Royal Bridesmaids

by Stephanie Laurens

  They arrived at the castle minutes before sunset. The girls jumped down from the exhausted horse and raced to the field where the duel was to take place.

  Giulietta was a mess, running bareheaded through the crowd of courtiers and military men who had gathered to watch the grim proceedings. The mood in the crowd seemed to drive home to the frivolous princess just how serious the situation was that she had precipitated with her childish disappearance.

  Each prince’s entourage had gathered around him. They stood making their final preparations on the two opposite ends of the green, north and south, so the sunset in the west would not be in the eyes of either contender.

  “Orsino!” Giulietta shouted.

  He stopped, looked over, and then yelled her name in answer when he saw her racing through the crowd.

  “Don’t do this!” She did not stop to talk to him, but went barreling toward the other prince—at least until the guards surrounding him caught her. Two of them grabbed her by the arms.

  “What do you want, girl?”

  “Please! I need to see Prince Tor!”

  “Who are you?” they demanded.

  “Let her pass!” Minerva ordered as she came striding up behind her royal friend.

  The guards hesitated. They had become accustomed to taking orders from her over the past few days, but of course, the last anyone had heard, she had been locked in the tower.

  Tor turned at the sound of her voice and saw both women. His eyes narrowed.

  “Please, Tor, hear us out. For Montevecchio’s sake,” Minerva begged him.

  He glowered at her, but dismissed the guards with a nod. “Let them through,” he growled.

  As soon as the guards released her arms, Giulietta did exactly as Minerva had advised and rushed toward him, dropping to her knees. “Great Prince! Please forgive me! I have failed you, and shamed my people. I am not worthy of you, but if you can find mercy in your heart for a foolish girl’s cowardice, I am the real Giulietta and I will uphold the treaty.”

  The sight of his sister bowing down to the enemy enraged Orsino, who came storming toward them, but Minerva held him back.

  “Stop it. For once in your life, think with something other than your ego. Keep your mouth shut!”

  “How dare you?”

  “Because I know I’m right! You see?” she gestured toward his sister. “Alive and safe, as promised. You owe His Highness an apology for your false accusations.”

  He glanced back to where Giulietta was still pleading with Tor, kneeling, tears running down her face. “What is she doing?” Orsino demanded.

  “She’s asking him to let us fix the wrong that has been done him. It’s the only way.”

  Orsino eyed her mistrustfully. “What if he doesn’t accept it? If a woman did that to me, I’d spit on her.”

  “Well, he isn’t you,” Minerva whispered rather bitterly. “Besides, I signed Giulietta’s name on the marriage license. She could make the claim she’s already his legal wife. It just depends on how well the lawyers argue.”

  Giulietta must have finished her speech, for she had hung her head and awaited her sentence.

  Tor glanced past her to where Minerva stood with Orsino.

  He dropped his weapon begrudgingly on the ground, but shook his head. “Very well. But you’re mad if you think I’ll ever have anything to do with Saardovan women again.”

  That was the moment that little Kat stepped into their midst and put them all to shame.

  “I will uphold the treaty,” she spoke out.

  Everyone looked at her.

  “I will marry the Prince Orsino, if he will have me—on the condition that he take no other wife but me.”

  The whole crowd gasped and Orsino’s eyes widened.

  Minerva gazed at the northern princess in anguished affection.

  “Don’t be silly, you can’t do that, Katarina,” Tor clipped out.

  “Yes, I can.” She looked at Orsino expectantly.

  He seemed amazed.

  “Orsino,” Minerva said through gritted teeth.

  He gave her a slight frown askance.

  “You’ll never do better than her,” she said to him under her breath. “Believe me.”

  “Funny, before all this, on my way to Rydalburg, I was thinking of marrying you.”

  Minerva shook her head. “I’m in love with Tor.”

  “Poor creature. So that’s why you don’t want me to fight him.”

  “Well?” Kat demanded, her cheeks coloring as he left her waiting for his answer.

  Orsino went to her and bowed with the courtly grace he was famous for. “Your Highness, it would be an honor. I humbly accept, and agree to your condition.”

  Katarina smiled in relief, but the only one who did not look at all pleased was Tor. Minerva turned to him, aching with the knowledge of how she had hurt him.

  Giulietta stood and backed away as she walked over to him slowly. Everyone watched as Minerva approached the man she thought of as her husband, even though she realized the marriage was not legal.

  “If you have something to say to me, say it and be gone,” he ground out.

  Minerva searched his storm-blue eyes imploringly. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I only did it for the good of my people and yours. But I understand as prince you are responsible for fulfilling the law.” With that, fully expecting to be placed under arrest, she held out her wrists to be shackled.

  He glanced down at her hands and then glared at her; he shook his head to signal the guards that she was not to be touched.

  But he turned away, refusing to make eye contact with her again. “I want you gone from here, and don’t come back.”

  Minerva flinched, tears rushing into her eyes. But it was too late now. She should have told him the truth before it came to this, she realized too far after the fact.

  To avoiding causing any more of a scene, she bowed to him with what remained of her dignity and withdrew. She knew she should be grateful she was allowed to leave with her freedom. Yet her heart was broken to know she would never see him again, and every inch of her body ached with shame as the people she had deceived watched her pass.

  She glanced at Katarina sorrowfully as she went by.

  The princess touched her hand with a regretful gaze as she passed.

  Back in the palace, Minerva fought back tears as she got her things together and bade the royal maids, her coconspirators, farewell.

  She assured them Tor would not take revenge on them. However angry he might be, she knew by now the “barbarian” would not harm defenseless women. Then she evacuated her temporary post in favor of its rightful owner.

  Tor wanted nothing to do with Giulietta at the moment, but they were already married on paper. Besides, Minerva had seen the power of her friend’s charms work on countless males before. Just like that Gypsy prince. Even cold, stony Tor would eventually succumb.

  It was only a matter of time.

  Three months later, Minerva sat at her desk with her books opened in front. Instead of studying, however, she was gazing wistfully out the window toward the distant mountains, thinking of all that had happened, and the love that she had let slip through her fingers . . .

  Upon her return to Saardova, she had cried on her father’s shoulder, and then resumed her old life, except for her service as lady-in-waiting. She wasn’t needed anymore. Giulietta hadn’t come back. So Minerva had started her classes at the university as planned.

  She sighed and picked up her pen once more, determined to finish the lesson for this week’s class. After all, this was what she had wanted for her life.

  A lot had happened in the weeks that had passed. Everyone’s lives had changed drastically. Orsino and Katarina were married and madly in love. Giulietta was spending some time in a northern convent, learning contemplation and the service of the poor—particularly the Gypsies.

  King Hakon had died of a heart attack in the middle of a feasting. Queen Ingmar was rumored to have entered int
o a torrid affair with Captain Diego within a fortnight of her difficult husband’s funeral.

  Tor had become king. Minerva had practically memorized the newspaper article describing his coronation. Things had not worked out between him and Giulietta. The marriage on paper between them had been annulled.

  For her part, Minerva was debating on how or even whether to tell His Majesty that she was carrying his child.

  Just then, a light knock sounded on her bedroom door.

  “Yes?”

  She looked over as Papa opened the door and poked his head into her room. “You have a visitor.”

  She frowned, annoyed that he had climbed the stairs again on his peg leg rather than sending up the maid to give her the message. “I have to study, Papa. Tell them I’m not at home.”

  “Minerva,” he said quietly, “this is someone you’re going to want to see.”

  She furrowed her brow as he pushed the door the rest of the way open; she gasped and jumped to her feet as the King of Rydalburg stepped into view.

  Tor’s towering stature nearly filled the doorframe.

  She stared at him, wide-eyed, her mouth agape. She looked from him to her father, realizing how bizarre this moment was, all things considered. Her father gave her a bolstering look. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “Thank you, General,” Tor said in his stiff, formal way as he stepped into her room.

  Minerva stared at him in amazement as her sire withdrew and pulled the door shut. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hmm. I’ve been wondering that myself.” He looked around the room, anywhere but at her. “Please, sit down.”

  She eased back down into her chair beside her writing table while he stood, fidgeting, in the center of her room.

  “Lovely place, Saardova,” he remarked. “Glad I didn’t destroy it.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming,” she forced out.

  “Yes. It was, ah, spontaneous on my part. I’m not . . . usually spontaneous, am I?”

  She gazed at him in helpless adoration. “I’m sorry about your father.”

  He nodded with a guarded glance at her. “Thank you.”

  He hesitated. “Well, I’m just going to say it! What you did was madness. The way you lied to me.” He shot her an anguished look, then dropped his gaze. “When Giulietta ran away, you should’ve just come to me and told me what had happened—but I know now you couldn’t. You thought I was an ogre.”

  “Not an ogre.”

  “You didn’t trust me. And yet you put yourself in my hands. You dared to deceive me . . . for the sake of our people. That means something different to me now than it did when I was just a prince.” He held her in a tempestuous stare, as though he had been infected with Saardovan passion. Yet still he struggled for self-control. “You have some nerve, girl. And by nerve, I mean courage. The treaty was more important to you than your own safety.” He shook his head, at a loss. “If that is not royal behavior, I don’t know what is.”

  She swallowed hard and lowered her gaze. She could not keep looking into those big, blue eyes of his or she knew she would cry. “Well, you would be the expert on such matters. You are King.”

  “And I’ve never been more alone,” he said softly.

  She looked up again in spite of herself, captured by the heart-tugging admission of vulnerability from the warlord.

  His gaze changed, softened. “I came to tell you what you did was madness. But if you hadn’t done it, then I never would’ve got the chance to be your husband.”

  Her eyes widened as he took a step toward her and then went down on one knee. She drew in her breath as he pulled a diamond ring out of his pocket.

  He offered it to her. “Minerva . . . my love, whatever your name is, I want you back. Please be my wife and queen.”

  Minerva looked at him in wonder, then burst into tears and threw her arms around him, kissing his face and whispering “yes” over and over again.

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  MY SCANDALOUS VISCOUNT

  Available October 2012

  CHAPTER ONE

  Some people in this world (fools) were happy minding their own business.

  Miss Carissa Portland wasn’t one of them.

  Seated between her cousins, the formidable Denbury Daughters, with their governess, Miss Trent, snoring softly on the end, she trailed her dainty opera glass slowly over the capacity audience of about a thousand souls in attendance that Saturday night at Covent Garden Theatre.

  To be sure, the little dramas, comedies, and farces playing out among the Quality present were far more intriguing than anything happening on the stage.

  Besides, knowing everybody else’s secrets in the ton seemed the safest way to guard her own.

  Perusing the three gilded tiers of private boxes, she scanned along at a leisurely pace, while the lenses of other ladies’ opera glasses winked right back at her.

  Fluent in fan language, as well, she watched for those coy signals a lady could discreetly send her lover.

  Hmm, over there. Lady S——, sitting with her husband, had just flicked her fan in an arc to Colonel W——, who had come with the fellow officers from his regiment. The uniformed coxcomb smiled slyly in receipt of the invitation. Carissa narrowed her eyes. Typical tomcat male. She’d better be careful with him. Drifting on, she picked out the subjects of other various rumors here and there: the jeweled countess said to be dallying with her footman; the political lord who had just sired twins on the mistress he swore he didn’t have.

  From opposite ends of the theatre, two branches of a feuding family glared at each other, while on the mezzanine, a notorious fortune hunter blew a subtle kiss to the heiress of some encroaching toadstool who apparently owned coal factories.

  Tut, tut, poor man, she thought when her casual spying happened across the sad figure of a cuckolded husband who had just filed a crim-con case against his wife’s seducer.

  Well, the demireps preening in their box and putting their wares on display in low-cut gowns seemed more than happy to comfort him.

  Hmmph, thought Carissa.

  All of a sudden, her idle scan of the audience slammed to a halt on a particular box, second tier, stage left.

  A gasp escaped her. He’s here!

  At once, her foolish heart began to pound. Oh, my.

  Encircled in the lens of her dainty spyglass, there he sat, lounging in his chair, his muscled arms folded across his chest . . .

  Staring right back at her.

  A wicked smile slowly crept across his face, and just to confirm that, oh, yes, he saw her ogling him, the handsome hellion sent her a cheeky little salute.

  She let out an almost feline hiss and dropped her lorgnette onto her lap as though she had been burned.

  She vowed not to touch it again—at which the audience let out another wave of rumbling laughter.

  Oh, bother. She shifted in vexation in her seat and looked around uneasily. Of course, they weren’t laughing at her, though she probably deserved it.

  Devil take him, that rogue’s glance made her feel like one of the demireps.

  To her own dismay, Carissa Portland had secretly become fascinated by a libertine.

  Again.

  Where this weakness in her came from, this shameful susceptibility to a well-made man, she quite despaired to guess. Perhaps it was her auburn hair to blame.

  Redheads were notorious for their more passionate nature. Probably hogwash, she admitted, but it sounded as good an excuse to her as any.

  What his excuse was, well, he didn’t bother making one. A golden demigod striding the earth like a wayward son of Aphrodite didn’t have to. Charming, quick-witted, unbelievably handsome, with a smile that could have melted ice floes across the Nordic Sea.

  Sebastian Walker, Viscount Beauchamp, could have got away with murder if he fancied. He was the Earl of Lockwood’s heir, known to the ton
as Beau.

  They had been introduced some weeks ago by mutual acquaintances: Her closest friends, Daphne and Kate, were married to his fellow Inferno Club members, Lord Rotherstone and the Duke of Warrington. So they moved in the same circles, and, of course, she’d heard his reputation. He had lived up to it in spades with her not long ago. The scandalous beast had actually kissed her.

  In public!

  She had made the mistake of stopping him when he was in a hurry on his way somewhere. She had been leery about confronting him, but she had needed a simple answer to a very serious question: Where the dash has everybody gone?

  Both Daphne and Kate had been missing from Town for weeks without explanation. This was totally unlike them.

  Because of Lord Beauchamp’s friendship with their husbands, she was sure he must know something. The aforementioned husbands had also disappeared, supposedly on some hunting trip to the Alps.

  But Carissa was starting to doubt everything she thought she knew about her friends. Everyone in their set had been acting so mysteriously before they had vanished. It was all very upsetting. She had no firm information (maddening!), but clearly, something was afoot. She did not understand why she had been excluded.

  The truth was, frankly, it hurt.

  Thankfully, she had received a letter from Daphne at last, confirming she was safe, but her friend’s verbiage seemed deliberately vague. And so, with relief had come even greater annoyance.

  Why on earth were they keeping her in the dark? Didn’t they trust her!

  In an effort to get answers, she had cornered Beauchamp in a safe (so she thought) public place. But when she had delayed him too long with her, as he put it, “nagging,” the gorgeous brute had simply snatched her up in his arms and put a stop to her questions with a lusty kiss.

  As if she were some wanton trollop on the corner!

  If it had not been raining . . . if he had not shielded them from public view with his umbrella . . . she was sure the scandal would have been so calamitous, she’d have hanged herself by now, or (more fashionably) drowned herself in the Serpentine.