flames of heat licking through her bloodstream.

“But what if they have heard about my notorious reputation?” he asked mischievously.
“Perhaps they will wish to protect you from my clutches.”

He slid a glance at Gabrielle, knowing of course that she was not asleep, but listening.

Véronique smirked at him and mouthed the words,
You are very wicked.

He raised his eyebrows unapologetically, then leaned back in the seat, gazing at her
with dark seduction in the early evening light.

They had not yet discussed a wedding date, and she wondered how long it would be before
she could enjoy the pleasure of her deflowering, for he was a tempting and tantalizing
man who was clearly well versed in the art of lovemaking.

But would he be faithful? she wondered uneasily as the coach rumbled along the lane.
She wanted to believe that he would. She wanted very badly to believe in him in every
way. Some might think her a silly fool to expect fidelity from a man like him, and
perhaps they would turn out to be correct about that. Perhaps the Prince of Petersbourg
would take her as a wife and live happily ever after with her for a few brief months
at most—then return to his endless string of mistresses while she did her duty at
the palace and turned a blind eye. That’s how it was done in most royal courts, and
this marriage was certainly no love match. She didn’t know
what
it was.

Still … she couldn’t help but believe that he was capable of more.

She looked at him carefully in the fading light. This marriage would solve all her
family’s problems without a doubt, and quite possibly rescue Gabrielle from disaster
as well. Véronique wasn’t sure exactly how Nicholas would accomplish such a feat,
but he had implied as much, and he was a powerful man, so she would do what she must.
She would become his bride and hope for the best.

Closing her eyes, she propped a pillow up against the glass to rest her head and tried
to relax for the remainder of the journey—for surely when they arrived, the shock
and upheaval in her father’s household would be momentous.

*   *   *

It was just past dark when the coach pulled to a halt in front of Montagne Manor.
Véronique waited for Nicholas to unlatch the door and push it open. He leaned out,
looked up at the front of the Tudor-styled, ivy-covered structure—with only one light
visible in an upstairs window—and turned to her. “No servants?”

She shook her head. “We had to let most of them go. It’s a spare household now, but
I am sure someone will be out shortly.”

The front door opened and Gailliard, their devoted butler, appeared carrying a lamp
to greet them. “Good evening, mademoiselle,” he said as he approached. “We did not
expect you.”

She took Nicholas’s hand and stepped onto the gravel drive. “Bonjour, Gailliard. My
apologies for not sending word in advance, but our decision to return home was rather
spontaneous. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Not at all,” he replied with impressive composure as Nicholas assisted Gabrielle
out of the vehicle.

Véronique gestured toward him. “As you can see, I have brought a guest.” She turned
and spoke to Nicholas. “Please allow me to present our butler, Gailliard.”

Nicholas inclined his head at him.

She turned back to the butler. “And this is His Royal Highness, Prince Nicholas of
Petersbourg.”

Gailliard’s eyes widened in shock. Then he bent at the waist and bowed with a deep,
sweeping flourish. “Welcome, Your Highness, to Montagne Manor.”

“Thank you,” Nicholas casually replied.

Gailliard nearly stumbled backwards as he indicated the front entrance. Then he quickly
hurried to speak to the coachman about guest room arrangements for the servants, and
told him where to take the horses, for they had no groomsman to attend to such matters.
Véronique glanced self-consciously at Nicholas, who politely ignored Gailliard’s quiet
explanations and apologetic tones as they made their way inside.

The front hall was shrouded in darkness, which came as no surprise, for her family
had been conserving candles for quite some time. Nevertheless, a somber feeling settled
into her heart, for this house had once been full of bright lights and laughter.

“Will you inform my parents that Gabrielle and I have returned?” she said to Gailliard
as he entered behind them. “And please prepare a guest chamber for Prince Nicholas.
Have my parents dined yet?”

“Not yet, mademoiselle. Dinner will be served at—” He paused uncomfortably. “—nine
o’clock.”

She knew of course that there was no dinner planned, and hoped that something reasonably
palatable could be thrown together at the last minute, for she was famished, and they
were, after all, about to entertain a prince.

“Lovely,” she replied. “In the meantime, please bring a decanter of wine to the parlor.
We shall make ourselves comfortable there until dinner.”

Poor Gailliard. He looked completely flustered as he gathered Gabrielle’s and Véronique’s
cloaks.

“I will send the maid to light a fire for you,” he said.

Again it came as no surprise to find the parlor shrouded in darkness as well. Gaillaird
carried his lamp across the room to the pianoforte and lit all three wicks on the
candelabra—a tremendous extravagance when the candles were already burned down to
short stubs. She hoped he would return shortly to replace them.

They took seats in the dimly lit room to wait for her parents.

Nicholas sat leisurely at one end of the sofa, while Gabrielle sat forward on the
edge of an upholstered Queen Anne chair, impatiently tapping her foot.

Véronique sat at the other end of the sofa, feeling an odd mixture of excitement and
dread. She was about to deliver shocking news to her parents—that Lord d’Entremont
was dead, but that she had secured the deed to their home, which Prince Nicholas had
in his possession this very evening.

Not only that, but she would then reveal the fact that she was about to marry into
a very prestigious European royal family.

She tapped her finger on her knee, only half-believing that the second part would
ever come to pass, for everything had happened so quickly. It still seemed too outrageous
to believe.

She glanced at Nicholas. He was watching her intently in the candlelight, his blue
eyes gleaming almost broodingly. He spoke not a single word.

At last the maid arrived with a tray of wine and glasses, and set it down on the table.
A short time later, the fire was blazing in the hearth and they were sipping her father’s
best cabernet. They chatted about a few light matters until the glow of a lamp appeared
in the doorway, and her father and mother entered the parlor at last.

Nicholas stood. Véronique and Gabrielle followed suit. Introductions were made and
everyone took seats on the sofas and chairs around the fire.

While her parents asked politely about the weather, roads, and duration of the journey,
Véronique took careful note of her mother’s appearance. It was clear she had donned
her best gown, combed and swept her hair up into a fresh knot, and had opened her
jewelry box this evening—probably for the first time in months. She spoke courteously
to Nicholas as if she were happy and well, but the dark circles beneath her eyes were
still evident, and Véronique knew it was a struggle for her to be sociable, and she
would be overcome by exhaustion later.

As for her father … he, too, had combed his hair, donned a freshly laundered pair
of breeches and a clean jacket, but that woozy, sleepy look was ever present in his
eyes. She wondered how long it would be before he nodded off.

Soon after they sat down, the polite conversation ground to an awkward halt. Véronique
was about to bring up the death of Lord d’Entremont, and the reason for Nicholas’s
presence here, when he spoke first, to her father.

“I am sure you must be wondering, sir, why your daughters have brought me here to
meet you. There is certainly much to discuss. Is there a place where we can speak
in private?”

“We could go to my study,” her father helpfully suggested.

Véronique experienced sudden heart palpitations and turned her body at an angle on
the sofa to face Nicholas. “Perhaps I should join you.”

She couldn’t bear the thought of what might be expressed in her absence. Would Nicholas
tell her father that she had abducted him from a masked ball where she’d had no chaperone?
Would he allude to the physical intimacies that occurred in his bedroom?

Similarly, what if her father said the wrong things, or lied to Nicholas about his
gambling? She must be there to ensure he did not make a fool of himself, or any of
them.

“That won’t be necessary,” Nicholas firmly replied, leaving no room for argument,
and suggesting, without ever saying so, that she must learn to trust him. He would
take care of this, as he would take care of many things over the coming weeks and
years.

She never found it easy to let others do the work, however. She preferred to make
sure things were done right by doing them herself and never passing the reins to another.
It was not easy for her to watch them rise from their chairs and leave the room alone
together. But she weathered it. She would put her trust in Nicholas.

Chapter Sixteen

“We met at a ball in Paris,” Nicholas explained, “where your daughter lured me into
a coach, fed me enough laudanum to knock me unconscious for hours, then delivered
me to d’Entremont Manor, where I eventually learned that my presence was urgently
required by the marquis.”

Montagne’s head drew back in shock, and he laughed. “Surely you jest! She was visiting
her aunt, sir. Why in the world would she do anything like that?”

“Because the marquis needed to ensure my prompt arrival at his home, and Véronique
was willing to accept the task of delivering me there, for she wanted something from
d’Entremont in return. I am sure you know what that is.” He regarded Montagne with
unwavering scrutiny and a look of warning, which encouraged him to speak truthfully.

“She did it in exchange for money?” the man asked.

“Not money,” Nicholas replied. “She wanted the deed to this property, and I am pleased
to inform you that she has acquired it. From me.”

“From
you.
” The chair creaked as Montagne shifted uneasily. “Why would
you
have it? Did you purchase it from d’Entremont? Or perhaps you won it in a card game,”
he added bitterly.

“Neither is accurate, sir, for I have inherited all of the marquis’s properties and
assets, including d’Entremont Manor, which brings me to the unfortunate news that
Lord d’Entremont passed away only yesterday. There is to be a funeral in a few days’
time, and I shall be returning for that.”

Montagne shook his head. “I do not understand. You said that Véronique acquired this
property from
you.
Why would you give it to her? She has no money. She could not have purchased it.”
He slouched back in his chair and buried his forehead in a hand. “Oh, good Lord. Please
do not tell me that she compromised her honor. I would never forgive myself.”

Nicholas quickly leaned forward. “Not at all, sir. You have every reason to be proud
of your daughter. Both your daughters. Despite our tumultuous beginnings, they were
exceedingly helpful to me at d’Entremont Manor, and I wished to repay their kindness
and fulfill the promises that d’Entremont had made to them. That is why I have signed
the deed over to you. We will require a solicitor to witness the transaction, of course,
and make sure everything is properly and legally transferred. But there is more,”
he added, charging forward with surprising vigor.

“What more could there possibly be?” Montagne asked, his lips parting in wonder.

Nicholas gave him time to prepare. “I wish to marry your daughter,” he said at last.

Montagne covered his mouth with a hand. “Good God. Which one?”

“Your eldest. Véronique.”

The man’s jaw fell open and he stared blankly at Nicholas, then looked around the
study as if to ensure he was not dreaming, that all of this was really happening.

“Are you truly Prince Nicholas of Petersbourg?” he asked in disbelief. “The
country
? I do not understand how this can be real.”

Nicholas found himself somehow charmed by the man’s humility, and almost wanted to
laugh and smack him firmly on the back to help him get the news down.