The Prince Who Loved Me (The Oxenburg Princes)

by Karen Hawkins

  Sorcha laughed. “If you turn into a toad, I shall claim all of your bonnets as my own.”

  Mairi stuck her tongue out.

  “Girls, please!” Mama did not look amused. “You’re talking about a grand duchess of Oxenburg.”

  Sorcha obediently lost her smile. “I’m sorry, Mama, but Her Grace is an oddity.”

  “She is still a very well-respected lady.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Sorcha turned to Bronwyn, the twinkle in her eyes letting her sister know she wasn’t entirely subdued.

  Lady Malvinea hid a yawn. “I suppose your father hasn’t yet come home?”

  “I haven’t seen him since dinner,” Bronwyn said truthfully.

  The clock chimed and Lady Malvinea stood. “It’s late and we should all be getting to bed.”

  “I don’t know why,” Mairi said in a grumpy tone. “Sir Henry has planned three whole days of hunting, so there’s nothing to get up early for.”

  “We won’t see anyone until Friday.” Sorcha looked as put out as Mairi.

  Bronwyn’s heart slid a bit, and she realized how much she was looking forward to seeing Alexsey again.

  “Friday will be here before you know it,” Mama said calmly.

  “What happens on Friday?” Bronwyn asked.

  Sorcha brightened. “Sir Henry’s having a dinner, and he’s promised games to liven up the evening.”

  “That will be fun.” Bronwyn rose to her feet, Sorcha following suit. Mairi opened the sitting room door and they headed toward the stairs.

  Mama stopped at the bottom of the steps. “I shall wait for Papa to return. He shouldn’t be long. Good night, girls.”

  As Sorcha and Mairi chattered on about who’d worn what and who had said what, Bronwyn followed. When she reached the landing she glanced back, just as Mama bent to pick something up from the floor.

  Bronwyn’s heart stuttered. It was a man’s glove. Alexsey’s glove.

  Mama looked up, her gaze meeting Bronwyn’s.

  Without thinking, Bronwyn turned and hurried back downstairs. “You found it!”

  Not giving her stepmother more time to think, Bronwyn snatched the glove from her hands and tucked it into her own pocket. “I bought a pair of gloves for Papa’s birthday and lost one of them.”

  “How did it come to be here?”

  “The— My dogs must have carried it here. I shouldn’t have allowed them in the house.”

  “You had them indoors again? You promised not to.”

  “I know, but I was feeling poorly, and they’re such good company.”

  “Your Papa’s birthday isn’t for another two months. You are planning well in advance.”

  “Yes, I happened to see these in a window and knew they’d be perfect for Papa, so . . . I got them.”

  Mama’s gaze never left Bronwyn’s face. “It seems rather large for him. Perhaps I should look at it again.”

  “Oh, he won’t care. He’s not exactly a fashion plate, is he?” With a forced smile, Bronwyn turned toward the steps.

  “Bronwyn?”

  Oh God, does she suspect? Please don’t let her think anything, please! Bronwyn pasted a smile on her face and turned back to her stepmother. “Yes?”

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  “Much better, thank you. My ear doesn’t hurt at all now.”

  “Good. Sleep well, my dear.”

  “Good night.” Her heart thudding, Bronwyn hurried up the stairs, aware of her stepmother’s gaze following her.

  Lady MacClinton looked at Lucinda, pity in her old eyes. “My dear, society was not developed to protect the heart, but to prevent your heart from engaging on its own.”

  —The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth

  “If you are determined to be in a foul mood, pray take yourself elsewhere.”

  Alexsey, who’d been scowling into the fireplace, sent a black look at Strath. “If you dislike my mood, feel free to leave.”

  “This is my uncle’s study.” He eyed the glass of scotch in Alexsey’s hand, went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass, and then came to stand near Alexsey.

  They were dressed in formal dinner wear, although Strath’s fingers itched to do something about Alexsey’s casually knotted cravat. “What’s wrong, my friend? You’ve been like a bear with a sore paw for the last few days.”

  “Roza is avoiding me. I’ve been to visit three days in a row now, and she won’t see me alone. I fear I’ve frightened her away.”

  Strath frowned. “What did you do? She seems rather fearless.”

  Alexsey shrugged. “She is fearless for herself, but not for her sisters. If there were a scandal, she would feel responsible.”

  “Ah. Then you need to be more discreet.”

  Right now, he was willing to do anything but give up on her. For the last three days, he’d been unable to think of anything but Bronwyn. Of her sighs. Of her kisses. Of her soft skin. Of her passion as she writhed against him. Of her breasts, so lushly plump that his hands couldn’t contain them.

  The memories made him burn with the desperation of a man dying of thirst in a desert. “I must meet her without her sisters and mother.”

  “Ah yes. The chaperone problem. In France you’d have no problem seeing a single lady alone, providing her chaperone was in an adjoining room. And if you slipped a few coins into that hand, sometimes you could sweep your lady away for hours on end, with no one the wiser.”

  “In Oxenburg, we do not treat women as glass vases in a case, or expect them to perform tricks. Yesterday, I sat for two hours in the bloody sitting room while Lady Malvinea tried to talk Miss Mairi into playing the pianoforte.”

  Strath shuddered.

  “Indeed. Thank God she refused.”

  “Does Miss Bronwyn play?”

  “She sings, but only when drunk.”

  Strath’s mouth dropped open.

  “From laudanum. She had an earache.”

  “Ah. I couldn’t imagine otherwise.”

  Alexsey sighed. “This morning, I briefly saw her and her mother in town.” Bronwyn had been wearing a straw bonnet that framed her face adorably. He’d itched to take it off and let her thick hair down, one pin at a time. He’d imagined doing so all day. “Bronwyn’s mother watches me.”

  “If Lady Malvinea is giving you the eye, she’s likely mentally measuring you for a groom’s coat for Miss Sorcha.” A bitter note chilled Strath’s voice. “My uncle says Lady Malvinea has been hinting that she believes her ripest, juiciest plum is worth nothing less than a royal tiara.”

  Alexsey sipped his scotch. “She’ll never receive one from me.”

  Curiosity was bright in the other man’s gaze. “You’ve no interest at all in that diamond of the first water?”

  “None.”

  Strath regarded his glass with a thoughtful air, then sent a cautious glance at Alexsey. “I have to wonder . . . I’ve never seen you pursue a woman with such intensity. Don’t lose sight of your original intent, a harmless flirtation with a pretty woman and thwarting your meddling grandmother.”

  Alexsey thought of Bronwyn’s large brown eyes, velvety dark, the lashes so long they tangled at the corners, and of her full mouth, so tender and ready to open for him. Of the way her eyes sparkled when he won a smile from her—

  He tossed back some scotch. “I know exactly what I am about, and so far, she’s been worth the pursuit. She’s more beautiful each time I see her.”

  Strath whistled. “She has truly captured your attention. She seems rather . . . unapproachable to me.”

  “She is not an easy woman to conquer, but I will prevail. If I can get past the dragon guarding her.”

  “Her mother?”

  “Her own fears.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I will light her passion.”

  “And then leave her, just like that.”

  “Once our passion has burned itself out, she will be glad to see me go. I have been very plain with her about my expectatio
ns, as she has been plain about hers.”

  Strath looked impressed. “You’ve had that conversation, and she didn’t eat you alive?”

  Alexsey shrugged. “She knows how things stand. I hope to spend some time with her this evening after dinner. Although it will be in front of everyone, it will be something.”

  “We should rearrange the cards on the table so that you may sit with her. I’ve used that little trick on occasion.”

  “I looked earlier, but Sir Henry and my grandmother were already there, moving cards about as if they were playing some sort of game. And now that the silver is set, staff have been assigned to watch the tables.” He set his glass down. “I may need to do something rash.”

  “I’m happy to help you. Just let me know what you need.” Strath turned toward the window. “Ah, that’s the first of the carriages.” He crossed to the door and held it wide. “Let the rashness begin!”

  As he’d glumly expected, Alexsey wasn’t seated anywhere close to Bronwyn at dinner. She and her sisters were all near Strath, who’d ended up with Miss Sorcha at his side. The viscount didn’t appear to be fond of the arrangement, for he barely said a word to her, or she to him, during the entire three hours it took to suffer through dinner. He spent most of his time talking animatedly to the beauty seated at his other side, while Sorcha sent him furious glances whenever she wasn’t speaking to her other dinner partner, an elderly man who dozed at his plate, waking only in time for dessert.

  Tata’s heavy hand could be discerned in the guests seated at Alexsey’s sides. On his left was a viscount’s daughter who had a tendency to use the word “I” to excess, while on the other was a duke’s daughter who was too tongue-tied to address more than two words to him throughout the entire dinner.

  Alexsey ignored them and watched Bronwyn instead. She spoke to the people to either side of her, but didn’t look especially comfortable doing so. At one point she must have said something bold and Bronwyn-like to the man seated at her left, for he flushed and then turned, refusing to look at her for the rest of the evening.

  Bronwyn didn’t seem to notice, but every once in a while, she glanced Alexsey’s way and their eyes would meet. Each and every time, he found himself fighting off a flicker of pure heat. To other people, she looked shyly sweet, the type of woman who didn’t raise her voice unless pressed, but he knew better. Behind those liquid brown eyes was a brain sharper than most, and a streak of powerful passion.

  Sir Henry finally signaled the end of dinner and stood. “Normally, I would suggest the men join me for a glass of port, but tonight the ladies wish to play charades and whist, and will need partners. Therefore, I suggest we join them immediately, lest they find other men to do so.”

  This was met with a gentle round of laughter and everyone rose.

  “Port, sherry, and refreshments will be served in both salons where the games will be played,” Sir Henry announced.

  The crowd began to move toward the doors at the end of the dining room, and Alexsey lost sight of Bronwyn in the crowd. “Damn it. Where did she go?” he asked Strath.

  “She and her sisters decided to play charades. It’s being played in the Green Salon.”

  “Is that a card game?”

  “No, it’s a silly children’s game.”

  “And adults play it?”

  “Silly adults play it at silly house parties like this, where the silly host thinks nothing of torturing the rest of us by withholding port.”

  Alexsey glanced around. “Where is this Green Salon? We are joining the game.”

  “What? No. I don’t play charades.”

  “You do now.”

  “But—it’s quite the lamest entertainment ever. Men never play it, only women.”

  “Men will play this one.”

  Muttering to himself about being misused, Strath led the way to the Green Salon.

  As soon as they went through the wide doors, Alexsey instantly found Bronwyn. Her back was to him, and she and Sorcha were speaking with a young lady with red hair.

  Strath squinted at the redhead. “That’s Miss MacInvers. Wealthy family, the MacInvers, and only one daughter. She’s considered quite a catch, but that laugh—” He shook his head. “I’d put a rope about my own neck before the first week ended.”

  “I will avoid her. Who is the man pretending to sleep in the back row of chairs?”

  “Oh, that’s Mr. MacPherson. His wife must be playing.” Strath glanced around the room. “She’s by the refreshment table along the back wall, speaking with Lady Malvinea and Miss Mairi.”

  Alexsey saw Lady Malvinea at the same time she saw him, and there was no mistaking the way her jaw firmed with determination.

  He’d often gotten just such a look from his grandmother, so he knew exactly what it meant. She would soon send Sorcha his way. He turned back to Strath. “Everyone seems to be holding slips of paper.”

  “Yes. Everyone is assigned a number so they know which order to participate.”

  “Indeed.”Alexsey looked about the room. “You said men do not play this game, and yet Lord Perth appears to be playing, for he has a slip of paper. And there is a gentleman by the fireplace, although he doesn’t have a— Ah. Someone just gave him one, so he is also playing, as is—”

  “Yes, yes. Mr. MacKennit. I see them all, but seriously, Alexsey”—Strath leaned closer—“they’re not men. They’re lapdogs, every one.”

  Alexsey lifted a brow. “You lied.”

  “Me?” Strath tried to look shocked, then sighed. “Fine. I hate this game. I’d rather be shot point-blank with bird shot and have it all removed with fireplace tongs than play.”

  “I will be unhappy if we do not play this game, which is a pity. I was going to take you out tomorrow morning to shoot my new dueling pistols, but now I will not feel like doing so.”

  Strath straightened. “You have a new set?”

  “I purchased them from Felligrino himself.”

  “That—I’ve tried to buy some from him, but he won’t sell them to me.”

  “He only sells them to those who can shoot.”

  “I can shoot!” At Alexsey’s raised brows, Strath sighed and added, “Somewhat.”

  “You would like these pistols. They are balanced like a feather on a pinhead, silky smooth to shoot, the action—”

  “Demme you, Menshivkov. My one weakness!”

  “And did I mention the handles have silver engraving? Not too much, as it might offset the balance. But delicately, like a butterfly’s kiss—”

  “Fine, I’ll play your demmed game of charades! But I warn you, I’m horrible at this game and suspect you won’t be any better.”

  Alexsey shrugged, his gaze finding Bronwyn once more. We will be together soon, Roza. I will see to it. “Do not count me out, Strath. I am very competitive and do not take failure lightly. Explain how this game is played.”

  “The person organizing this game is Miss MacInvers, as she’s by the front of the room where the play table has been placed. First, everyone is assigned a number. When your number is drawn, it is your turn to play. You go to the front of the room, pull a slip of paper—”

  “A different one?”

  “Yes. You pull this one from a hat or a bowl or some such holder, and then you act out what it says.”

  “Act? As if on a stage?”

  “Yes, but you can’t say a word. While you’re acting out the object or person or thing that is written on the slip of paper, people in the audience call out their guesses. If someone guesses correctly, you give him the slip of paper. At the end of the game, whoever has the most slips of paper wins.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Strath brightened.

  “But we will play anyway. Tell me more.”

  “Bloody hell. Let’s see . . . what more is there to tell? Ah yes—though you can’t speak, there are some generally accepted signals. People use this gesture”—he tugged his ear—“to mean ‘sounds like.’ ”

  “I will
remember. What else?”

  “This”—he tapped his nose—“means ‘spot-on.’ ”

  “Very well. And what do I win if I get the most slips of paper?”

  “Something ridiculous, like a paper crown or a small cake.”

  “A pity. Games are more fun if there is money involved.”

  “That would make it tolerable. Or scotch.”

  Alexsey nodded.

  “Then I’ll go give our names to Miss MacInvers.” Strath sighed and left.

  Alexsey continued to watch Bronwyn, who’d been joined by her stepmother and stepsister. She glanced around the room and when her gaze met his he bowed, smiling.

  She flushed, a pleased look flashing over her face as she took an involuntary step in his direction. But before she could take a second step, her stepmother took her elbow and whispered something urgently in her ear, her posture stiff. She and Bronwyn spoke briefly; then Lady Malvinea turned and said something to Miss Sorcha.

  Sorcha sent him a quick glance and turned as red as the cushions on the settee.

  Lady Malvinea said something else, her tone obviously more strident, for Alexsey caught it from across the room. Sorcha, with what looked like a brave nod, left her mother’s side and slowly made her way to Alexsey.

  The sacrificial lamb. He bowed when she curtsied her greeting. “Good evening, Miss Sorcha. I see you and your family will be playing charades.”

  “Yes, we love charades.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  She nodded and started to say something but bit her lip, obviously ill at ease. Finally, she said, “Your Highness, it’s . . . it’s lovely to see you here.” Her voice carried an arch breathlessness. “Most men don’t enjoy charades.”

  “My grandmother’s family loves drama. Every evening, after the sun went down and the campfires were lit, they would sing and dance and perform silly comedies, and sometimes bits of Shakespeare.”

  “It sounds wonderful.”

  “Sadly, most of the plays they knew weren’t fit for mixed company.”

  “Oh.”

  He hid a grin as he watched her realize that of all the lessons she’d had about making conversation with a prince, none addressed how to discuss inappropriate Gypsy plays.