She clamped her lips over the rest of her sentence and sat quietly until his breathing slowed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what happened.”
His smile was tight, but less pained. “A man’s excitement can only be repressed for so long. I have been thinking and dreaming about you all day, and I am a powder keg. And now you are here, the match to my powder.”
She smiled. “Perhaps we should explore this powder keg of yours more closely.”
His eyes darkened, and he whispered, “Where have you been all my life?”
She felt her smile quaver as she whispered back, “Waiting for you.”
His arms tightened about her. “You have taken a great chance this evening. I am honored.”
“I surprised myself. I never imagined I’d do anything like this—visiting a man in his bedchamber.”
“The Romany would say your spirit is as strong as it is beautiful. There is no higher compliment among them.”
“One day I would like to meet them.”
“We will visit them in the fall, when they return after their summer travels.”
And just like that, he enfolded her into his future. It was imaginary, of course, but lovely all the same. “I would like that.”
“It is beautiful, Roza—tents and caravans as far as the eye can see, all lit with gay lights.” As he spoke, he slowly ran his hand up and down her back. “There are a thousand campfires, and songs aplenty. The music pulls at the heart.”
“And one day, you will lead them.”
His smile disappeared, a sudden darkness resting on his face. “I will,” he said grimly. “There is more than one way to find your destiny.”
She tilted her head to one side. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing, little one. A small obstacle I must overcome, that is all.”
He looked so serious that she impulsively caught his face between her hands and nuzzled his neck. “You may overcome it tomorrow. Tonight there is us, and nothing else.”
His breath quickened as she trailed her lips to his ear.
“Please,” she whispered, trying unsuccessfully to keep the quiver from her voice.
“Of course, Roza. Just us.” Without another word, he stood and carried her to his bed.
Roland looked at Lucinda’s small hand, tucked into his. There were times in a man’s life when a decision had to be made. Now was that time, and his heart warmed at the thought.
—The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth
Bronwyn slowly came awake, aware of a comforting weight about her waist. She opened her eyes and, in the flickering light of the candle, saw Alexsey’s arm wrapped about her, his chest pressed to her back as he cuddled her to him, their legs entwined.
Memories of the night before teased her further awake. What a glorious night. She smiled and settled against him, the soft sheets tangled about them both. She felt warm, and safe, and loved.
Yet there was a deep chasm between them, one made from their desires and their positions in life. It was as if they were in the same book, but on far different pages.
She trailed her fingers over his muscular arm, and was overcome by the desire to bask in his warmth.
Despite all the love stories she’d read, she hadn’t understood the power of passion or the pain of one’s own pride. Just thinking about never seeing Alexsey again caused an almost physical pang in her chest. When the time comes, I will have to let him go and I will have to do it with a smile.
She swallowed to keep the tears at bay. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—make this difficult for him, pleading her love, wishing he could care for her the way she cared for him. So she would leave before he awoke, before he could read the truth in her eyes. Steeling herself, she slowly slipped out of bed. As silently as she could, she washed and dressed, finally collecting her cloak.
Tiptoeing, she made her way to the window. Rather than risk being caught by a footman inside, she’d climb down the trellis. The full moon would light her way well enough.
She reached for the sash—and then froze. Along the bottom of the curtain was a thin line of light. Sunlight.
Her heart pounding, she turned and looked at the clock on the mantel.
It wasn’t the middle of the night, but morning.
Trying not to panic, she opened the curtain a crack and saw several guests walking below, dressed for a hunt. Bronwyn closed her eyes. Dear God, what do I do now? I’ll be missed at Ackinnoull soon, if I haven’t already been.
She turned toward the door. If she walked confidently enough, she could simply go down the stairs and out through the garden. Once she was free of Tulloch, she could say she’d just gone out for a morning walk. No one would suspect a thing, then.
Crossing the room, she paused by the bed and looked at Alexsey. As she’d guessed, he slept boldly naked, his body rivaling every Greek statue she’d ever seen. Her fingers itched to run along the muscles of his thigh, to encircle his powerful arms and trace the lines of his broad chest. But more than that, she wished to feel the steady thrum of his heart under her cheek once more.
She curled her fingers into her palms and turned away. Moving quietly, she crossed to the door and carefully unlocked it. She opened it a crack and peeked into the hallway.
It was thankfully empty.
Relieved, she slipped out into the hall, softly closing the door behind her.
Then she walked confidently forward—
“Miss Murdoch?”
Bronwyn froze, then turned around to see Lord and Lady Duncan standing by the top of the steps with Mrs. MacPherson. They were all blinking with surprise.
Oh no!
Mrs. MacPherson gave a breathless giggle. “I didn’t know you’d decided to join the house party! I wonder why Sir Henry assigned you to this wing?”
Bronwyn forced a smile. “I’m sure I don’t know.”
Lord Duncan said in a confidential tone, “The east wing is much better. There’s gas lighting in every room.”
Lady Duncan nodded in agreement. “We’re here to collect Lord Strathmoor. He’s to hunt with us this morning and—” Her eyes widened as they suddenly looked over Bronwyn’s shoulder. Lady Duncan’s mouth dropped open.
Mrs. MacPherson turned bright red and stared as well, while Lord Duncan harrumphed and said, “I never!”
Slowly, afraid of what she’d see, Bronwyn turned around.
Standing in the doorway of the room she’d just been seen leaving was Alexsey. Her spectacles hung from one of his hands, while the other covered a critical part of his spectacularly naked body.
Tata stomped up and down the room, again stopping where Alexsey sprawled in a chair by the fire, his hooded gaze locked on the flames.
She clenched her fists. “You fool! You— She—I never— Pah! How could you be so stupid?”
He still seemed lost in thought, not acknowledging her now any more than he had when she’d first entered the room over a half hour ago.
“You aren’t listening to me! You never have! If you had, you wouldn’t be in this predicament!” She whirled on her heel and stomped up and down the room again. “How did I come to have such fools for grandsons? None of you will marry to suit your father’s honor. Look at Wulf, who married a nobody! A nobody—”
“Whom the people love.”
His sudden reply made her turn. “Finally, you speak.”
“Wulf married well, and you know it. She’s made him very happy.”
“She’s naught but a dressmaker.”
“Who, with her dress designs, has made Oxenburg lace worth ten times what it was before. Because of her, there are widows who can now afford to put meat upon their tables, girls who will marry with full dowers, children who will have shoes and clothes, and—”
“Pah!”
His gaze narrowed. “You took credit for that marriage.”
She planted herself before his chair. “Only because I had no choice. He was wildly in love with her. And while she was not of the bloodlines I’d have liked, she is a str
ong woman. They will have strong children.”
“You are not so generous in your estimation of Bronwyn.”
“She is a mouse who quakes at the thought of speaking to her partner at a dinner party!”
She’d expected to infuriate him, but a faint smile touched his mouth. “And yet I have never met such a stubborn, strong woman.” Faint amusement warmed his eyes. “Even you and my mother pale in contrast.”
Tata frowned. “You sound as if you admire her.”
“I do. Very much.”
“And yet you ruined her!”
“I did, didn’t I?” A wondering smile touched his mouth. “And with all of the pleasure in the world.”
“Nyet, nyet! You don’t understand what that means in this country! In ours, it would mean you owe her family a bride gift to be passed on to her chosen husband. There is no shame in that; it is the way of the world. But here, it means you are expected to marry her yourself!”
He met her gaze steadily. “I knew that before I ‘ruined’ her.”
“And yet you took the risk?”
That odd smile returned, a look of wonder in his eyes. “It wasn’t a risk.”
“Pah! As the lord of the land, Sir Henry must demand you offer for her. But you’ve told me a hundred times that you never wished to marry, so you must leave.”
“What?” Alexsey looked startled.
“Now, before Sir Henry can act. Find a ship and go home.”
“I will not run like a coward.”
“You must. This woman is no good for us. She—”
“Enough!” Alexsey stood, his eyes ablaze. “I will hear no more of your bitter words. Bronwyn is to be respected. I demand that.”
His anger was so hot that Natasha took a step back. But only for a moment. She pulled out the chain holding the kaltso and shook it. “This will never be yours if you marry that woman.”
“Then it will not be mine. But no one can stop me from helping the Romany. Just as no one can stop me from marrying Bronwyn Murdoch.” He turned and walked away.
“Don’t be foolish! What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to send a letter to Bronwyn. Tonight, at Sir Henry’s dinner, I will ask her if I may announce our marriage.”
“She won’t have you. She is proud, that one. It is her one good trait.”
“I will win her over.” He hesitated. “But you’re right; she is very proud. But if I’m very lucky, and the fates are kind, then she’ll realize we have no choice and must marry.”
“You are being noble and wish to save the girl from embarrassment. That is good. But there are other ways. If you will give me time, I will find a way out of this—”
“It is my mistake. I must fix it.” He went to the small writing desk beside the window. He pulled out some paper and ink and sat down, writing furiously. He reread what he’d written twice, making small changes, then he sanded the missive, folded it, and tucked it into his pocket.
Then he headed for the door. “Until dinner.”
“Where you will destroy your life—I cannot wait to witness that debacle.”
He left, the door slamming behind him.
Tata’s scowl disappeared, and for a long time she merely stood and stared. Then she gave a sharp nod and hurried to the bellpull by the fire. She tugged it once, then went to the desk and scribbled a hasty note. She’d just sealed it when the footman appeared.
He brightened when he saw the letter. “Another missive fer Lady Malvinea?”
Natasha nodded. “This time, bring her back with you. I have invited her to tea, so tell the butler on your way out to have a tray sent here to my room.”
“Yes, Yer Grace. And if I bring her within thirty minutes, will I get another gold coin?”
“Two, if she arrives in less than that time. But if she arrives later, then you will become a goat.”
“Och, Yer Grace, I’ll ha’ her here in under twenty minutes, see if I dinna.” He snatched the letter, made a half bow, and bolted from the room.
Shortly afterward, she heard a carriage racing down the drive. Nodding to herself, she settled by the fire and waited.
Lucinda stared at the stars twinkling in the sky above. There were so many. Was Roland looking at them, too? In the loneliness of the moment, a star twinkled and she felt his soul touch hers.
—The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth
Bronwyn read the note for the fourteenth time, even though she was fairly sure she had it memorized.
My dear Roza,
We must speak. I will meet you at Sir Henry’s tonight, and we will resolve our difficulties without the interference of others.
Sincerely,
Alexsey Romanovin
Bronwyn refolded the note, feeling the same flicker of disappointment. What did he mean, “resolve our difficulties”? The words were so cold . . . so unfeeling.
But perhaps she was expecting too much from a mere note. Or perhaps that was all he had to offer—an uncaring offer made only to appease society.
For that is what they were doing—appeasing society. Blast it, why oh why had he appeared in the hallway without proper covering? Not that it mattered, she supposed, for she’d have been ruined either way. Still, it wouldn’t have made such a sensational story.
She thought of his demeanor when he’d brought her the letter earlier today. Of course Mama had been present, determined not to let things get “further out of hand.”
But Alexsey had been all that was polite. He’d been so unlike himself, so stiff and formal, that she’d felt awkward and had barely said two words to him.
There’d only been one moment when he’d seemed more himself. It had been when he’d said his good-byes, and he’d held her hand longer than was necessary, and stared into her eyes as if searching for something.
The whole thing had been odd and she was at a loss to know what anything meant.
As soon as he’d left, Bronwyn had read the letter, aware of Mama’s gaze over her shoulder. Naturally, Mama had asked to read the letter. Oddly, it had seemed to incense her. She’d declared that Bronwyn would not attend the dinner, and at the time Bronwyn had agreed.
She wouldn’t—couldn’t—be tied to a man who would never look at her without wishing for his freedom. She wanted to be a wonderful memory, not a dark one.
Perhaps Mama was right—the best thing Bronwyn could do was write him back and refuse to listen to his offer, release him from this painful situation. She would never marry for anything less than love, and all Alexsey had to offer was duty. She would free him from that duty. It was the least she could do.
Rubbing her chest where it had tightened, she turned to hear voices outside her bedchamber door, breathless and giggling. What on earth? She opened the door to find Mrs. Pitcairn, Sorcha, and Mairi, their arms overflowing with petticoats, ribbons, and shoes.
They pushed past a gaping Bronwyn.
“I thought I’d never make it up the stairs,” Mairi exclaimed, puffing.
“Where shall we pu’ these?” Mrs. Pitcairn asked, peering over a stack of petticoats.
“On the bed,” Sorcha directed. “Scott, off!”
The big dog went to join Walter by the fire.
“I don’t understand,” Bronwyn said. “What are you doing here? I’m not going to dinner this evening. Mama said—”
“Forget what Mama said,” Sorcha replied. “You are going to dinner tonight, and that’s that.”
“I don’t know. Alexsey doesn’t seem very . . . warm, and everyone will be talking.” She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. “I don’t want to face them. Or him.”
“You must, and you’ll do it dressed properly.”
“But Mama said—”
“Mama isn’t always right.” Sorcha’s mouth thinned. “In fact, there are times when she’s simply wrong.” She dusted the coverlet fastidiously, then placed a long, sheet-wrapped bundle on it. The stack of petticoats joined it.
Sorcha turned to Bronwyn. “We’ve come to make
certain you go to dinner dressed like someone expecting a very proper and romantic proposal.”
“Which you should get, if the prince is half the man we think he is,” Mairi added.
Bronwyn shook her head. “I’m not going to accept. Mama says—”
“Mama. Isn’t. Always. Right.” Sorcha repeated the phrase with a staccato punctuation that made Bronwyn’s brows rise.
“She means well.”
Sorcha flushed. “True, but she doesn’t understand that love doesn’t always happen on a schedule.”
Bronwyn shook her head. “I never said anything about love.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Mairi nodded. “We’ve known for a while now.”
“Quite a while,” Mrs. Pitcarin added.
Bronwyn couldn’t deny anything with three pairs of expectant gazes pinned on her. She sank onto her dressing room seat. “But how? I only realized it myself in the last few days.”
Sorcha smiled. “We know you. And tonight, whether you decide he’s worthy of you or not, you’re going to go there looking ravishing. Because if you don’t, you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering ‘what if.’ And there’s nothing more painful than that.”
Bronwyn looked curious. “You sound as if you know all about love.”
“Not enough.” Sorcha busied herself sorting the items on the bed. “I wonder if we can replicate the braiding Mairi did for my hair, for yours?”
“No, we can’t, although the idea is lovely. My hair is much too thick.” Bronwyn took Sorcha’s hand and turned her sister to face her. “This is very kind of all of you. I don’t know how to thank you.” She smiled at them all.
“I wish we could stay and help you dress,” Mairi said, “but Mama will come to see our gowns, so we must be in our rooms and ready. We don’t want her to know you’re coming until the last possible moment.”
“Then it will be too late for her to do anything about it,” Sorcha said.
“Which is why I’m here,” Mrs. Pitcairn said, smiling cheerily. “Ta’ help ye get dressed.”
Bronwyn looked at the letter in her hand. They were right. She and Alexsey deserved a final face-to-face meeting.
The Prince Who Loved Me (The Oxenburg Princes) Page 25