Seducing the Princess (15 page)

Beatrice left her mother’s office late that afternoon, still shaken by the prime minister’s words. A war. Hadn’t they had enough of that?

The Crimean War had robbed Britain of thousands of her youngest and finest young men. Women whom she personally knew had gone to the front to nurse the wounded and come back with stories of working for a tough-minded young woman with the oddly delicate name of Nightingale. The horrendous tales they brought home had reduced Beatrice to tears. Unarmed men had been slaughtered by the hundreds because there weren’t enough weapons to go around. And because their officers were untrained, inept, and foolishly proud. Most of these officers had bought their way into the upper ranks with their families’ money. They knew nothing of war; it was all a romantic adventure, a game to them. But the game pieces they played with were human beings, whose lives they carelessly ordered into impossible battles.

Did people never learn? Hadn’t history demonstrated innumerable times the price paid for greed and violence? If it wasn’t a war between nations, tribes, or religions—then it was a revolution. More fighting. She hated it all! The thought that her nephew might someday have a hand in creating yet another hell on earth, with thousands more dying, was just too much for her to bear on her own. She desperately wanted the company of Henry Battenberg—gentle, level-headed, beautiful Henry. The man she’d come to love.

She had arranged to meet him in the palace garden at dusk. Her mother was so preoccupied with the Prime Minister’s fear of subversion within her court that she hadn’t objected when Beatrice told her she planned to go with friends to the opera that evening.

Henry was waiting for her in the gazebo. When she came up the steps he turned, azure eyes flashing his joy, rushed to her, and they embraced. Being held in his long arms was the only salve she needed. She pressed her cheek to his chest and felt as comforted as if she was sipping from a cup of warm Dutch cocoa.

But that peace lasted but a minute. Then she felt other, stronger emotions. The exhilaration of a gallop across sun-spangled poppy fields. The first heart-throbbing notes of a Viennese waltz. Standing there enfolded in his arms, his lips pressed to her, she thought: We are lovers.
Lovers!
Or soon would be.

Such was her bliss at that moment, she would have done anything for him. Anything at all to make this man happy. But she suspected that might require a little more of her physically than an occasional hug or kiss. For she felt that particularly satisfying firmness below his sword belt that he was taking no pains to hide from her. She blushed at the thought of his arousal and felt a secret thrill. Maybe, after all, the sexual act wouldn’t be as bad as Mama suggested. Maybe it would be glorious.

“We’d better not tarry,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I can’t trust myself to be a gentleman when we’re alone like this. You are so deliciously enticing.” He nuzzled her neck, which tickled and made her laugh with delight. Henry cleared his throat and smiled at her apologetically. “Anyway, the opera begins at eight o’clock, and will last until after midnight if the reviews are accurate. Let’s go along so we don’t miss the overture.”

This, too, was a new experience for her. She had never attended the opera, ballet, or theater with anyone other than family members. Always closely watched. Always protected from possible male predators, even her own brothers, by the women in the family. And now here she was, alone with a man who excited her beyond her wildest dreams.

“I’ve arranged for a barouche from the royal mews,” she said, managing to keep her voice from quivering with anticipation.

“I’d hoped you would. I released the hansom cab that I took to get here.” He held her away from him for a moment and looked her over. “You grow more beautiful every time I see you. How is that possible?”

She laughed, unable to come back with a witty response. She held his words in her heart.
I’m beautiful. He desires me.
Never had she believed she’d hear such words from a man.

The carriage ride to the opera house took only minutes. They held hands all the way. Soon they were seated in the royal box. Alone. For no one else at Court had come tonight. Beatrice wondered if, somehow, Henry had arranged it to be so.

She looked around, feeling like a different woman entirely. A more independent woman. A woman with a future and a say in her own life—who had private, delectable sensations bubbling up through her body. Her body felt ten degrees warmer, all over. Her heart felt lighter than ever before. Here she was, like any of the grand ladies from her mother’s Court, escorted by one of the handsomest men in Continental society.

She sensed people taking notice of them, perhaps guessing at their relationship. Did they have any idea that she and Henry were an engaged couple? Well, at least pledged to each other, engaged in their hearts. Or did the nosey old things assume she and Henry were illicit lovers? She didn’t care. Let them gossip. She couldn’t have been happier.

During intermission, Henry sent the footman stationed at their box for Champagne and a tray of cakes. After the man left them, Henry took her hand in his and placed it on his knee, as if encouraging her to lay claim to him. When she glanced down at his lap, out of curiosity, he lifted her chin to make her meet his eyes. She blushed, realizing he must have known what she was looking for.

He smiled and gave a subtle nod of his head. The message:
Yes, that’s what your touch does to me
. “Tomorrow, my love, I am going to your mother,” he said. “I have requested an audience with her in the morning, and will ask for your hand then. I am prepared to reassure her in every possible way that I will be the best of husbands and will in no way interfere with the affection shared by the two of you.”

Her pulse escalated, tripping over itself—joyful one moment, timid and fearful the next. “Henry, I can’t promise her reception will be pleasant.”

“The queen may say what she likes. But I intend to reassure her that I will bring you to London or Balmoral or anywhere she chooses, as often as the two of you like. I see nothing standing in our way, once she realizes she isn’t really losing you, dear girl.”

Beatrice shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s unpredictable these days, and she sounded so very firm when she said no to our engagement the first time.”

“And if she says no again, what will you do, Beatrice?” He looked at her pleadingly. Was he asking if she dared ignore her mother’s wishes? Was he asking if she would leave her family and run away with him?

Tears came to Beatrice’s eyes. She shook her head. “I just don’t know.”

It was as if she’d thrown a bucketful of water on his flame. He gently pulled his hands away from her and started to turn away.

She seized his arm in desperation. “Henry, please. You have to understand. I’m all she has now. It’s not just that she’s my mother. She’s the queen of England. If I desert her, I can’t say what that will do to her ability to rule our empire. She’s under so much pressure. There are things happening now that vex her so and need her full attention. A great many people depend upon her. If I leave her—”

“Stop. You need say nothing more.” His expression had waned from teasing to dismal. His eyes dulled, blue to gray. His lips pinched together in regret.

She swallowed over the salty taste at the back of her throat. “Are you angry with me?”

“I—no, not angry. Disappointed.” But the light had left his beautiful eyes, and it was all her fault. He went on, his voice sounding strained, “I believed if you loved me enough, even if she refused her blessing, you would come away with me. I thought—oh, hell, Beatrice. Yes, I’m angry.
Furious
that we’re both made so helpless by an old woman.”

“An old woman who happens to reign over a good part of the world.” She said it as soothingly as she could, willing away his fury.

“Yes.” He gave her a thin, wavering smile, as if even that had cost him. “I know now what I must do. I will go to her and plead my case. I must convince her. Because you see, my darling, I don’t wish to return to Germany without you.”

When he kissed her this time, her heart melted—a little snowball held in his palms and now nothing but a puddle. Never in her life had she felt so exquisitely alive…or so very vulnerable and frightened.

Gregory hadn’t told Meg which day he’d arrive in Aberdeenshire. That bought him at least one night at the MacAlister manse before he saw her. Now that he’d learned the lay of the land from his brother, he lay awake considering his options—none of which were pleasant. By dawn, though, he’d decided on the wisest course of action.

The next morning Gregory set out on horseback for the Graham farm. He found Meg in the vegetable garden behind the house, down on her hands and knees in the moist Highland dirt, sowing potato eyes. He rode past, without alerting her to his presence.

Continuing on across the stony fields he finally spotted her father and brothers. The younger men stopped working to look up at him, wary aggression in their eyes. So they knew. She’d told them. The laird’s son had impregnated their little sister. No doubt the only thing that kept them from killing him on the spot was the old man, who wouldn’t want to lose two sons to a nobleman’s wrath.

Gregory dismounted and strode up to the old man, cap in hand as a perspective son-in-law should do. “Mr. Graham. I’ve come to ask your daughter Margaret’s hand in marriage, sir.” He looked the old man dead in the eyes. “I want to make an honest woman of her, if she’ll have me.”

Alvin Graham’s posture altered—spine straightening, shoulders shooting back. The farmer’s sons exchanged surprised looks.

“Will you give us your blessing, sir?”

Meg’s father chuckled. “Well, I’ll be.” Grinning, he stuck out his hand and pulled Gregory in to thump his back. “Good on you, son. Yes, ye’ll have me blessings and congratulations too. When will the day be, young sir?”

“If it’s all right with Meggie, I want our wedding to come as soon as possible,” he said solemnly. “I’m needed back in London but wish to marry here in my home county before I return to the city. With Meggie at my side, of course. If we announce bans tomorrow, and the priest will do us a service next week, I’ll be most pleased.”

“Yes, yes!” The old man’s eyes glimmered. “She’ll like that too, I’m sure. Ye’ll be off to tell her now?”

“I will.”

Her brothers offered their good wishes too, although he wasn’t convinced they were as heartfelt as her father’s. Then Gregory rode back the way he’d come and found his woman where he’d left her in the dirt.

After he told Meg of his conversation with her father, she threw herself, weeping, into his arms. “Oh, my sweet, sweet Gregory. You’ve made me so very happy,” she cried.

“You’ll be happier still on our wedding day, I hope.”

“Oh, Greggie. I do so love you.”

“And I love you,” he said, holding her. He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “’til death do us part, my sweet.”

The proposed wedding date, although just five days after bans were announced, was approved by the priest. Gregory explained to anyone who remarked on the odd timing that he was anxious to be back in London, as he didn’t want the queen’s stable master to lose his good opinion of him. And then, of course, he’d need to find appropriate accommodations in the city for his wife.

Early on the morning of the wedding, Gregory took two of his father’s best riding horses down to the farm and found Meg with a garrulous flock of women from the village, in the tiny, hot farmhouse kitchen, cooking up the wedding feast.

“You’ve been working all week,” he said. “Don’t wear yourself out, love. Come, let’s go for a ride and let the ladies who won’t be wearing a veil handle the food.”

They all encouraged her, accompanied by laughter and warnings to not allow the groom favors before the wedding night, despite general knowledge she already carried his child.

“But this is the kind of work I don’t mind at all,” she objected, clinging around his neck while kissing his nose, his forehead, his lips. “Seems I’ve waited all of my life for this day.”

He smiled at her patiently but said nothing as he helped her onto the chestnut gelding he’d brought for her.

They rode out across the moor, brilliant with wild flowers thrusting their sunny faces up at a cloudless sky.

She shrieked with joy. “Oh I’m so glad you suggested we ride today, Greggie my darling. It’s glorious, the air so sweet with blooms and a sky like one big ribbon of blue satin.” She threw her head back and laughed.

“It is fine,” he agreed. “Quite fine.” Gregory looked across the wide open turf. The land seemed to stretch out forever to the east, to the north was the manor house, but to the west and less than half a mile away, the woods lay. Little sunlight would penetrate the green canopy to brighten the few trails.

Meggie wanted to race to the edge of the woods. He let her win and kissed her as a prize. “Let’s ride a ways into the forest,” he suggested.

“Oh dearie, I know what you have in mind now.” She wagged a finger at him. “There’ll be none of that on the night before my wedding.”

“I promised I’d wait to make love to you again until after we’d said our vows, and I meant it.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “That doesn’t sound like you at all, Greggie.”

“I’m a new man with a new life ahead of me.”

She beamed at him.

“One more race,” he said, “through the trees and to that big oak just where the path splits. You know the one.”

She laughed and kicked her heels into her horse’s ribs. The animal leapt forward even as she shouted over her shoulder, “I’ll win this one too!”

He watched her run her horse as if the devil himself was after her. In a way, he supposed, she was right. But he doubted ol’ Lucifer ever felt a spasm of guilt as he did now. Still, it had to be done. There was no other way.

She was waiting for him at the oak and had already jumped down from her horse by the time he arrived. She stood holding the gelding’s bridle, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. “You did good, old man. Want to rest for a minute?”

He wasn’t sure if she was speaking to the horse or teasing him.

Gregory swung his leg over the saddle and slid down to the ground. He looked around, saw what he needed. Stooping, he picked up a stone the size of a croquet ball. He passed it back and forth between his palms, studying the rusty and amber veins of quartz running through it. “I would have won if I hadn’t been distracted by your horse’s gait.” He pointed at the animal’s right rear hoof. “I think he’s picked up a stone in his shoe. Looked to me like he was hobbling a bit.”

“Oh no,” she said, “I would’ve noticed.”

“I’ll check it for you anyway.” He took a step forward. “We don’t want him going lame on the ride back.”

“I’ll do it.” She picked up a sturdy stick then bent over and lifted the horse’s hoof, bracing it between her knees as if she were shoeing it. She peered down at the iron shoe and ran the tip of the stick into the groove, prying out dried mud. “Just dirt, no stone. He’s fine, like I said.”

Gregory tightened his fingers around the rock and brought it down as hard as he could on the back of her skull. The crack of bone and whimper that burst from her lips sickened him. Her glorious red hair flew wild as she tumbled to the ground.

Standing above her, he could tell she was still breathing. He set the stone on the ground near her head, its bloody side turned up. More blood spilled onto it from the gash in her head. Gregory knelt beside her. She groaned once and whispered something that might have been his name.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I’m here, my love.”

He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. He’d told himself over and over—once he’d made the decision and acted, it would be like putting down a lame pony or an ailing loyal dog. Sad but necessary. But it wasn’t at all like that. Tears burned his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’ve no choice, you see. Sleep well, my angel.”

He closed his hands tenderly around her smooth, white throat, tightened his fingers. With a little more pressure and a sharp jerk, he snapped her neck. At last, she lay still.

Gregory sat back on his heels and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly, evenly, though his heart pounded with condemning ferocity.

A fall from a horse, that’s what it must look like. And he couldn’t take her back with him. Couldn’t let her brothers and father see him with her body, on chance they’d suspect him.

His mind spun and reached for the next step.

And then he knew how it had to go. Return to her father’s cottage alone, with just the one horse. Pretend they’d become separated and he’d lost her. Ask one of her brothers to come with him and help look for her, because he was worried. She took too many chances while riding, he’d say. He’d seen her jump a stone wall recklessly many times. They’d been racing, and she’d outrun him. He lost her in the woods, spent over an hour searching. Scared, really scared now.

He’d make sure someone other than him found her. He’d play the grief-stricken groom on the eve of his wedding day turned tragedy. It wouldn’t be hard. Gregory almost wished he hadn’t done it. Hadn’t killed her. But if he’d had to choose again, he’d have changed nothing. There was so much at stake.