The last time he had spied Count Jansson and Baron von Rehausen, they had been in the conservatory, deep in conversation with several representatives of the United States government. One of the Americans apparently had family in Sweden and the four gentlemen were bonding over a shared appreciation of vodka.
There was no need for Christian and Erika to remain.
“I shall have our carriage brought around to the front. I am sure the count can find his way home with the von Rehausens when they are ready to depart. It is but a short walk from their house to ours,” he said.
She gave his suggestion the barest of nods. “Alright, if you think it is appropriate for us to leave. I am not exactly sure what the protocol is here. I know at home you don’t leave until the royal party has officially departed, but that doesn’t appear to be the case here.”
Christian motioned to a nearby footman who immediately hastened over and bowed.
“Would you please make your way to the conservatory and inform Count Jansson that Countess Erika and I have departed for home,” he said.
“Yes, Your Highness,” he replied before quickly bowing once more and heading for the door.
“Come, Erika. Let’s get you home before you cannot make it back up the grand staircase. You have been a shining light this evening. I would hate to have to carry you out.”
Christian’s words were such a relief. Erika yearned for the warmth and comfort of her bed. She would welcome sleep, her great friend, with open arms the moment her head touched the pillow. “Thank you, Christian. I am more than ready to go home.”
The trip back home to Duke Street was a short one, especially at this late hour. It left them little time to talk. There were few carriages and coaches still about to impede their progress. Out the window, Erika caught a glimpse of the street gas lamps reflected in the puddles from an earlier rain. There was an almost magical feel about the empty streets.
Once home, she bade a hasty farewell to Christian, informing him that she needed to consult with Mette about leaving breakfast until a later hour than usual. She waited until he had disappeared up the stairs and the click of his bedroom door confirmed he had retired before she silently followed in his wake.
Inside the cramped sitting room, she rested on top of one of the many boxes. She still had no idea what she was going to do with all the gifts once the betrothal was ended.
Tonight, had been lovely—everything a real engagement ball should have been. Dancing, laughter and the promise of a lifetime of love between the newly bound couple. Wonderful right up to the moment Christian had reminded her that it was all a ruse.
What had he said?
“Everyone was delighted with our performance,” she muttered.
She tucked a wayward curl behind her ear and let her head drop. When the hair escaped a second time, she let it hang.
You must develop a thicker skin. There is too much at stake to be in tears or looking miserable in front of the English.
The door opened. From the quiet of his footsteps, she knew it was Christian. Her father was not one for walking into a room without announcing his arrival.
He took a seat on the box next to hers but said nothing.
I thought you had gone to bed.
He was developing a keen set of diplomatic skills, one of those being the ability to wait her out, to let Erika be the first one to speak.
But what was she to say? That she was having second thoughts about this fake engagement? That she was falling in love with him? No. She had to hold the line, stay strong and detached.
Erika made a great study of an ornate blue and white patterned vase which sat on the sideboard a few feet away. It had been a gift from the Portuguese ambassador and she quite liked it. Perhaps when all was said and done, she might convince Magnus to allow her to keep it.
But then again, perhaps not. I expect all this will need to go back to the various gift givers. One would not wish to cause offense.
Christian cleared his throat. “I want to thank you for this evening. You were magnificent. I think we really won the crowd over.”
She focused her attention on another box. This one contained two pure wool blankets, a gift from . . . she couldn’t remember who. They were lovely as well. People were so generous. The thought that the gifts were more to curry favor than share the joy in their betrothal was, however, not lost on Erika. She expected that the value and quality of the engagement presents were directly correlated with how Sweden was viewed by the various countries. The obviously cheap and gawdy wall hanging from Russia was a not-so-subtle slight.
“Erika?”
She stirred from her thoughts of northern insults and turned to him. What had he said? Oh, yes. A kind remark about her performance this evening. “Everyone seemed to have a lovely time. The Prince Regent was most pleased with his party,” she replied.
It had been Prinny’s party. She and Christian had been tools for the Prince Regent to show off his wonderfully generous side and garner some praise for himself.
A hand reached and took hold of hers. She mustered a smile for him, something which was fast becoming a habit.
“You don’t sound happy. What is wrong?” he said.
“Nothing, just tired. It’s been a long night. Congratulations, Christian. You have managed to get a foot in the door. If we can work to capitalize on it, then we will be in a strong position when the negotiations take place.” She pulled her fingers out of his grasp and went to stand.
Christian shot to his feet. He reached for her, but she took a step back. Her heel hit the edge of a box and she winced.
“What is wrong, Erika? If I have said something to upset you, please, whatever it is let me fix it,” he said.
She fiddled with the tiger’s eye ring. “This is a wonderful piece of jewelry. You must make sure that I return it to you when things are done.” The quiver in her voice betrayed her. She had to leave the room before she fell to pieces. With a lightness of foot that surprised even herself, she rose up on her toes and placed a brief kiss on Christian’s cheek. “Good night.”
A firm hand gripped the sleeve of her gown and he hauled her against him. Their gazes met for a moment before his dropped to her lips. Christian placed his hands either side of her face and took her mouth in a deep, sensual kiss.
His tongue swept past her lips. There was nothing tentative or polite about his kiss. There was only heat and passion. Erika clung to the front of Christian’s jacket.
A strong hand was placed in the small of her back holding her to him.
She should have fought against it, knowing how dangerous it was to give in, but this was something Erika had craved for forever. Their mouths were fused in an embrace, a long slow spell of desire.
This was everything she had ever hoped a kiss with Christian would be. As their tongues danced over one another, Erika prayed it would never end.
And then it did.
Christian drew back, released Erika from his hold, and stood staring at her. The look of surprise and bewilderment on his face crushed her heart in an instant. It had been a moment of madness—that was what his expression said.
He regrets it. Oh, god, please don’t apologize.
Without another word, Christian turned on his heel and left the room. Erika stood, fingers held to her swollen lips, while she tried to make sense of what had just happened.
The kiss earlier in the evening had been for the benefit of others. It had been a public display of affection, something to which they had agreed.
But this kiss was something else entirely. It had been spontaneous, and passionate. And she had felt it to her core.
As she continued to stare at the door through which Christian had fled, Erika was left with one question. Why had he kissed her?
This was not a part of their agreement. It served no purpose, nor contributed to their cause. There had not been a gathering of interested spectators to witness it.
She touched the engagement ring once more, running her thumb
over its smooth surface.
No, his kiss made sense. He had been worried that she was not fully invested in their scheme. Christian had kissed her to reaffirm their agreement. To remind her that while she wore his ring, he could demand her loyalty. That she would maintain the lie.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Christian was certain that there would be bruises from where he had continually kicked himself in the hours since that kiss. Why, oh, why had he done that? And then to top it all off he had fled like a thief in the night as soon as it was over.
The morning sun shone brightly through the dining room window and he was still struggling to get his head around it. One minute he was busy trying to understand what was wrong with Erika, the next he was indulging in his deepest fantasy and kissing her senseless.
Correction. You were the only one with a complete lack of sense last night.
The ball at Carlton House had been an outstanding success. They had everyone believing that they were a couple madly in love. He should have left things with her as they were when they had returned home. Waited until the cold, sensible light of day to ask her if she was alright.
“Yes, well, if there wasn’t a problem before you left the party, then you surely made certain that there was one as soon as you got home,” he muttered.
Their romance was meant to be purely for public consumption. No sneaking off and having a little kiss in a dark corner. Not that he would have minded, but Erika had made clear her position on the matter of affection, right at the outset.
As he sat at the breakfast table pushing a cold piece of haddock around on his plate and wishing it were pickled herring, Christian struggled with how he was going to mend things between him and Erika.
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed eight o’clock. He had been sitting alone in the room for the past forty minutes, waiting for Erika to make an appearance.
Oh, you have made a pretty mess of things.
He had fought hard to overcome his impetuous nature, done all he could to stamp it down. But when it came to Erika, his impulses were always threatening to revolt and take command.
He pushed back his chair, ready to go and find her. At the same time, the door swung open and the rotund and ever cheerful Mette, the house cook, entered the room. She carried a plate of boiled eggs, potato, and sour cream in her hands, smiling proudly as she placed it on the table in front of him.
“God morgon, Your Highness,” she said.
He bowed his head. In the short time since Christian had been in residence at the house, the Jansson’s cook had made every effort to serve his favorite food. What she lacked in talent in comparison to the highly skilled chefs of Stockholm Palace, she more than made up for in enthusiasm.
“This looks delicious. You do spoil me, Mette,” he said.
A clearly flustered Mette blushed a deep red and bobbed a quick curtsey before leaving the room.
There was no way Christian could leave the food untouched. Mette was a sweet woman. The last thing he wished to do this morning was to offend another member of the Jansson household.
He helped himself to two large portions of the home-style cooking and settled over his plate. “This smells wonderful,” he said.
“I am glad you like Mette’s cooking. She takes great pride in being able to serve a member of the royal family,” replied Erika.
Christian let out a slow, low sigh. He was relieved to see her. The worry that she was going to avoid him today eased a little.
Rising from his chair, Christian closed the door, leaving the two of them alone. “I want to apologize about last night. It was completely unacceptable of me to kiss you in such a fashion. I promise it will not happen again.”
A flash of what he thought might be disappointment crossed her face. It was there and gone in an instant.
“It was the end of a long night and both of us had probably had far more champagne than we are used to drinking. Let us put it down to a momentary lapse of judgement and move on. We have bigger things to concern ourselves with,” replied Erika.
She held out a pile of letters in her hand and waved them under his nose. “Thirty invitations arrived early this morning. Balls, parties, and private dinners are going to take up every waking moment for the both of us for the foreseeable future. It would appear that everyone and anyone wants to have the sweethearts from Sweden on their guest list. Which means . . .”
There was a long and uncomfortable pause during which Christian’s mind went to a number of dark places. How much damage had that kiss done?
“Which means?” he replied.
“We are going to have to work together in social situations while doing our best to ensure that we don’t slip up ever again and let something like last night happen. It was a onetime mistake, and it must remain so.” She dropped the letters onto the table and began to sort through them. Christian reluctantly resumed his seat and his breakfast.
The message was clear. Small tokens of affection were for public consumption only—everything else was off-limits.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Erika was grateful that King Charles had furnished Christian with a substantial line of credit. With all the social events they were now attending, she was spending a large sum of his money on new gowns and slippers. The cost of making sure they were the talk of the town was eye-watering.
Early-morning fittings at her modiste coupled with late nights at balls and parties left her exhausted. After she had fallen asleep in one of their planning meetings, Baroness von Rehausen had pressed upon her the need to start taking an afternoon nap.
“Believe me, after having been pregnant as many times as I have, you learn to snatch sleep wherever possible.”
Seated at her dressing table in preparation for yet another party, Erika studied the dark circles under her eyes. Her maid softly tutted. “We need to do something about your skin, my lady. Tomorrow I shall make a compress of cold tea to reduce the swelling. But tonight, we will just have to try and paint over it with powder.”
Erika nodded. It wouldn’t do for her to get about London looking tired. “Just do what you can, and I will start trying to catch up on sleep,” she replied.
The idea of having cold tea on her face did not appeal, but all efforts to look the bright young future bride had to be undertaken.
With her face fixed and the latest gown hugging her curves, Erika finally headed downstairs. Christian was waiting for her in the foyer.
His face lit up as soon as their gazes met.
I wish you wouldn’t smile at me the way you do. It breaks my heart.
“You look stunning tonight, Erika. The deep green of your gown is so beautifully set off with your fair hair,” he said.
She took his offered hand. “Thank you. It’s not the sort of gown I usually wear, but the Carlton House set do dress a little more risqué than the rest of London.”
A shiver slid down her spine as Christian’s gaze dropped to the bustline of the gown, or what should have been a bustline. There wasn’t much fabric on that part of her dress. It left the mounds of her breasts visible for all to see. But, as the baroness had said, if she was going to fit in with the Prince Regent’s crowd, she had to dress like them.
He leaned in close and whispered, “It is a sensual delight.”
Her pulse kicked up a notch as his heated breath skated across her naked décolletage. She longed to feel his fingertips on her skin and to have him kissing her softly between her breasts.
Heat pooled in the secret places that only she had ever touched. Her longing for him to explore her body flared hot and needy. That one kiss had awakened a hunger she feared would never be sated.
If I thought for one minute that your affections for me went beyond this scheme of yours, that if you saw us as being more than just pretend, I would be yours in an instant.
I would say yes. And forever.
Stepping into the home of Sir Vincent and Lady Lynch was like walking into a lion’s den. Lady Lynch and a tall pimp
le-faced man who introduced himself as Lionel Lynch greeted them. Sir Vincent, the senior cabinet minister, was nowhere to be seen. Lionel gave Erika’s dark green, daring gown a lecherous look, which she did her best to ignore.
What she couldn’t ignore, however, was Anne Lynch. Her behavior toward Christian immediately had Erika’s senses scrambling to high alert.
When Lady Lynch dipped into an elegant curtesy for Christian, she remained low in an obvious invitation for him to take his time and study her cleavage. “Your Highness,” she all but purred.
Erika took the opportunity to size up the competition. Lady Lynch was a tall, slim woman with petite breasts, which gave Erika some comfort. Her own mounds were what her modiste had dubbed as being ‘a decent handful for a man.’ She straightened her back and pushed her breasts out.
But what Lady Lynch lacked in the breast department, she made up for in unashamed self-confidence. Her attention was focused entirely on Christian. When she licked her lips and smiled at him, Erika gritted her teeth.
You are not even making an attempt to be subtle. I am right here in front of you.
To her mind, there was little doubt that if Lionel Lynch had not been standing next to his mother, she would have offered her sexual services to Christian on the spot. Erika was doing her utmost not to allow her imagination to fill in the gaps of what may have transpired between Christian and Lady Lynch at that first formal ball, but it was a struggle.
With all the control she could muster, Erika kept her gaze front and center. She didn’t know what she would do if she chanced a look at Christian’s trousers and saw evidence of him being aroused.
He might well be her fake fiancé, but he was still hers.
“And of course, you remember Countess Erika Jansson, my fiancée,” said Christian.
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