The Prince's Bride

by Joanne Wadsworth

  “I fight not only for our country, but for the freedom of everyone currently suffering under Napoleon’s reign of terror. I would also like to point out that Napoleon detests me and wishes to be rid of me. Even should I agree to marry the lady you’ve secured for me, my life is filled with danger and it’s doubtful I’ll ever live long enough to bed her.” One foot tapping, his impatience rising. “I’m surprised I’m still above the soil and not yet buried beneath it.”

  “Napoleon cannot send you to your death without severe repercussions from me, which he is damned aware of. That self-righteous Corsican has stretched his mighty arm far too wide, first sending Joseph Bonaparte to rule as King of Naples, then his brother-in-law, Joachim Murat. Neither Napoleon or any of his family will ever be able to take down the House of Bourbon, which is why I need you to marry. It is your duty to bear an heir and a spare. A dozen spares would be preferable.”

  “I am a lost prince, Father.”

  “My crew and yours know exactly who you are.”

  “My crew is loyal.”

  “So is mine, but you must understand me, Anteros. Your mother and I lost child after child following our marriage and when that happens, a man will do anything to ensure his remaining children don’t lose their lives. You were raised on the island of Paradiso with your grandfather to ensure your safety. The same with Adrestia.”

  “I understand and have never disputed your decision to have us raised there. In fact, I am rather grateful for it.” Slugging a mouthful, he eyed his sire. “Napoleon will be defeated. It is just a matter of time.”

  “Son, you have done your best in hiding your true identity to those outside of our family. You’ve operated within the shadows of the underworld as needed, as well as cared for Adrestia when I asked it of you. You’ve built your trade and fleet of ships, which now rival my own, but it’s time for you to accept your birthright. I intend on claiming you as my son soon. Mark my words.” Father leaned his fisted knuckles on his desk and loomed over him. “In the meantime, your mother and I have taken great pains to make politically advantageous marriages for all of our children as they’ve came of age. I wish for you to wed one of the Emperor of Austria’s daughters, the Archduchess Clementina. Francis of Austria has agreed to the match.”

  “Clementina?” Shocked, he spluttered. “The emperor had several lovely daughters, all of them archduchesses, but Clementina is one of his youngest. I visited Francis a year ago at Mother’s request and I spoke to Clementina. She is still a child, a girl of twelve or thirteen.”

  “She’s sixteen and recently had her first courses. She is now of age to marry.”

  “I’m not marrying a child.” He’d never buckle on that issue.

  “If I must order you to marry her, then I—”

  “No.”

  “Do not defy me on this. You will agree.” Blue eyes darkening to sharp points.

  “My answer is still no.” He shoved to his feet and met Father eye to eye. “How about I offer you a compromise?” If he didn’t, Father would continue to press his point and he’d never be rid of him. A plan began to bloom in his mind. Shira had said to follow his instincts. Those consisted of undertaking an elaborate ruse, of speaking false marriage vows with a willing accomplice. Luckily, he had an angel who owed him a favor. “Since you insist I wed, then allow me to choose my own bride.”

  “Explain.” A roll of Father’s shoulders, suspicion still in his eyes.

  “I don’t actually want to admit this, but I am currently intrigued by an English lady who I would have no issue bedding.” The truth so far.

  “Hmm.” A tick of the muscle in Father’s jaw. “English you say? Do you mean from the Royal House of Hanover?”

  “No, she isn’t royalty, but she is from a strong and loyal line.”

  “Give me her name.”

  “Lady Olivia Trentbury. She is the Earl of Winterly’s sister.” A little more of Father’s suspicion seemed to lift, so he continued, “She is the only woman I would ever consider entering into matrimony with.”

  “You will wed her, bed her, and get her with child?”

  “I would if there was no other choice.”

  “I see.” Father stroked his jaw, breathed deep, and nodded. “I will accept the English lady as your bride, although if you don’t do as you’ve proclaimed, then I will bring you to heel by whatever means I must. Do not fail me. Am I understood?”

  “There is no need to use threats against me, Father.”

  “That wasn’t a threat, Son. It was a promise.” Father strode to the door, opened it and glanced at him over his shoulder. “I will leave one of my men on board your ship. Signore Piero Bruno. Bruno will report back to me once he’s witnessed your vows being spoken, which of course must take place on Paradiso since those are the stipulations handed down by your grandfather before his death.”

  “I’m aware I can’t marry anywhere else, other than where I was born and raised.”

  “Good.” Father left, closing the door behind him.

  He could handle one spy, for that’s exactly what Bruno would be, an unwanted presence tailing him day and night until he’d done the deed and spoken marriage vows with Olivia. Well, those vows would happen, but they wouldn’t be legal or binding. He’d ensure it. It was time to speak to his angel and call in a debt.

  Hopefully, she wouldn’t turn him down, not in his greatest time of need.

  Chapter 4

  Two weeks later in her bedchamber before the cozy warmth of her fire, Olivia readied for the masquerade ball being held that evening at Brightson House, Mama chaperoning both her and Adrestia since Anteros hadn’t yet returned from sea as expected.

  She swirled her favorite orange blossom bath oil into the water and after disrobing, stepped into the wooden tub and settled down. She dunked her head under the water, came up and worked a bar of soap into a mass of citrusy bubbles. With the suds in hand, she scrubbed her hair, dunked under again and rinsed.

  Resting her wet head on the rim, she relaxed back as the fire crackled, the flames glowing a vibrant orange-red. As she raised her toes above the surface, water sluiced off her feet, the drops running in rivulets down her calves before splashing back into the tub.

  A whoosh of her hand over the surface and the water rippled. The undulating wave swept to the side of the tub and cascaded back.

  She’d always enjoyed playing in the water, ever since her earliest years. As a child, she’d stamp through puddles, swim in the shallows at the seaside, and lift her face to the skies when it rained. Her first memory of being out on the water flickered to life. Five years of age, she’d been at the time, sitting in a rowboat with Papa, just the two of them out enjoying a warm spring day a hundred feet from the lake shore. Mama had been lazing on the sandy verge with a book since she suffered from terrible seasickness and wouldn’t even step one foot onto a ship, let alone a wobbly rowboat.

  That lake very near their country estate had been Papa’s favorite spot to fish in, private and serene. That day Papa had hooked a wriggly worm on the end of her line as bait, and she’d tossed the line over the side then waited with giddy anticipation for a bite. When a fish had caught and tugged, she’d barely been able to sit still, which had made Papa chuckle at her excitement. Papa had helped her reel her first fish in that day, and later that evening they’d eaten it for—

  “May I come in, my lady?” A knock rattled her door, made her splash upright in her tub.

  “Yes, please do.” Best she get out and cease dawdling. She had a masked ball to attend, one she’d been looking forward to for several weeks. She rose and got swamped in the drying cloth Lucy wrapped around her. A quick rub dry and she eased into her dressing robe, tied the sash and sat before her dressing table.

  Lucy collected her brush and standing at her back, gently brushed her hair until her locks dried from the warmth of the fire into a shiny fall of golden-blond. “Madam Gonnier has outdone herself with your costume for the ball, my lady. It is absolutely divine.” />
  “Would you lay it out on the bed for me?”

  “Of course.” Her maid crossed to her wardrobe, collected her gown and draped it over the end of her four-poster bed, the lacy white fabric stark against her cherry-colored bedcovers. “The madam has even created angel wings for you to attach to the ensemble. She is a master at what she does.” Lucy carefully collected the silk undergarment and the wings from atop a corner trunk and placed them on the bed too. “The modiste explained to me exactly how I was to attach the wings.”

  “Then aid me dressing. I’m eager to see the costume all put together.” She shrugged out of her dressing gown and lifted her arms. Lucy slid the undergarment over her head and the skin-colored silk of the lining rippled down her body with the softest caress before brushing the white woolen rug gracing her polished floorboards. Next came the fine white lace overlay of the gown and once her maid had fastened the line of pearl buttons running down her spine, she stepped in front of her tall-standing cheval mirror and did a twirl. The lace swept into a short train at the back with dainty white flowers embroidered along the scalloped edge, while crystals sewn into the lace glittered like stars in the night sky. At first glance it appeared as if she wore naught underneath the fine lace, what with the lining matching her skin tone to perfection.

  “It is stunning, very angelic.” Lucy fixed the feathery white angel wings in place, the filaments glittering along the upper curves and lower fall of the wings where more crystals had been added. A gasp as her maid covered her mouth. “Oh, my lady, you look magnificent.”

  “Thank you for saying so.” She turned this way and that to get a better look at the wings in the mirror.

  “You’re almost ready. Gloves and slippers next, then your hair.” Lucy drew the lacy white gloves on her fingers, crouched and held the matching white slippers out for her to slide her feet into, then she patted the chair before her dressing table. “Come and sit. How would you like your hair arranged for the night?”

  “In theme, as you would imagine an angel’s hair to appear.”

  “I picked some sprigs of small white flowers earlier. I’ll fetch them now and fashion them into a crown atop your head. They’ll look like an angelic halo.” Her maid dashed out the door, then returned a few minutes later with the flowers in hand.

  Lucy swept her golden locks into a fanciful arrangement with side braids curling upward around a top knot. She added the dainty white flowers in a circular crown then finished off her creation with a few loose curls dangling free down her nape. The arrangement was soft and sultry and absolutely perfect.

  “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucy.” She opened the lid of her wooden jewelry box which Papa had made for her as a child and selected her favorite gold earrings to complement her locket. She stroked the engraving of the cobra at her neck, Anteros’s diamond hidden safely away inside.

  “I’ll aid you with your mask.” Lucy held the white feather and silk mask with great care as she fitted it over her eyes and secured it in place at the back with silk ties.

  Another knock and Mama breezed in wearing a woodland fairy inspired gown with pleated forest-green skirts and matching bodice, her mask a glittery tinge of the same color with a quiver of feathers spanning in a spritely arch across the sweeping rise of her top knot. Woodland-colored fairy wings bobbed from Mama’s back, and as she waved a wand, Mama appeared every inch a fairy godmother. “You look wonderful, Mama.”

  “And you look divine, my child, just like an angel sent from the heavens. I wish your dear papa could see how you’ve blossomed into such a beautiful young lady. He would be immensely proud of you.” A tear shimmered in Mama’s eyes.

  “Thank you for saying so. I love you.” She kissed Mama’s warm cheeks, first her left, then her right. “I hope I marry a man as loving and as honorable as Papa was.” She linked arms with Mama and crossed to the door which Lucy held open for them.

  “Do you consider Lord Herbarth a contender for your hand?” Mama asked as she led the way down the hallway. “I realize he’s proposed three times and that you’ve turned him down three times too, but you continue to dance with him at every ball we attend.”

  “He’s polite and kind and devastated over the loss of his mother. Since I know what it’s like to lose a parent, I’ve tried to be a friend, but it is difficult learning what distance to keep so that the brunt of any gossip remains at bay.” She gently stroked her locket, which caught Mama’s astute gaze.

  “It’s impossible to miss that you still hold onto Captain Bourbon’s diamond.” Mama’s gaze softened. “The captain is an honorable man and neither Winterly or I will ever forget how he has come to the aid of our family whenever needed. He is heroic, and we will always hold him in great esteem.” Mama grasped the handrail as they walked downstairs, then at the base of the stairs Mama glanced at her under her lashes. “Did I mention Captain Bourbon has returned?”

  “No.” Halting, she shook her head. “Surely he hasn’t.” She’d gone riding with Adrestia just yesterday and her friend would have told her if Anteros had sailed into port. Not only that, but Anteros would have paid a call to her and Mama upon his return, unless of course he’d only arrived today. “When did he make berth?”

  “This afternoon, only a few short hours ago. He has arrived here with Adrestia this eve. They’re both in our drawing room, the captain having offered to take us in his carriage tonight.”

  “You should have said sooner.” Surprised and excited, she could barely restrain her emotions as she hurried down the passageway. She skidded into the drawing room in a most unladylike fashion, then grateful her mask currently hid her expression, she openly ogled Anteros where he stood next to the fireplace, a brandy glass in hand and his gaze on the flames. He was dressed head to toe in domino with a hood covering his dark head and wide sleeves enveloping his arms. Gold brocade ran down the front buttoning of his robe, adding a touch of finesse to his costume, while a black silk mask covered the top half of his face.

  “Captain Bourbon,” she murmured a little roughly, one hand clutched to her chest. “Welcome home.”

  He slowly turned, his blue eyes going wide through his eye-slits, the brandy sloshing the rim of his glass as he openly stared at her. Gulping for a breath, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut and didn’t move, not an inch, his chest rising and falling sharply, his breath coming harder.

  “Anteros? Are you all right?” His sister rose from the blue brocade settee where she sat, her midnight-black hair lying sleek and straight with an Egyptian crown upon her head and a masterfully fitted golden gown clinging to her body. A glittering Cleopatra mask covered Adrestia’s cheeks and nose, her heavily lashed eyes peeking out through her eye-slits. Gripping her brother’s arm, she nudged him. “Is something wrong, Fratello?”

  “Not at all.” A squeaky answer, then he rattled off a long length of Italian before he opened his eyes once more, his gaze going straight to Mama. “Lady Winterly, you look divine, as does your daughter.”

  “I’m so glad you arrived back in England in time to attend the Brightson House ball with us this eve, and of course for your gracious offer to drive us there,” Mama gushed as she joined Bourbon and Adrestia at the hearth. Grasping Adrestia’s hands, Mama beamed. “My dear, you make a stunning Cleopatra, a woman who was born to rule, a true queen in every sense. Let me see the entire creation.”

  “Of course.” Adrestia lifted her arms and twirled about, the sheer golden fabric flowing like silken ivory wings from her shoulders to her wrists, while a golden-tasseled belt knotted at her waist shimmered in the firelight.

  “Oh, the Egyptians are most fortunate to have you seated upon their throne this night, Adrestia. Come, I am eagerly awaiting this eve’s soiree. Let us be away.” Mama steered Adrestia from the room, the two of them disappearing down the passageway, their chatter echoing back.

  “You look very handsome in your costume, sir.” With her hands clasped in front, she tried not to twist her fingers together as she met Anteros’s gaze.
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  “I apologize for not greeting you properly, but you quite stunned me with how radiant you look. Bellissimo. Prezioso. Angelico.” Huskily spoken words. “Are you well?”

  “I am in good health, yes. What of you?”

  “It has been a difficult few weeks while I’ve been at sea.” He straightened his shoulders, his regal bearing proud and strong and tall.

  “Then it is just as well you’re now home again.” She moved toward him, the train of her gown rustling across the deep blue carpet of the drawing room, her angel wings fluttering. When he remained silent, she asked, “How long will you be enjoying a sojourn in London for?”

  “I’m afraid not long. I must set sail again soon.” He caught her hand, lifted it to his lips and pressed a sweet kiss against her knuckles. “But not until after you and I have spoken in private. I have a great deal I need to discuss with you.”

  “That sounds intriguing.” She caught the glimmer of his medallion within the front folds of his black robe, lifted it free and squeezed her fingers around it. A gentle tug as she drew him closer, and when he swallowed hard, she smiled. “Do I scare you, Captain?”

  “You terrify me.”

  “Perfect, that has always been my aim, to terrify the cobra. You also need more time on land, to rest and recuperate and enjoy being with friends and family. Come riding with me tomorrow morning. Adrestia and I have already arranged to meet here at ten for an excursion to Hyde Park. Surely your stallion requires a run now his master is home?”

  “See, that is exactly why you terrify me. With absolute ease you manage to bend me to your will. Of course I’ll come.” He leaned in closer, his warm breath caressing her cheeks either side of her mask and fluttering the bobbing curls at her neck. “I thought about you all the time while I was away. Do you have any suitors already holding dances for tonight’s ball?”

  “One or two.” She’d made promises, as she always did. “Lord Fellows and Lord Herbarth.”