The Prince’s Bride (22 page)

“How is Rose?” Nicholas asked about his sister, who had recently married the future
emperor of Austria.

“She is very well,” Randolph replied. “She writes often and tells me that Joseph is
recovering from the wounds he suffered at Waterloo. She is eager to put the past behind
her, and seems content with the choices she has made.”

Rose had nearly married another man entirely, but came to her senses when that man
turned out to be a secret Royalist and an enemy of the Sebastian monarchy. Leopold
Hunt was rotting away in prison when she finally walked down the aisle in Austria …
though Hunt was a free man now, after commanding the Petersbourg cavalry at Waterloo.

“I hope she can be happy,” Nicholas said, though he was not entirely confident, for
Rose had been quite passionate about Hunt.

But he mustn’t think of that now. He had his own wife to present to the country and
a great deal of explaining to do in regards to his inheritance of d’Entremont Manor.

Setting the brandy aside, he rested his elbows on his knees. “We’ve been laughing
and joking,” he said to his brother, “but I do have something to tell you, which you
may not find quite so amusing.”

Randolph’s brow furrowed with concern. “I had a feeling there was going to be something.”

“Yes … well … Remember when I said my new wife drugged me with laudanum?”

Randolph regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Yes?”

“That’s not the worst of it,” Nicholas continued. “I wasn’t joking, you see, and she
did
tie me up and drag me out of Paris like a piece of cargo.”

There was a pause.

“Why?”

“She was hired to lure me out of the ball … to kidnap me.”

The hands on the clock ticked a full five seconds before Randolph voiced any response.

“
Kidnap
you!”

“Yes,” Nicholas replied. “And she performed this task for reasons I must now explain
to you, Randolph. But I warn you … it will not be easy for you to hear. For it concerns
our mother.”

Randolph frowned. “It sounds like we might need more brandy.”

“Most definitely. Perhaps you should send for a rather large bottle.”

*   *   *

“What in the world is he going to do?” Alexandra asked later that afternoon as she
rocked young Frederick to sleep in her arms. “First of all, does he believe it’s true?
Is there any proof?”

Randolph paced back and forth in front of the fire. “He said he saw enough to be convinced,
and he has brought much of the evidence with him.”

“What sort of evidence?”

“Love letters,” Randolph replied. “And engraved jewelry. He says our mother spent
a whole year in France with Lord d’Entremont, while our father was working to build
the new government and put out the fires of the Revolution.”

Alexandra stopped rocking in the chair, for the babe—their precious son and heir to
the throne—was now sleeping soundly. “Had you ever suspected anything like this?”
she asked. “Do you remember her absence?”

Randolph stopped pacing and thought about his childhood with the mother he adored.
“No. I do recall being told she had traveled to France to visit her family when I
was very young—too young to remember. Then she came home, and I had a new brother,
and life went on.”

Alexandra carefully stood up, laid their child in the golden cradle, and pulled the
organza curtains closed around him. She then crossed to Randolph and pulled him into
her arms. “It changes nothing,” she said. “Your mother loved you both, and Nicholas
is still your blood brother in all ways.”

“I am surprised,” Randolph said, “and pleased to hear you support him, when not so
long ago you and he were enemies.”

Alexandra had come to Petersbourg from England, and was the secret lost princess from
the House of Tremaine—the very monarchy their father had toppled during the Revolution.
Nicholas had suspected that Alexandra intended to seize back the throne through unscrupulous
means.

“That was before he realized that my love for you was true,” she replied. “We have
made our peace, Nicholas and I.” She drew back and went to pour a cup of tea. “What
will you do? Will you reveal this information to the world, or will you leave it in
the past?”

“Nicholas is torn,” Randolph said. “He felt some connection to d’Entremont Manor,
and to our mother who has been dead for many years. He told me there was a part of
him that did not want to come home. He felt somehow … transformed after being there.”

Alexandra’s eyebrows lifted. “I am shocked.”

“So was I. Now that he is home, however, he is remembering what is more familiar to
him. He said he was beginning to feel more like his old self, except for the wife,
of course.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh dear,” Alexandra said. “You don’t suppose he regrets it.”

Randolph went to look at his infant son, sleeping soundly in his cradle. “For the
present moment, I believe he is quite infatuated with his new bride, which might have
something to do with the fact that she was his captor, and then his rescuer. I fear,
however, that his life is about to become very complicated, for if he decides to reveal
the truth about his ancestry, all hell will break loose.”

“If
he
decides? It cannot be his decision alone,” Alexandra said. “She was your mother,
too, and you are king. Nicholas must consider your wishes as well, and you must do
what is best for the country.”

Randolph reached into his son’s cradle and adjusted the coverlet. “At least now we
have an heir. We are protected from a Royalist overthrow, for our child is a direct
descendant of the Tremaine dynasty, thanks to you. For that reason, I don’t believe
another scandal involving Nicholas will topple us.” He faced his wife. “Yet I don’t
see what good could come of it, for Nicholas has always been tortured by the press.
He has a wife now, which should put him in everyone’s good graces, as long as he behaves
himself.”

Alexandra raised a skeptical brow, for she knew Nicholas’s lifestyle.

“If he reveals the truth, however,” Rand continued, “he will be forever branded as
a bastard, and the traditionalists will no doubt criticize and resent his life of
privilege here at Court. He will become a subject of gossip. There will be no escaping
it.”

“Will he care about the gossip?” she asked. “He never has before.”

“No, but he has a wife now, and he seems to regard her very highly. He may see things
differently.”

“So you think we should all let bygones be bygones and keep quiet about it?” Alex
asked. “Will you be able to convince him of this?”

Randolph moved to the bed and lay down. “I have never issued an order to Nicholas
before. We have always been brothers first.”

“But you are his king. He is your subject. He must respect and obey your wishes.”

Randolph exhaled heavily. “I wouldn’t want it to come to that.”

She joined him on the bed and lay on her side, facing him. “I am sure it won’t. I
cannot imagine he would wish to tarnish your mother’s memory in the eyes of the people.
They worshipped her.”

“You’re probably right.”

They were quiet for a moment while they enjoyed the sweet, blissful peace of their
infant slumbering softly.

“When will we meet his new bride?” Alexandra asked as she snuggled closer and rested
her cheek on Randolph’s shoulder.

“Privately, before the banquet this evening,” he told her. “Then we have the perfect
opportunity to present her to a few important people. The prime minister and his wife
will be in attendance, as well as the usual courtiers and Privy Council members.”

Alex lifted her head. “Is that not a bit cruel? Shouldn’t we give her a chance to
get her bearings first, before we throw her to the wolves?”

Randolph chuckled. “She must have known what would be expected of her when she agreed
to marry Nicholas. It’s not as if she didn’t know he was a prince, and from what I
gather, she is no shrinking violet. Let us not forget that she kidnapped him out of
a masked ball, tied him up, and dragged him all the way to the French coast. Then
after all that, convinced him to marry her.”

Alex leaned up on an elbow. “Perhaps the real question is whether or not
Nicholas
knew what he was getting into, marrying a woman like that. I cannot wait to meet
her.”

He smiled. “I confess, I feel the same.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Nicholas escorted Véronique into the private family drawing room an hour before the
banquet reception was scheduled to begin. It was to be his wife’s formal presentation
to the king and queen, though Nicholas assured her there would be nothing formal about
it, for Randolph and Alexandra were brother and sister to her now.

Nevertheless, she dipped into a deep curtsy upon meeting them.

Randolph smiled warmly as he offered a hand to help her rise. “So this is the lady
who captured my brother’s heart. It is an honor to meet you, Your Royal Highness.”

“The honor is mine, Your Majesty.”

Alexandra came closer as well. “You weren’t lying, Nicholas. She is lovely. Allow
me to welcome you to our family.”

Véronique smiled. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Nicholas led his bride to the sofa.

“We heard the story of how you two met,” Alexandra said with a smile, “but I fear
that if the gossipmongers get wind of it, they will have far too good of a time.”

“Well, we mustn’t let
that
happen,” Nicholas replied lightheartedly.

A footman served them sherry in small stemmed glasses, and they spoke of other matters—like
Véronique’s first impressions of the city and palace—while getting better acquainted.

Véronique described her parents’ home and the weather in France while Nicholas sat
back and listened with pleasure to the charming cadence of her voice. Tantalizing
memories of their intense conversations through a locked door reminded him of the
passion that had knocked him off his feet at d’Entremont Manor, and how he simply
had to have this woman. He had to take her for his own.

When he glanced at the clock on the wall, however, and saw that it would soon be time
to meet the guests in the banqueting hall, he realized he would have preferred not
to share her with the rest of the world. He wished he could leave her in her bedchamber
for the evening and simply return to her afterwards.

He hadn’t felt that way at d’Entremont Manor—he had enjoyed moving about local society
with her, spending every waking moment in her presence—but everything had seemed so
out of place there. Disjointed, as if it were not part of his life, but rather a temporary,
parallel existence. He soon found himself withdrawing from the conversation.

When it was time to enter the banqueting hall, he wrenched himself back to the present
reality, stood up, and offered his arm to Véronique.

*   *   *

By some miracle, Véronique survived her first function at the palace, which included
her formal presentation to a stunned crowd of onlookers in the marble and gold banqueting
hall. Though she tried to hide it, her heart pounded like a drum when Nicholas led
her into the hall, and the majordomo shouted boomingly, “The Royal Highnesses, the
Duke and Duchess of Walbrydge!” over the heads of all the guests.

Dead silence followed while Véronique stared into a vista of wide eyes and slack jaws,
until the hum of conversation finally resumed.

Dinner at the head table was relatively painless after that. It was not until much
later, when everyone was mingling about after dessert, that she experienced her first
wave of doubt.

She stood chatting with the palace master-at-arms when she noticed that his wife appeared
distracted. The woman was glancing repeatedly at something over Véronique’s shoulder.

When Véronique turned around, she saw Nicholas talking to a strikingly beautiful dark-haired
woman in an amethyst gown. They stood just outside the banquet hall, beyond the doors,
arguing heatedly about something. Then they each stormed off in opposite directions.

Véronique locked gazes with Queen Alexandra on the far side of the room. She, too,
had noticed the scene, but shook her head at Véronique, as if to say,
It’s nothing.

Later that night when Nicholas slipped into her bed, settled his naked body upon hers,
and began to kiss her neck with sweet erotic tenderness, she couldn’t help herself.
She had to ask.…

“Who was that woman you were conversing with this evening? The one with the dark hair?”

He went still, then drew back to peer down at her. “Why do you ask?”

“Is there a reason I
shouldn’t
be asking?”

For an intense moment of deliberation, he remained braced above her until he rolled
to the side, shut his eyes, and rubbed at his forehead with the heel of his hand.
“She is a former lover. She didn’t expect me to bring a wife home from France. I am
sorry you had to see that, Véronique. She was upset that she hadn’t been informed.”

“You only just arrived in the city this afternoon,” Véronique replied in his defense.
“Did she expect you to pay her a call immediately upon your return, and apprise her
of all your activities?”

“Evidently, she did.” He turned his head on the pillow to look her in the eye. “But
I
didn’t
pay her a call.”

“No, you did not, and for that, I am grateful.”

Not wanting to spend their first night at the palace arguing about his irate former
lovers, Véronique sat up, straddled her husband, and wiggled her hips enticingly.
He grew stiff and hard, and his expression warmed with intrigue. Grabbing hold of
her hips with his big hands, he rolled his pelvis beneath her.

“How am I possibly going to manage my jealousy now that we are back among all your
former lovers?” she playfully asked.

The corner of his mouth curved up slightly. “Perhaps you’ll have to lock me up again,
darling. Hold me captive until every last one of them gets the message that I am no
longer available.”