The Prince’s Bride
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Authors: Julianne MacLean
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Contents
Part II – A Prince’s Homecoming
PART I
The Abduction
Chapter One
Paris
July 19, 1815
This was wrong, so very, very wrong.…
She was a villain tonight, there could be no denying it, but any guilt was somehow
eclipsed by the unexpected pleasure of this wicked and very sinister charade.
The passion is not real,
Véronique reminded herself as she took hold of Prince Nicholas’s gloved hand, met
his gaze with a mischievous look of desire through her half mask, and allowed him
to assist her into the coach.
Quickly, before he joined her, she glanced around at the cushions placed just so,
the bottle of champagne in the corner, and breathed in the subtle scent of rosewater,
which she had splashed onto the dark green velvet upholstery a few hours ago, before
she’d entered the ball.
The coach lamp flickered wildly as the night breeze wafted in through the door. With
graceful, controlled movements, she sat down and reclined seductively.
Prince Nicholas, her quarry, followed her inside and closed the door behind them.
At last, they were completely alone.
As he slid onto the seat beside her, the lamplight reflected off the brass buttons
of his royal regalia and sparkled in his enticing blue eyes. His mask covered most
of his face, but not those luscious full lips. Not that the disguise made a difference.
She already knew what he looked like. He had been shown to her the day before, pointed
out like a partridge in the wood.
“Look, that’s him down there—in the black coat. That’s Wellington beside him. Viscount
Castlereagh, the British foreign secretary, is wearing the gray hat.” Pierre Cuvier
handed her the spyglass. “Will you be able to pick him out in the crowd?”
Leaning out over the rail of the stone arch bridge that spanned the Seine, Véronique
shut one eye, peered through the lens, and peered down at the three men standing on
the bow of the boat as it passed beneath them.
She had been briefed about Prince Nicholas’s extraordinary good looks, but had not
expected to nearly lose her breath as she caught him in her sights.
She’d also been warned about his notorious reputation with women. According to Pierre,
he was a flagrant charmer and heartbreaker. A scoundrel of the highest order.
Now that she had seen him in the flesh, she understood why he could get away with
such behavior. Not only was he a royal prince of Petersbourg—a small but powerful
European nation on the North Sea—but he also had the face of a Greek god, with jet
black hair and blue eyes, a teasing smile that could charm all the angels out of heaven,
and a strapping muscular build, unquestionably fit for a throne.
Though he would likely never wear the crown, for his brother’s wife, Queen Alexandra,
had recently given birth to a son.
None of that concerned Véronique, however. She had a job to do, and she must stay
focused on the task at hand.
“Yes, I will be able to pick him out,” she replied as she snapped the spyglass shut
and handed it back to Pierre.
“He’ll be wearing a mask,” he warned.
Véronique turned to walk back to the coach. “Don’t worry. It won’t be a problem.”
Yet here she sat this evening, reclining on the soft upholstered seat in the overheated
coach, smiling at her captured prince with tempting allure, wondering how much time
she had. How long would they be alone before the laudanum took effect? Five minutes?
An hour?
Her desire for him was alarming, and she realized she may not be in full control here.
She supposed she had known that before she stepped into the coach, for everything
had turned rather warm and hazy in the ballroom when they first met. Something very
potent had sparked between them, and now she was caught up in a delicious sexual current,
which she feared might sweep her off her feet.
“I didn’t expect this tonight,” Nicholas said in a low, husky voice that heated her
blood. “It was supposed to be a night of political debates and endless arguments.”
“You’ve all been arguing for days,” Véronique replied, referring, of course, to the
fate of Napoléon, who had been defeated at Waterloo less than a month ago, and had
just surrendered to the British. He had boarded the HMS
Bellerophon
at the port of Rochefort, but no one could agree on what to do with him. “Haven’t
you had enough?”
Nicholas slid closer, slowly removed his gloves one finger at a time, then cupped
her chin in his hand. “Enough talk of politics, yes, but not nearly enough of
you
.”
There it was … the famous charm. She would have liked to believe she was immune to
it, for
she
was the seducer in this situation, but when he spoke to her in that velvety voice
and touched her with those strong, gentle hands, she melted like every other woman
who found herself blinded by his impossible charisma.
Keep your head, Véronique. It won’t be long now.…
“Are we going somewhere?” he asked while his gaze dipped to her parted lips. “Or did
you invite me to your coach for some other decadent purpose?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”
The corner of his mouth curled up in a devilish grin. “I’m not sure, darling, but
you seemed rather determined to lure me out of there. Where do you live? Is it far?
Or do you have some other plan for me? A hotel perhaps, or a long, leisurely drive
through the city?”
The coach lurched forward and pulled away from the curb.
Prince Nicholas’s eyes remained fixed on hers, and he smiled. “A drive it is, then.”
With a simmering look of desire, he kissed the side of her neck, and the moist heat
of his lips lifted her into a dreamlike cloud of arousal. Letting her head fall back
on the seat cushion, she laid her hands on the gold epaulets on his broad shoulders
and closed her eyes. How relaxed she felt in his arms.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to let it go this far.…
Nicholas continued to lay a trail of hot kisses across her collarbone and down to
her cleavage. “You taste sweet, my darling,” he whispered. “Like honey.”
Then he lifted his head and gazed intently at her for a heart-wrenching moment.
Slowly he reached up and pulled his own mask away. Tossing it to the floor, he said,
“I am glad I found you tonight, and that you dragged me out of there.”
Seeing his whole face for the first time in the golden lamplight caused a shiver in
her heart—a sudden twinge of uncertainty. Or perhaps a better word was regret, for
what she was about to do to him.
What was it about this man? she wondered frantically. Was she foolish to think there
was something more between them than a devious plot on her part, and a casual sexual
seduction on his? Perhaps he made all women feel this way when he held them in his
arms, as if there were something deep and profound between them. True love at first
sight, so to speak.
She didn’t love him. No, of course she didn’t. To her, he was just a means to an end.
“May I have the pleasure of removing your mask, Véronique?” he asked. “I would like
to see your face.”
She laid her gloved fingers upon it to hold it securely in place. “But isn’t this
part of the allure?”
Her voice was full of a confident, teasing melody, but she felt her lip twitch at
the dishonesty, for they were alone now, like true lovers. She reminded herself that
she was being paid to seduce him, and very soon the mood in the coach was going to
take a severe turn.
He surprised her then, by sitting back, slouching in the seat, and grasping her gloved
hand. He looked down at it with curiosity as he weaved his fingers through hers. “You
still haven’t told me your full name. Why ever not? Do you feel you must keep secrets
from me? Is it because of who I am?”
A ball of heat caught fire in her belly. “I didn’t think the details of my identity—or
yours—should matter to either one of us tonight. Napoléon will soon be dealt with,
and for that reason, you won’t be in Paris much longer. Besides, I am no fool. I know
your reputation. You want a single night of pleasure with me, no strings attached,
isn’t that right?”
He paused. “Is that really what you think of me? Of
this
?”
She chose her words carefully. “Am I wrong?”
He said nothing while he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the back of her gloved hand.
Then he raised it to his lips.
“I don’t know what has been happening to me lately,” he confessed with eyes closed.
“I am not myself.”
“How so?”
He shook his head as if he had no answer to give; then he looked at her. “Perhaps
it is the end of this bloody war. The world seems different somehow. Or maybe it’s
the fact that my brother now has a wife and a son, and my sister has gone off to become
a married woman as well.”
“Do they seem happy?” Véronique asked, curious about his perceptions of the world,
and his illustrious family.
“My brother is happy. I am not sure about my sister. She is in Austria now, and I
worry for her.”
“She is married to the future emperor. I am sure she will be fine.” Véronique looked
out the window and wished she did not have to do what she must this evening. She wanted
things to be different. “I heard that her husband was wounded at Waterloo.”
“Yes, but the archduke is on the mend. Thank heavens for that.” Nicholas was slouched
very low in the seat with his head tilted back. He closed his eyes again. “Did you
lose anyone at Waterloo, Véronique?”
She remembered certain days of the war and thought it would be best to avoid that
painful subject. So she turned toward him again, her body at an angle, and rested
her cheek on a hand. “We lost a neighbor—a young man who had been a playmate for my
sister and me when we were young.”
Nicholas opened his eyes and regarded her in the dim lamplight. “You have a sister?
Younger or older?”
“She is nineteen and in love with a gentleman who cannot marry her.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“His parents will not approve the match. They have threatened to disinherit him if
he makes a promise to her. They do not consider our family worthy enough for their
son. He is a viscount,” she explained with a sigh. “My father owns a lovely piece
of property. It borders theirs, but he has no title, and money is…” She swallowed
hard. “The war was hard on us.”
A shiver moved through her, and as the coach rolled on, she found she could not avoid
the truth after all.