The Prince’s Bride (23 page)

“Can’t I simply make them disappear? Perhaps I should hire a thug to do the dirty
work for me.”

He chuckled, then groaned with pleasure as she reached down, took hold of his erection,
and guided it to the center of her ardent desires.

He thrust his hips slowly until he entered her, pushing very deep, stretching her …
filling her with everything he was as a sexual being. Véronique quivered with pleasure
as she stirred her hips in tiny circles, sliding up and down the glorious length of
his shaft.

“If my rivals know what’s good for them,” she said, “they will give up any hopes for
your attentions in the future, and accept the fact that you belong to
me
now.”

“You’re a devil,” he growled with a smile. Then he flipped her over onto her back
without ever breaking their intimate connection.

A wave of erotic bliss rose up within her. Véronique threw herself into its mercies
and forgot about the dark-haired woman from the banquet—and all the others who would
surely, in the coming months, appear unexpectedly and express their discontent over
losing their handsome and gifted lover.

She and Nicholas made love three times that night and did not speak of other women
again—at least not until a week later, when they attended a private dinner at the
home of the prime minister.

Chapter Twenty-two

Véronique had just handed her opera cloak over to the butler and was walking with
Nicholas into the drawing room at Carlton House when her shoe caught in the hem of
her gown and she stumbled.

Nicholas stopped in the doorway and steadied her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “Just a little clumsy this evening, that’s all.”

He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “If you’re going to end up on your back,
darling, I would prefer that you wait until we are at home, so I can join you.”

She grinned mischievously. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir. When we reach the palace,
I will try not to trip again, at least not until your bed is in sight.”

She looked up to discover all the guests in the room were staring at them. A few leaned
their heads together and whispered. One guest in particular, however, caught Véronique’s
eye, for she was glaring at them with piercing venom. Véronique knew immediately that
she was another one of Nicholas’s former lovers. This one had flaxen hair and a freckled
complexion.

She stood abruptly and left the room conspicuously through the door on the opposite
side as Véronique and Nicholas entered.

The prime minister was quick—almost too quick—to approach and greet them as they were
formally announced.

“Welcome, Your Royal Highnesses,” he said. “Did you enjoy the opera?”

The usual pleasantries were exchanged, and Nicholas and Véronique soon joined the
other guests in conversation. The flaxen-haired woman never returned.

Later, during the coach ride back to the palace, Véronique again could not supress
her curiosity. “Who was that one?” she asked. “And why did she feel it necessary to
leave the party?”

“Who knows?” he replied. “I have never been able to fathom the minds of most women—present
company excepted.”

She linked her arm through his. “You still haven’t told me who she was. The prime
minister seemed noticeably shaken. Was there some horrendous scandal involving the
two of you?”

Nicholas pulled his gaze from the passing cityscape outside the window and looked
down at her. “She is Mrs. Kennedy, but her friends call her Lizzie. She is the prime
minister’s niece.”

“His niece!” Véronique sat back. “You had an affair with the prime minister’s niece?”

Nicholas raised a finger to his lips. “Shh, darling. You’ll frighten the horses. Before
you get too excited, permit me to explain that she is not some innocent young virgin
I seduced and left brokenhearted by the side of the road.”

“Is she a widow, then?”

He turned away from her briefly and tugged at the cuffs of his shirtsleeves beneath
his jacket. “Not exactly.”

“How … not exactly?” Véronique pressed. “Her husband is either dead or alive. He cannot
be both.”

Nicholas sighed impatiently. “She is married to a navy captain who is at sea most
of the time. Is that enough information for you?”

“So it was an adulterous affair?”

Nicholas rested his arm along the back of the dark velvet upholstery and stared intently
into her eyes. “Are we going to argue about basic morality now?” he asked. “If so,
I forfeit. You win. Adultery is very bad.”

Realizing at once that she was picking a fight with her husband when he had done nothing
wrong—at least not this evening—she fought to withhold her judgments, for he was right.
He did not need to explain his past affairs, as if he had been unfaithful to her.

“I am sorry,” she said, laying her hand on his thigh. “I don’t mean to be possessive.”

He took hold of her gloved hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “Do not apologize
for being possessive, darling. If you weren’t, I would think you did not care.”

Her body warmed at his touch. “Oh, I care, Nicholas.” And when his mouth met hers,
she leaned into the kiss to prove exactly how much—with both passion and exuberance.

*   *   *

The following week, on the way home from an appointment at the office of the Dutch
foreign minister, Nicholas realized he had not set foot in his club since before he
left for France, shortly after the defeat of Napoléon. Leaning out the window, he
called to his driver to take the next left turn.

Had it really been over two months? he wondered as he walked through the front door
of Carroway’s, looked around at the familiar dark paneled walls and floor-to-ceiling
bookcases, and removed his hat and coat.

In short order he was seated in one of four upholstered chairs with three other married
gentlemen—good friends he knew well from the old days when his father was alive and
Randolph was not yet king.

Life had been different then, for they had all been unruly bachelors, sought after
by every single young lady in the city. Married ladies, too, he supposed.

Over the past year, all four of them had taken wives. It seemed almost preposterous
that he could be sitting with them now, talking politics while keeping an eye on the
clock on the wall.

He was expected home later this evening. Neither he nor Véronique had made firm arrangements,
of course, but in the six weeks since their wedding, he had gone to her bed every
night and made love to her numerous times, so it had become both a habit and an unspoken
promise that he would knock on her door at some point.

Tonight, however, he felt restless. He had been looking out the window to watch the
carriages roll up and down the street. He wondered where everyone was headed.

“What do you say we all take a drive over to Wolcott’s and see what’s what?” the Earl
of Rutherford suggested. “We could play some cards.”

Nicholas leisurely sat back, waiting for the other men to respond.

“That sounds like a capital idea,” Danforth replied. “Though the wives won’t appreciate
it.” He turned his attention to Nicholas. “Yours, especially.”

Nicholas frowned. Did they consider it an inevitable outcome of his marriage—that
his wife would be continually disgruntled? His gaze lifted and he regarded Danforth
with a hint of displeasure. “How do you mean?”

Danforth cleared his throat awkwardly. “Nothing … I only meant to imply that you are
newlyweds. I doubt she’s ready to give you up yet. The fires of nuptial bliss are
still burning brightly, surely?”

“I certainly hope
she
thinks so,” Nicholas coolly replied, and the others chuckled uneasily.

Lord Rutherford set down his glass. “Well, then? Who’s in?”

Nicholas finished his drink and looked out at the shadowy movement of the traffic
rolling by.

Was it midnight yet? he wondered. Perhaps there was time for one quick game. Then
he immediately resented his awareness of the hour, for he hadn’t had a curfew since
he was fourteen years old. Just because he had taken a wife did not mean he must live
like a recluse.

“I’m in,” he said decisively as he set down his glass and rose to his feet.

*   *   *

Véronique woke late the next morning and realized with disappointment that it was
the first night she had slept alone since speaking her wedding vows in the chapel
at d’Entremont Manor.

Immediately she began to explore the possibilities. Perhaps Nicholas had fallen asleep,
for they were both in need of rest. She had not slept a full night—uninterrupted—since
before the abduction in Paris.

She rose from bed, rang for her maid, and enjoyed a light breakfast of honey ham,
eggs, and toast with elderberry preserves. Just as she was finishing the last of her
tea, however, she heard a ruckus in the courtyard outside the window, and rose from
her chair to look below.

A carriage had just pulled up. A groomsman was running to take hold of the team, while
a footman lowered the iron step and opened the door.

To her horror, out stepped her husband—looking quite decidedly disheveled. He climbed
the palace steps and entered through the front door. Véronique immediately rang for
a maid to collect her breakfast tray.

So. He had not come home at all last night.

Where in the world had he been?

Fighting against an instinctive wave of feminine suspicion, she forced herself to
sit down and remain calm. She must not presume the worst. She promised herself that
when she saw Nicholas, she would not accuse him of anything, and she would certainly
not behave like those other women, who threw jealous fits and tantrums, and stormed
out of rooms.

But where had he been?

Since it was her usual habit to stroll in the back garden with Alexandra in the mornings,
she decided she would not alter that routine. She made her way to the family drawing
room to meet her sister-in-law, but found it empty. Perhaps Véronique was too late,
and Alexandra had already left the palace without her.

Véronique was on her way to the back terrace when she encountered her husband descending
the stairs. He stopped halfway and said, “I was just looking for you.”

“Were you indeed?” she cheerfully replied.

He inclined his head as if he were suspicious of her overly decorous response, then
continued down the steps in a relaxed fashion.

She noticed with some discontent the dark shadow of stubble at his jaw, and the fact
that he wore the same clothes he’d had on the night before. Had he removed them at
any point and dressed himself again this morning? Where had he slept? A wild assortment
of images whirled about in her brain, and she found it increasingly difficult to convey
a casual cheer.

“All right, let’s have it,” he said, bracing both feet on the floor and folding his
arms. “You’re angry with me.” He spoke as if he
wanted
it to be so.

“No. I am not.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you failed to notice my absence last night?” he asked.
“That you are oblivious of the fact that I didn’t come to your bed?”

She let out a huff. “
Fine,
Nicholas. I noticed, all right? If you wish to torture me with it, you have achieved
your goal. Are you satisfied?”

“Not really, because torturing you was not my intention.”

Véronique hesitated, and ran her hands over her skirts. “Where were you last night?”
she asked. “I waited and waited … then I couldn’t stay awake any longer.”

His eyebrows lifted and his eyes smiled at her, as if all the problems in the world
had just been resolved. “I apologize for keeping you waiting,” he said. “I did think
of you last night, my love. Might I mention you look splendid today?” His gaze dipped
to her breasts and the full length of her gown. “That color becomes you.”

What a perfectly charming and evasive answer,
Véronique thought.

When he offered no more explanation about his whereabouts the night before, she resisted
the urge to question him further, turned away, and crossed the hall to the back doors.
“If you will excuse me, darling, I must meet Alexandra for our daily walk.”

“Very well, then,” he replied as he, too, turned to walk in the opposite direction.
“I shall see you later.”

Chapter Twenty-three

“He didn’t come home last night,” Véronique said to Alexandra as they strolled together
across the wide expanse of green lawn beyond the cedars.

Alexandra twirled her lace-trimmed sunshade. “Well … it’s not the first time he’s
stayed out until dawn, though he hasn’t done that since he brought you home.” She
paused, then spoke carefully. “If it makes any difference, you should know that he
is not the same man he was before you entered his life. The fact that he wanted marriage
at all is a miracle in itself. So you have caused a transformation in him, Véronique.
Randolph and I are quite astounded by it. We almost do not recognize him.”

Véronique contemplated the rhythm of their matched footsteps as they spoke openly
in the warm autumn sunshine. “I am happy you are pleased about our marriage, but I
don’t want to be the sort of wife who tries to change the man she married, and honestly,
I am not even sure I know who that man is, now that we are here. Our honeymoon was
lovely, but everything is very different in Petersbourg.”

Alexandra considered that. “You believe he was not himself in France?”

“Honestly, I do not know. I always knew he had a reputation, but I saw something more
in him. I
still
see something more. I believe he is ten times the man his father made him out to
be. I just hope Nicholas believes it, too.”

They continued to walk at a steady pace. “Are you worried about other women?” Alexandra
asked.

Véronique squinted up at the sky. “They do have me a bit unhinged, I’m afraid. I see
how they look at him, and who can blame them? I am working hard to keep my head on
straight, however. I just wish I knew where he was last night.”