Return of the Prince_Medieval Romance

by Elise de Sallier

  With Eloise.

  The idea would be dishonourable to both women, but once formed, was difficult to dislodge. Since he couldn’t have Eloise in reality, was it wrong to contemplate having her in his dreams?

  “Hello, Destrian,” her soft, sweet voice reached him over the strains of the orchestra, and he smiled to himself. Memory was a powerful thing. Focussing his attention on his latest dance partner, his eyes widened. Dressed in a stunning bronze and gold gown that revealed an almost shocking expanse of creamy flesh, she was one of the ladies wearing an exotic mask over her eyes.

  Brown eyes.

  Warm, brown eyes with a touch of amber surrounded by long, dark lashes.

  The hair swept into a twist high on her head was also brown with familiar-looking hints of red . . . like the highlights that had caught his eye when he had seen a lovely maid’s wavy locks illuminated by firelight.

  “Your Highness?”

  His gaze lowered to the cupid-bow lips below the mask. Red lips. Soft, red and oh, so kissable lips.

  “Eloise?” he whispered, and those precious lips curved in a smile.

  “So, you haven’t completely forgotten me.”

  “Forgotten you?” His feet stumbled to a halt, as his scrambling thoughts lost track of the dance steps. “I’ve thought of nothing but you, day and night, since we parted.”

  “Oh!” Her eye’s widened, and she took a step closer. He would gladly haul her into his arms if she was willing, but then he realised she was matching the steps of the dancers to either side of them. With a shake of his head, he forced his legs into motion. Catching hold of Eloise’s fingers, he raised their joined hands. She swept beneath his arm and circled around him before they were forced to draw apart to perform the intricate movements the dance required. Twice more, they stepped close to one another. Twice more, she swirled beneath his arm. But when the time came to release her hand and retreat to his side of the dance floor, in anticipation of a change in partner, he held firm, having no intention of letting her go.

  “Come with me,” he said, tightening his hold on her hand and weaving his way through the crowd towards the side of the ballroom.

  “Destrian!” she whispered. “You’re making a scene.”

  Slowing down for her to catch up, he murmured close to her ear. “Pretend to have hurt yourself. Limp. Act as if you’re going to faint. Just give me a reason to get us out of here.”

  She blinked up at him, then sagged against his side, her free hand rising to her brow. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but I appear to have done myself a grave injury,” she said in a raised voice.

  Destrian snorted. He should have feigned the injury, as her acting was worse than his . . . and that was saying something. A steward approached and asked if he could be of assistance, but Destrian shooed him away.

  “I’m just returning the young lady to her family,” he said, earning some approving nods from the curious onlookers.

  “I can do that for you.” Justin approached and took hold of Eloise’s other arm before adding in a whisper, “You didn’t have to hand deliver her, as I was just biding my time until after the dance to make my move.”

  “Not bloody likely,” Destrian muttered, pushing his friend away with a none-too-gentle shove. “It’s Eloise. Now cover for me.”

  Leaving a spluttering Justin to stand guard, Destrian led Eloise through the nearest doorway and down a hallway, entering the first room he could find. A parlour-come-study, it was shrouded in darkness, so he crossed to a desk where he had spotted a lamp, only releasing her hand to light it. Turning to face her, Destrian didn’t know whether to wrap his arms around her and kiss her senseless or shake her for putting him through this torment.

  “Take off the mask,” he said, his tone harsher than he had intended. She took a step back, so he took one forward, unwilling to allow any more distance between them than was absolutely necessary. With trembling hands, she did as he had demanded. Only then, when her lovely face was bared to him, did he continue. “Why are you here?”

  “I need your help,” she said in a small voice.

  “What? More money?” He turned his back and began rummaging through the drawers of the desk before slamming them shut. “There doesn’t appear to be any here. I shall have to speak with the steward who handles my finances. I’m surprised.” He faced her again, the bitterness in his tone unmistakeable. “One hundred gold coins weren’t enough?”

  Her mouth dropped open, and all he could think about was kissing it when she had probably not given their kiss another thought.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and he lifted his gaze to find a troubled look in her eyes. “I know you said it would take time to secure my independence, but it has been three weeks, Destrian, and I have not heard a word. I am to be forced to marry a dreadful man if you don’t help me, and—”

  “What do you mean?” He grabbed hold of her shoulders, willing himself not to become distracted by the feel of her bare flesh beneath his hands. “You wrote back to me saying you no longer required my help securing a new guardian, and that you had decided to accept my offer of payment instead . . . gold to use for a dowry. You said you had a suitable gentleman in mind for a husband, a Mr Festerly, and that you found him quite agreeable.”

  “Agreeable? The man is a monster. I have no dowry and know nothing about this gold of which you speak.” Eloise placed her hands on his chest, her expression imploring. “I never received your letter, Destrian. I thought you had forgotten me.”

  Destrian squeezed his eyes shut. He’d believed she had used him, played with his affections to gain his sympathy . . . and a sizeable reward.

  “Rulf.” He ground the name between his teeth, opening his eyes to meet Eloise’s stunned expression.

  “You sent that fierce-looking soldier to find me?”

  Destrian nodded, betrayal burning like acid in his belly. “Two weeks ago. I needed more information about your current guardian, as the only family by the name of Sommerville I could find didn’t fit your story. The father was a high-ranking nobleman, but when he died, the daughter was left in the care of his second wife, her stepmother—”

  “A wicked stepmother,” Eloise said, tears filling her eyes.

  “Your stepmother forced you into servitude?” Destrian could barely believe such a thing.

  “And she is going to make me marry Mr Festerly any day now unless you help me. He is paying her a fortune to have me, a fortune I suspect he received from Rulf, though my guess is he is keeping plenty for himself.”

  Destrian drew Eloise into his embrace. “No. I won’t allow it.”

  “Thank you.” She hugged him tightly, and he rested his cheek against the top of her head. Within the space of two heartbeats, his relief that she had not used him became something else, something impossible to suppress. She felt it, too. At least, he hoped she did. When he lifted his head, the look in her large, dark eyes gave him the answer he was hoping for.

  “Eloise.” He breathed her name on a sigh and fell into the kiss like a man diving into deep waters. Their lips touched, his eyes closed, and everything that was wrong with his world was set to rights. This was what one hoped for in a relationship—warmth, caring, affection—but rarely found. It was also much more, a craving both satisfied and awakened to a whole new level of want. As their mouths moved in harmony, finding a rhythm that released wave after wave of pent up desire. Destrian felt connected in a way he never had, understood, needed . . . not for what he was but who.

  Eloise didn’t care that he was a prince or heir to a kingdom. It would have been far better for them both if he wasn’t. She only cared for him.

  Her arms wrapped around his neck, her gloved fingers threading through his hair. Her breasts pressed firmly against his chest and her lower belly against his groin, leaving them both in no doubt of his body’s response to her nearness. He pulled her harder against him, and she whimpered into his mouth.

  He softened the kiss and murmured
against her lips, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You didn’t.” She leaned back, her breath coming in quick pants. “But we shouldn’t be doing this. It is not right.”

  “Not right? It is the only thing that’s right.” He drew her back against him and kissed her again, inhaling her scent and savouring the feel of her sweet mouth, her tempting curves. His tongue traced the softness of her open lips then delved into the treasures between. With a soft, moaning sound, she arched into him. He groaned in response, his body wanting more, his mind refusing to acknowledge he would have to let her go at some point.

  Never!

  This was the woman who should be on his arm, sharing his bed, bearing his children. This was the woman he should marry.

  Rather than jolt him to his senses, the rightness of the revelation settled around him like a cloak. Eloise was meant for him. She was his, and there was no point denying he was hers, body and soul. Obligation, responsibilities, sanity be damned.

  “Destrian?” she murmured when he manoeuvred them towards the long leather couch he had noticed positioned against one wall. When the back of his knees hit the edge of the seat, he went to sit down, intent on taking her with him. But Eloise had other ideas.

  “Destrian, we can’t,” she said, breaking the kiss and taking a step back. “We have to stop. You are betrothed to another.”

  “Not yet, and besides…” He shook his head. “Seraphina cares even less for me than I do for her. Our marriage would be a travesty now that I have found you.”

  His arms and lips sought hers again, and she didn’t deny him. Enthralled, distracted, he didn’t notice the door opening or register that they were no longer alone in the room. He kept right on kissing Eloise like a starving man feasting at a banquet.

  “So, this is why my prospective husband couldn’t even finish one dance with me.” Seraphina’s coolly spoken words had the same effect as being drenched by an icy torrent, and Destrian spun to face her where she stood just inside the open door. “I thought Merek was the hound dog of the family, but it appears you share his morals,” she continued, entering the room with a grim-faced Justin behind her. “Could you not have waited to tryst with your doxy until after our betrothal was announced?”

  “Eloise is no doxy,” Destrian said, tucking her protectively against his side. “She is the woman who saved my life when I was left for dead in the forest. The woman I love.”

  Eloise’s heart had taken a battering over the course of the evening, first racing when she thought she might not gain entrance to the palace, then lodging in her throat when she came face to face with Destrian. Discovering he hadn’t forgotten her, that he still wanted her, caused it to swell within her chest until she feared her ability to contain it. Being kissed by him, being held in his arms, being told that he cared for her was like being given a taste of heaven . . . before all hell broke loose.

  “Destrian?” She tugged on his arm until he turned to face her.

  “I mean it, Eloise. I love you with all my heart,” he said, and she feared hers would break. He wasn’t hers to love or to be loved by in return.

  “But you can’t . . . you mustn’t . . .”

  “It appears he already does,” Princess Seraphina interjected, raising a perfectly arched brow. She looked more bemused than devastated, but Eloise felt bad enough for the both of them. She tried to step away from Destrian’s side, but his grip on her tightened.

  “I am sorry, Your Highness,” she said, attempting a curtsey with his arm still around her. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I came here tonight because I need Destrian’s help, not to interfere with your betrothal.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about the betrothal if I were you,” Seraphina said. “As there is not a chance in Hades it shall happen now.”

  “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

  Eloise’s mouth fell open at the sight of not one but two kings and their queenly wives forcing their way into the room along with a younger man she suspected was Destrian’s brother. At a look from his father, Destrian finally released her, and Eloise managed a stumbling curtsey.

  “Who’s the gal, and what’s she doing with my future son-in-law?” The elderly man who had first spoken, and could be no other than King Gorvenal, continued. His face was flushed, and one of his hands kept clutching at his chest.

  “My name is Miss Eloise Sommerville, Your Majesty.” Eloise stepped forward, worried the man was going to pass out. “I apologise for the disruption. I came seeking help from Prince Destrian—”

  “And got a little more than she bargained for,” Seraphina interjected. “A passionate embrace from the man I no longer have any intention of marrying.”

  “Why? Because you caught them kissing? The lass is pretty enough. Can’t say that I blame him.” King Gorvenal waved a hand, and Seraphina turned to face him.

  “Father, Destrian just told me he loves her.”

  “So?” the king said while allowing himself to be lowered into a chair. “He can love whomever he wants as long as he marries you and takes over the reins of my kingdom, though it might be wise to cultivate some discretion,” he added, directing his words to Destrian. “You can have as many mistresses as you want when you’re the monarch, but I would advise securing the crown first and not flaunting them under your wife’s nose.”

  The colour drained from the princess’s face, and Eloise’s heart went out to her. It seemed she had no more control over her future than Eloise did.

  “I won’t do it.” Seraphina raised her chin. “I have done everything you have ever asked of me, everything I can to prove my worth despite only being a daughter and not the son you wanted. But I won’t be treated like chattel and married off to a man who cares for another, one who would blatantly disrespect me on the night of our betrothal. “

  “You will do as your damn well told,” her father shouted.

  “No, your daughter is right.” Destrian stepped forward. “I apologise for causing you distress, Seraphina. I hadn’t intended for this to happen, either, but I can’t deny my feelings for Eloise. A match between the two of us is no longer an option.”

  “Destrian, don’t be ridiculous. You will jeopardise the alliance.” King Cedric’s voice rose above King Gorvenal’s sputtering, and his wife’s cries of concern.

  “What if she married me, instead?” Merek’s booming voice, and outrageous query, momentarily silenced the room before Seraphina’s shriek rent the air.

  “You? You couldn’t be faithful if your life depended on it!”

  “What does being faithful have to do with anything?” King Gorvenal managed one last outburst before collapsing back in his chair, at which point Eloise decided the priests were right and there were many levels to Hell.

  Amidst the chaos that erupted, Destrian beckoned Lord Winterfold over.

  “Justin, look after Eloise for me. Take her somewhere safe.”

  “Destrian?” While Eloise didn’t want to leave him, she couldn’t deny the situation was getting out of hand . . . and her presence wasn’t helping.

  Meeting her gaze, he cupped her shoulders. “I shall come find you later. I promise.”

  She nodded. “Please, don’t do anything rash. Your father is right, and the alliance is too important to jeopardise.”

  “I’d say it’s a little late to worry about that.” Lord Winterfold’s wry gaze took in the arguing sovereigns and general air of panic.

  “It is all right, Eloise.” Destrian smiled and rubbed his hands over her bare shoulders, ignoring his friend. “I’ll find a way for us to be together, one that won’t cause war on a second front.”

  “Oh, don’t even jest.” She clutched at his chest. “After so many years of turmoil, the peace is too important to risk.”

  “Yes, and something Gorvenal’s people are as desperate for as ours.”

  “There is that.” Lord Winterfold took hold of Eloise’s arm for the second time that evening. “Here’s hoping he lives long en
ough for you to broker an alternative deal. I wouldn’t fancy having to negotiate with Queen Seraphina after this little debacle.”

  Eloise swallowed hard and looked to where the beautiful princess was kneeling beside her ailing father. Being responsible for breaking up a royal betrothal was bad enough, but she didn’t think she would be able to live with herself if she caused the death of a king . . . or be allowed to live, for that matter.

  As if sensing her concern, Destrian murmured close to her ear. “Don’t worry, this isn’t your fault. Now go with Justin, as I have my work cut out for me here. I shall come find you once things are more settled.” Ignoring the other occupants of the room, who, admittedly, were somewhat distracted, he kissed her cheek. With a hesitant wave, she crept out of the room with Lord Winterfold while Destrian went to speak with his father.

  “You do have a knack for landing in the middle of things, Miss Sommerville,” the baron said as they walked along the sconce-lit hallway. “Aren’t you supposed to be preparing for your own wedding, to a groom Destrian paid handsomely for if I recall?”

  Eloise was surprised he knew the story and denied any involvement.

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Lord Winterfold said, ushering her along a second hallway and into a luxuriously appointed bedroom. “Destrian’s been miserable as sin these last few weeks, between thinking you had deceived him and the prospect of marriage to a woman who treats him with utter disdain. Here’s hoping once the dust settles the two of you can find a way forward, as I don’t think my stalwart friend is going to get over you now that he’s had a second taste.”