Be My Prince

by Julianne MacLean

  I will not stand in your way, nor will I speak of my affections again.

  Please accept my apologies, but I must send another servant to deliver you to Covent Garden on Tuesday. Randolph will look for you in the lobby at intermission. I will arrange it on your behalf.

  Yours sincerely,

  N.

  Alex sank into a chair and lowered the letter to her side. Every inch of her being was sizzling with shock.

  She read the letter again. I will dedicate myself completely to the task of helping you achieve all that you desire.… I will arrange it on your behalf.

  She should be happy. She was now very close to the ultimate fulfillment of her destiny, but her heart was turning in another direction, for she knew Randolph did not touch her heart the way his brother did. The sparks had turned to flame that first night on the terrace, even before she knew his name. The very instant he spoke, she had felt the power of their attraction. It was not something she could explain in rational terms, even while her intellect was scolding her and demanding that she forget him.

  Suddenly all that seemed to matter was the strange fever that was overtaking her body in the most intoxicating way.

  Sitting forward, she chastised herself for feeling disappointed that he had decided to withdraw his pursuit, and would not escort her to the theater on Tuesday. Her benefactor would be appalled if he knew her thoughts—but heaven help her, she wanted Nicholas to keep fighting. She wanted to write back to him now and tell him not to accept defeat so quickly. She might yet change her mind, but what kind of idiocy was that?

  She was the true hereditary heir to the Petersbourg throne, and her family had been forcibly removed and banished to a place where they all perished tragically.

  It was her duty to return to her homeland and restore the true monarchy. She wanted to serve the people and be a kind and benevolent monarch. They were currently ruled by a power-hungry revolutionary, but they deserved so much more than that—and it was no secret that they wanted it, for the country was divided. The Royalists and the New Regime could not agree on anything.

  Cupping her forehead in a hand, she wondered what to do with this letter.

  She should not keep it. She should destroy it, for what if she became queen and it fell into the wrong hands?

  Without giving it another thought—for if she read it again she might very well succumb to weakness—she rose from her chair, lit a candle, and held the letter over the flame.

  As she watched it disintegrate, her heart squeezed with misery at the price she must pay in the name of duty, and it took no small measure of discipline to keep from rescuing the letter and patting out the flames.

  As soon as it was gone—reduced to nothing but a small pile of ash on the desktop—she turned and made a solemn vow not to spend another moment dreaming about Prince Nicholas, for he was the most dangerous of men. He had the power to divert her from her goal, and she could not allow him to do that. No matter that he fired her blood and made her body yearn to be touched.

  His brother made her feel no such things, and yet it was he whose children she must bear.

  Suddenly the thought of bearing Nicholas’s children possessed her, and she felt a deep pang of longing.

  She pushed the thought away. It was no use dwelling on what could not be.

  For those reasons, and a dozen more, she vowed to forget about Nicholas once and for all. She would focus on her duty, no matter what the cost.

  Chapter Eight

  On the night of the play at Covent Garden, Alexandra and Lucille took their seats in the center of the fifth row.

  “I wish Randolph could have escorted us himself,” Lucille whispered, “instead of sending a servant to do it for him. Is there any possibility that he has escorted another woman here this evening? Are we second choice, do you think?”

  “I don’t know, Mama. We shall have to wait and see.” Alex looked up at the only empty box, which was reserved for Randolph, his sister, Rose, and the regent, and wondered if her stepmother was correct. Perhaps another more purposeful young lady—not distracted by the wrong man—had put her hooks into Randolph already and was well on her way to becoming the future Queen of Petersbourg.

  Just then, Lucille turned in her seat, then quickly faced forward again. “Good Lord. Sit up straight, Alexandra. Your benefactor has just walked in.”

  Alex turned to see Mr. Carmichael taking a seat at the rear of the theater. She faced the stage again and kept her eyes fixed on the velvet curtains while she comprehended the situation.

  This was the first time she had encountered her benefactor since her debut into society. He had always remained on the fringes, never interrupting her social engagements or her interactions with Randolph.

  Was Mr. Carmichael here to observe her progress? Did he somehow know she had become diverted from her goal—a very expensive goal, which he had financed himself with the hiring of the house in Grosvenor Square, not to mention the servants, the carriage, and all the gowns?

  “Is he not worried the prince will recognize him?” Alex quietly whispered. “He was once secretary to my father. Surely his face is known in Petersbourg.”

  Lucille shook her head. “King Frederick would recognize him, most definitely, but not Randolph, for he was only seven when they removed Carmichael from the palace. Since then he has remained invisible to the revolutionaries who now hold power. He has not dared return to court.”

  For a few tense seconds Lucille and Alex sat in silence while members of the orchestra tuned their instruments in the pit. It was a frenzied discordance of notes that did not help Alex to relax.

  She could feel Mr. Carmichael’s gaze burning into the back of her head, watching her every move, no doubt wondering why she hadn’t accomplished more by now. Shouldn’t it be the heir to the throne sending her secret love letters and not his younger brother?

  But Mr. Carmichael would not know of that. There was no possible way. At least she hoped there was not.

  “I don’t want him here,” she whispered to Lucille. “He makes me uneasy. I will not be able to focus my attentions on the prince if Mr. Carmichael is breathing down my neck.”

  Lucille glared at her. “You hardly have a choice in the matter. He bought the tickets for the seats we are now occupying, not to mention our gowns and jewels. Without him, we would be nowhere. We would be stuck back in our little house in Wales, counting farthings to pay our debt to the landlord.”

  Alexandra’s chin shot up. “Do not tell me I do not have choices, Mama, for I suspect the gowns and jewels we are wearing are a product of my family’s lost wealth. Where else would Mr. Carmichael obtain such resources? Unless he comes from money himself … Is this his private investment?”

  Lucille stiffened. “I do not know where his money comes from. All I know is that he was your father’s loyal servant until the day he died, and he saved your life. He smuggled you to safety after both your parents had been erased from existence. So do not forget that when you speak to him.”

  The audience rose to their feet just then and began to cheer and applaud. As Alex stood to join them, she looked up at the box where the prince and princess were stepping elegantly into view.

  Randolph was dressed in his impressive scarlet regalia, while Rose wore a sparkling tiara and a gown of ivory and gold silk. They were a striking couple, impossibly good-looking. It was no wonder the people of Petersbourg accepted them as monarchs. They certainly carried off the role with grace and aplomb.

  As the applause died down and the audience took their seats, Alexandra struggled with her pride—a dark and bitter monster inside of her.

  Or perhaps it was not pride but jealousy. She could not pretend to be immune to the anger she felt from the loss of her family and position and the obvious rise of these people who had seized their crowns through the use of military force and murder. The idea of marrying this flagrant usurper was not an easy one to swallow, yet it was a price she had deemed worth paying. It was a sacrifice that would ri
ghtfully reestablish her father’s descendants as sovereigns.

  As she sat down and the lights in the theater were extinguished, she tried not to think about her wedding night with a man she did not love. Then something drew her eyes to the box overhead.

  Nicholas. He entered—looking incredibly handsome in his formal evening attire. He sat down behind his brother but did not look at the stage as the curtains finally drew apart. Instead, he looked down at Alexandra, as if he had already ascertained where she was seated and did not need to search.

  Something inside her melted like butter on a hot stove, and all that existed in that heated moment of connection was the beautiful man in the theater box, who had written her a most intimate and passionate love letter.

  Then the play began, and she turned her attention to the stage.

  * * *

  When the curtains closed for intermission, Alex and Lucille followed the crowd out to the reception area. They barely had a moment to breathe before Mr. Carmichael approached.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” he said. “I trust you are enjoying the performance?”

  “Very much so, Mr. Carmichael,” Lucille replied. “And you?”

  Alex cleared her throat as she glanced down at the ruby ring on his forefinger and the fine silk coat he wore. He was a handsome older man—tall, slim, and very distinguished. He carried himself with the arrogance of a royal, though he did not possess a title, other than that of former secretary to the late King of Petersbourg.

  “And what is your impression of the production, Lady Alexandra?” He took the opportunity to look her over from head to foot, while she struggled to remember her stepmother’s advice about being grateful for what he had done for her all those years ago—smuggling her away from danger and arranging for her secret adoption by an English duke.

  “The costumes and set decorations are extraordinary,” she replied, “and the characters are intriguing, though not entirely realistic.”

  He regarded her with some amusement. “You are a critic, I see.”

  “Not always.”

  Other theater patrons mingled about, conversed, and laughed.

  “And how is the situation progressing with the prince?” Carmichael quietly asked.

  “Very well,” she replied. “We have enjoyed many pleasant encounters this week.”

  “He singled her out at the park the other day,” Lucille helpfully added. “She was the only young lady he chose to escort along the path. They walked alone for quite some time.”

  Carmichael raised a brow. “That is excellent news, but I see you have not yet spoken to him this evening.”

  “Not yet,” Alexandra replied, “but it is not easy to engage a man in conversation when he is over our heads in a private theater box and we are seated below.”

  She felt her stepmother’s irate gaze shoot toward her like a slap across the cheek.

  “Prince Nicholas has indicated, however,” Lucille quickly added, “that his brother will seek us out this evening. I expect he will enter the lobby at any moment.”

  Carmichael glanced over his shoulder. “Be careful around the brother. He is a known libertine and an irresponsible rake. He takes advantage of his status as a royal, and has a reputation for misusing the ladies. You should not associate yourself with him too closely.”

  This unexpected warning from Alexandra’s benefactor was like a knife in her heart, for though she was committed to her duty, she had developed feelings for Nicholas, however foolish they may be, and felt a passionate need to defend him.

  “To the contrary, he has been very kind to us,” she argued. “He escorted us personally to the park that day, and has assured me of his support in my quest to be considered as a worthy candidate for Randolph, who relies on his brother’s judgment and advice.”

  “You don’t say.” Mr. Carmichael regarded her with surprise. “Did he tell you this himself?”

  “He has been very helpful,” Lucille added.

  “He most certainly has,” Alexandra said.

  Carmichael said nothing for a moment, but she saw a muscle flick at his jaw.

  “You seem displeased,” she said.

  “That is because you will not heed my advice.”

  She swallowed over the sudden impulse to say something she might later regret. Instead, she responded in a calm voice, “Rest assured that I know exactly what I am doing, sir, and I must demand your cooperation. Please keep your distance while I perform the necessary tasks.”

  The crowd fell silent all around them, and Alex leaned to peer around Mr. Carmichael’s tall frame, which was blocking her view of the stairs.

  “The royal family has just descended from the theater box,” Alex said. “You must leave us now.”

  Carmichael had no choice but to back away, where he soon melted into the crowd.

  “You were very rude to him,” Lucille scolded. “What did I tell you about treating him with the respect and gratitude he deserves?”

  Alexandra faced her stepmother. “I was not rude, but I will not be treated like his pawn.”

  Her stepmother raised her chin defensively.

  Alexandra continued, “Please tell Mr. Carmichael not to distract me like this in public again, or he will soon find himself on the outside of this arrangement.”

  Lucille grabbed hold of her arm. “It is you and I who will find ourselves on the outside, if he withdraws his financial support.”

  Alex wrenched her arm away and immediately turned toward Randolph. “Your Royal Highness.” She greeted him with a curtsy.

  He offered his gloved hand to help her rise. “Lady Alexandra. What a pleasure to see you. Are you enjoying the performance?”

  “Yes, it is breathtaking,” she replied.

  Princess Rose approached as well. “Good evening.”

  Alex studied her briefly. “Good evening, Your Royal Highness. How lovely you look. That color is most becoming on you.”

  Rose smiled. “And may I return the compliment? What a pretty shade of blue.”

  Nicholas joined them at that moment and Alex swallowed over a cumbersome knot of confusion, for she had come into this believing herself capable of ruthlessness. The news about her family had given rise to an inner ambition she had never known before.

  But now she was battling a potent wave of self-doubt and uncertainty. One moment she felt as formidable as a steel sword, and the next, when she locked eyes with Prince Nicholas, she burned with desire and was tempted to throw everything aside for passion and desire.

  They shared a brief look, and she wondered if he knew her defenses were weakening. There had been no communication between them since the letter. She had not replied, nor had he come to call for any reason.

  His brother turned to her. “I have it on good authority that you will be attending the ball at Almack’s tomorrow evening, Lady Alexandra. Would it be too forward of me to take this opportunity to request the honor of a dance?”

  “It would not be forward at all,” she replied. “I would be most pleased to accept.”

  An awkward silence ensued. Nicholas quickly filled it by turning to the princess. “And Rose, would it be too forward of me to request the honor of a dance with you tomorrow evening?”

  She laughed. “Of course not, dear brother. I will look forward to it.”

  Everyone smiled and nodded politely; then the bell rang to indicate the end of intermission.

  Nicholas turned to Lucille. “Your Grace, I will have the coach brought around to the front of the theater following the last curtain call. If you would be so kind as to meet me here, I will escort you and Lady Alexandra home.”

  He intended to see them home? But she thought … she thought …

  Oh God, she couldn’t think.

  “How generous of you, sir.” Lucille and Alex curtsied to the royals, and they all made their way back into the theater.

  * * *

  “My word,” Lucille said irritably as a young man in a shabby jacket pushed by. “What is the
world coming to when one must attend the theater with merchants and solicitors?”

  Alexandra turned as she felt a warm hand cup her gloved elbow.

  “The coach is waiting for us,” Nicholas said in her ear. Then he offered his arm to her stepmother. “Your Grace, may I assist you to the vehicle?”

  Alexandra had never seen the dowager blush before, which only confirmed the inconceivable level of his charm.

  “Will Prince Randolph be joining us?” Lucille asked as they reached the vehicle.

  “I am afraid not, Your Grace. He is invited to Carlton House to discuss matters of state with the regent. I will be joining them there as well after I deliver you safely to your destination.” He handed her up into the coach.

  He then held out a hand to Alexandra. She slid her fingers across his open palm and relished the brief moment of contact.

  Settling herself comfortably inside the cozy interior, she waited for him to join them, but he merely stuck his head inside the door to ensure they were both seated.

  “Are you not coming with us?” she blurted out, then regretted it immediately, for she had revealed too much.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I have forgotten something inside. If you will wait but a moment, I promise I will return.”

  With that, he closed the door behind him, and Alexandra sat back with relief. She worked hard to slow her breathing and smiled to herself—for he was coming right back—then felt the watchful eye of her stepmother examining her movements and expressions.

  “Mr. Carmichael was right about one thing,” Lucille said, adjusting her cape around her shoulders. “That man is dangerous.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Alexandra asked.

  “Did you see the way he looked at me when he helped me into the coach? He is too charming for his own good. It’s no wonder he has a reputation with the ladies. He knows how to flaunt his looks.”

  Somewhat relieved that her stepmother was not referring to her own response to him, Alex chuckled softly. “Let us be honest, Mama. I saw you blush. You quite enjoyed it.”