Princess in Love

by Julianne MacLean

  There were no enemy Royalists here. She was quite safe, except for the wind and the rain, of course, but surely the passengers in the approaching vehicle would offer assistance and everything would be fine. In an hour or two, she and the duchess would be enjoying a hot meal while sipping tea in a cozy inn.

  As the vehicle rumbled to a halt behind them and the horses shook noisily in the harness, Rose clasped her hands together on her lap to hide the fact that they were trembling.

  Samson opened the door and got out. A strong gust of wind blew into the coach and the door slammed shut behind him.

  Voices shouted over the roar of the storm. Good Lord, what was happening? Was Samson all right?

  Rose slid across the seat to look out the window and nearly swallowed her tongue when the door flew open again and she found herself staring up at a tall man in a top hat and black overcoat, holding himself steady against the wind. It was too dark to make out his face, and the terror she experienced in that moment was more piercing than the panic she’d felt when the coach nearly flipped over and toppled down the hillside.

  “Your Royal Highness!” the man shouted, and she was taken aback by the familiarity in his tone. “May I join you inside?”

  Before waiting for an answer, the stranger swung his large frame into the vehicle, removed his hat, and sat down on the facing seat.

  As the golden lamplight reached his face, Rose sucked in a breath of surprise.

  “Lord Cavanaugh? Good heavens, what are you doing here?”

  “I am here to rescue you, of course,” he replied with a magnificent smile that melted all her fears about highwaymen, but reminded her that she and Lord Cavanaugh had once flirted shamelessly in Petersbourg. Although as soon as her heart had become involved, he had rejected her. Quite cruelly in fact.

  Her pride was still bruised by those events, but she would die a thousand deaths before she’d let him see it.

  “My word,” she replied, sounding completely cool and collected, not the least bit unruffled. “How is this possible? Did you somehow learn we were stranded? I was not even aware you were in England.”

  Removing his black leather gloves, he shook his head elegantly, and as usual her heart stumbled backward into that old infatuation that simply would not die, no matter how many times she tried to beat it into submission.

  But how could she, when Leopold Hunt was the most darkly sensual and seductive man in the world? She’d been enamored of him since she was a young girl.

  Damn him, and damn her stubborn attraction to him. She hated that he made her feel flustered. She thought she was over that by now. It had been two years, for pity’s sake, and she had done very well since then, behaving with complete indifference toward him as if none of it mattered at all.

  “If I had known,” he said, “I assure you I would have come much sooner, so I must confess the truth. This is an utterly odd coincidence that causes me to wonder if there are higher forces at play. Of course I knew you and your brothers were visiting London, but what in the world are you doing here, Rose, on this remote country road?” His stunning blue eyes turned to the duchess, as if he realized only then that they were not completely alone. “My apologies for the intrusion, madam,” he said with a frown. “We have not yet been introduced.”

  “I do beg your pardon,” Rose quickly interjected.

  What was wrong with her? Oh, but she knew the answer to that question. As soon as she recognized the impossibly gorgeous and charming Lord Cavanaugh, the rest of the world had simply disappeared. She had become distracted and forgotten about the duchess entirely.

  In fact, she had forgotten about everything. The fierce gales. The stinging rain.

  Most important, her recent engagement, which had not yet been announced.

  “Your Grace,” she said, “may I present Leopold Hunt, the Marquess of Cavanaugh and a great hero in the war against Napoleon. Lord Cavanaugh is an old friend of my brother’s. They went to school together in Petersbourg.” She gestured with a hand. “Lord Cavanaugh … the dowager Duchess of Pembroke.”

  “I am delighted, Your Grace,” he replied. “What brings you both out on a night like this?”

  How perfectly agreeably he behaved, as if the awkward, humiliating end to their affair had never occurred.

  The coach shuddered in the wind, and another blast of rain struck the windowpanes.

  Rose gave the duchess a sidelong glance. “We attended a charitable event in Bath but were late leaving town. We didn’t expect to encounter such treacherous roads.”

  “Welcome to springtime in England,” the duchess said with a chuckle.

  Lord Cavanaugh raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Well, then. I have already spoken to your driver, and I insist that you both join me in my coach. I, too, am on my way to London, but I’ve made arrangements to stay at the Crimson Flower Inn for the night. I can deliver you both there safely, and your good man Samson is transferring your bags to my vehicle as we speak. He promises to meet you in the morning to continue on your way, providing there is no damage to your vehicle, of course, in which case you shall ride the rest of the way with me.”

  Rose’s pride reared up, and she wished she could reject Lord Cavanaugh’s assistance, but the fact remained—they were stranded and in desperate need of help.

  “We most gratefully accept,” the duchess replied. “How fortunate for us that you came along when you did, Lord Cavanaugh. You are the hero of the day!”

  He turned his arresting blue eyes to Rose. “Shall we?”

  She managed a polite smile.

  The next thing she knew, he was handing her up into his own well-appointed vehicle with warm bricks on the floor, lush velvet seats, and luxurious cushions with gold tassels thrown freely about. The light from a small carriage lamp filled the space with a warm glow, and it smelled cozy and inviting—like apples and cinnamon.

  Cavanaugh climbed in and sat down across from her. Though he wore a heavy greatcoat, she could still make out the muscular contours of his body beneath it. Or perhaps she simply remembered all too well those particular details of his appearance—along with the rich chestnut color of his hair and the unruly manner in which it fell forward around his temples.

  It was difficult not to stare at those long black lashes, which framed an intense pair of blue eyes—a rare and striking feature on a man. And that mouth … so full of confident sexuality.

  He was a devastatingly handsome man by all accounts and she wondered if he had any notion of the power he possessed. Did he know that he could make a woman swoon and ruin her for life with a mere glance in her direction?

  Oh, probably.

  As Rose sat back in the seat and settled in, she wondered if his chance arrival and heroic chivalry was an event too good to be true, or if it was the worst possible thing that could ever happen—for she certainly did not wish to be tempted away from her fiancé. Not only was Archduke Joseph the future emperor of Austria, he was, by all accounts, utterly besotted with her and would never in a thousand years break her heart.

  If only she could be more indifferent toward Lord Cavanaugh and his extraordinary charisma.

  She feared this was going to be a bumpy ride.

  Chapter Two

  As the coach prepared to depart, Leopold sat across from Princess Rose and wondered irritably if this was some sort of test of his Royalist allegiances, for what the devil were the odds of running into a Sebastian on a deserted country road on a night like this, when he was on his way back to London to meet a Tremaine?

  Rose of all people. Rose.

  Discreetly he watched her while she arranged her skirts in the most enchanting manner and unbuttoned the top of her cloak to reveal her lavish bosom beneath. She should have looked ragged and weary after what she’d been through this evening, but somehow this rather remarkable princess always managed to appear delicious and fetching in pretty silks and ribbons and lace. One more gust of wind a few minutes ago, and he might have ended up in the ditch lamenting his damned inco
nvenient carnal desires.

  For he had no business desiring a Sebastian.

  The coach lurched forward unexpectedly, and Rose reached out to grab at something, as if she half expected to be tossed to the floor.

  A rather unfortunate metaphor for her future, he supposed, which did not help his mood in the slightest.

  Nevertheless, Leopold frowned as he watched her wrap a hand around her wrist and wince in pain.

  “You’re hurt,” he observed.

  “Not at all,” she replied, which prompted the duchess to speak on her behalf.

  “Princess Rose is very brave, Lord Cavanaugh, and too proud to describe how she was thrown about with such violence, it is a wonder she still lives.”

  His eyebrows drew together with concern. “You must see a doctor, then.”

  “I am sure that’s not necessary,” she casually replied. “It is a mild sprain, nothing more. I am perfectly well.”

  He sat back, unconvinced she was telling the truth. “We will send for a doctor nonetheless, as soon as we reach the inn. Best not to take chances.”

  “Quite right,” the duchess said, while the coach picked up speed.

  Rose lifted her compelling blue eyes to meet his, and despite their polite discourse when he entered her coach a few minutes ago, she was now regarding him with an unmistakable note of disdain.

  He couldn’t pretend not to understand why, for he remembered all too well how he had treated her so shabbily a few years back.

  His thoughts meandered a bit further into the past … to that bright sunny day when they went riding together during a shooting party on his father’s estate. The Sebastian royals of the New Regime were the guests of honor, which had been a carefully plotted ruse to prove Leopold’s loyalty to the crown and secure greater power for him in the Sebastian court.

  Rose had just turned twenty, and he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes—or his hands—off her, for she was an exquisite beauty with unparalleled intelligence and a boatload of charm to go along with it.

  During the hunt, her brothers—the princes Randolph and Nicholas—had raced ahead with the hounds barking at their heels. Leopold and Rose chose to follow at a more leisurely pace and flirted up a storm while discussing books and theater and the latest gossip at court.

  Rose was coquettish that day, and if he’d wanted to, he could have bedded her before the week was out, for there was an undeniable spark of attraction between them that exploded like cannon fire each time they met. She aroused him to a wicked degree, and he knew the feeling was mutual. They had been wildly attracted to each other, and despite the look she’d given him just now, he suspected not much had changed. And he still wanted to bed her, goddammit.

  Growing increasingly sensitive to the heady scent of her perfume inside the close confines of the coach and the enticing curves of her appealing body, he turned his gaze to the window and reminded himself that nothing could ever come of it, for she was a Sebastian and he, a secret Royalist. One day he would help topple her usurping family from the throne of Petersbourg, and from that moment on, Rose would count him among the very worst of her enemies. And she had more than a few.

  When he glanced back at her, he was still disturbingly aware of those soft, full lips and the captivating lavish bosom he remembered so well. The lust he once felt for her reared up quite violently, and he cursed this damnable weather for thrusting them together again.

  It had not been part of the plan.

  * * *

  “Do tell us, Lord Cavanaugh,” the duchess said. “What brings you to England? Are you part of the shipbuilding campaign to strengthen our allied navies?”

  Rose tried not to stare too closely at Leopold as he lounged back casually in the seat like a gorgeous lion. “Not at this time, Your Grace, but I understand Prince Randolph is making excellent progress in that regard.”

  It was not lost on Rose that he hadn’t answered the question, and though she wished she couldn’t care less about his comings and goings, she rephrased it.

  “Are you visiting acquaintances, my lord?”

  His seductive blue eyes turned to her while the rain beat hard upon the roof.

  “I’ve been traveling with my father for the past month,” he replied. “He is journeying to Scotland tomorrow, but I shall return home to Petersbourg in the next day or so.”

  “Sailing out of London?” the duchess asked.

  “Yes, that’s correct.” He then steered the conversation to the celebrations in France since Napoleon’s capture. Thank heavens there was much to discuss on that front.

  Later, as the coach rocked and swayed on its stormy path to the inn, the dowager’s head began to nod and her eyes fluttered closed. Soon she was snoring softly.

  Uncomfortably aware of the fact that she had just lost the company of her chaperone, Rose glanced across at Lord Cavanaugh, who was resting a finger on his temple and watching her with those sly, devilish eyes.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, “as if we are alone here and I am something you find amusing.”

  “Amusing?” He shook his head as if baffled by her remark. “That is not the word I would choose.” He casually began to unbutton his overcoat. “Do you not find it strange that we’ve bumped into each other like this? Honestly, what are the odds?”

  “Very slim indeed,” she replied. “I am beginning to wonder if it is some sort of punishment. Though I am not quite sure what I did to deserve it.”

  “Punishment.” He sighed heavily. “Ah, Rose, I thought we were beyond that. It’s been two years.”

  She shifted her body on the seat and rubbed at her aching wrist, which had begun to swell. “Has it truly been that long? I hadn’t thought about it. I am happy to hear you are keeping track, though.”

  The dowager snorted and jumped, as if startled out of a bad dream. Then her eyes fell closed again.

  Lord Cavanaugh leaned forward, weaved his fingers together, and rested his elbows on his knees. He regarded Rose carefully with narrowed eyes, as if he were studying her mood, trying to decipher her like a riddle.

  As usual, she felt very exposed. He was too close, and she didn’t want to smell the pleasing fragrance of his cologne, or look at those strong, manly hands, for they reminded her of the past.

  “Can we not be friends?” he asked.

  Her breaths were coming faster now, and she swallowed hard over the urge to tell him what she really wanted him to do with his friendship.

  “Does it even matter to you, Leopold? Because I don’t believe it does. I think you want my approval only because we are stuck here together and there is no escaping the awkwardness of it. The whole country knows you do not accept defeat, and you want to have the upper hand again. As soon as I tell you that you are forgiven and I adore you, you will sit back in that seat, quite satisfied with your triumph, and you will stop working so hard to be charming.”

  In the very next instant, he sat back. “You never fail to astonish me.”

  “How so?”

  He frowned. “I’ve never met a woman who speaks as candidly as you. You don’t mince words. You say what you think.”

  She scoffed. “No, I assure you, Leopold, I do not. If I said what I really thought, you would be a great deal more than astonished.”

  His frankly sensual eyes studied her with admiration, and he leaned forward again. “I am sure you are quite right about that, but let us travel back a bit. I certainly don’t think you adore me. Quite to the contrary, I believe you are very unhappy with me, and I cannot blame you. What happened between us two years ago was … it was…”

  He paused, and she clenched her teeth in anger. For the love of God, she couldn’t stomach any more of this unnecessary degradation.

  Raising a hand and shaking her head, she said, “Please, Leopold. There is no need for us to discuss it. It was a long time ago and I am completely over it. I am very happy now. I no longer wish that you would become the man I once wished you to be.”

  He regarde
d her shrewdly. “Now there is an artful insult if I ever heard one.”

  “Not at all,” she helpfully replied. “You are who you are, and two years ago I was simply mistaken in my impression of you.” She waved a dismissing hand through the air. “I was very young.”

  He chuckled. “You were twenty. And what was your impression of me, exactly?”

  He appeared quite genuinely curious.

  Rose paused. If she were being honest, she would tell him she believed him to be the most handsome, compelling, and intelligent man she’d ever imagined could exist, and that she was certain they were destined to be together, and she wanted him to father her children—at least a half dozen of them.

  But that romantic first impression had died a swift death when she showed her true feelings and he blatantly rejected her. For that reason, he did not deserve to hear such praise.

  “I thought you were very charming,” she simply said.

  “There’s that word again.” He shook his head and waved a finger, as if he knew she was holding back and would have none of it.

  She let out a frustrated breath. “What do you want me to say? That I fancied myself in love with you? That I thought you might feel the same way, and I was heartbroken when I realized it meant nothing to you? Or that I still dream of a proposal from you?”

  His lips parted, and he was about to answer the question when the dowager snorted and started awake.

  “Oh, I do beg your pardon,” she said, sitting up. “Was I sleeping? Are we almost there?”

  Leopold inclined his head at Rose, as if to say, We are not done here.

  The coach slowed to a halt just then, and he peered out the window. “Your instincts are impeccable, madam,” he said. “It appears we have arrived.”

  Chapter Three

  The rain continued to fall and the wind howled over the shingled roof of the inn as Rose and the dowager dashed out of the coach and across the yard to the front door.

  Inside the parlor—blessedly warm with the heat of a roaring fire in an enormous hearth—the innkeeper was waiting with a smile. Rose lowered the hood of her cloak and tried to ignore the pain in her wrist, which had swelled considerably over the past hour.