“Every word.”
To this, she was startled enough to have no immediate response. He knew he was not being misinterpreted, but he had no idea of her feelings for him, if there were any. Surely, he would be a fool to think she had fallen for some Englishman with barely a grasp of her native tongue in two meetings, only one of them with any shred of privacy. But he wondered all the same. She was clearly a little afraid, maybe not of him, maybe only of the situation. He took that comfort. He spoke softly, hopefully beyond anyone’s abilities to listen, “I returned only for you, Your Highness.”
He could not tell from her expression the depths or the nature of her reaction, though there was one. He would give anything for the ability to read her better at that moment, something no tutor could impart. “But I have not been a proper gentleman,” he said, to fill the awkward silence, “and asked how you have been, my lady.”
“I have been well. I was a bit—surprised at your return.”
“Everyone was.” He let his hand stray to the balcony rim, which was closer to her hand, without touching it. “Were you happy at the news?” He shook his head. “I apologize. That was too personal a question. My lady, you do not have to answer.”
“But you wish to know it?”
With as much muting of his emotion as he could muster, he replied, “Yes.”
“I was.” And then, when her apparent embarrassment passed, she smiled, but quickly covered her face to hide it.
“Oh, please don’t,” he whispered. “I so wish to see you smile.” This, of course, had that precise effect, and she pulled her hand away. “There.” All of his concerns, for the moment, were dashed as he admitted to himself that he was completely and utterly in love.
***
Their courtship period—which only Brian, in his mind, referred to as such—was slow and complex despite the wedding hovering over him, because he did not want to overstep his bounds. He was advised not to show too much interest in his bride. This he found ironic and somewhat stupid, but he would not stir the pot at this point, even though her father treated him with excitement at their upcoming nuptials as the next great step in the long family history. Although he did see her increasingly at meals, it was never together and they exchanged words only on that balcony and in other places where it was arranged for them. He did not touch her, even to hold her hand or kiss the ring, because he did not know what liberties he was allowed and didn’t feel inclined to ask her.
It was the shy Nadezhda who warned him, “Do not trust your servants. Do not trust anyone.”
With an obvious smile on his face, Brian said, “Should I trust you?”
“Perhaps,” she said. Her shell of shyness was nearly impossible to penetrate, and he found it easier to lead her and let her respond in kind.
Between her hints and his improved language skills, he was beginning to understand the situation a bit better. Her father, the count, lacked a certain social ability to get along well with his neighbors. During his reign, his actions had ensured that they were now all thoroughly aligned against him. They would not risk open warfare, but they would not provide him with a suitable candidate for a husband for his only daughter. So he had to look elsewhere, to the point of winning the hapless Brian Maddox in a bet.
“Brian,” Nadezhda said, after many insistences that she call him that, “you should consider your situation.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You—” She stopped and, to his surprise, placed a tense but tender hand on his arm, lightly brushing against his clothing. “There will be expectations of you.”
“I know. Your father has made no secret that I must produce an heir.”
She shook her head. She seemed to be trembling and turned away from him. Incited by her touch, and out of the concern for her change in temperament, he lightly chanced a grazing of his hand against the outer fabric of her long headscarf. “What? You can tell me.”
“I have not told… anyone. Except my father, who will not listen to reason. You will keep it a secret?”
“Of course.”
She turned back to him. “You should run, Herr Maddox.”
“What?”
“You should run away and never look back. It is the safest thing for you.”
“My lady,” Brian said, “I have run from many obligations in my life. I decided long ago that this will not be one of them.” He moved closer than he ever had dared. “I love you.”
“I know.” She tried to hide her soft expression in her hands again. “Brian, I don’t think I can bear children.”
“It frightens you?”
“No. But—do not ask for specifics, but the midwife believes it, and I would not have you bind yourself to me without knowing the truth. If you marry me, your situation will be very desperate.”
It took a second for him to comprehend. “But it is not a sure thing.”
“I suppose not. But my father is always unreasonable.”
It did not take a vivid imagination to conjure up an image of what would happen to him if he ever displeased the count. But maybe his marriage would soften his father-in-law? If he made Nadezhda truly happy? “I am willing to take a gamble. After all, gambling landed me in this situation, and I find it extremely pleasurable. So—you’ve never told this to another suitor?”
“No,” she said. “I never cared for the other ones.”
He colored at her implication.
***
By some stupid baronial custom, Brian did not see his bride for a week up to the marriage. He passed his available hours writing furiously to his brother, expressing none of the concerns surrounding his marriage and all of the joy. He loved Nadezhda. He could not, for a second, consider running away and not taking her as his wife for as long as he should live—however short that would be. Who knew, maybe she could conceive. It had certainly never been put to the test. When they explained (in detail) his wedding night and the presentation of the sheets, he colored and would have run back to his room if he hadn’t been standing in front of the count at the time.
He had one other, entirely unexpected, horror to endure. A traditional stag party in England, among friends, might have involved some heavy drinking of whiskey and some tales that were not told often outside of such gatherings, but here it was an entirely different matter. First, he had no friends and dearly missed his brother and sister-in-law. Second, the drinking was much heavier, and he had to work very, very hard to keep himself out of the cups. Third, women were invited. Or, appropriately, women of a certain profession (the oldest) were invited, or paid to come and dance. He sat on a pillow next to the count, who slapped him so heavily on the back that it hurt and made him spill some of his mead or vodka or whatever it was, and was told strongly and in no uncertain terms to pick one of them. Brian excused himself momentarily, and his servant Andrei must have noticed the color leave his face, because the man explained his duties to him politely enough but made it clear that it was a duty expected of him and he could not refuse.
He was not left to contemplate the situation very long before the matter was forced upon him. He helplessly selected a girl in a red costume and was ushered into another room where he proceeded to tell her that for both of their sakes she must act accordingly to satisfy the count, and they spent the next half hour exchanging childhood stories.
***
If there was one thing Brian Maddox was sure he would never attend, much less be a part of, it was a royal wedding. How luck and fate had brought him here, he had no concept. The weight of the crown on his head was enough to sink him into reality. He was His Highness, Brian of Transylvania. The title wasn’t real in the sense that he could use it in any kind of court. The family bought the title at some point in history, and though it was nothing more than a family custom, no one ever called Princess Nadezhda anything but Her Highness (in Romanian), and they would address Brian the same
way. Only the velvet beneath the crown made it comfortable on his head, and only seeing a similarly attired Nadezhda beside him helped him through a ceremony he did not even begin to understand. His only pain was with the absence of his brother and sister-in-law, and wishing they could be there at this strange ceremony.
But he put those feelings aside soon enough. Nadezhda was his. His wife… He instantly felt a certain possessiveness towards her. This was not a woman he was courting. This was his wife, his other half, the person he would, hopefully, share the rest of his life with. He wondered if the Catholic priest had said something to that effect.
He was not invited to the wedding dinner. Instead he took a small meal in his chambers and was invited back to the crowd when his duties were performed, as disgusting a notion as that was. That he had to present proof—he shook his head. Well, he would, and that would be the end of it. As his gold chain and crown and outer layer were removed, he took a glass of wine and said a prayer in English to help him to be a good husband, a good person, maybe even a good father… if it was possible.
With utter silence he was ushered into the princess’s chambers. To his horror, his wife was stark naked on her bed, as if all he had to do was… No, as appealing as that was, the terrified look on her face was enough to stop him cold. He yelled angrily at the servants to leave them be and shut the door firmly behind them.
“Nadezhda,” he said, changing the tone of his voice as he approached her. “You’re shivering.” He grabbed her discarded robe and put it over her. She must have been freezing. “Here.”
“Am I—so terrible to you?”
She was shaking. She did not shy away from his touch, but it was obvious that she did so by fighting her own instincts. Clearly, they had told her something terrible. Not altogether different from what they told maidens in England, probably, which he always thought was outright ridiculous. He finally swallowed and replied, “No. God, no.” He sat down next to her, off the end of the bed, holding her hand and nothing else. “Nady, you have no reason to be frightened, whatever they told you.” She had, he could now see, long black hair, still tied up, not in the English way, but in many braids. It was silky and beautiful in the lamplight. “I love you.”
“But we have to—”
“It’s not so terrible,” he said. “Trust me. Do you trust me? Of course not, you have no reason to trust me, the silly Englishman. But I am very much in love with you.” He held her covering up when she tried to take it down. “No. We have time.” He was expected back eventually, but not so quickly. Besides, at this point, he didn’t really care what the count thought. “May I see your hair?”
She looked at him blankly.
“I’ve never seen it before,” he said. “Not—down. Or at all. Please?”
She obliged him, of course, un-twirling her long braids of beautiful jet hair that came down past her shoulder blades. He sat there entranced until she was finished, not saying a word as he cupped her chin and kissed her on the side of her head. “I love you.”
“I trust you,” she said at last. “I do.”
“You shouldn’t, you know. You shouldn’t trust anyone,” he said, teasing her, and she laughed. He saw some of the tension leave with the sound of it. “Except maybe me. My Nadezhda.” He kissed her again, softly, testing it on her cheek. She did not turn away, but she tightened up. “I suppose they told you some horrible nonsense about marital relations, or relations with someone other than me. I suppose, I’m not so impressive, but—” But he couldn’t think of a way to end the sentence. I’m experienced. And I love you so very, very much, and I want you to want me as badly as I want you. “Now I’m a little frightened.”
“Of what?” she said.
“I—I’ve never been with a maiden. And certainly, I’ve never been with a wife,” he smiled. “I am, despite all of this Your Highness nonsense, an English gentleman who feels a responsibility to make his wife happy in his conduct.”
“You must have a lovely country.”
“I am painting a very rosy picture, aren’t I?” Brian said. “No, it’s a country like any other, but I was raised with morals. I didn’t always appreciate them or follow them, but I can try now.”
“I heard you are nobility.”
“Descended from. But that doesn’t mean you’re noble. My brother on the other hand is so stupidly noble it’s surprising he hasn’t gotten himself killed yet.”
“You miss him?” she said, taking his hand. She must have been reading his facial expressions.
“Yes. But perhaps one day, we will invite him or visit him. He has a wife and two children, Frederick and Emily. We should have portraits done of us in that royal garb and send it to England. He’ll get a good laugh at that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the scoundrel in the family,” he said. “I don’t deserve any of this. I don’t deserve to be this happy.”
She leaned against him, which was indeed making him very happy. “Why do you always talk like that?”
“Because it’s true. Your husband was a gambler, a man of vices and a hunted man.” Brian situated himself better on the pillows next to her, putting his feet up. “When I was eighteen, my father died. We were on bad terms with my uncle, who is the older brother and therefore inherited the earldom of Maddox, so we had no support. I was left to raise my brother Daniel, who was much younger than I, and to manage our fortune. I wasn’t ready for it. I couldn’t be a father to my brother. I wanted to go to University and have fun and drink. So I managed for a few years, and then I started indulging myself. While my brother was in school, I gambled away our entire fortune. I took out loans to get him his license so he might be a doctor and have a living, and then I ran from my creditors. I traveled all of Europe, abandoning my brother and my responsibilities. Then when I returned, I betrayed him to someone I held a debt to, and that man might have murdered him if he hadn’t been so good at getting away. I didn’t know that, but I shouldn’t have trusted the man, nonetheless.” He pulled back his tunic. “The scar, from where I was stabbed.”
“By your brother?”
“Good heavens, no. Danny would never stab me. By the man who meant to stab him. I was in the way. Now I am a cripple because of it, because even Danny couldn’t fix me, and he is brilliant at his profession. He serves the Prince Regent, who is essentially our king. Then I ran again, because no one seemed to want me around—and for good reason—and then I met your father. And you.” He kissed the hand he was holding. “Then my life changed. Who knows, you may have made me a good man.”
“May I see?” Nadezhda said, reaching towards the scar. “I mean, may I touch—?”
“Of course,” he said, and removed his shirt entirely. He wasn’t covered in scars, but he had a few of them, certainly, and her caressing of him was… making it very hard for him to go this slowly. “I’ll tell you the stories, if you like. Behind them.”
She giggled and pressed on the line on the left side of his belly. “Tell me.”
“Oh God, that’s not a good one to start on. A woman did that to me, a girl in Rome, a… woman of a certain profession. It was over money from a certain—service rendered. I thought it was rendered poorly; she didn’t. So we had an argument. That’s why I’ll never go back to Rome, thank you very much. And stop that, it tickles,” he said. “Or continue. Whatever you like, Your Highness. I am at your mercy.”
“Hardly!”
“A husband is always at his wife’s mercy. You should see the leash Mrs. Maddox leads my brother around with,” he said, and it took her a moment to realize he wasn’t being literal. “May I kiss you?”
“You do not have to ask. Your Highness.”
This was not the same type of kiss. It was the first time he had ever truly kissed her fully, and it was incredible. There was very little sense left in him to keep himself together. Go slow. You have all night. But he didn’t want to ta
ke all night, not now, when she seemed comfortable with him, or at least the idea of him.
He let his hand slide down her shoulder and arm, taking the fabric down with it, and she didn’t seem to mind. Certainly, it would be hard for her to talk with her mouth otherwise engaged. A woman’s body was something to listen to, like an instrument, and there was no outright rejection, just trepidation. No man had touched her like this, he had no doubt. He had no reason to ask. “May I—?” he left it an open question. Would she give him the leniency to explore? She nodded and gave a little gasp when he did. He halted with one hand in a very circumspect place.
“Did I tell you to stop?”
He raised a very surprised eyebrow. “You minx.”
His remaining clothes seemed to come off naturally. She was slowly stripping away all of his mental fortitude as well. She was his wife. He had to take her. He had to do that awful thing that would only hurt once, he promised. He kissed her; he lost his head and couldn’t speak very much. His senses were gone and didn’t return until he was, at least temporarily, satiated, and rolled over in a huffing heap.
“That—was it?”
Brian turned to his wife. “I’m a bit insulted, my lady, by your implication.”
“I mean—that was the great pain?” she said. He wasn’t mistaken about the whole incident and took great care to wipe up on the stupid ceremonial sheet. “I’ve had bruises that felt worse than that!”
He laughed and fell onto her. “You’re quite a woman,” he said.
The doors to the princess’s chambers remained locked for the rest of the night and most of the next day.
***
For the first few months, there was little that could irk Brian out of his marital bliss. He was given very few baronial responsibilities, as his father-in-law seemed to regard him as more of a breeding implement than the future count, but he was required to accompany them for dinners and hunting parties. He had, by regulation, tried to sleep separately from his wife. This regulation was regularly broken, and no one said a word, though he had no doubt that everyone knew that one or another was sneaking off at all hours and not returning after the allotted time. Fine by him. He was the prince now. The only one who could overrule him was the count, who seemed to have no issue with his new son’s apparent virility.
Mr. Darcy's Great Escape Page 22