The Prince's Bride (5 page)

Thomas walked him to the door and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not so dreadful, old man. I’m about to be shackled myself.”

Rand restrained the urge to point out the differences between Thomas and Marianne’s impending nuptials and his own. The difference between eager and resigned. Between love and, well, not even tolerance at the moment.

“
Shackled
does seem the appropriate word.”

“One way or another”—Thomas’s tone was abruptly somber—“I’m certain all will work out.”

“I wish I shared your confidence, Thomas. I’m only certain I can keep her alive. Beyond that...” Rand blew a long breath. “The idea of living with a woman who detests me ...” He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“It seems to me the two of you will be spending a great deal of time together. Alone. Perhaps,” Thomas said slowly, “that time could be put to good use.”

“What do you mean?”

“I simply mean I’ve seen you charm more stubborn women than Jocelyn.”

Rand stared at his friend. “You’re suggesting I seduce her?”

“If anyone, especially Marianne, were to accuse me of that I’d deny it to my dying breath but”—he grinned—“that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

“Seducing Jocelyn,” Rand murmured. “What an intriguing idea.”

Thomas raised a brow.

Rand laughed. “Very well, more than intriguing. You yourself pointed out she’s not ugly. It has a certain amount of appeal.” At once he remembered the feel of her delightful body against his. “A great deal of appeal.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t think of it yourself.”

“As am I. I’m afraid the overwhelming specter of wedded bondage quite obscured the more pleasant aspects of wedded bliss. However, now that you have brought it up...” Rand grinned. “Thank you, old man.”

Thomas shrugged modestly. “One does what one can for one’s friends.”

Rand laughed. Seducing Jocelyn would not be at all easy. She would not fall quickly into his bed. But by God, it was a challenge he was well up to.

He already had the lady’s hand. Now he just needed to win her heart.

“I hate him.” Jocelyn lay crosswise on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. “I hate him with every breath in my body.”

“Nonsense.” Marianne’s tone was brisk. “You don’t hate him at all. What you hate are the circumstances.”

“Pardon me if I don’t see a great deal of difference between the circumstances and the man.” Jocelyn heaved a heartfelt sigh. “My life is over.”

“Your life is not over.” Marianne settled on the foot of the bed. “It will simply be somewhat different than you’d imagined.”

“Somewhat different? Hah.” Jocelyn rolled over onto her side and rested her head on her hand. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re about to marry a future duke. An Effington. And the man you love. I was
supposed
to marry a prince.”

“Jocelyn.” Marianne studied her sister for a moment. “Did you love him then? Prince Alexei, I mean.”

Jocelyn plucked at the coverlet, then sighed. “No. But I’m confident I would have someday.”

“You may well grow to love Beaumont someday as well.”

“First I have to like him,” Jocelyn muttered.

“I like him. Quite a bit actually.” Marianne’s voice was thoughtful. “Beyond that, I think he’s trustworthy and honorable. He’s been an admirable friend to Thomas. And he has a charming sense of humor and an excellent imagination.”

Jocelyn knew the tale of her sister’s involvement with Beaumont. Marianne had written a series of stories for a Sunday paper based loosely on her relationship with Thomas. When Thomas had found out, he’d convinced Beaumont to play the role of a suitor Marianne had fabricated as a way to teach Marianne a lesson.

“And don’t forget he’s quite dashing and extremely good-looking.” Becky sauntered into the room and dropped a small bag on the bed. “And his shoulders are extraordinary.”

And he does have the most amazing dark eyes.
Annoyed, she pushed the thought away and eyed the valise suspiciously. “What is that?”

“Aunt Louella told me to bring it to you,” Becky said. “It’s for your things.”

Jocelyn sat up. “But that’s entirely too small. I can barely fit a decent ball gown in that.”

“Dearest,” Marianne said gently, “I doubt if you’ll be attending many balls in the immediate future.”

“Of course not. I’m being exiled. To someplace quite dreadful no doubt.” Jocelyn groaned and flung herself back on the bed. Marianne was right, of course. There would be no balls. No galas, no soirees, no routs. No fun of any kind. “Then just throw a few old dresses in there. It scarcely matters, I suppose. I don’t even know where he’s taking me but I daresay it won’t be the tiniest bit enjoyable. Probably some horrible little cottage in some nasty little village.”

“He could take me to a horrible little cottage,” Becky said with a grin.

“You’re welcome to him.” Jocelyn propped herself up on her elbows and considered her younger sister. “It’s a pity we don’t look more alike. Oh, we share a similar height but your hair is distinctly red. Of course, a wig would—”

“Jocelyn,” Marianne snapped. “Don’t even think about it.”

“It was just an idea.” Jocelyn grimaced. “I’m desperate. If I don’t think of something I’ll be the Viscountess Beaumont by this time tomorrow.”

“There are worse fates,” Becky said pointedly. “Death for one.”

“At the moment, death does not seem especially worse.”

“Isn’t there anything about him that you like?” Marianne rose from the bed and moved to the wardrobe. She pulled open the doors and studied its contents.

Becky crossed her arms and leaned against a bedpost. “I like him.”

“You don’t have to marry him,” Jocelyn said.

“He once told me he was a spy,” Marianne mused. “Of course, I didn’t believe him at the time. Now, I wonder...”

“A spy.” Becky’s eyes sparkled at the thought. “How very exciting.”

Jocelyn wasn’t sure if the idea of Beaumont as a spy made him more palatable or completely unacceptable.

“You must like him a little,” Becky said. “You did kiss him, after all.”

“Not exactly,” Jocelyn said quickly. “He kissed me.” And admittedly, it was a lovely kiss, the memory of which even now made her insides warm and her stomach flutter. A kiss that made her wonder, in spite of herself, what else this man could make her feel. Abruptly she sat upright. “I hadn’t considered that at all.”

“Kissing him?” Becky smirked. “I have.”

“No. At least not just kissing him.” Jocelyn’s eyes widened and her gaze met Marianne’s. “What shall I do if he ... that is, he’ll be my husband. Legally, and what if he ... well”—she swallowed hard—“demands his... rights?”

“I doubt Beaumont is the kind of man who would force you to do anything against your will,” Marianne said firmly, pulling a gown from the wardrobe.

“Except marry him,” Jocelyn said.

“Jocelyn.” Marianne folded the dress and handed it to Becky, who tossed it into the bag. “I think you should keep in mind that Beaumont doesn’t especially want to marry you any more than you want to marry him. He’s only doing out of a sense of responsibility and honor. He’s doing it to save your life.”

“What life I’ll have left won’t be worth saving.”

Marianne heaved an exasperated sigh. “I do wish you’d stop being so selfish about this.”

“Well, I wish I’d stop being so selfish about this too,” Jocelyn snapped. “I know how I sound and I hate myself for it. But I can’t seem to help it. It’s how I feel.”

“I daresay most women would jump at the chance to marry a man like Beaumont. And he’s very mysterious, which just makes him all the more attractive,” Becky said. “You may not know Beaumont at all but I think he’s already figured out your nature. You sound like a spoiled, shallow, insufferable child.”

“Becky!” Jocelyn stared in stunned disbelief. “How can you say such a thing?”

“I am sorry. That was mean of me. I know you’re overset and therefore allowances should be made.” Becky moved around the bed, sat beside Jocelyn, and gazed into her eyes. “And I know, even if he doesn’t, that you’re not really spoiled, shallow, and insufferable, at least not all the time.”

“Thank you,” Jocelyn said dryly.

“And I also know this is dreadful for you. But he’s really not all that bad. Why, I’d wager eventually you’ll have a wonderful life together.”

“No, we won’t. I don’t see how we could.” Jocelyn got to her feet and turned to Marianne. “You have to promise me, when this is over and you’re the Marchioness of Helmsley with all the money and power of the Effington family behind you, you’ll do everything you can to help me procure an annulment or a divorce.”

Marianne shook her head. “I don’t know if that’s even possible.”

“Marianne.” Jocelyn took her hands and met her gaze firmly. She drew a deep breath. “I’m doing this as much for you and Becky, more really, as I am for myself.”

“What a selfless heroine she is.” Becky sighed dramatically. “Willing to sacrifice herself for her sisters’ safety.”

Jocelyn ignored her.
“I’m
willing to take the risk of staying right here but I can’t put
you
in danger.”

“Is she willing to sacrifice her virtue as well?” Becky said in a stage whisper.

“Quiet,” Jocelyn snapped but kept her gaze on Marianne. “All I’m asking in return is that you help me escape from this marriage when the time comes.”

“But perhaps our fair heroine forgets there would not be a threat in the first place if she hadn’t—”

“Becky!” Jocelyn whirled toward the younger girl. “If you say one more word I shall—”

“Stop it at once, both of you,” Marianne ordered. “Becky, you are not helping.”

“Will you promise me then?” Jocelyn held her breath.

Marianne nodded slowly. “I promise to do what I can to ensure your happiness. Whatever that entails.”

Jocelyn heaved a sigh of relief. Marianne’s vow wasn’t, in truth, very much, but it was at least something to hold on to, a tiny raft to keep Jocelyn’s spirits afloat. If she could cling to the belief that marriage to Beaumont was not permanent, she could take whatever came. At least for now. “Thank you.”

“You do realize annulment or divorce will not really put things right. It will not erase your marriage as if it never existed.” Sympathy shown on Marianne’s face. “Even if we manage to keep all of this secret, there is no way to privately obtain the dissolution of a marriage. Word will get out. There will be a certain amount of scandal.” She shook her head. “You will not be able to pick up your life as if nothing has happened.”

“I know.” Even as she said the words Jocelyn realized, deep down inside herself, she did indeed know her life would change forever. And nothing would ever be the same.

“Now, you must make me a promise,” Marianne said firmly. “Promise that you will keep in mind the fact that Beaumont too is making a sacrifice. That his life too will be changed irrevocably. And give me your word that you will at least try to accept this marriage for however long it may last.” She pulled her closer and kissed Jocelyn’s forehead. “We have been through far greater difficulties in our lives and survived. You will come through this unscathed.”

“Will I?” Jocelyn murmured.

“I for one have no doubt of it.” Becky grinned. “It takes a certain strength of character to be spoiled, shallow, and insufferable. A weaker nature couldn’t handle it at all.”

For a moment no one said a word. Then all three sisters burst into laughter.

“Thank you, Becky.” Jocelyn laughed. “No one quite puts me in my place the way you do.”

“Now then,” Marianne said with a smile. “Do I have your word? That you will at least try to be an acceptable wife.” Jocelyn opened her mouth to protest but Marianne cut her off. “Within reason, of course.”

“Very well. I promise. I will do my best to be rather less insufferable and to be an acceptable wife and a better person as well, I suppose.” Jocelyn sighed. “And I will try to remember he is in very much the same boat I am. But not tonight.” She smiled weakly. “Tonight I want to feel sorry for myself. And I want my sisters to be terribly sympathetic and I want you”—she looked at Becky—“to see if you can find any sweets in the kitchen that we can all share.”

“Now that’s the best idea I’ve heard tonight.” Becky started for the door, then stopped and turned back. “You know, Beaumont might have had the solution all along.”

“Oh?” Jocelyn raised a brow.

“Well, while there is a certain stigma to annulment or divorce there’s none to being a widow.” Becky’s voice carried a feigned note of innocence. “And didn’t Beaumont say the best you could hope for was to be a young widow?”

“Becky!” Marianne groaned. “Don’t give her any ideas.”

“I’ve had that one already, thank you.” Jocelyn wrinkled her nose. “It didn’t seem particularly practical.”

“Oh well.” Becky shrugged. “At least he’s handsome.”

With eyes that seemed to see into her very soul.

“And amusing,” Marianne said.

And arms that promised comfort and security.

“And wonderfully mysterious.” Becky nodded.

And a kiss that warmed her toes.

“It would be rather a shame to waste all that,” Jocelyn murmured. “I suppose I’m not spoiled enough to want Beaumont dead just so I can be his widow.

“Pity, I can’t see myself being his wife either.”