The Prince's Bride

by Victoria Alexander

  “Now, now, we’ll have none of that,” he said in a no-nonsense tone.

  He tossed the knife aside and caught her up in arms strong and hard and carried her to a nearby sofa. For a moment a lovely sense of warmth and safety filled her.

  “Put me down,” she murmured and nestled against him in spite of herself.

  “You were about to faint.”

  “Nonsense. I have never fainted. Shelton women do not faint.”

  “Apparently they do when their lives are in danger.” Abruptly he deposited her on a sofa and pushed her head down to dangle over her knees.

  “Whatever are you doing?” She could barely gasp out the words in the awkward position. Jocelyn tried to lift her head but he held it firmly.

  “Keep your head down,” he ordered. “It will help.”

  “What will help is finding those men. There were two, you know. Or perhaps you don’t.” It was rather confusing. All of it. She raised her head. “Aren’t you going to go after them?”

  “No.” He pushed her head down again and kept his hand lightly on the back of her neck. It was an oddly comforting feeling. “I have my men searching now but I suspect they will be unsuccessful. One of the rascals is familiar to me. I was keeping an eye on him tonight. He is no doubt the one who threw the knife.”

  “Apparently you weren’t keeping a very good eye on him,” she muttered.

  He ignored her. “I have yet to discover the identity of his accomplice and they obviously wanted to prevent you from identifying him. I doubt that I will learn anything further this evening. It’s far too easy to fade unnoticed into a crowd of this size.” He paused, the muscles of his hand tensing slightly on her neck. “Would you know him again if you saw him?”

  “Not really,” she lied. In truth, not at all. They were nothing more to her than blurry figures and dimly remembered voices. “He could be anyone then, couldn’t he?”

  “Indeed he could.”

  It was a most disquieting thought. Well matched to her most discomforting position. “I feel ridiculous like this.”

  “Quiet.”

  It was no use arguing with the man. Whoever he was he obviously knew what he was doing. She was already feeling better. Even though someone had just tried to kill her.

  “Am I in danger?” she said in a meek voice that didn’t sound like herself at all.

  He took a moment to answer. “Probably not.”

  His hesitation was not reassuring. Still, this had to be a mistake. Why would anyone want to do away with her? Oh, certainly there were more than a few of this year’s debutantes who were green with envy at Jocelyn’s triumphant season but surely none would resort to violence. Even a few of their more overzealous mothers would never go so far. Perhaps those two vile men had confused her for another lady here tonight?

  “Do you think this was a mistake then? They thought I was someone else?”

  Again he took his time in answering. It was an annoying habit that did not bode well. “Possibly.”

  She ignored his hesitation and clung to the single word. Of course, that was the answer. Tonight’s gala was rampant with political rivals and foreign dignitaries and who knew what else. Intrigue was probably seething in every shadow. Still, it was not a pleasant thought. The very idea that someone would wish to harm anyone, let alone her, here, at a reception for the—

  “Good Lord! Al—the prince!” She jerked upright, shoving his restraining hand away.

  “What about the prince?” The man’s eyes narrowed.

  “He was supposed to meet—” She bit back her words. What was she thinking? She certainly couldn’t tell this man, this stranger, that she was about to meet the prince. Privately. In a secluded setting. With no chaperones whatsoever. Aside from his rescue of her she really had no reason to trust him. Her reputation would be ruined if word got out, and Alexei would never marry a woman touched by scandal. Oh, certainly it was worth the risk initially because he was going to ask for her hand and that would put their meeting in the realm of romance rather than impropriety. But now ...

  And she had kissed this stranger! Or rather he had kissed her, but the distinction would scarcely matter.

  She rose to her feet. “Who are you?”

  He stood. “I should be crushed that you do not remember although we have never been formally introduced.” He swept a curt bow. “Viscount Beaumont, my lady, at your service.”

  The name struck a familiar chord. “Have we met then?”

  “Not really.” Beaumont shrugged. “I am a friend of Lord Helmsley.”

  “Of course.” How could she forget? Viscount Beaumont, Randall, or rather Thomas called him Rand. She’d seen him only briefly once, in a darkened library, but his name was all too familiar. Beaumont had taken part in an absurd, and highly successful, plan to dupe her sister Marianne into accepting marriage with Thomas less than a fortnight ago. She couldn’t suppress a twinge of gratitude for his role in uniting the couple. “And an excellent friend too from all I’ve heard.”

  “One owes a certain amount of loyalty to one’s friends.” He paused as if considering his words. “As well as to one’s country.”

  At once the mood between them changed, sobered. She studied him for a long moment. He was tall and devastatingly handsome, and before someone had thrown a knife at her she would have noticed little more than that. Now she noted the determined set of his jaw, the powerful lines of his lean body like a jungle cat clad in the latest stare of fashion. And the hard gleam in his eye. She shivered with the realization that regardless of his charming manner, his easy grin, and the skill of his embrace, this was a dangerous man.

  She met his gaze directly with a courage she didn’t entirely feel. “What is going on, my lord? Who were they?”

  “It would be best if you knew as little as possible,” he said in an irritatingly firm manner.

  “Then all is well since I know nothing at all,” she snapped. “I did no more than overhear a few comments and the next thing I knew, knives were whizzing by my head.”

  “One knife,” he said absently and fixed her with an intense stare. “What exactly did you hear?”

  “Nothing that made any sense or seemed of any real significance.” She shrugged and repeated what she’d overheard. “Is it important?”

  “No.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “It wasn’t what you heard that makes you a threat but what you saw.”

  “How can I be a threat? I told you I didn’t see anything.”

  “Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”

  “Once again, my lord.” She emphasized each word. “I didn’t see them.” The man might well be handsome and dashing but his comprehension of the English language was questionable.

  “They don’t know that,” he said as if he was talking more to himself than to her, his manner more considering than concerned.

  She stared in disbelief. “Surely they’ll know that if we pretend this whole thing never happened. Once they realize you have no idea who they are—”

  “Who one of them is,” he corrected.

  “Whatever.” She waved an impatient hand. “Once they realize I didn’t identify them to you, they’ll know they have nothing to fear from me and I’ll have nothing to fear from them. There will be no problem. You did say it would be impossible to find anyone wishing to blend into the crowd?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, then we must simply leave it at that.” She stepped closer to him. “You must promise not to tell anyone about this. I never came in here. I never saw them.” She glanced at the knife on the floor and grimaced. “I never saw that. You never saw me. We were never alone here together. You never—”

  “Kissed you?”

  “Kept me quiet.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It scarcely counted as a kiss.”

  “Perhaps not the first,” he murmured, “but the second—”

  “Promise!”

  “Very well,” he said slowly, “you have my word not to reveal what h
as happened here unless ...”

  “Unless?” She stared in suspicion.

  “Unless it becomes necessary.” The look in his eyes brooked no argument.

  “That’s something at any rate.” She stepped to the door, then turned back. “Thank you”—she waved a wide gesture at the room—“for everything.”

  “For saving your life?” He swept an exaggerated bow. “It was entirely my pleasure.”

  “It wasn’t a mistake, was it?”

  He raised a brow. “That’s yet to be determined.”

  “Not saving me.” She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “This whole incident. It wasn’t a case of mistaken identity or anything remotely like that, was it?”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “I didn’t think so.” She started to leave, then once again turned back. “Is Prince Alexei in danger?”

  Beaumont considered her question for a moment, and she wondered if he was deciding how much to tell her or if to say anything at all.

  “Never mind,” she said. “Your silence says a great deal.” She swiveled back toward the door but his voice stopped her in her tracks.

  “I doubt that he’s in any mortal danger. Politically, however ...” She could hear the shrug in his voice.

  Encouraged and more than a little curious, she turned to face him. “Politically?”

  His expression was noncommittal.

  “I have a great number of other questions.”

  “I am not surprised.”

  “You’re not going to answer them, are you?”

  “No.”

  “But it does have to do with the prince, doesn’t it?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “You are ...” She struggled to find the right words although it was probably too late to worry about such details now. “You are not a ... a villain, are you? What I mean to say is that you are to be trusted. You are on the side of—”

  “Good instead of evil?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Overly dramatic but you could put it that way I suppose.” He chuckled. “I am currently charged with protecting the interests of my king and my country. As a representative of the crown, yes, you can trust me.”

  She blew a relieved sigh. “I had thought as much but—”

  “You needed to hear me say it.”

  “Yes, I did.” She smiled in gratitude. “I must get back. Again you have my thanks.” She pulled open the door and cautiously glanced down the corridor. The hallway was empty. She stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. If she could make it back to the ballroom unnoticed, she could pretend this entire incident had never happened.

  But what of Alexei? Strange, he seemed of rather less importance at the moment. His proposal would have to wait. Not that another day really mattered. He could declare his intentions as easily tomorrow as tonight.

  She made her way back to the ballroom, turning her attention once again to the prospect of becoming a princess and away from intrigues and unexpected dangers. She was confident the incident was at an end, and it was easy to wipe away all thoughts of wicked men and their wicked knives from her mind.

  What proved a bit more difficult was ignoring the lingering memory of a strong, male body pressed against hers and the passionate kiss of a dangerous man.

  ———

  Rand stared at the closed door for a long moment. A scant hour ago he would have wagered a small fortune that this mess could not get any more complicated. He would have lost.

  The beautiful Lady Jocelyn was now smack in the midst of it all.

  He walked over and picked up the knife from the floor. It was unremarkable in appearance, of a style made predominantly in the Baltic regions. Quite common and therefore worthless in determining ownership. But lethal in the right hands. And it had quite nearly skewered the lovely lady’s neck.

  He uttered a short curse at the thought of what would have happened if he’d arrived so much as a split second later. Of course, he’d had no idea she was in the room. The man he was watching had escaped his observation and apparently met with his accomplice in the darkened shadows out of doors. Rand and his men were checking each room with access to the terrace or gardens in hopes of uncovering the very meeting Lady Jocelyn had stumbled upon. It was only a heightened sense of danger that had served him well during the war years that led him to the right door.

  Why she had been in the music room anyway?

  She’d started to say something... Of course. He snorted with disdain. She was here to meet Alexei. Rand had missed most of the season thus far, only returning to London a few weeks ago, but he couldn’t fail to miss hearing of the woman who had apparently attracted the attention of the crown prince of Avalonia. The incomparable Lady Jocelyn Shelton.

  He had to admit she was indeed incomparable and wondered why he’d barely noticed her at their brief earlier meeting. With golden hair and eyes only a shade darker, the rich color of honey, she stood a bit taller than most women, which only served to increased comparisons to the perfection of a Greek statue. Her family connections were excellent and her dowry was obviously substantial.

  For a man seeking a wife, she was the prime pick of the lot this year. And who would have suspected the surprising amount of courage, perhaps even intelligence, hidden in that enticing package? Another woman would have been hysterical at such a narrow escape.

  No, he amended the thought. Strike intelligence. If she was there to meet Prince Alexei she wasn’t nearly as smart as she might appear. The prince was notorious for his amorous liaisons, and while rumor was rife that he was looking for a bride, Rand suspected even Lady Jocelyn’s sterling qualifications would not be up to snuff for a royal match. If the prince wished to meet with the lady privately, Rand would wager his intentions were not particularly honorable.

  For his part, Rand wanted nothing to do with the prince. Yet here he was, charged with the task of protecting the heir to the Avalonian throne from the intrigues that surrounded him.

  It was only Rand’s family connections that placed him in this awkward position in the first place. And given those connections he could scarcely refuse a request from the Foreign Office to return to service, unofficially of course, to look into the prince’s charge of a conspiracy to discredit him centered right here in London.

  Prince Alexei had specifically asked the government for Rand even though the two men had never actually met until his arrival in England. No doubt the prince had assumed the distant blood connection between them would assure Rand’s loyalty. Blasted man.

  Rand had no desire to further his acquaintance with the prince or his country. Whatever hereditary Avalonian title he might hold was nothing more than a mildly amusing bit of history. He was the sixth Viscount Beaumont. The son of his father and an Englishman to his very soul. His loyalty was to his sovereign and the land of his birth. So if the country he had long sworn to defend did not wish to have a royal visitor discredited while on British soil, Rand could not refuse to lend his assistance regardless of his personal preferences.

  Still, initially, it had seemed the prince’s fears were based on nothing more than the misapprehensions of a monarch whose country had long been embroiled in battles for power between one branch of the royal family or another. Not until yesterday had Rand discovered there was indeed some sort of conspiracy afoot. He’d received information that a man who dwelled in the underbelly of international intrigue, Ivan Strizich, nothing more than a political henchman really, was in league with an Avalonian official. The men assigned to work with Rand had managed to locate Strizich but it was agreed they would wait for the miserable cur to lead them to the man they really wanted. The man heading the plot against the prince.

  Damn it all, they had nearly had him.

  Rand fully accepted the blame for their failure. Obviously the years since the war had dulled his senses and his instincts. They would have to start from scratch now. The prince had any number of social events scheduled but Strizich and the man he worked f
or would be far more cautious after tonight. Strizich would likely drop out of sight completely, and so too would any connection to the man in charge.

  Pity there wasn’t some way to draw him out.

  Absently Rand hefted the knife in his hand. The evening wasn’t a total failure. Rand had managed to save the lovely Lady Jocelyn from harm at the hands of Strizich and, more than likely, rescue her from who knew what at the hands of the prince as well. She was safe for the moment.

  Or was she?

  Rand stared at the knife. There was every possibility she was right in her assessment of the situation regarding any continuing threat. But if she was wrong ...

  Strizich was a dangerous man, as was whomever he worked for. In Rand’s experience there was no greater danger then an extremist of any kind. He’d far prefer an adversary who was motivated by greed instead of idealism. And when the prize was control of a country, the stakes were monumental.

  If Lady Jocelyn was wrong she could be dead by daybreak.

  And it would be his fault.

  He’d allowed Strizich to escape but he would protect the lady with his life if need be. He owed as much to her for his failure.

  He slipped the knife beneath his coat and headed toward the French doors and the gardens beyond to find his men. Rand and everyone he could spare would not let her out of their sight tonight. Once she was safely back at Effington House, he would make Thomas aware of the situation and they would determine further steps.

  And if in the process, he was forced to kiss her again, well—he grinned— such was the price of duty. Still, he sighed and firmly pushed away the memory of her delectable body pressed against his, he could not allow such thoughts to color his judgment. It was duty, plain and simple, that compelled him to protect her.

  And he couldn’t help but consider, in the cool analytical portion of his mind unfettered by inconvenient thoughts of guilt and honor and desire, that it was rather unfortunate there was no way to encourage Strizich to go after the fair Jocelyn and right into Rand’s hands. Strizich would undoubtedly reveal all he knew once captured. It was a pity there wasn’t some way to use her as bait.