The Prince Who Loved Me (The Oxenburg Princes) (11 page)

Which, as plans went, had its own merits. But Sir Henry knew better than to say so aloud.

He nodded as if in full agreement and stared at the prince with what Henry hoped was a look of disapproval. As he watched, Prince Alexsey reached down and scooped up Natasha’s dog—a small white fluff of an animal—and, patting it soothingly, said something that made the women about him laugh. The breeze ruffled the prince’s black hair and flattened his coat across his broad shoulders, which made the women stare hungrily as if he were a giant sweet ice.

Henry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Tasha, if you dinna mind a man’s thoughts on this . . .” He waited.

She cut him a curious glance. “
Da?
”

“It’s possible—just possible, mind you—that you’re being a wee bit overconcerned. Give the mon time. He’ll find the right lass and settle. You’ll see.”

“I won’t see, for he has no intentions of doing any such thing. He’s made it very plain to us all—all he wants is a flirtation, flirtation, and nothing but a flirtation.”

“That’s all most men want, until we meet the right one. Your grandson’s educated, sophisticated, intelligent, a fine shot and a better hunter, and he plays a damned good hand at whist. He’s a fine mon and the lasses love him. Added to that, he’s wealthy and a prince, to boot. That is a recipe for marriage if I ever heard one.”

Tasha absently fingered the thick gold chain that hung about her neck. “Despite my complaints, I have hopes he will soon change his ways.”

Encouraged, he added, “At least he made some attempt to meet the local beauties at the ball last night.”

“He danced with two women only. Miss Bronwyn Murdoch, and her sister, Miss Sorcha.”

“Miss Sorcha is very lovely—a blonde with vivid blue eyes and a delicate, graceful nature. Everyone is in raptures over her.”

“She was lovely,” Natasha agreed. “Do you think he was interested in her?”

“Very,” Henry said boldly, though to be honest, he hadn’t paid much heed to the prince’s expression. “She’s from a good family, she is. Her mother is Lady Malvinea, the youngest daughter of Earl Spencer.”

“I don’t remember a Lady Malvinea, but there were many people at your ball.”

“Had you met the Murdochs, you would have remembered them. Lady Malvinea is a woman of forceful character, and her daughter Sorcha is quite beautiful, as I’ve said. There are two daughters other than Sorcha; one is younger, while the other—an older stepdaughter—serves as chaperone. The father, Mr. Murdoch, is a genteel man of a good and ancient name—’tis a charming family.”

“Good. Very good.” A thoughtful expression entered Natasha’s eyes. “You believe this Sorcha would make a good wife to a restless man like Alexsey?”

“Och, o’ course. I wouldna mind having her in my family, had I any sons to share. Lady Malvinea has spared no expense regarding her daughters. They are fluent in several languages, possess refined accents and manners, and are accomplished in musical arts. Whatever you might wish a wife to know, the daughters know. At least the two younger ones.”

“But not the stepdaughter?”

“Nay. The vicar’s wife told me Miss Murdoch was sixteen when Lady Malvinea came to Dingwall, much too old to benefit from her stepmother’s guidance.”

“But this Sorcha, she sounds well suited.” Natasha’s gaze fixed on her grandson. “I wonder . . .”

Sir Henry’s stomach rumbled and he winced, wondering if he dared suggest tea at such an early hour. He was just about to mention it when Natasha said, “Perhaps I should meet Lady Malvinea and Miss Sorcha.”

“That would be easy to arrange. But . . . a word of warning. Though her heart is good, Lady Malvinea can be a bit abrasive.”

Natasha flicked him an unconcerned glance. “I do not fault a woman for having ambition for her children. This Sorcha has potential. Potential is a beginning. And since Alexsey took the time to dance with her, he must be attracted to her.”

“He also danced with the eldest, less attractive daughter,” Sir Henry reminded her, “perhaps for politeness’ sake.”

A faint look of approval crossed her face. “That was well done, and quite unlike him. Perhaps you are right, and he is interested in this Miss Sorcha.” Natasha pursed her lips. “I will invite the Murdochs to the castle for tea. I wish to meet this girl myself, and Lady Malvinea, as well.”

“Of course.”

“That is done, then.” She smiled, a flash of humor in her black eyes. “Come, let us find you some sustenance. Your stomach has been grumbling nonstop. I fear if we do not answer it, and soon, it will decide to go to dinner without you.”

He laughed and proffered his elbow. “I’m a sad case, Tasha.” He wagged his brows suggestively. “Always hungry, especially where you were concerned.”

“I’m hungry, too.” She tucked her hand inside his elbow. “But only for tea cakes.”

He patted her hand. “Then cakes it will be.”

Lady Catulino gave Lucinda a handkerchief. “My dear, you are such an innocent. Men were made to drive women to madness, either with what they will do, or what they won’t. It is simply the nature of the beast.”

—
The Black Duke
by Miss Mary Edgeworth

Sir Henry’s liveried footman opened the door and then stood to one side as Mama, Sorcha, and Mairi entered the sitting room. Bronwyn trailed behind, taking in the luxurious, if rather out-of-date, appointments of Tulloch Castle’s sitting room with deep appreciation.

Since talking to—or rather, kissing—Alexsey in the garden, Bronwyn had been a tangle of thoughts, trying to put everything that had happened into some kind of order. But all she’d managed to do was realize two difficult and sadly conflicting things.

First, prince or no, Alexsey possessed a highly sensual nature. A nature that, most likely encouraged by his upbringing in an exotic land, and the fact that princes rarely faced correction by societal rules, had obviously gone unchecked. Sadly, she reacted strongly to that sensual nature; his mere presence made her heart flutter and her knees quake.

She wasn’t pleased with this realization, but it was better to admit the truth of things rather than hide them.

Her second realization was about herself. When faced with Alexsey’s unfiltered sensuality, her imagination was thrown into an instant war with her common sense. She
knew
a dalliance of any kind with Alexsey was dangerous, and would likely go further than it should. Yet despite knowing how disastrous that could be for her future, she still found herself imagining what might happen if they
were
ever alone again
.
It was as if the moment he touched her, she became someone else, someone far more adventuresome than she’d ever thought herself to be.

Faced with these contradictions, all she could do was to make certain she and Alexsey were never alone, so she’d never have to make a choice between her imagination and her common sense. She feared she already knew which one was stronger.

“Bronwyn?”

Her mother and sisters had taken their seats and were looking at her expectantly.

Flushing, she hurried to join them. “Sorry, I was admiring the rug. It’s beautiful.”

Mama’s lips thinned, but she turned to the waiting footman. “Please inform Her Grace we have arrived.”

“Yes, my lady. She will be down shortly.”

Mama inclined her head in what she obviously thought was a regal manner, but only succeeded in looking awkward. “Thank you.”

He bowed again and then left. The second the door closed behind him, Mairi hopped to her feet. “Have you ever
seen
such elegant furnishings? These chairs! The settee! The rugs! Even the footstools are elegant; they all have golden feet!”

“It’s beautiful,” Bronwyn agreed. The long room had glittering golden candelabras upon a large marble mantel, rich oriental rugs covering almost every inch of floor, and gorgeous silk-covered furniture arranged throughout.

Sorcha looked about her in wonder. “It was so kind of the grand duchess to invite us to tea.”

“It wasn’t mere kindness.” Mama couldn’t seem to keep her smile to herself. She had been in a particularly sunny mood since the ball, and now she beamed at them all. “It’s my belief it wasn’t the grand duchess who issued the invitation. In fact, I’d wager my best shoes on it.”

Mairi turned from admiring a particularly lovely ormolu clock. “If the duchess didn’t, then who? Surely not Sir Henry, for the invitation didn’t bear his name, only hers.”

An impatient look crossed Mama’s face. “
Think
, Mairi. We didn’t even meet the grand duchess, so why would she invite us to tea? Someone
else
manipulated this little meeting. Someone who spent time with us at the ball.”

Good God, she thinks Alexsey is behind our invitation!
Bronwyn couldn’t have disagreed more.

The prince’s intentions were far from pure, but she couldn’t imagine he was so lost to propriety as to induce his grandmother to assist him with a seduction. Had he been a weaselly sort, she supposed it might be true, but he wasn’t a bit weaselly.

Frankly, she thought him boldly honest, even when the truth made him seem a libertine. She found his honesty appealing. She bit back a wistful sigh. “Mama, I don’t believe the prince was behind the grand duchess’s invitation.”

Mama’s smile faded. “Of course he was. I think he wanted to see Sorcha, and it is a great honor that he wishes her to be introduced to his family.”

Sorcha, pink-cheeked, shook her head. “No, Mama. I think you’re reading far too much into this.”

“I’m not! My dear, just think. The prince paid particular attention to you the night of the ball. You are the only woman he danced with.”

“He also danced with Bronwyn.”

“She’s not an eligible parti. Besides, he left the ball right after he danced with
you
. In fact, he barely spoke to anyone else.” Mama looked as if she might explode with happiness. “The entire neighborhood has been roaring with speculation. Many people have commented upon his behavior.”

Probably spurred on by Mama’s own hints. Bronwyn wisely kept her thoughts to herself.

Sorcha shook her head, her knuckles white about her new reticule. “Mama, you exaggerate. He barely spoke when we were on the floor. Meanwhile, he talked to Bronwyn the entire time they danced. I know, for I saw them.”

And he’d had far too much to say to her, Bronwyn thought.

Mama’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. “He was probably lost in thought. You know how some men are at large functions—they dislike dancing and the noise makes conversing difficult. That’s most likely why he had the grand duchess invite us today, so he could speak with you in a quieter setting.”

“I have nothing to say to him.”

“Of course you do! And if he should ask, it would be perfectly acceptable if he drew you to one side of the room while I speak with his grandmother. So long as you stayed within sight, you two could have the most comfortable of cozes.” Mama cast a sharp look at Bronwyn and Mairi. “When you see the prince take Sorcha to one side, pray do not jump up and follow them.”

Mairi sniffed. “What if the prince invites us?”

“I daresay politeness will make him do so, but you’re both to refuse. After a nice visit, we’ll invite the grand duchess and the prince for a visit, although”—Mama ran her hand over a silk-tasseled pillow, a dissatisfied shadow darkening her eyes—“I don’t know how I’d ever welcome them into our poor sitting room. Obviously Her Grace is used to the finest of everything and there we’ll be, our house barely fit to view.”

Bronwyn bit back a sigh. “Mama, this is Sir Henry’s home, not Her Grace’s. Who knows what she is used to?”

“I’m sure
her
home is even grander. Oxenburg is one of the wealthiest nations in the world. I know, for I read about it.”

Sorcha turned to her mama in surprise. “Where did you read about Oxenburg? I’d never heard of the country before this week.”

“I found a book in your stepfather’s library that contained a remarkable amount of information.” Mama glanced toward the closed door and then said in a low voice, “The country is known for its wealth, which comes from vast dairy lands, the quality of its lace and fabrics, and—and—” She frowned. “I can’t remember the third thing, but it was something rather boring, like timber or barley.”

“What else was in this book?” Bronwyn asked, curious despite herself.

“The king has a rather large family—four sons, in fact. Which means our prince has three brothers.”

“He’s ‘our prince’ now, is he?” Bronwyn said drily.

Mama didn’t hesitate. “He will be once he spends more time with your sister.”

Sorcha looked miserable. “Mama, please don’t say such things. It’s entirely possible he may not like me at all.”

Mama’s beaming smile faded. “Don’t be ridiculous. You were raised to be a princess.”

Mairi snorted. “Do princesses steal pastries from the kitchen when they think no one is looking? Sorcha took the last pastry from the kitchen last night, even though Mrs. Pitcairn had saved it for me.”

“I didn’t know that,” Sorcha said hotly just as the door opened and a footman appeared.

He bowed. “Her Grace will see you now. Tea has been set up on the terrace.”

“Lovely!” Mama leapt to her feet and smoothed her hair. “Come, girls.”

The footman held the door wide and waited as they left the room. When they were all gathered in the hall, he closed the door and then led them down the wide hall.

They were near the terrace door when Sorcha came to such an abrupt halt that Bronwyn almost ran into her.

“Oh dear! I left my reticule in the sitting room.”

The footman stepped forward. “I’ll fetch the reticule, my lady.”

“And leave Her Grace waiting?” Mama huffed. “I think not. We’ll find the reticule
after
tea.”

Sorcha said, “But Mama—”

“I’ll fetch it now,” Bronwyn offered, “and then I’ll join you. You can make my excuses to Her Grace, if you need to.” Perhaps she would take her time fetching the reticule, too. She had no wish to watch Mama fawn over the grand duchess.

“Thank you, Bronwyn.” Mama nodded to the footman to proceed.

Brownyn made her way back down the hall. Going into the sitting room, she found the reticule. She’d just left and was getting ready to walk past the grand staircase in the huge foyer when she heard male voices.

“What a waste of time,” Alexsey said. “Why do you Scots have tea so often?”

He was coming down the stairway, his footsteps muffled by the thick runner that cascaded down the marble steps.

Viscount Strathmoor answered, “Have you felt our weather? If we didn’t warm ourselves each afternoon with a spot of tea, we’d all be frozen stiff by dinner.”

They were almost upon her. Her heart thudding, she looked for a place to hide. She wasn’t ready to see him again. Not yet. And not without the protection of one of her sisters.

With a feeling akin to panic, she slipped into the small alcove carved into the sidewall of the staircase and squeezed behind a pillar holding a bronze Cupid statue. One of the bronze arrows captured a lock of her hair, and she hurried to untangle it.

“It is colder in Oxenburg,” the prince continued. “I do not even like tea.”

Viscount Strathmoor chuckled as they descended the stairs. “Teatime is socially important. It’s where, over delicate cups of bohea, women critique one another via heavily phrased compliments.”

“Tata Natasha is using teatime for another purpose—matchmaking. She has invited someone she wishes me to meet. I can tell.”

“She is single-minded, is she not? Which beauty do you think your grandmother is wishing you to peruse this afternoon? Miss Carmichael? Lady Muiren?”

“I did not ask and she does not tell. She only sends a note to my room saying it is my responsibility to attend. Pah! A treaty negotiation is a responsibility, but this—Papillon, leave my boot tassel alone or I’ll throw you in the pond.”

“That is the worst-behaved mongrel I’ve ever seen.”

Their footsteps sounded as the two men stepped off the last covered step onto the marble foyer floor. They took a few desultory steps, the dog prancing along with them, before they stopped.

“Papillon’s ill behavior is due to my grandmother spoiling her, but she hunts with the heart of a lion. I can forgive much for that.”

“So could I, if she didn’t growl at me every time I reached down to pet her.”

“She doesn’t like your cravat. I’ve been holding back a growl myself all morning.”

Strathmoor made an outraged noise while Bronwyn smothered a laugh.

“There’s nothing wrong with this cravat.”

“It’s so high you cannot lower your chin.”

“I could if I didn’t mind marring the lines. This is all the fashion.”

Bronwyn could imagine Alexsey’s unconcerned expression. “After we join my grandmother on the terrace for tea, we will ride out to Ackinnoull Manor and visit the Murdochs.”

Bronwyn’s eyes widened.

Strathmoor murmured, “Ah, so Miss Sorcha made an impression.”

“Sorcha?
Nyet
, I go to see Bronwyn.”

Me?
Despite herself, Bronwyn couldn’t help a flutter of happiness.

“Really? Even after you’ve met Sorcha?”

Her smile faded. Well. That was certainly harsh.

“Sorcha is too young.” Bronwyn could almost hear the prince shrug. “And boring. She had nothing to say for herself the entire time we danced.”

Bronwyn’s good humor was gone. Sorcha was never boring! Had Alexsey made the slightest effort to speak, Bronwyn was certain Sorcha would have, too.

“Perhaps Miss Sorcha is shy.” The viscount’s voice was studiously disinterested. “She seemed pleasant enough to me when I danced with her.”

Ha!
Bronwyn could have kissed the viscount. Curiosity burning, she sidled around the statue and tried to catch a glimpse of them, but they were out of sight.

“Perhaps.” The prince couldn’t have sounded more bored. “If you like that sort of woman.”

“Yes,” Strathmoor drawled. “Men find ivory skin, petal-pink lips, and beautiful blue eyes far too mundane, and much prefer plumpness, freckles, and spectacles.”