The Prince's Bride (3 page)

“No.”

She sighed. “I didn’t think so.” She started to leave, then once again turned back. “Is Prince Alexei in danger?”

Beaumont considered her question for a moment, and she wondered if he was deciding how much to tell her or if to say anything at all.

“Never mind,” she said. “Your silence says a great deal.” She swiveled back toward the door but his voice stopped her in her tracks.

“I doubt that he’s in any mortal danger. Politically, however ...” She could hear the shrug in his voice.

Encouraged and more than a little curious, she turned to face him. “Politically?”

His expression was noncommittal.

“I have a great number of other questions.”

“I am not surprised.”

“You’re not going to answer them, are you?”

“No.”

“But it does have to do with the prince, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t respond.

“You are ...” She struggled to find the right words although it was probably too late to worry about such details now. “You are not a ... a villain, are you? What I mean to say is that you are to be trusted. You are on the side of—”

“Good instead of evil?”

“Well, yes.”

“Overly dramatic but you could put it that way I suppose.” He chuckled. “I am currently charged with protecting the interests of my king and my country. As a representative of the crown, yes, you can trust me.”

She blew a relieved sigh. “I had thought as much but—”

“You needed to hear me say it.”

“Yes, I did.” She smiled in gratitude. “I must get back. Again you have my thanks.” She pulled open the door and cautiously glanced down the corridor. The hallway was empty. She stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. If she could make it back to the ballroom unnoticed, she could pretend this entire incident had never happened.

But what of Alexei? Strange, he seemed of rather less importance at the moment. His proposal would have to wait. Not that another day really mattered. He could declare his intentions as easily tomorrow as tonight.

She made her way back to the ballroom, turning her attention once again to the prospect of becoming a princess and away from intrigues and unexpected dangers. She was confident the incident was at an end, and it was easy to wipe away all thoughts of wicked men and their wicked knives from her mind.

What proved a bit more difficult was ignoring the lingering memory of a strong, male body pressed against hers and the passionate kiss of a dangerous man.

Rand stared at the closed door for a long moment. A scant hour ago he would have wagered a small fortune that this mess could not get any more complicated. He would have lost.

The beautiful Lady Jocelyn was now smack in the midst of it all.

He walked over and picked up the knife from the floor. It was unremarkable in appearance, of a style made predominantly in the Baltic regions. Quite common and therefore worthless in determining ownership. But lethal in the right hands. And it had quite nearly skewered the lovely lady’s neck.

He uttered a short curse at the thought of what would have happened if he’d arrived so much as a split second later. Of course, he’d had no idea she was in the room. The man he was watching had escaped his observation and apparently met with his accomplice in the darkened shadows out of doors. Rand and his men were checking each room with access to the terrace or gardens in hopes of uncovering the very meeting Lady Jocelyn had stumbled upon. It was only a heightened sense of danger that had served him well during the war years that led him to the right door.

Why she had been in the music room anyway?

She’d started to say something... Of course. He snorted with disdain. She was here to meet Alexei. Rand had missed most of the season thus far, only returning to London a few weeks ago, but he couldn’t fail to miss hearing of the woman who had apparently attracted the attention of the crown prince of Avalonia. The incomparable Lady Jocelyn Shelton.

He had to admit she was indeed incomparable and wondered why he’d barely noticed her at their brief earlier meeting. With golden hair and eyes only a shade darker, the rich color of honey, she stood a bit taller than most women, which only served to increased comparisons to the perfection of a Greek statue. Her family connections were excellent and her dowry was obviously substantial.

For a man seeking a wife, she was the prime pick of the lot this year. And who would have suspected the surprising amount of courage, perhaps even intelligence, hidden in that enticing package? Another woman would have been hysterical at such a narrow escape.

No, he amended the thought. Strike intelligence. If she was there to meet Prince Alexei she wasn’t nearly as smart as she might appear. The prince was notorious for his amorous liaisons, and while rumor was rife that he was looking for a bride, Rand suspected even Lady Jocelyn’s sterling qualifications would not be up to snuff for a royal match. If the prince wished to meet with the lady privately, Rand would wager his intentions were not particularly honorable.

For his part, Rand wanted nothing to do with the prince. Yet here he was, charged with the task of protecting the heir to the Avalonian throne from the intrigues that surrounded him.

It was only Rand’s family connections that placed him in this awkward position in the first place. And given those connections he could scarcely refuse a request from the Foreign Office to return to service, unofficially of course, to look into the prince’s charge of a conspiracy to discredit him centered right here in London.

Prince Alexei had specifically asked the government for Rand even though the two men had never actually met until his arrival in England. No doubt the prince had assumed the distant blood connection between them would assure Rand’s loyalty. Blasted man.

Rand had no desire to further his acquaintance with the prince or his country. Whatever hereditary Avalonian title he might hold was nothing more than a mildly amusing bit of history. He was the sixth Viscount Beaumont. The son of his father and an Englishman to his very soul. His loyalty was to his sovereign and the land of his birth. So if the country he had long sworn to defend did not wish to have a royal visitor discredited while on British soil, Rand could not refuse to lend his assistance regardless of his personal preferences.

Still, initially, it had seemed the prince’s fears were based on nothing more than the misapprehensions of a monarch whose country had long been embroiled in battles for power between one branch of the royal family or another. Not until yesterday had Rand discovered there was indeed some sort of conspiracy afoot. He’d received information that a man who dwelled in the underbelly of international intrigue, Ivan Strizich, nothing more than a political henchman really, was in league with an Avalonian official. The men assigned to work with Rand had managed to locate Strizich but it was agreed they would wait for the miserable cur to lead them to the man they really wanted. The man heading the plot against the prince.

Damn it all, they had nearly had him.

Rand fully accepted the blame for their failure. Obviously the years since the war had dulled his senses and his instincts. They would have to start from scratch now. The prince had any number of social events scheduled but Strizich and the man he worked for would be far more cautious after tonight. Strizich would likely drop out of sight completely, and so too would any connection to the man in charge.

Pity there wasn’t some way to draw him out.

Absently Rand hefted the knife in his hand. The evening wasn’t a total failure. Rand had managed to save the lovely Lady Jocelyn from harm at the hands of Strizich and, more than likely, rescue her from who knew what at the hands of the prince as well. She was safe for the moment.

Or was she?

Rand stared at the knife. There was every possibility she was right in her assessment of the situation regarding any continuing threat. But if she was wrong ...

Strizich was a dangerous man, as was whomever he worked for. In Rand’s experience there was no greater danger then an extremist of any kind. He’d far prefer an adversary who was motivated by greed instead of idealism. And when the prize was control of a country, the stakes were monumental.

If Lady Jocelyn was wrong she could be dead by daybreak.

And it would be his fault.

He’d allowed Strizich to escape but he would protect the lady with his life if need be. He owed as much to her for his failure.

He slipped the knife beneath his coat and headed toward the French doors and the gardens beyond to find his men. Rand and everyone he could spare would not let her out of their sight tonight. Once she was safely back at Effington House, he would make Thomas aware of the situation and they would determine further steps.

And if in the process, he was forced to kiss her again, well—he grinned— such was the price of duty. Still, he sighed and firmly pushed away the memory of her delectable body pressed against his, he could not allow such thoughts to color his judgment. It was duty, plain and simple, that compelled him to protect her.

And he couldn’t help but consider, in the cool analytical portion of his mind unfettered by inconvenient thoughts of guilt and honor and desire, that it was rather unfortunate there was no way to encourage Strizich to go after the fair Jocelyn and right into Rand’s hands. Strizich would undoubtedly reveal all he knew once captured. It was a pity there wasn’t some way to use her as bait.

Still, it was entirely possible that one way or another, she already was.

“Are you quite all right?” Marianne’s concerned voice pulled Jocelyn from her thoughts. The older girl leaned across the closed carriage and placed her hand on her sister’s arm. “You are unusually quiet.”

“Am I?” Jocelyn said absently and wondered why it was taking so long to travel the brief distance home to Effington House.

“You are indeed and for that we should all be exceedingly grateful,” Becky said. “You’d been anything but quiet until we entered the carriage.”

Jocelyn stared unseeing out the window into the night. She couldn’t deny Becky’s charge. Jocelyn had indeed been overly spirited and unusually animated since what she thought of as
the incident.

She hadn’t wanted to think of it at all and indeed at first had tried to ignore the whole thing. She’d returned to the reception as if nothing of any consequence had happened. In truth, she really didn’t believe she was in any danger. Still, she’d found herself chatting nervously and laughing too brightly and jumping at any unexpected movement. She’d made certain she was surrounded by suitors or friends or family every moment. And when an elderly gentleman had dropped a plate she’d uttered a short scream at the sound, then laughed to cover her terror.

And terror was exactly what it was. It clogged her throat and thudded in her chest and tensed the muscles of her shoulders.

“She’s probably behaving so oddly because the prince has yet to declare himself,” Becky said smugly.

Alexei.
She’d scarcely given him more than a momentary thought since the incident. How very odd when he was all she could think about before someone had tried to kill her, yet afterward he’d barely entered her mind.

“I still don’t trust him,” Thomas murmured.

“Of course you don’t, Thomas,” Marianne said. “And we don’t expect you to. It’s part of your charm.”

Jocelyn barely heard the conversation around her. Even if the prince did not dwell in her thoughts, in those rare moments when she was not preoccupied with hiding her fear, that annoying viscount did. Or more precisely, the kiss of that annoying viscount. And the way he’d held her ... and how safe she’d felt in his arms.

“She’ll be insufferable once she becomes a princess.” Becky sighed.

“I shall quite enjoy being insufferable,” Jocelyn murmured in an absent manner.

“More insufferable,” Becky said pointedly.

At last the carriage pulled to a halt. For once Jocelyn was grateful for Thomas’s typical refusal to wait for a servant to open the door. She was as impatient as he to escape from the confined space. He pushed open the door, jumped down, and turned to assist Marianne, then Becky. Jocelyn pulled her cloak more tightly around her, drew a deep breath, and allowed Thomas to help her out. The group gathered in the pool of illumination cast by the gaslights on the street, then headed toward the impressive front entry of Effington House.

The door swung open in welcome and Jocelyn breathed a sigh of relief. Even though the Shelton sisters had only lived there for a few months, right now it was home. And home had never looked so safe. She reached the first step, and chaos erupted around her.

Without warning a sharp retort sounded, echoing in the dark night. One of the bricks framing the door a scant few feet in front of her exploded, scattering shards of red clay over the walk. Shouts sounded from somewhere behind her.

“Bloody hell, that was a shot!” Thomas seized Marianne and shoved her into the house. “Quickly! Now!”

For less than a moment, fear froze Jocelyn where she stood. Then panic gripped her and she grabbed Becky and pulled her toward the door.

Another shot rang out. Another spray of fragments burst from the brick facade.

“Get in the house!” a voice yelled from the shadows. She recognized it at once. Giddy relief flooded her with the immediate, and probably absurd, belief that if Beaumont was here all would be well.

She and Becky stumbled over the threshold. Thomas slammed the door behind them. “Mansfield,” he barked at the servant standing stunned in the foyer. “Get my pistol!”

In the back of her mind, Jocelyn noted how very absurd Helmsey’s order sounded here in the grand, marble-floored foyer.

Before the butler could move, pounding sounded at the door. Thomas hesitated.

“Let him in,” Jocelyn said quickly and started forward. “He could be—”

Thomas glared. “Who could be—”

“Thomas!” Beaumont’s urgent voice called from behind the door. “Let me in.”

“It’s Beaumont.” Jocelyn reached for the door.

“Rand?” Thomas jerked the door open. “What in the name of all—”

Beaumont brushed passed him and Thomas snapped the door shut in his wake. Beaumont’s gaze flicked over each of them as if assessing damage, then settled on Jocelyn. “Is anyone hurt?”

“No one seems to be.” Marianne caught her breath and glanced around the gathering, then nodded. “I think we’re fine.”

“But confused as hell.” Thomas glared at his friend. “What is going on, Rand? Why was someone shooting at us? And more to the point: who was shooting at us?”

“I have my men trying to find him now.” Beaumont addressed Thomas but his gaze stayed on Jocelyn.

“Your men?” Thomas said slowly. “I see.”

“Well, I don’t,” Becky said.

“Neither do I,” Marianne added. “Perhaps you should explain it to us all.”

Thomas nodded at Beaumont. “That’s up to him.”

Beaumont stared at Jocelyn as if there were no one present but the two of them. As if once again he would take her in his arms. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

She stared back. He had already saved her once tonight. If not for him ... Abruptly anger, intense and unreasonable, wiped away her fear. If not for him, none of this would have happened. “No thanks to you.”

His eyes widened. “My dear lady, I can scarcely be blamed for—”

“You can be blamed for all of it!” she snapped. “Every horrible thing that has happened to me tonight can be blamed on you!”

“What horrible things?” Marianne’s voice rose.

“Horrible things? Really?” Becky said eagerly. “How very exciting.”

“It wasn’t the least bit exciting,” Jocelyn said sharply. “It was quite terrifying and it was all his fault.”

“My fault?” Disbelief washed across Beaumont’s handsome face. “How is it my fault?”

Jocelyn planted her hands on her hips. “If you had been doing whatever it is you’re suppose to be doing that vile man would never have had the chance to try to kill me.”

“Kill you?” Shock colored Marianne’s voice.

“Bloody hell,” Thomas said under his breath.

“That is horrible,” Becky murmured.

“If you had stayed where you were supposed to be you wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place.” Beaumont stepped toward her in a decidedly menacing manner. “But instead you were behaving like a common trollop.”

“A
trollop? How dare you!” She drew back her hand to slap him but he caught her wrist.

“Now, now.” Anger snapped in his dark eyes. “I wouldn’t allow you to hit me before and I shall not allow it now.”

“Why did you want to hit him?” Becky stepped forward but Marianne pulled her back. “Is he the one who tried to kill you then?”

“No.” Jocelyn wrenched free of his grip, her voice dripping with disdain. “He kissed me.”

Thomas snorted.

Becky snickered.

“Oh dear,” Marianne murmured.

“I saved your life.” Beaumont’s tone was hard.

“That
would save
my
life.” Becky nudged Marianne. “He’s really quite—”

“Quiet,” Marianne’s voice was firm.

“Hah!” Jocelyn scoffed. “I wouldn’t have needed saving if you had—”

Beaumont cut in. “Or rather if you hadn’t left the reception for a private rendezvous with the prince—”

“You did
what?”
Aunt Louella’s voice rang from the stairway.

All eyes turned toward the stairs. Aunt Louella stood leaning on the rail, a diminutive figure who somehow towered above them all and who now quivered with indignation.

Jocelyn groaned to herself and stepped forward. “It’s not quite as bad as it seems—”

“No?” Aunt Louella hobbled down the steps and Thomas moved to help her. “Then how bad is it?”

“He wanted to meet me privately because he was going to ask me to marry him,” Jocelyn said staunchly.

Beaumont scoffed. “I scarcely think that was the proposal he had in mind.”

Jocelyn shot him a scathing glare and wished she had something far more lethal to fling at him.

“I never did trust him,” Thomas muttered.

Aunt Louella’s gaze slipped from Jocelyn to Beaumont and back. “I fail to attend one gala and the next thing I know you are off arranging clandestine meetings, with a prince no less, and—”

“And don’t forget someone trying to kill her,” Becky said brightly.

Jocelyn winced. Silence fell over the assembly. Aunt Louella’s eyes narrowed. “I want to hear everything. Mansfield, take their wraps. All of you into the parlor. Now.”

A few minutes later they had arranged themselves in the parlor. Aunt Louella and Marianne shared a sofa. Becky sat on another, Jocelyn chose a chair, and both men stood by the mantel. The room was heavy with tension and thick with the scent of the dozen or so bouquets sent by the prince in recent days.

Jocelyn's mind raced for an acceptable excuse for her behavior. Of course, if she’d actually met Alexei there would be no need to explain anything. She’d be betrothed to a prince and well on her way to becoming a princess. Aunt Louella could scarcely complain about that.

“Now then.” Aunt Louella settled back and pinned Jocelyn with an unflinching gaze. “Start from the beginning.”

“Very well.” Jocelyn drew a deep breath and related everything from the moment the prince had requested their meeting to the knife imbedded in the door frame by her head.

“I gather this is where you come in.” Aunt Louella gestured for Beaumont to begin. “If you please.”

Beaumont picked up the story but left out a great deal, including the part where he’d kissed her. Jocelyn was at once grateful and annoyed.

“Then those were shots I heard in the street?” Aunt Louella asked.

Beaumont nodded. “We’d thought, since we were unable to apprehend them, they would realize Lady Jocelyn was no threat and would not try to harm her again. Obviously ...” He paused and cast Jocelyn an apologetic look. She pointedly turned away. “We were wrong.”

Aunt Louella studied him for a long moment. “You’re lying, my lord.”

“Aunt Louella,” Marianne started but her aunt waved her still.

“That’s not at all what you thought is it?” Aunt Louella shook her head. “If you truly believed there was no danger to Jocelyn, why did you come here tonight?”

“Indeed.” Jocelyn frowned and stared at Beaumont. Everything had happened so fast she hadn’t considered that point. “Why were you here?”

Beaumont looked like a boy caught with a stolen cookie. “Well, you see ... That is ...”

“I know.” Becky jumped to her feet. “He was here because if the villains came back to get Jocelyn he’d be able to catch them.” Excitement rang in Becky’s voice. “Don’t you see? It was a trap and Jocelyn was the ...” Realization dawned on Becky’s face. “Oh my,” she murmured and dropped back on the sofa.

“Bad move, old man,” Thomas said under his breath.

“The bait?” Jocelyn’s eyes widened and her voice rose. She got to her feet. “You used me—”

“Not really,” Beaumont said quickly.

“As bait?” She stared in stunned disbelief and stepped closer. “Like cheese for a mouse? Or a rat dangled before a cat?”

“Not deliberately.” He held up a hand. “However, I knew there was a possibility—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice had an odd, high sound suspiciously close to a scream but she didn’t care.

“Why would I?” He stepped to her and gripped her shoulders. She tried to pull away but he held her tight. “Look at me,” he ordered. She stared up into his eyes. Dark and endless and, God help her, to be trusted. “What would you have done if I told you?”

“I don’t know. I could have—”

“You could have done nothing.” His tone was firm. “Absolutely nothing. You simply would have been scared.”

“More frightened than I was already? That’s hardly possible.” She jerked free and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. “I have been terrified since it happened.”

“Oh dear, Jocelyn.” Marianne stood and crossed the room to Jocelyn and enfolded her sister in her arms. “You should have told me.”

“And you should have told me,” Thomas said to Beaumont.

Beaumont blew a long breath. “I was going to tell you in the morning. Though we were at the ready, I honestly did not expect anything to happen tonight.”

“It scarcely matters.” Marianne stroked Jocelyn’s hair much as she had when they were very small. And now, as then, Jocelyn’s fears eased. “It’s all over now.”

No one said a word.