Be My Prince

by Julianne MacLean

  Had he been wrong? Did she decide in the end that he wasn’t good enough? In which case he would forever wonder how things would have turned out if he had told her the truth yesterday.

  Why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t her acceptance been enough? Was he completely unable to trust a woman? She had told him yes in no uncertain terms, yet he continued with the charade, requiring her to prove herself one more time by leaping over another hurdle and sneaking out of her house at dawn.

  He stopped pacing, tore his hat off his head, and raked his fingers through his hair. Perhaps he had taken it too far and this was his punishment.

  He paused in front of the team of horses and looked up at the front of her house again.

  A milk cart passed before him, obstructing his view.

  A fish merchant went down the front steps to the servants’ entrance to make a delivery.

  Clearly the household was awake and functioning; therefore, Alexandra could not possibly slip out now. It was too late. There would be no eloping today.

  He wondered—he hoped—that she might have simply overslept. He, on the other hand, had not even gone to bed last night. He had not wanted to be late. He had not wished to disappoint his future bride or leave her waiting in the street, uncertain of his love for her.

  As she seemed to have done to him.

  The sound of raucous laughter from a group of groomsmen farther down the square startled him, and his anger ignited into a roaring fire of resentment.

  He tried to tell himself that he must not assume the worst. Perhaps her stepmother had discovered her intentions and locked her in her room.

  Perhaps she had been taken ill.

  Or perhaps she had changed her mind.

  Rand circled around to the door of the coach and climbed back inside. He had humiliated himself quite enough.

  “Move on!” he shouted, pounding hard against the rooftop. “Take me back to St. James’s!”

  He wasn’t quite sure what he would do when he got there. It would take some time to settle his anger—directed mostly at himself, of course.

  He should have known better. How many times would he put himself through something like this? Would he never learn? He was a prince. A future king. He should know by now that true love was not for him. Not even a brilliantly executed charade could make it so.

  He cupped his forehead in a hand and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two hours earlier

  Shortly before dawn, Alexandra piled the pillows on her bed in the shape of her body and tossed the coverlet over them, feeling certain that it was an effective ruse to indicate that she was merely sleeping late.

  She then fastened the buckle on her valise and tiptoed across her bedchamber to the door, which she opened very slowly. It creaked on its hinges, and she winced, for she did not wish to wake anyone at this hour. She wanted to leave the house and be rolling out of London long before her absence was even noticed.

  A floorboard creaked under her feet as she made her way gingerly to the stairs. She stopped abruptly and listened for any sounds of movement in the house.

  All seemed quiet, so she proceeded to the top of the stairs and carried her bag down to the first level, stepping lightly onto each stair.

  Crossing the front hall on her tiptoes, she was about to reach for the front doorknob when a voice spoke to her from the library.

  “Alexandra! Stop where you are.”

  Heart leaping to her throat, she froze.

  “Mama,” she said. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

  She decided in that moment that she would not let anyone stand in her way. Nothing her stepmother could say or do was going to change her mind, for she wanted this. She wanted Nicholas more than she’d ever wanted anything.

  Lucille, still wearing her dinner gown from the night before, strode forward into the hall. In her hands, she held a newspaper.

  Alexandra glanced down at it and was not at all prepared for the unexpected flash of dread that sparked in her belly.

  “What do you want?” she asked, thrusting all fear aside.

  Lucille glanced down at her valise. “You cannot go,” she said. “I understand what you are feeling, truly I do, but you must listen to me.”

  Alexandra took a deep, slow breath while her stomach turned over in knots and her heart pounded wildly with anxiety. “No, I do not think you understand at all. And how did you know what I meant to do? Why are you awake at this hour?”

  Lucille regarded her with what appeared to be pity, which grated upon her steely pride.

  “Your maid found your letter after you were asleep,” Lucille explained, “which she brought to me. Do not look at me like that, and do not blame her, the poor girl. She didn’t like doing it, but when Mr. Carmichael took her into his employ she was told that her first loyalty was to me, as your guardian.”

  Alexandra reached for the doorknob again, determined to flee from this discouraging world—a world of manipulation and mistrust. All she wanted to do was escape into the hazy summer dawn with the man who loved her for herself and had encouraged her to choose her freedom.

  “No, wait!” Lucille darted forward with her hand outstretched. “Hear me out. I am quite certain you will thank me afterward.”

  Alexandra knew her stepmother well enough to recognize that her plea was sincere. She was not here to satisfy Mr. Carmichael’s ambitions. This was something else, and Alex felt strangely compelled to listen.

  “Speak quickly,” she said. “If you’ve already read my letter, you know that Nicholas is outside and I am sure you understand I do not wish to keep him waiting.”

  Lucille held out the newspaper. “Read this. Front page.”

  Slowly, Alexandra set down her valise and took hold of the paper.

  It was too dark to read anything in the front hall, so she entered the library, where the fire and candles were lit. The warmth touched her cheeks as she crossed the threshold, but her heart was freezing over with dread.

  Sitting down in the wing chair that Mr. Carmichael had occupied recently, she glanced over the page in search of whatever it was that Lucille wished her to see before she dashed out the door to elope.

  Suddenly there it was, like a death bell ringing in her ears.

  PRINCE NICHOLAS A DISGRACE TO THE THRONE!

  Prince Nicholas has yet again proven himself unworthy of any connection to the crown, and some are calling for his resignation as private secretary to our future king.

  Lady M—, daughter of the esteemed Duke of Tantallon was recently seen leaving the Hanover Hotel at dawn on the morning of May 10 following a political assembly which her father had attended the night before.

  She is said to have been intending an elopement with the prince, but was caught in the lobby by her mother, the duchess.

  The minority Royalists—growing increasingly vocal in recent months—have begun a new campaign at the Hanover Hotel and call for a return to the direct line of descent in the royal succession.

  Alexandra slumped back in the chair and let the newspaper fall to her feet. Staring into the flames of the fire, she fought against the sudden nausea rising up within her.

  He had seduced another daughter of a duke into eloping with him only six weeks ago? How did he accomplish it? Did he lead the young lady to believe she needed his approval to win Randolph’s heart? Did he kiss her passionately and convince her that he was her one true love?

  “Oh, God,” Alexandra whispered, vaguely aware of her stepmother sitting down across from her.

  “I’m sorry,” Lucille said. “I could see how you felt about him. He is a charming, handsome man, without a doubt, but I have heard other stories like this. I knew what kind of man he was. I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. I am only glad I stopped you in time.”

  “I am glad, too,” Alex replied, steeling herself against the terrible agony of heartache rising up within her. Why, God? Why? How many more times must she suffer a hurtful truth about some
one she allowed herself to love and trust?

  She had no intention of shedding a single tear, however. Not over him. She would not crumble into a fit of weeping. She would remember who she was.

  Lucille laid a comforting hand on her knee. “I hope you will not be too heartbroken. I hope you will recognize that he was not worthy of you. We came to London to win a proposal from Randolph, and he is still available if you will let go of this foolish infatuation. Will you consider that?”

  Alexandra pulled her eyes away from the flames in the hearth and regarded Lucille steadily. “You mean to say, even after this, there is still a chance?”

  “Mr. Carmichael is now suggesting that we adopt another strategy. He had hoped you might marry Randolph and produce an heir without anyone knowing of your true identity—because while that tyrant of a king is alive your safety cannot be assured. But now, with Randolph quite possibly consorting with that scandalous countess, there is a dangerous possibility that he might marry her, which would complicate matters terribly. The king would no doubt prevent news of the scandal from entering Petersbourg, and a royal wedding, even to that disreputable widow, might win back the country’s support for the New Regime. But there is something else you must know. The king is unwell. In all likelihood, he will not be with us much longer, and Mr. Carmichael believes we might be better off stepping out into the open straightaway. He believes you may be able to speak to Randolph directly and discuss matters of state. You could convince him that taking you as his wife would appease the Royalists and put an end to the divide.”

  Alexandra pulled herself out of the humiliation of her botched elopement and regarded her stepmother with astonishment.

  “Mr. Carmichael wishes me to reveal my identity? I thought that was forbidden. He said my life could be in danger if the New Regime knew of my existence, not to mention my ambitions.”

  “That is true,” Lucille said. “But with the king’s death the announcement of your existence will breathe new life into the Royalist cause. Surely we can convince Randolph that you are the answer to his prayers. Once his father is gone, he will need all the help he can get, and you may be just what he needs to save his monarchy.”

  “It is not his monarchy,” she heard herself say with more than a little umbrage.

  Alex stood up and walked to the window, where she looked out onto the square and saw that shadowy black coach waiting at the curb.

  Nicholas was inside. Her Nicholas. The man who had captured her heart and convinced her his love was genuine.

  Had she truly been tricked by a scoundrel, just like that poor ruined girl at the Hanover Hotel? If so, was she even capable of leading a country that was already in turmoil, with no sense of itself?

  A quarter of an hour earlier, she thought she had all the answers. Now she felt like a fool.

  Turning to face her stepmother, she said, “How likely is it that Randolph might propose to this woman who has seduced him into her bed?”

  Perhaps she and Randolph were kindred spirits after all. Perhaps he, too, had lost himself to his passions and forgotten the great duty that rested upon his shoulders—which was the safekeeping of his dynasty.

  It was something Alexandra understood very well.

  “No one is sure,” Lucille replied. “But Mr. Carmichael has it upon good authority that they have already become intimate, perhaps even at the palace. It is the perfect trap. Passion is dangerous, as you well know. It has trapped and weakened many a king.”

  Alexandra turned again to look out the window at the coach in the rising light of dawn. “Indeed, I know very well,” she replied. “Perhaps I can talk some sense into Randolph. Perhaps we can discover a common Achilles’ heel in each other. And a common strength.” She faced her stepmother. “Does Mr. Carmichael truly believe I will not be in danger if I reveal my identity? Do you believe it?”

  Lucille stood up. “I believe you are brave enough to face that possibility and meet it head-on. And I have never been more sure that this is your true destiny.”

  Alexandra looked out the window one more time.

  She had loved him. Truly, she had, and she’d believed, with all her heart, that it was real. A part of her still wanted to believe it and her soul was reeling in a deathlike agony, but she would listen to her head this time.

  You saw the story in the paper. He seduced another woman and convinced her to elope with him only six weeks ago. He is a rake and a libertine. You knew it from the beginning.

  Turning to face her stepmother, Alex spoke in a firm voice. “Thank you for your intervention. I will be forever in your debt. I would like to arrange a formal meeting with Prince Randolph to discuss his marriage. I shall present him with a solution to the problems in his country.”

  Lucille approached and pulled her into her arms. “I have never been more proud of you. And I am sorry about Nicholas. I want you to know I understand, for I was young once myself. I remember what it feels like to fall in love. There are moments you would do anything to be with the one who is the perfect light in your world.”

  Alexandra shuddered at the words. Quickly she stepped back.

  “Please do not mention it again, Mama. I do not want to think of him. I want to put it behind me.”

  Fighting against a raw, unwelcome pang of regret, she picked up her valise and returned to her room to dress for the day.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rand did not imagine it would be quite so humiliating as this, but he had brought it all on himself, opening a bottle of champagne before Alexandra had actually crossed the threshold to run away with him.

  “Where is she?” Rose asked, stopping in her tracks as she greeted him at the door.

  His sister was dressed in a peach gown of silk and lace—much too formal for this hour of the day—but clearly she had expected an engagement announcement.

  Her eyebrows pulled together with concern, and her excitement deflated notably as she glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Alexandra behind him.

  “She changed her mind,” he explained as he removed his hat and gloves and shouldered his way past Rose toward the stairs.

  “I’m so sorry, Rand. Truly … I know how you must feel.”

  “Never mind,” he replied, taking the stairs two at a time to the top. “I don’t wish to discuss it now.”

  “But did you see her, or speak to her?” Rose called out.

  “Not yet.”

  With steely purpose, he strode into his bedchamber, slammed the door behind him, and paced back and forth for a few minutes.

  He wondered if he should have stayed longer or gone to knock on the door. Perhaps there was a perfectly reasonable explanation and he had given up too quickly—jaded as he was by past experience.

  Acting far too impulsively for his own good, he sat down at his desk and pulled out a box of stationery. Hunting around for a quill, he found one at last and dipped it into the ink jar.

  Perhaps this could all still be resolved. Perhaps there was some reasonable explanation.…

  * * *

  Alex was lying on her bed staring absently at the ceiling when another letter slid under her door. It swished across the floor and landed squarely at her bedside.

  Slowly sitting up and regarding it with bitter antagonism, she wondered from where it had come. Was it another love letter from Nicholas? If so, should she even break the seal?

  Damn him all to hell. He had humiliated her in the worst possible way and nearly caused her to lose sight of her true destiny.

  Staring at the letter with something close to murderous rage, she stood up, crouched down, swiped it off the floor, broke the red seal, and quickly unfolded it.

  My dearest love,

  I do not know what happened to you this morning. All I know is what happened to me.

  I waited more than two hours past dawn for you to arrive, but in the end, I was disappointed. Please write and tell me you are safe. If it was wrong of me to return to St. James’s Palace without you, I will turn around and
collect you immediately. But if you have changed your mind about us, I beg to understand why.

  What happened? Please know I am your devoted servant and all that matters to me is your happiness. Whatever the problem is, I will fix it. I assure you I have the means, if only you will trust me.

  Yours devotedly,

  N.

  Alexandra crumpled the letter into a ball and uttered an unladylike oath before she pitched it fast across the room.

  How could he do this to her? Clearly he was a compulsive philanderer, and she had let him fool her. He was fooling her still, because heaven help her, she continued to want him with every spark of heat in her body.

  Bloody hell!

  But no. No! She would not allow herself to pine for him, nor would she be tempted by the look of him when she saw him tonight, for surely he would be present when she spoke to Randolph.

  Hurrying angrily to pick up the offensive correspondence, she stuffed it into the top drawer of her desk and slammed it shut. Three times in rapid succession.

  She realized suddenly that this was the first time she had not destroyed a letter from him by fire. Perhaps that was what weakened her position when she arrived at St. James’s Palace a few hours later to speak to Randolph, but was greeted at the door by the man she loved, who looked at her as if she were the devil himself.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Your Royal Highness,” Alexandra said decorously as she curtsied very low. The butler reached to take her cloak, which she removed and handed over. “I did not know if you would be here this evening. Allow me to introduce Mr. Nigel Carmichael, my benefactor.”

  She gestured toward him.

  “Your Royal Highness,” he said, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Nicholas glared at him with icy contempt. “It was you who contacted me about an urgent meeting with Randolph tonight.”

  “That is correct,” Mr. Carmichael replied. “There is much to discuss. Lady Alexandra will explain everything when she is granted a private audience with him.”