Be My Prince

by Julianne MacLean

  “Switzerland…” The color drained from Randolph’s face. He sat up on the sofa.

  She, too, sat up beside him and adjusted her skirts while he retied his neckcloth.

  “I suspect that has some significance to you,” she said.

  He nodded but did not explain what he knew of it. “Continue.”

  Her stomach churned sickeningly, but she maintained her composure. “My real father was Oswald Tremaine, King of Petersbourg, who was deposed by the military during the Revolution, which occurred under your father’s command.”

  She kept her eyes fixed upon his while he stared at her with shock. “Is this a joke?” he asked.

  “No, it is the truth, and I am quite sure it was not the least bit amusing to my mother when her husband died in a foreign country and she was left alone to give birth to me. And it was certainly no laughing matter when she died holding me in her arms.”

  His eyes darkened with fury and he stood quickly, as if she had just poured a bucket of ice water on him.

  “Perhaps I didn’t express that very well,” she added.

  “Is there any better way to express it?” He began to pace back and forth in front of her. “Good God, Alex! What does this mean? Are you telling me you are a Tremaine princess? A legitimate heir to the Petersbourg throne? To my father’s throne?”

  She held out her hands to calm him. “Yes, that is correct, but it is not my intention to take it away from you.”

  “Then what is your intention?” he asked, looking utterly appalled. “What were you plotting when you came to Carlton House that first night? You kept your identity secret, even from the regent.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Unless he knows. Does he?”

  “No, of course not. No one knew, except for my stepmother and Mr. Carmichael. We were afraid for my safety.”

  “Your safety? What in God’s name are you hinting at?”

  Alexandra stood up. “Surely you must know the answer to that. My parents were forcibly removed from the palace, and they are now lying cold in their graves. I could not be sure of anything.”

  “I was there the night they were ‘forcibly removed,’” he told her. “I witnessed everything. No harm came to them. They were put into the protection of my father’s military commanders.”

  “But what happened after that?” she asked. “How could you possibly know? You were only a boy.”

  He cupped his forehead in a hand and continued to pace. “Are you suggesting they were assassinated? Or that you might be in danger of such an end? That is ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” she replied. “There are those who maintain that my father was murdered.”

  He swung around to face her. “Who says this? I demand that you name them!”

  “I cannot. To do so would be to sign their death warrants for high treason. Besides … I don’t know their names.”

  For a long moment he stared at her. “Good God, Alexandra. What are you playing at?”

  “Nothing!” she shouted in protest. “But I have read the reports. I know that my father was taken to a remote location in Switzerland with very few witnesses. The military denied any wrongdoing of course, but there are those who have heard rumors. You may not believe it, but you are a Sebastian. You are your father’s son.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I know where your loyalty lies.”

  He crossed to the side table and poured himself a glass of brandy, which he quickly swallowed. He poured another, which he handed to her.

  “Make your point,” he said. “What do you want?”

  She accepted the glass and held on to it without bringing it to her lips. “I just want you,” she replied. “That is all. Nothing more.”

  His voice was ice-cold. “How am I to believe that? You have been lying to me from the outset.”

  “Might I remind you that you have been lying to me as well?”

  “But I told you the truth before…” He stopped himself and gestured toward the sofa. “How can I not think this was a trap? Because I assure you, I am not in the habit of making love to virgins.”

  She set the glass of brandy down on a table. “Nor am I in the habit of offering my virtue to every man who sends me love letters. Not that very many have. You are the only one. In fact, what happened between us tonight had nothing to do with politics or crowns. I told you my feelings were real, and I would have married you even if you were nothing but a clerk or a merchant. The only reason I did not run away with you this morning was because of what I read in the paper.”

  He sank down into a chair and slouched back, stretching his long legs out in front of him and cupping his forehead in a hand. “How will I ever know if that is true? How can I be sure you didn’t know who I was all along, and have orchestrated all of this?”

  Alex laughed bitterly. “Do you really think I am a powerful puppet master who can manipulate events to my liking? I was heartbroken this morning when I learned about the lady at the Hanover Hotel, and I have never felt more powerless. All I wanted was you, yet I was told you were a shameless seducer of women.” Now it was her turn to pace. “And tonight I arrived here, determined to ignore my broken heart and negotiate openly with your brother, but then you revealed a shocking truth—that you are a complete impostor. You proceeded to make love to me, which was no small distraction, and I am still reeling from it. So please, Randolph, do not assume I am manipulating things to my liking, for my whole world has just turned upside down. I have no idea what will happen next, and all I want to do is go back in time to the moment you took me in your arms and promised that I could tell you anything and it would be all right.”

  His dark brows drew together with uncertainty; then he practically sprang out of the chair.

  Alex backed up in fear.

  “If you are lying to me,” he growled as he took hold of her arm.

  “I’m not. I swear on my life! I told you everything.” She pulled away from him. “I have confessed my feelings, and I have given myself to you, body and soul. I was a fool for you tonight, and I did not mean for it to go as far as it did. It all happened so quickly.”

  He turned away from her and walked to the window, where he looked out at the blackness of the night.

  “I am still uncertain of my destiny,” she continued, “and my desires. I don’t know what I am meant for. The only thing that was clear to me tonight was the pleasure I felt in your arms, and the fact that you said you loved me. That was all that mattered, and all that matters to me now is that you forgive me for keeping the truth from you, as I have forgiven you for the same. What matters is our future together.”

  He turned to face her. “You have put me in a difficult position, Alexandra. Because, you see, I was fooled once before by a woman who told me she loved me. She played the part very well, but she was merely ambitious, not to mention in love with another man. Love can be blinding that way.”

  Alexandra’s heart pounded heavily. She could barely get air into her lungs.

  “Earlier tonight, you told me I was not blind,” she said. “You believed I saw the truth because I loved you even when I didn’t know your real name. I am asking you now to see the same sort of truth. I am not that woman who betrayed you, and it shouldn’t matter where I was born or who my father was. Nor should it matter that I kept something from you, because you did the same to me. Does that mean you do not love me? You have already stated and shown me otherwise, and I still believe you. All I ask is the same in return.”

  The firelight reflected in his eyes while he stood before her, contemplating all that she had said. “Are you really Oswald’s daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your family is all gone.”

  “Yes.”

  He paused. “What about your benefactor downstairs? Who is he? What are his ambitions?”

  Taking a deep breath, Alexandra spoke truthfully. “He was my father’s secretary and a loyal servant for many years. He is a Royalist, of course, and wants to see the Hous
e of Tremaine restored to the throne.”

  Randolph regarded her with a mixture of mistrust and pity. “You are very naïve, Alexandra, if you believe that is all he wants.” He turned and moved closer to the fire. “In any case, my father will know everything there is to know about him if he was your father’s secretary during the Revolution. They would have known each other all those years ago.” He turned to face her. “Has he spoken of my father to you? Has he uttered any words of treason?”

  She moved closer. “You wish to know if he means to inspire a civil war and depose your family?”

  “Yes.” When she did not reply straightaway, he prodded further. “Well? What are his intentions? And I warn you, Alex, if you lie to me, you will be committing treason as well.”

  She swallowed uneasily and bit back the resentment she felt at such a threat. “He has never revealed such a plan to me, though he has spoken many times of the turmoil in your country—how the people are divided between the Royalists and the supporters of the New Regime. I believe it is his intention to bring peace by uniting our two bloodlines, and that is my intention as well. So do not accuse me of treason. It offends me greatly.”

  He picked up a log from the iron canister and tossed it onto the grate. A flurry of bright sparks flew up the chimney.

  For a long moment, he watched the log begin to burn; then he turned to face her.

  “I have proposed to you,” he said, “and I have made love to you. As a gentleman, that leaves me little choice about the future. You could be carrying my child, and I am therefore trapped.” He strode closer. “But make no mistake about it, Alexandra. Remember that I am no ordinary gentleman. I am a future king, and I will not bring enemies into my father’s court.”

  “I am not your enemy,” she insisted. “I want what is best for Petersbourg, but more importantly, I want you. Do not forget that I said I would marry you before I knew who you were. There is love between us, Randolph, and you know it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “There are many who say a king has no business marrying for love, and I am beginning to think they are right. Perhaps it is time I accepted that.” He looked away for a moment. “You must leave me now. Go home. I will need to consult with Nicholas.”

  The ice in his tone chilled her heart, but she had said all she could. He knew the facts, and the last thing she wanted was to make him feel as if she were tightening the trap.

  “I understand,” she said. “There is much to consider. What shall I say to Mr. Carmichael?”

  Rand pulled the bell rope, then walked to the door and held it open for her. “Tell him that I am Prince Randolph, and that I am considering your proposition. You will have your answer in the morning. Spencer will see you out.”

  Slowly, Alex made her way to the door, but hesitated before leaving. “I will not tell Mr. Carmichael what happened between us tonight,” she said. “That is private between you and me, and I give you my word that I will not hold you responsible for it. The intimacies that occurred between us were never meant to be a trap. I did not plan it that way.”

  He regarded her with cool, callous eyes, then simply nodded to acknowledge her pledge.

  Alexandra curtsied and turned to the butler, who was just coming up the stairs.

  “Our guests will be leaving now,” Randolph said.

  “Very good, sir,” the man replied.

  Alexandra followed the butler down the stairs but felt a pang of anxiety when the front door opened and the true Prince Nicholas walked in.

  He was dressed in formal evening attire with an elegant opera cape and top hat. He was just removing his hat and gloves when their eyes met.

  Charmingly, he smiled and bowed to her. “Lady Alexandra, what a pleasure to see you.”

  She reached the ground floor and paused at the newel post to offer the obligatory curtsy. “And what a pleasure to see you, Nicholas.”

  His eyebrows lifted at the sound of his true name upon her lips.

  “Ah,” was all he said.

  “Indeed,” she replied. Turning to Spencer, she added, “Please tell Mr. Carmichael that I will wait for him in the coach.”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  Nicholas bowed again, then dashed up the stairs to speak to his brother.

  Alexandra waited politely for the butler to open the door for her while deep down she wished she could find a way back into the drawing room—to bear witness to the heated conversation that was surely about to occur.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rand looked up when the door of the drawing room swung open and his brother walked in.

  “What happened?” Nick asked. “I just met Lady Alexandra in the main hall and she addressed me as Nicholas. You told her, then? How did she take it? Will there be a wedding?”

  “Pour us both a drink,” Rand replied, not rising from his chair.

  Nick moved to the side table and poured two brandies, then joined Rand in front of the fire.

  “Did she explain why she didn’t meet you this morning?” Nick asked.

  “Yes, and the reason is your fault for she heard about Lady Margaret at the Hanover Hotel. The dowager showed her the newspaper before she left the house at dawn, and naturally she took me for a rake. That is why she rejected me, and I cannot blame her. Not for that, at least.”

  Nick frowned. “How the devil did she get ahold of that paper? It’s six weeks old, and it was printed in Petersbourg.”

  “Her benefactor obviously has connections, but that is not the half of it. Lady Alexandra is not who we thought she was, and we have some decisions to make. It may be a late night. Cancel your plans, if you have any.”

  Nick leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Consider it done. Tell me everything, and start at the beginning.”

  * * *

  The following morning, Alexandra woke from an uneasy slumber and could not eat breakfast, nor could she explain to her stepmother why she was not hungry. She certainly did not wish to describe what had occurred on the sofa at St. James’s Palace the night before. It was enough that she had revealed Randolph’s masquerade to Mr. Carmichael and the fact that she, too, had confessed her true identity.

  Which explained why she could not eat this morning. She entered the breakfast room, breathed in the scent of eggs, ham, and toast on the sideboard, and felt unbearably nauseous. All she could do was pour herself a cup of coffee and hold it to warm her hands.

  “Are you not hungry?” Lucille asked, tapping the shell of her boiled egg with a small silver spoon.

  “No.” Alexandra sat across from her at the table. “I couldn’t sleep. I have no idea how this will be resolved, and I am tormented by the thought that Randolph believes I have behaved dishonorably. I did care for him—as you well know—for you were the one who stopped me from eloping with him.” She raised the steaming cup of coffee to her lips and regarded Lucille over the rim. “But perhaps you regret that now.”

  Lucille set down her spoon. “There is no need to punish me. I had no idea he was the true heir to the throne. If I had known, I most certainly would have let you go.”

  Alexandra leaned back in her chair. “So now we all know the truth.”

  At that moment, the clatter of a coach and horses outside caused them both to turn their eyes to the window.

  “Could it be him?” Lucille asked, perching forward in her chair.

  Alex rose to look outside.

  “Yes, it is the palace coach.” Her stomach careened with nervous butterflies and a terrible fear that this would all end very badly and collapse around her like a giant house of cards.

  “It is not the proper time of day for a social call,” Lucille said. “It must be a matter of utmost importance.” She stood quickly and dropped her napkin to the floor. “I should have chosen a prettier gown. This shade of blue does nothing for me. You look lovely, however. Shall we move to the drawing room?”

  Alexandra watched from the window as the coach pulled to a halt and the footman opened the door.

/>   Out stepped His Royal Highness Prince Randolph, wearing a dark greatcoat and black top hat.

  Alex’s heart skittered like a stone skipping over water at the mere sight of him. How handsome he was. All she wanted was to hear the sound of his voice, to feel his breath in her ear and the soft touch of his hand upon her skin. To return to the erotic pleasures of the night before, when she had not known her world was about to shatter.

  Alexandra turned bravely to face her stepmother. “The time has come. Let us go and hear his decision.”

  * * *

  “Welcome, Your Royal Highness,” Lucille said, dropping into a deep curtsy as he entered the drawing room. “Won’t you please come in?”

  He was impeccably dressed, but his eyes were weary, as if he had not slept.

  “Good morning to you both.” He turned to Lucille. “I am here to request a moment alone with Lady Alexandra to discuss a matter of personal importance.”

  The implication was obvious to Lucille. She nodded and moved efficiently to the door. “Of course. If you will excuse me. I will wait in the breakfast room.”

  With that, she swept out and closed the doors behind her.

  Alex regarded Randolph curiously in the morning light.

  “Would you care to sit down?” she asked, gesturing toward the sofa.

  “No,” he coolly replied, wedging an instant emotional distance between them, deep as a canyon.

  Steadying her nerves, she watched him clasp his hands behind his back and glance around the room at the furnishings and the portraits on the walls. The vase of flowers on the mantel. Tick, tick, tick, went the clock.

  At last, he spoke.

  “I was up all night discussing the matter with Nicholas,” he explained, “and he is of the opinion that a marriage between us may be good for the country, and might put an end to the political turmoil that exists between the disputing factions. He believes enough time has passed, and that the birth of an heir descended from the House of Tremaine, if presented a certain way, could be a most celebrated event.”