The Prince Who Loved Me (The Oxenburg Princes) (9 page)

“I’m making this simple.”

Irritated, he snapped out, “Is this a trick, a way to make me want you more?”

She quirked an eyebrow in such an adorably threatening way that it made him yearn to kiss a smile back onto her plump lips.

He shook his head ruefully. “I will take that as a no. Ah, Roza. Why could you not have been a housemaid as I’d thought?”

“Why couldn’t you have been a huntsman as
I
thought?” she returned, regret heavy in her tone. “You and I are from two different worlds.”

“Nonsense. We have much in common. We both like books, dogs, poems, Sir Walter Scott, dogs—I could go on.”

“You listed dogs twice.”

“It does not matter; I still made my point.”

“No, you haven’t. That’s everything you know about me, a paltry four things. It’s not enough. Besides, whether we have something in common doesn’t change one very major item—you’re a prince. Everything you do is monitored, watched, scrutinized.” She glanced around them. “People are watching us even now.”

“I ignore them.”

She looked unimpressed. “And that keeps them from gossiping?”

Well, no. Nothing stopped that. But admitting that wouldn’t help his cause, so he shrugged. “People always talk.”

“Not about me. If we pursued those kisses, someone would see us and then there would be a scandal.” Her clear gaze met his. “A scandal my sisters and I would have to live with after you left.”

A scandal would also make Tata Natasha hold even more tightly to his
kaltso.
He scowled. He’d thought Bronwyn’s pragmatic streak charming until now. Now it irritated him, because he had to admit she was right.

As he met her gaze, he caught a hint of genuine regret in her eyes. He tightened his grip on her hands, pulling her closer. “I will not give up on us.”

“I will.” Her smile trembled only the faintest bit. “Now, let’s talk about the weather like everyone else must be doing. That will be much safer.”

But he didn’t want safe. There was something about her that made him even more restless. A flicker of lust that grew stronger as the minutes passed. She was part wide-eyed wood nymph, part awkward society miss, and—he was beginning to realize—part testy library elf. “I will not waste precious time talking about the weather when we’ve so little time togeth—”

“Your Highness!” Lady Malvinea’s voice cut through the music.

Bronwyn instantly stepped away from him. Alexsey’s hands curled into fists.

Bronwyn’s stepmother smiled, Miss Sorcha peering from behind, looking both embarrassed and excited. Alexsey bit back a curse, but inclined his head as was polite. “Lady Malvinea. Miss Sorcha.”

Lady Malvinea favored him with a cringe-inducing smile. “Your Highness, I trust you can still walk after dancing with Bronwyn.”

“Yes, but only because I wear very good shoes.”

Bronwyn sent him a flat look. “You were warned.”

Lady Malvinea gave a too-loud laugh. “You were indeed warned, Your Highness. Bronwyn, I believe Mairi is speaking with an acquaintance of yours sitting with the other chaperones. She said something about a recipe you were promised, but I didn’t catch it all.”

“Of course.” Bronwyn sketched a curtsy. “Your Highness, thank you for the dance.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said gravely, hoping she could hear the deeper meaning in his tone. He started to add that he hoped to see her again, but she was gone before he could form the words, heading toward the chaperones like a compass needle finding north.

Lady Malvinea pulled Miss Sorcha forward. “I believe Your Highness has bespoken this dance with my daughter?”

Alexsey stifled his irritation. If his Roza believed he was finished pursuing her, she was wrong.
We will be alone again soon. I will make certain of it. And I will find a way to keep the world’s eyes from us, a way that will soothe that overcareful side of you.

He would have to be very, very cautious, but she was worth it.

In the meantime, it was to his advantage to keep himself in her family’s good graces. Aware of Lady Malvinea’s approving gaze, Alexsey took Sorcha’s hand and bowed over it, smiling. “Shall we?”

“I would be honored, Your Highness.”

He led Miss Sorcha into the swirl of dancers, Lady Malvinea’s beaming smile following.

There are times, gentle reader, when even love needs a little nudge. . . .

—
The Black Duke
by Miss Mary Edgeworth

Alexsey swung out of the saddle of his black gelding and handed the reins to a waiting groomsman.

“Welcome back, Yer Highness. Oy trust ye found yer ride to yer likin’?”

“It was invigorating.” Alexsey rubbed his horse’s neck. “Viktor and I enjoyed the path around the loch very much. This land of yours is beautiful at all hours, but especially in the morning mist.”

The groom beamed. “Och, ’tis an auld land, Yer Highness. God took his time makin’ her, and did it proper.”

Alexsey patted Viktor’s damp neck. “That He did. Viktor was especially impressed with the waterfalls. We have many such in Oxenburg and they reminded us of home.”

The gelding wickered, cold puffs blowing from his nose as he nudged Alexsey’s pocket.

“You look for your reward, do you?” Alexsey pulled an apple from his pocket and fed it to the horse, before turning to the groom. “I walked him the last length home, so he has cooled down.”

“Aye, Yer Highness. Oy’ll see to it tha’ he’s watered, bathed, brushed, and combed.”

“Thank you.” Alexsey slipped a coin into the groom’s waiting hand and watched as Viktor was led away.

Normally, after a late night at a ball, Alexsey would have still been abed. But somehow, he’d awakened with the dawn from a dream where he’d been dancing with a brown-eyed vixen with tumbled hair, sparkling eyes, and a wit as sweetly sharp as lemon candy.
So Bronwyn, you are invading my dreams now, are you?

He shouldn’t be surprised. After their dance last night, he’d thought of nothing but her, the feel of her in his arms, the flash of humor in her eyes, the way her lips pursed when she was considering something he’d said—her expressions were as changing as the sea, and he was thirsty to understand each and every one.

She tantalized him. Even this morning, while riding around the blue loch, the water kissing the gray stone shores, he’d imagined her riding with him, her eyes the same rich brown as the patches of peat nestled between the mountain ridges. It had been a long time since any woman had teased him so.

Alexsey walked toward the gate leading from the stable yard to the castle path, the gravel crunching under his boots. The sun was just now burning off the edges of the mist and slowly climbing the sides of the mountains that surrounded Tulloch. As the day brightened, the white morning revealed the green, brown, and purple glory of the Scottish countryside.
Such beauty, and yet it carries such strength, too.

The sound of a horse approaching made him pause as he reached the gate. Out of the low roiling mist, Strathmoor appeared, riding a large bay. He waved to Alexsey before pulling up and dismounting. The viscount handed his reins to a waiting groom, speaking briefly to the man before striding down the path to join Alexsey.

Strathmoor looked Alexsey up and down. “Must you dress like a groom?”

“I wear what is comfortable. It is one of the few benefits of being a prince; I can be as out of fashion as I wish and yet society will not shun me.”

“It would shun me if I wore such clothes.” Strath shook his head. “I’m surprised to see you this early.”

“This morning, I surprised myself.”

Strath unlatched the gate and held it open. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“
Nyet.
A dream.”
A very good dream.

“Too much lamb.” The viscount closed the gate and then fell into step beside Alexsey. “I told my uncle he shouldn’t serve it every meal, for it is bad for the digestion, but he never listens to me.”

“Was it your digestion that awoke you this morning?”

Strath smiled. “No, a whim awoke me. A very vivid whim.”

“Is this whim blond? Or brunette?”

“She’s . . .” He trailed off, his smile fading as he squinted toward the path that curled around the back of the castle.

Alexsey followed Strath’s gaze just in time to see a cloaked woman disappear through the gate in a high stone wall. “Who was that?”

“For a moment, I thought . . .” Strathmoor shook his head. “It couldn’t have been.”

“Couldn’t have been who?”

“Oddly enough, I thought it was Miss Murdoch.”

Alexsey halted. “
Da?
”

“I’m sure I was mistaken. It’s far too early for a visitor, and why would she enter the castle through the kitchens? That makes no sense.”

I’m not so sure about that.
“I think I must see this mysterious lady for myself.”

Strath shrugged, though his eyes twinkled. “Off with you, then. I’m to breakfast, for I’m famished. Just don’t forget to tell me the outcome of this tryst, whoever the lady is.”

“Do not eat all of the bacon.” With a wink, Alexsey set off across the lawn. He quickly reached the gate, unlatching it and passing through.

The kitchen garden rested against the back of Tulloch Castle, enclosed by three tall stone walls. Neat rows stretched before him, left fallow for the fall, although a few straggly greens near the castle door proved the stubbornness of the cook.

It was a pretty garden even without the benefits of full bloom, with neat paths of white rock and a wooden bench set under a tree. And there, walking quickly to a door leading into the castle, was the woman Strath had seen. She was cloaked head to foot in a familiar cape, and she held a large basket. He caught up to her just as she reached the door. “Roza.”

Bronwyn, her fingers already on the iron door handle, jumped, her heart thundering.
Surely not.
She’d done nothing but think about him since their dance last night, but she’d never expected to run into him this morning.

Strong hands closed over her basket and lifted it from her grasp. “I will carry this.”

As usual, he didn’t ask.
He rarely does. That must be fixed.
There were many things about this man that needed fixing, now that she thought about it.

“You are not going to wish me a good morning? I think that is the required courtesy,
nyet
?”

She straightened her shoulders and pushed off her hood as she faced him.

The second she did so, she realized she’d made a grave error. It wasn’t that she was underdressed—for though she wore her oldest gown, her hair carelessly knotted in a bun at the nape of her neck, he was equally attired. Once again, he wore the loose-fitting, far-from-fashionable clothing she’d first met him in, his brown jacket slightly worn at the elbows, his neckcloth tied with just a simple knot at the base of his throat.

No, her error was in thinking for an entire night that if she tried hard enough, she could stop responding to the breathtaking handsomeness of this man. That, apparently, was an impossibility, and it would be in her best interests to stop pretending she had control over a purely human reaction—to appreciate beauty in whatever form one happened to find it.
I’m sure I’d be just as breathless if I were facing a gorgeous statue, or a—

Her eyes met his. Heat raced through her, a jolt so strong that she wondered if it could be seen like a flash of lightning. She’d never react this way to a statue.

His grin was as wolfish as the gleam in his eyes. “Happy to see me?”

“I thought you’d be sleeping,” she blurted.

“I was. I dreamed of you.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Oh, the things she longed to ask! But did she really wish to know? If he’d had a good dream, that wouldn’t help quell her body’s reaction every time he was near. And if he’d had a ridiculous dream, where she’d fallen down stairs and turned into a sea monster, or something equally as silly, she’d feel a disappointment she didn’t want to have to explain to herself.

“Come. We will sit on the bench.” He turned toward the bench, but she grabbed the basket with both hands.

“I need to take these eggs and jams to Mrs. Durnoch.” When he didn’t look enlightened, she stifled a sigh. “She’s the housekeeper here at Tulloch.”

“Why would the housekeeper here ask you for supplies?”

“She sent word to Mrs. Pitcairn, who serves as our cook and housekeeper at Ackinnoull, that the castle larder was woefully short of various items. Sir Henry didn’t give poor Mrs. Durnoch enough notice that he was coming, and with such a large party, she’s been scrambling to keep the tables filled.”

“There doesn’t seem to be a lack of food. It’s been quite abundant.”

“Lamb is available locally, and Selvach and his huntsmen had quite a bit of meat already dried and salted. They’ve been bringing in fresh catch every day, too. They were out this morning hunting duck, for I saw them heading toward the loch.”

“I will have to say my thanks to both Mrs. Durnoch and Selvach.”

“I’m sure they would appreciate it. We have over twenty hens at Ackinnoull, and Mrs. Pitcairn’s jams are famous locally, so we keep them supplied. In return, whenever Selvach has extra game, he sends it to Ackinnoull.”

“That is very kind of him. I have seen this Mrs. Durnoch, I think. She wears a ring of keys at her waist the way men at war wear armor.”

“She is at war. A war against disorganization and dirt.”

“She is winning; the castle is very well run. Even my grandmother has been pleased, and it is not often she is so.” He turned toward the kitchen door. “Come. We will deliver your basket.”

“You can’t go into the kitchens!”

But it was too late. He was already stepping through the door.

Bronwyn hurried to catch up to him, arriving just in time to see the shocked expression on the cook’s face when she realized who was carrying the expected basket.

“Gor, ’tis the prince!”

Instantly every maid, cook, undercook, and kitchen boy stopped what they were doing and stared, the noise dying from a clamor to silence in one second.

Cook began bobbing curtsies as if she were made of them, while one of the kitchen maids toppled to the floor in a swoon, drawing another maid to her side, who fanned the woozy girl with an apron. A kitchen boy who’d been turning a roast on a spit fell into a fit of the giggles, while another maid turned so red, Bronwyn feared the girl would die of an apoplexy.

She couldn’t blame them. A prince like Alexsey, so handsome and dashing, his black hair falling over his brow, his green eyes agleam in a ballroom, was potent. A prince like Alexsey, standing six feet two in a smoky, crowded kitchen looking totally devastasting, was the stuff of fairy tales.

“Welcome, Yer Highness!” Cook stopped curtsying long enough to wipe her hands on a cloth and take the heavy basket from the prince. “I . . . we . . . that is, I . . .” She cast a desperate glance at Bronwyn.

“His Highness saw me struggling with the basket in the garden, and he kindly offered to carry it inside.”

Cook placed the basket on a nearby table and dipped another curtsy, this one much longer and far more dramatic. “Thank ye kindly fer bringin’ the basket, Yer Highness.”

Alexsey inclined his head. “It is Miss Murdoch who deserves your thanks. She carried the basket from her home. I merely brought it inside from the garden.”

“Aye, but ye carried it inside wit’ yer own hands. Tha’ is no’ somethin’ to ignore!”

As Alexsey started to disagree, Bronwyn grabbed him by the elbow and propelled him to the door. “Thank you, Cook! Please tell Mrs. Durnoch we should be able to send even more eggs tomorrow.”

As soon as the door shut, Bronwyn released his arm. “Next time, just say ‘thank you.’ ”

“But I did nothing.”

“You visited the kitchen. That was enough. They were honored you graced them with your presence.”

He snorted.

“If it helps, I wasn’t impressed with your efforts at all.” She walked past him toward the gate. “I must bid you good-bye; I’ve many things to do today.”

He lengthened his stride and stayed at her side. It was annoying how easily he kept up.

When she reached for the gate handle he caught her hand, lifting it to his warm lips for a kiss. “Surely you have ten minutes to spare.”

She did, she supposed. But talking to him, as innocent as it was, felt illicit, as if she were doing something she shouldn’t be. After all, there was no one here to act as chaperone
. But
what could be wrong with talking?

Not a single, blasted thing
, she told herself. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes.”

Before she knew it, she was being led to the small bench, his hand warm over hers.

The hovering fog still hung low and thick inside the garden walls, and since it was the morning after a ball, the lords and ladies of Sir Henry’s house party would be abed until well after noon. And while there were servants about, most of them were busy with their morning chores—lighting fires in bedchambers, buffing boots, preparing food for the midday breakfast trays, ironing gowns, polishing silver, and completing any of the dozens of things that had to be finished before the lords and ladies of the house awoke. So she and Alexsey wouldn’t be seen here in the garden.
No harm can come of a calm, polite chat.

They reached the small bench and Alexsey pulled out a kerchief to brush the dead leaves from the seat. “After you.”