Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance (38 page)

Instead, she spent most of her time locked inside the music room, letting her heartbreak
pour out onto the pianoforte keys. The more frantic and melancholy the piece, the
better she liked it, losing herself in each crashing chord and long, mournful stanza.

Her father, with whom she could barely stand to be in the same room now, suggested
they return to Alden. But she had categorically refused. So long as Emma and Nick
were willing to offer her their hospitality—and they had assured her they were—then
she wasn’t going anywhere. If her father wished to return to Alden, he could do so
anytime he liked, she told him.

It was the first time in her life she had defied him—well, the second time, if you
counted her marriage to Daniel. And yet despite the fact that her father had the authority
to force her to leave whether she agreed or not, he said no more on the subject.

Of Daniel, she had heard nothing. Most likely he was on his way back to Scotland by
now, having done his duty in delivering her safely to her family. For a time, she
had thought he was her family too, but that was before he’d accepted her father’s
edict and agreed to divorce her.

In truth she still couldn’t fathom his desertion, but as he’d told her, he didn’t
want to be married to a princess. The idea would have been laughable if it hadn’t
hurt so badly. The most sought-after noblemen and royals in England and the Continent
would willingly line up to vie for her hand and yet Daniel MacKinnon, retired solider
and disposed laird, did not want her.

What was it he had said? That their worlds were too far apart. What a simpleton she
had been to ever think otherwise. And yet, even now, she could not help but love him.
In her heart, she knew she always would.

If only he had believed her, would it have made any difference? Would he have stayed
and opposed her father if he had thought her feelings fixed enough to weather any
storm? Or was it he who had doubts? He who did not love her sufficiently?

She’d had many hours since her arrival at Lyndhurst House to mull over the hundred-and-one
cruel questions that chased ceaselessly through her mind; the cruelest of them all
was her sudden doubt of his love.

When they’d married, she’d thought he felt the same as she. But now that she considered,
she realized he had never actually said the words.

Not once.

Oh, he’d desired her, of that she had not the least doubt, but love…

The familiar ache rose inside her again, threatening to
topple her to her knees. Finding her way to the music room, she sat down at the pianoforte
and began to play.

Nearly half an hour had passed when a quiet knock came at the door.

She kept playing.

“Mercedes?”

It was Emma.

“May we come in?”

And Ariadne.

She didn’t respond, just let her fingers keep flying over the keys. They entered the
room anyway and stood listening quietly while she played the final movement of the
sonata.

The room fell silent as the last notes faded away. She laid her hands in her lap,
head bent, her spirits as forlorn as the music.

“You play so beautifully,” Emma said. “Herr Beethoven would be proud.”

The remark reminded her that she had once promised to play Beethoven for Daniel, only
he was not here to listen. But perhaps in her own way she was playing for him, wishing
somehow that he would change his mind about everything and walk through the door.

Forcing a smile, she looked at her friends. “You are probably weary of listening to
me constantly at the keys. I must be driving you to distraction by now.”

“Certainly not,” Emma stated emphatically. “Nick was saying only this morning how
much he enjoys having music in the house every day. I’ve even caught the servants
pausing in their work to listen a time or two. You are to play as often and for as
long a time as you like.”

“Yes, play as much as you need,” Ariadne added. “Do whatever helps you to feel whole
again.”

Mercedes pressed her lips tight, knowing there was nothing that could do that, not
even her playing. Shifting sideways on the velvet piano seat, she studied her friends
more closely, taking note of their afternoon finery. “Off to the garden party, I see.”

“We are, yes,” Emma said. “Are you certain you will not join us? I understand there
are to be ices from Gunters and rowing for those who do not mind risking a dip in
the ornamental lake. Dear Aunt Felicity says she is attending, and you know how she
is. She’s bound to mishear something and say the most outrageous things. The last
time she came to dinner, I mentioned a hat I had just ordered and she spent the rest
of the evening talking about cats. Nick and I could hardly look at each other for
laughing.”

“Do come along, Mercedes,” Ariadne coaxed. “The sunshine would do you good and we’ll
be happy to wait while you change.”

She shook her head, idly stroking a finger over one of the ivory keys. “No, I would
only spoil everyone’s good mood.”

“You would not,” her friends denied.

“Really, it sounds lovely, but I am simply not ready yet to be in company. I shall
be far more content to stay here and read or take a nap. You go ahead, have a splendid
time and do not worry yourselves about me.”

Ariadne looked as if she wanted to press the point, but Emma gave an almost imperceptible
shake of her head to signal that it was no good. Ariadne, who generally took no one’s
advice but her own, silently relented.

“Very well,” Emma said, “we shall see you this evening.”

Mercedes stayed seated at the pianoforte as they left the room. Outside in the hall,
she heard Nick join them. “No luck, then?” he asked.

“No,” Emma replied.

Whatever else they told him was lost as the three of them made their way along the
corridor toward the entrance hall. Unlike herself, Nick had been persuaded to join
them for the outing.

Once she was certain they were gone, her smile fell away and she let her shoulders
slump with an unhappiness she no longer had to make any effort to hide. She played
a few random notes on the pianoforte, wondering what to do with her afternoon. She’d
mentioned reading or even taking a nap, but
neither of those choices held much appeal. And although she knew the staff would be
happy, even eager, to prepare nuncheon for her, she wasn’t particularly hungry. Her
appetite seemed to have all but disappeared since Daniel left.

She glanced at the clock, which read a few minutes past noon, then teased her fingers
over the piano keys again. Mayhap a book from the library would have the power to
distract her. Doubtful, but she might as well try.

She was about to climb to her feet when a light knock sounded against the door.

“Yes?” she called, wondering who was there.

A dark-haired man with a mustache entered the room. One of her father’s men—Lang—she
thought he was called.

“Pardon the intrusion, Your Highness,” he said, “but Prince Frederick would like to
see you.”

She scowled. “See me about what?”

“I could not say. If you will follow me, I will take you to him now.”

“I know where my father’s rooms are located. I am sure I can find the way.”

Discomfort crossed the man’s face. “I am sorry, Your Highness, but the prince wishes
to see you immediately and asked that I provide escort.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” She shot to her feet, grinding her teeth in irritation.

She’d barely seen her father this week and had gotten the impression that he was leaving
her a wide berth so she could deal with all the pain he’d caused by his interference
in her marriage. But here he was, being insensitive and autocratic again, and sending
an underling to do his dirty work.

“Very well,” she said. “You may show me to him.”

But rather than preceding her up the main staircase, he led her along the ground-floor
corridor that went to the back of the house.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “Is the prince not upstairs?”

“No, Your Highness. He awaits you in the garden.”

The garden?

She’d never known her father to spend a great deal of time in gardens, but the day
was a fair one, so maybe he had gone outside to stretch his legs and take a bit of
air. Inwardly shrugging, she followed along.

Lang opened the rear garden door and stepped back so that she could walk through first.
The grass was soft under her slippers, a light breeze ruffling the edges of her skirts.
She looked around at the expertly trimmed garden, but saw no sign of anyone else.

“I do not see him,” she said to Lang, who still waited by the door. “Are you certain
this is where he said to meet?”

“Quite sure. He is just over there, on the other side of that small hedge.”

She looked at the area where he pointed, a tendril of unease rippling along her spine.
Why would her father wait in such a concealed section of the garden?

“Do you know, I am a little cold despite its being summer. I am going back inside.
Tell him he can find me in the library.”

Something shifted in Lang’s eyes and he stepped forward to block her way. “I don’t
think so, Princess Mercedes. You’re going to stay right here.”

“Stand aside, you—”

But she got no further as a man rushed up from behind and grabbed her with two strong
arms. She struggled, kicking backward, and had the satisfaction of making contact
with his ankle. He cursed, swearing strongly against the pain.

She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could, a handkerchief was forced across
her face. It was dirty and foul smelling and damp with some concoction that stung
her nose and made her eyes water. Suddenly the garden began to grow hazy, the world
spinning.

Daniel,
she thought, calling out for him in her mind.

And then everything went black.

Daniel shook hands and exchanged friendly good-byes with one of his former lieutenants,
a man he liked despite the fact
that he was a MacLeod. The two of them had fought shoulder to shoulder at Waterloo,
and he had enjoyed being able to find out what his old friend had been doing since
they’d last met.

With a final wave, Daniel set off along the street toward his lodgings. The past week
had been busy, deliberately so, filled with visits to old friends whom he’d known
lived here in the city. Each evening he would return to his room and pack, telling
himself that he would leave for Skye come morning. But then he would find some new
excuse to delay and decide to stay just “one more day.”

It was because of Mercedes, of course. He couldn’t get her out of his thoughts no
matter how hard he tried. He’d agreed to end their marriage for all the right reasons,
yet none of that seemed to matter when he lay alone in his bed at night, his arms
empty and aching for her. He missed her with a need akin to pain, as if he’d severed
some vital part of himself and left it behind with her.

And perhaps he had.

Without consciously realizing, he’d walked to Mayfair more than once and stood watching
Lyndhurst House from a distance in hopes of catching a glimpse of her. But even though
he had seen her friends, and on one occasion her father, come and go from the house,
he had not seen her.

Had she departed for Alden already?

And why, when he was the one who had left her, did he seem incapable of making that
last, final break?

His marriage was over; he knew there was no hope, and yet he couldn’t bring himself
to go home. Because once he rode out of London, he would be admitting that it truly
was the end and that he would never, ever see her again.

He rubbed a fist over his chest and the ache that seemed permanently lodged there.
Idly, he wondered if it would ever go away or if this pain in his heart would hurt
for the rest of his days.

Go,
he told himself,
go now while you still have the strength.

And that, he realized, was exactly what he would do. As
soon as he arrived at the inn, he would go to his room, pack his few belongings, and
set out. He didn’t know how far he would get by nightfall, but it would be more of
a start than he’d made all week.

Grimly determined, he increased his pace.

He paid little attention as he strode into the inn, quickly taking the stairs. He
didn’t notice, until he stuck his key in the lock, that the door was already open.

By then it was too late.

Three men were waiting in his room, one of them the last person he had ever expected
to see again, particularly at an inn such as this one.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said, making no effort to conceal his surprise.

“Don’t bother with the niceties,” Prince Frederick said furiously. “Where is she,
MacKinnon? What have you done with her?”

“Her? Do you mean Mercedes?”

“Of course I mean my daughter. She’s been moping around, despondent from the moment
you walked out the door. When did she contact you and where have you secreted her
while the pair of you make plans to run off again?”

His stomach gave a sick flip. “I have no’ contacted her. Are you telling me she’s
gone?”

Color seemed to drain from the prince’s face. “Then you don’t have her?”

“Nae, I have no’ seen or spoken to Mercedes since the day we parted. When did you
see her last?”

“This morning. The archduke and duchess and Princess Ariadne left to attend a garden
party shortly after noon, but according to the servants she refused to accompany them.
I was away from the house for a short time myself, but asked to see her as soon as
I returned. She was not in her room, and none of the servants have seen her. We’ve
scoured the house and she is not there. I presumed she was with you.”

Daniel shook his head. “And there is nowhere else she might have gone? For a walk
perhaps?”

“No, she would never do such a thing on her own.”

And Daniel knew her father was right. After everything that had happened to her, Mercedes
knew better than to wander off alone.