Seducing the Princess (4 page)

She sighed. “At the time, it seemed to make sense, what she told me to do. Mama was concerned that Louis was showing interest in me; she said it was of an unhealthy sort.” Beatrice dared not look Henry in the eye as she spoke. This was, after all, his beloved brother they were talking about. “And anyway, he was older than I and intent on a career in the Royal navy. Mama said I was not to encourage him in any way. If Louis was sincere, it wouldn’t matter that I was cool toward him. She told me he would make his true intentions known, and then we would see that it was not simply a flirtation.”

“But you didn’t just behave coolly.” Henry caught her eyes with his own. “You were silent the entire dinner. You refused to join his polite conversation.”

She shook her head, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. “I can’t imagine what he thought of me. I know now he’s a good man. He didn’t deserve to be mistreated. But I–” She shuddered and turned her face away so Henry wouldn’t see her self-loathing.

“But you did as the queen demanded.”

“Yes. It was horrid of me. I see that now. But you don’t know what it’s like, living with her. I love her. She is my mother. But you cannot reason with the queen when she has her mind set on something…or against someone.” Near tears, Beatrice let her gaze fall to her hands on the reins. “You just can’t know—“

“But I can damn well guess.”

“I don’t blame you for hating me,” she whispered.

“Hate you?” He coughed out a laugh. “Dear girl, I don’t hate you. You puzzle me, that’s true. But hate? How could I hate such a lovely, intelligent woman? You have done me no harm.”

“But your brother—I spurned him.”

“And look at what happiness he has found with your niece. It was meant to be, you see.” He grinned, a bit naughtily she thought. “Besides, if he had married you, we wouldn’t have been able to meet like this. Now would we?”

“No, I guess not,” she said, her heart shimmying in her breast.
Like this?
What did he mean? “I would be your sister-in-law.”

“And the thoughts I had last night while we danced—they would have been highly improper.”

“Oh?” A rush of heat filled her. She had to look away from him. Again. The effect he was having on her was most…disturbing.

He laughed. “I’m sorry, Beatrice. I’m shocking you. Is it wrong to admit that I find you attractive? It just comes out when I’m near you.”

She was so flustered now she could hardly speak. She didn’t need a mirror to see that her face was afire. “I am flattered, Liko. But I know what I am, and I know men—not even kind men like you—see anything pleasing in me.”

An expression of pure astonishment flashed across his face. “Oh, come now, Princess. What game are you playing?”

“No game.”

He leaned out of his saddle, toward her, and the aroma of leather, musky shaving lather, and pipe smoke came at her, a wall of masculinity. “I’m not blind, Princess. Let me tell you a secret. Come a bit closer.”

She leaned forward, holding on to her saddle for fear of falling out of it, curious at his tone but also wary. Before she could turn her head to hold her ear toward his lips, he kissed her full on the mouth.

“There!” he cried triumphantly. “I’ve wanted to do that since we were twelve years old.”

“Henry!” She was sure now he was toying with her. “You shouldn’t.”

“Why not? This isn’t the dark ages. People can say what they feel. I like you, Beatrice. My brother thinks you’re a strange little fish, and I’m glad he does because you’re still swimming free in the stream for me to catch.”

“To—” she swallowed, widening her eyes at him “—catch? Me?”

“Yes!” He laughed and made a grab for her that she wasn’t entirely sure was sham.

And then…
then
, it was as if she remembered what it was like to play with little Henry Battenberg as they chased through the gardens at Buckingham and along powdery sand at Osborne by the sea.

She tossed her head at him. “I dare you, Liko,” she challenged, feeling the corners of her lips turn up in a mischievous grin that hadn’t been there for ages. “You just try and catch me.”

And she dug her heels into the muscled belly of her mount and shot across poppy-strewn fields with a laughing prince in pursuit.

That evening, it was with considerable surprise that Beatrice found herself feeling genuinely and whole-heartedly happy as she watched Vicky walk down the cathedral’s aisle on the arm of her father to join Louis Battenberg before the altar.

How fast life changes
, she thought.

Here she stood in church, observing the very event she absolutely had known would break her heart, because she’d honestly had such a terrible crush on Louis all those years back…but she was feeling elated. As the pretty blonde bride took her place at her fiancé’s side, Beatrice’s gaze drifted toward the younger Battenberg brother. Henry, in his striking regimental colors. Henry, with his long, lean body and strength of shoulders, and eyes that—was she imagining this?—crackled with blue fire whenever they drifted, ever so cautiously, in her direction.

She smiled, and he returned her silent greeting for the briefest moment before rearranging his features in a solemn, soldierly expression more suited to the occasion.

For the next several minutes she watched him, unable to tear her eyes away, her heart thrumming in her ears. He stood with his left hand resting on the ornate hilt of his sword, polished Hessian boots planted solidly on the marble floor as if he were claiming possession of the very ground beneath him. Chin high. Braided collar emphasizing his long neck. Eyes reflecting hundreds of candles lighting the grand cathedral. Her pulse raced as if she were back on Genevieve, galloping across the open field with Henry giving chase.

Had she, dull Auntie Bea, really found the nerve to do that?

And when he had caught her—even though she’d made him work to do it—he’d claimed another kiss. This one she’d seen coming but didn’t try to escape. She’d melted at the softness of his lips touching hers. When his hand reached out to lightly hold her fingertips, she’d turned to molten silver.

Now the organ sang out, its lush chords reverberating low in her stomach and waking her from her daydream, announcing the end of the ceremony. She was startled to have missed so much of it. She’d been far away, imagining sun-stroked days when she might ride again with Henry. They would talk of intelligent matters, compare preferences of foods, music, opinions of a political nature. He would describe his travels with the royal navy to places she’d never seen. She’d respond by expressing an interest in seeing foreign lands. He might catch her subtle message (
Take me with you. Oh, please!
). He’d understand, where others had not, that she was more exciting, more daring than she appeared.

It was such a pleasant fantasy, still spinning through her mind, her mother had to grasp her arm and give it a shake to rouse her.

“What is wrong with you, Baby? People are waiting for us.”

Beatrice wanted to scream,
I am not your baby! I am a grown woman with a name and a life of my own.

But was that really true? A name, yes, she had that—but not a life. She was chained by duty to her mother. She whispered, “Sorry.”

Victoria folded her own arm around her daughter’s as they moved in slow motion up the aisle, out of the incense-perfumed church and into the sunlit courtyard. The queen leaned toward her to murmur, “There is trouble brewing. I feel it.”

Beatrice felt a momentary jolt of panic. Had her mother found out about her unsupervised adventure with Henry?

Then she followed Victoria’s gaze toward the wedding party. “Surely not. Vicky and Louis look in perfect bliss.”

“Not the bride and groom.” Her mother’s voice sounded pinched, testy. “Vicky’s papa.”

Beatrice studied the Grand Duke, standing proudly beside the bride and groom with his younger daughter Elle on his arm. A shadow of sorrow grayed the happy family portrait.
Alice should be here
, she thought.

Her sister Alice, the duke’s wife, had died not long before their brother Leo passed, due to complications of his hemophilia. Both her siblings had left her at relatively young ages. But whereas Leo had been a fragile child from birth, cursed by the bleeding disease that haunted European royalty, always needing to be protected and worried over, Alice had been the very picture of health until diphtheria struck the Grand Duke’s court. Then, despite doctors’ warnings, she had insisted upon personally nursing her family and eventually perished from the disease herself.

“What is wrong with the Duke?” Beatrice hoped her brother-in-law wasn’t sick. She found him a delightful man—generous, handsome in a fatherly way, always ready with his charming sense of humor to lighten family gatherings haunted by the specter of Prince Albert and, now by Victoria’s renewed grieving over her son and daughter.

“He invited
that
woman to the wedding,” Victoria snapped, her tiny eyes sharp as flint and throwing off sparks. “Can you imagine?”

Beatrice followed her mother’s glare as it shifted toward a cluster of guests standing in the courtyard, beneath an early-blooming rose arbor. She didn’t have to guess which woman had annoyed the queen. She stood out, a strikingly sensual figure, outshining every other woman in view. She looked to be only a few years older than Beatrice, wore a daring crimson gown that contrasted dramatically with her dark hair. Rubies the size of song-bird eggs glittered at her throat. Her pretty eyes rested on Beatrice’s brother-in-law, across the garden, with obvious adoration.

“She’s beautiful,” Beatrice whispered. “Who is she?”

“No one, dear child. No one you will ever need to meet. I shall tell the duke she must be made to leave. She is not welcome at dinner.”

“But if she is his guest—“

Her mother’s stony glare cut off her objection. The queen raised her right hand a few inches, and one of the duke’s attentive footmen immediately stepped forward. He leaned down when the queen motioned him closer. She whispered a few words to him, and he left, his expression neutral.

Once the wedding party had moved back inside the palace and were seated at their assigned places along the single, long banquet table set—Beatrice had heard—for 340 guests, the rest of the guests moved toward their chairs. Beatrice looked around for the woman she’d seen earlier. She’d seemed exotic, interesting. Beatrice was dying to talk with her and find out where she’d come from. She’d have to do it soon if her mother was intent on making her leave.

But the grand duke was standing alone behind the chair at the head of the table, and the lady in red was nowhere in sight. Apparently, the queen’s message already had been delivered. Beatrice felt sorry for the man. Was it fair that her mother’s whims should deny him a companion on his daughter’s wedding day?

Beatrice excused herself and stood up from the table. Any other day, Victoria certainly would have noticed and stopped her. But the queen was busy talking with Sandro, and the second of the Battenberg sons had her so enthralled that Beatrice was able to slip away.

She approached her brother-in-law and rested a hand tentatively on his arm. The duke turned with a subdued smile. “Ah, Your Royal Highness,” he murmured, “you are looking well. Thank you for doing so much for Vicky. She values your love and advice even more in the years since she’s lost her mother.”

“It’s my pleasure. She’s a charming girl. I adore her.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Beatrice bent down closer to him. “The dark-haired lady in church, I understand she was your guest. She could not join us for the banquet?”

His face reddened. “The queen suggested it was inappropriate for her to be here.”

“Why shouldn’t she be?” If Beatrice had inherited anything from her mother it was her preference for speaking plainly and openly, to get to the root of the matter.

“She is a dear friend. Her name is Alexandrine von Kolemine. She is from Poland originally, the daughter of the count of Hutten-Czapsy. A widow, as I am a widower, and we are close friends.” He sighed. “I believe it offends your mother that I keep company with her.”

Beatrice considered his choice of words. The queen never allowed her brothers to speak in front of their sisters about their private social lives. But over the years she’d overheard snatches of conversation. “Keeping company” seemed, to her, code words for something more intimate than tea shared before the fire.

If Alice had been alive, Beatrice would most definitely have been offended on her behalf. But her sister had been gone six years, and the duke had seemed so very sad and inconsolable that Beatrice was happy he’d found someone to comfort him and share his days. And perhaps his nights?

“She is your mistress?”

The duke tensed and avoided her eyes. “Princess, I shouldn’t be discussing such things with you.”

“Because my mother would be furious.”

“She would likely banish me from ever again setting foot in London.” His eyes flashed, but his dry laugh held no humor.

Beatrice shook her head. “Alice wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone forever.”

Her own words struck home. Wasn’t she alone too? And likely to remain so for the rest of her life. A mother, siblings, nephews and nieces were no substitute for a beloved spouse. The only difference between her situation and the duke’s was—she’d never been married and likely never would be.

She couldn’t recall much about her parents’ marital relations. She’d been so very young when Albert died—just four years old. But she had a hazy memory of warm exchanges between her parents, of standing between them as a toddler—the sandwich filling to their sturdy, loving bread slices—feeling the vibrancy of their affection pass through her. And she’d heard courtiers say that the queen and her prince consort had been totally devoted to each other.

“I’m sorry if my mother has spoiled the day for you,” Beatrice murmured.

The duke took her hands between his and patted them. “She hasn’t, Princess. I have seen my daughter married to a good man. And my mistress, she will forgive me when I make everything right very soon.”

“How will you do that?” She really was curious. “Mama seems so set against her.”

“In good time. In good time, you will see.” He smiled. “Now off you go to enjoy the banquet, Beatrice. And later, your mother will be distracted by all of the family happenings. Perhaps this will buy you a little time to spend on your own, in your own way.” He winked at her. “Maybe another ride through the woods?”

Her eyes widened. He knew? Did they all know she’d been riding with Henry?

No, not all of them. If her mother were aware she’d been alone with a man she would have burst her corset stays.

That vivid image brought a sudden smile to her lips.