Be My Prince (12 page)

“When will you tell her?” Nick asked.

“Tomorrow morning. As we are leaving London.”

“Leaving London?” Nick stood up. “But we’ve only just arrived.”

Rand raised a hand to calm his brother. “Have no fear. I don’t mean us. As I said, she agreed to run away with me to Scotland and forsake all her responsibilities. We plan to meet at dawn.”

Nick shook his head. “Are you mad? You are the future King of Petersbourg. You cannot elope without a word to anyone. The people will be furious and disappointed, not to mention how Father will react. It may start another rebellion, for we are hanging by a thread as it is. The people will not stand for this. The Royalists will use it to damage Father’s popularity. They will say that a real king would never do such a common thing.”

Rand sat down and regarded his sister and brother with steady eyes.

“I appreciate your concerns,” he said, “but I am not that foolish. I only wish to ensure that she is as devoted as she claims. When she walks out her door at dawn tomorrow, I will know that it is an act of love. I will then tell her the truth and suggest a proper royal wedding in Petersbourg. She will probably weep tears of joy, knowing that she will have love, as well as the thing she wanted most to begin with—a grand future for herself and her sisters. She will be greatly relieved that her stepmother will not disown her but will be prouder of her than ever for winning the race against all the other ambitious young ladies in this country.” He walked to the window and looked out. “Though I despise that turn of phrase. Calling it a race…”

Rose stood up and raised her glass as well. “Well then. I am very happy for you, Rand, and pleased also to anticipate the joy of having a sister. Let us drink to true love.” She paused and cleared her throat, as if she were fighting tears. “And whatever it takes to achieve it.”

He turned to her and bowed. “I owe you my happiness, Rose. I never imagined it was possible, but your brilliant plan has worked—for somehow I’ve managed to find the one woman in England who has no interest in my crown.”

With that, they raised their glasses and sat down to plan their journey home to Petersbourg—with his future queen at his side.

Chapter Twelve

That night after the household was asleep, Alexandra sat at her desk by candlelight with a quill in her hand.

She could not leave without a word to anyone in the morning. She could not simply disappear without explaining herself to her stepmother, who would notice her absence and worry that she had been abducted by revolutionary spies.

She knew her sisters would understand, for they were young and romantic, and she was not concerned for their welfare. The scandal over this elopement would be quite great, no doubt, but she was confident that Nicholas would take care of everything. Once they were married and living in Petersbourg, he would send for her sisters. They would be presented at court and make their own spectacular debuts in their new country.

She may not become queen, but she would be happy in love, and it would be enough.

For that reason, a letter was the only way. With luck, by the time her stepmother read it she and Nicholas would be well on their way to Scotland and no one would be able to stop them, not even Mr. Carmichael.

A wave of euphoria pulsed within her as she imagined stepping into the coach in the early hours of the morning.

Just to see him again—to touch him and know that he loved her and was willing to take this risk in order to spirit her away … It fueled her determination to an immeasurable degree. He had rescued her from her bitterness, her jealousy, and her empty vengeance. She owed him everything.

But heaven help her, she could barely think clearly enough to dip her quill into the ink, for her feet were tapping on the floor, and she couldn’t seem to keep the butterflies from fluttering wildly in her belly. She was the luckiest woman on earth!

Nevertheless, she persevered.…

Dear Mama,

Please prepare yourself for what I am about to confess. I have decided I cannot live a lie. I must marry for love, not duty or vengeance or ambition, and I must therefore give up the Petersbourg crown. I take solace in the fact that I do not believe my true family would have wished for me to sacrifice my happiness for the sake of tradition. I cling to the hope that any person’s life is worth more than that, no matter who they are—common or royal—and that in heaven, my father and mother believe the same.

Surely, heaven is a place of the heart where love and honesty without greed is the right way. I believe it must be true. My heart is telling me so. Something very powerful is driving me toward the love I feel for Prince Nicholas. Everything is telling me to let go of my ambition and give up my goal to marry the future king.

I do not love Randolph; therefore I cannot be his queen. I will fail miserably if I am forced to sacrifice my heart for a man I do not love.

Please forgive me for acting in accordance with my conscience and breaking the agreement we had with Mr. Carmichael. Please tell him I will repay all our debts to him. His generosity will not be forgotten.

Also, please tell June, Alice, and Frannie that I will send for them once we are settled in Petersbourg. Their futures are now secured.

Sincerely,

Alexandra

She laid the quill down on the desk and sat back to watch the ink dry.

A tear spilled across her cheek, and for the first time in her life she realized what true happiness was.

She wished the same for her stepmother and sisters. She prayed they would, one day, know it for themselves.

*   *   *

Please, God, don’t let her change her mind,
Rand thought as the coach rolled onto Grosvenor Square at dawn.

It was still dark. The streets were quiet and empty, but the birds were chirping in the treetops. There was a fresh dewy coolness in the air.

Before stepping into the coach, he had paused a moment outside St. James’s Palace to breathe in the exquisite aroma of hope—for at last, he had succeeded in achieving the impossible. He had found a woman willing to marry him for love and not the throne.

Why, then, did he feel such intense trepidation?

He’d had his heart shattered once before, he supposed, and did not wish to repeat the experience. The cynic inside him almost wished he had not thrown caution aside so completely over the past week and given free rein to his emotions, but there was no turning back now. He had offered his whole heart to Alexandra, and now he must be courageous enough to follow through. He must believe, in the very depths of his soul, that she would not disappoint him.

For if she did not come, he was not quite sure what he would do. He doubted he would ever trust another woman again for as long as he lived. He might possibly declare war on the entire female race.

Finally, the coach pulled to a halt a few doors down from her home. He tried to sit back patiently and wait, but it was no easy task. He had been very confident in the drawing room the day before while explaining his plans to Rose and Nick.

Nick had expressed some concern about his impulsiveness, but Rand had defended himself and his actions.

Because he
loved
Alexandra. She was the only woman he wanted at his side when he became king.

He laid a hand on his stomach. It was swirling around and around.

Dammit.
All he wanted was for her to dash out her front door at this very moment to be with him forever, no matter what their futures held.

He was half-tempted to proceed with this mad plan to elope to Gretna Green—like any common man—and forgo the pomp and ceremony of a royal wedding.

All in exchange for a simple wedding night mere days from now.

His blood quickened at the thought.

Sitting forward, he watched the front of her house.

*   *   *

Nearly two hours later, Rand pounded his fist against the back of the seat and cursed his bloody impatience. The sun had risen in the sky quite some time ago, but Alexandra had not come to him.

Had she changed her mind? If so, what was he to do about it? Go knock on the door and demand to hear from the butler why she had not left her house unchaperoned at this ungodly hour to run away with him and elope to Scotland?

Rand burst out of the coach, stepped onto the walk, and paced up and down along the garden fence, never taking his eyes off the front of the house.

Where the bloody hell was she? She had seemed so sure of her decision yesterday, and he had believed her to be genuine.

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.