The Prince’s Bride (10 page)

Had he taken any further liberties? Had she been willing?

Glancing around the room one last time, knowing there was no answer to be found—and
feeling unsettled by the lingering passion that still coursed through her body—she
moved to the door, and slipped out.

A moment later she was sneaking into her own room—making an effort not to wake her
sister—when she discovered that bed to be empty as well.

Gabrielle’s voice reached her from the floor beneath the window. “Is that you, Véronique?”

“Good heavens, are you all right?” Véronique hurried around the foot of the bed.

Gabrielle slung an elbow onto the mattress. “This must be some sort of moral punishment,
for I have never been so ill in all my life. I should mention that this is a very
fine chamber pot. There are butterflies on the inside, but now they are swimming.”

Hooking her arms under Gabrielle’s, Véronique helped her sister to her feet and back
onto the bed. “Can I fetch you anything? Some dry toast perhaps?”

Gabrielle held up a hand in disgust. “Do not mention food. I simply need to lie still
for a while. It usually passes by noon.”

“Why didn’t you tell me it was so bad?”

“You know I couldn’t. And this is the worst day, by far.”

Véronique tucked her sister back into bed and sat with her.

“Where were you last night?” Gabby asked with eyes closed. “I was worried. I went
to listen at Prince Nicholas’s door, but it was quiet inside.”

Véronique let out a heavy sigh. “I am mortified to confess that we drank Pierre’s
wine with the laudanum, and both fell asleep.”

Gabby’s eyes flew open, and she smirked. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am completely.”

“Well, it appears I am not the only one being punished. To spend the night alone with
a man like that, and to fall asleep at the outset?” She frowned up at her. “Is that
all that happened?”

“Do not worry about me,” Véronique replied. “I have a headache. That is all.”

“I wasn’t referring to your head. I am asking about your heart.”

Véronique appreciated her sister’s concern, but she really did not wish to discuss
it. “My heart is fine, and my head will be fine in a few hours.”

She rubbed Gabrielle’s back until she appeared to be drifting back to sleep, then
carefully slipped into bed beside her and did the same.

*   *   *

The sun was streaming brightly through the windows when Véronique woke for the second
time that morning. She sat up and squinted at the clock on the mantel. It was past
eleven.

At least the headache was gone. She felt only slightly groggy.

Looking around, she saw that Gabrielle was no longer in bed. “Gabby? Are you here?”

When no answer came, she assumed her sister had gone to the breakfast room, for they
had been informed there would be no more meals delivered on trays now that the marquis
had returned.

Thinking the same thing might be in order for herself, Véronique rose and washed and
changed into a sea green muslin morning dress, something appropriate for her meeting
with Lord d’Entremont—for she would think of nothing else until she had the deed to
her father’s property in her hands.

A short while later, she ventured downstairs to the breakfast room, where a single
footman was in attendance, and served herself a plate of eggs and biscuits from the
sideboard. She sat down at the white-clothed table, picked up her fork, and ate her
breakfast while sipping a cup of hot coffee, which the footman refilled for her twice.

Afterwards, she wiped her mouth with the marquis’s fine silk napkin, tossed the square
onto the table, and departed from the room with resolve.

She went first to the library to seek out d’Entremont, but found no one there. On
her way out, she nearly collided head-on with Monsieur Fournier, the butler.

“Good morning, mademoiselle. May I assist you with something?”

“Yes. I need to speak with Lord d’Entremont, and it is a matter of utmost urgency.”

“I am afraid the marquis is unavailable at present.”

She regarded him unwaveringly. “He is here, is he not? He spoke to Prince Nicholas
last night. It is almost noon. Surely he can find time to see me for a few minutes.
That is all I ask.”

The butler shook his head. “Please accept the marquis’s apologies, but he cannot see
you now.”

“Why not?” she demanded. “We had an agreement, and I have fulfilled my part of it.
Now he must fulfill his.”

The butler spoke with sympathy, which grated upon her nerves, for she did not want
his pity. She wanted what belonged to her.

“I am sure he will be pleased to see you, mademoiselle, but you must wait until he
sends for you.”

“Why must everything occur according to
his
schedule?” she asked. “Perhaps I am in a hurry to leave.”

The butler’s eyes darkened with the first signs of his impatience. “May I remind you
that his ‘schedule’ is very limited? He will not be long for this world, so pardon
me if I do not consider your wishes this morning to be more important than his comforts.”

She was taken aback by the butler’s uncompromising reply, and found it impossible
to argue or make further demands.

“When can I see him?” she asked, more gently this time.

“I will send for you when he indicates that he is ready to accept visitors.”

He turned and walked away, but she followed. “Please remind him that he owes me something,
and I must see him today.”

The butler continued without looking back. “I will deliver your message.”

*   *   *

Nicholas stood at the library window, looking out at the wide expanse of manicured
gardens, rolling green hills, and the thick forest beyond. The windstorm the night
before had left branches strewn about the lawn. A gardener was outside with a wheelbarrow,
carefully raking around the shrubs and flowerbeds, gathering up the debris.

The activity outside distracted him only briefly, however, from his thoughts about
what had occurred the night before. When Véronique had held out her arms to him and
invited him to join her on the bed, he had acted too quickly and surrendered to his
desires.

After the news he had received from Lord d’Entremont, he supposed he had wanted and
needed a woman’s comfort—which was odd, for
comfort
was not something he ever sought from women. And he had not yet forgiven Véronique
for her deception when she lured him out of that Paris ballroom.

His bitterness toward her, however, had been shattered almost instantly by the scent
of her soft skin, the sweet blush coloring her cheeks, and the breathlessness in her
voice. The fact that she had kidnapped him a few nights ago seemed suddenly a thousand
miles away.

“Let me kiss you.” He had spoken the words across her lips as he settled his body
on top of hers.

She’d had too much wine; he had known it was the source of her bold invitation, yet
he could not bring himself to behave as a gentleman should and suggest that he escort
her back to her own room.

No … that was the furthest thing from his mind when his gaze swept to her soft, lush
breasts, and he found himself drawn in closer in a strangely emotional way that left
him almost flustered—for it was a novel concept for Nicholas to feel anything outside
of physical pleasure when in bed with a beautiful woman.

The door to the library opened, and Nicholas turned to see the butler enter with Monsieur
Bellefontaine, the estate steward. Introductions were made, and the butler left them
alone.

“You requested a private appointment with me,” Nicholas said.

“Indeed, Your Highness. Lord d’Entremont has asked me to escort you on a tour of the
grounds, if you would be so gracious as to accept his offer. I would like to take
you to the village and show you the flour mill, which is part of the marquis’s holdings.
Then I will show you the tenant cottages. We could finish up with a brief drive past
the vineyard and winery.”

Nicholas clasped his hands behind his back and took a long, scrutinizing look at the
man. The steward appeared to be in his late fifties, and while not very tall, he was
slender and fit-looking. His ginger-colored hair receded only slightly at the temples.
There was an obvious air of pride and confidence in his demeanor, for he held his
head high.

“How long have you managed the estate?” Nicholas asked.

“Twenty-one years, sir. I inherited the position from my father who served the former
marquis for thirty-one years … until the Terror. He died under the guillotine. The
marquis fled to England until it was safe to return and reclaim his property. I quietly
managed everything in his absence.”

Nicholas considered all of this. “A loyal bunch, your family must be.”

“Yes, sir.”

Turning back to the window, Nicholas looked toward the horizon. “I presume you intend
to impress me today with the marquis’s possessions?”

“That is the goal.”

“At least you are honest,” Nicholas said.

Bellefontaine bowed his head slightly to answer in the affirmative.

Nicholas took time to consider his options. Part of him wanted nothing to do with
Lord d’Entremont or his impressive land holdings. He just wanted to leave here and
forget any of this had ever happened. He wanted to return to the world he knew in
Petersbourg, where he lived a life of superficial, hedonistic pleasures, always believing
himself to be the legitimate son of King Frederick I. Never questioning the past.
Never revisiting certain memories.

Now everything was turned upside down and he felt completely cut off from the man
he thought he was.

“I will go with you on one condition,” he said at last.

“What is it, sir?”

“You must extend the invitation to include Mademoiselle Véronique, who was my escort
from Paris.”

Bloody hell, he still didn’t know her last name.

The steward remained silent. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed over some obvious
discomfort. “I would be pleased to extend the invitation,” he replied nevertheless.
“If you will give me a moment, sir, I will make the necessary arrangements with Fournier.”

He left the room and returned a few minutes later.

“Fournier has gone to knock on the young lady’s door. I have asked him to bring her
out front to join us in the barouche. If you wish to accompany me now, we can wait
for her there.”

Disconcerted by how strongly he wanted Véronique at his side for this tour of the
estate, Nicholas followed Monsieur Bellefontaine out of the library.

Chapter Ten

It was past noon when Véronique exited the house onto the shady step beneath the massive
front portico of d’Entremont Manor. There was not a single cloud in the sky. The sun
beamed hot and bright, forcing her to squint as she descended the wide stone steps.

The open barouche, drawn by a pair of handsome white horses, stood parked at the curb
with the hood down, waiting for her. Nicholas and the steward, Monsieur Bellefontaine,
were already seated inside. As soon as Nicholas spotted her, however, he alighted
from the vehicle.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of his strong athletic form—which made her wonder
if she would be able to keep her head and behave sensibly over the next few hours.

But she must. She absolutely must.

When at last she reached him, he held out a gloved hand to assist her up the iron
step, which had been lowered by a footman.

“Good afternoon.” His charming smile reached his eyes, and fleeting images of the
night before flashed in her mind. She couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” she replied with a brief curtsy. “How good of you
to invite me to join you.”

“My pleasure entirely.”

Was he, too, thinking of last night? And what exactly had happened beyond the first
kiss? Did he remember everything? Should she ask him?

She stepped into the open carriage and took a seat across from the steward, who gave
her a polite nod. “How nice to see you again, Mademoiselle Montagne.”

“Greetings, Monsieur Bellefontaine. How is your family?”

“Very well, thank you,” he replied.

It was a forced courtesy on both sides, for the last time they met, she had begged
him to convince the marquis to show her father mercy and not take possession of the
card table winnings from the night before.

Monsieur Bellefontaine had been contrary and uncooperative. They did not part on friendly
terms. She had called him a swine.

She found herself clenching her jaw slightly at the memory of that morning meeting
and the pretense of their easy familiarity just now, when she would have preferred
to jab a hatpin into his knee.

Prince Nicholas slid onto the seat beside her and lounged back comfortably. “Mademoiselle
Montagne…,” he said with eyes narrowing slightly, and she realized it was the first
time he had heard her last name.

She felt a shiver of unease while he studied her face in the sunshine, for her identity
was now out in the open. He would be fully within his rights to charge her with kidnapping,
if he so desired. Which was why she must maintain a cordial friendship with him, at
the very least.

He turned to the steward. “You wish to show me the grounds, Monsieur Bellefontaine?”
he said, indicating that he was ready to begin.

Véronique wondered if he simply wanted to hurry things up and be done with it, or
if he was genuinely curious about what could belong to him if he accepted the marquis
as his father.

Would Nicholas be invited to tour
her
family home next? It was, after all, part of the marquis’s legal holdings. Perhaps
that was why she had been asked to join them.

The steward rested a hand on the ivory handle of his walking stick. “Do you have any
preference about what you would like to see first?”

Nicholas turned to meet Véronique’s gaze—as if he were seeking the wisdom of her opinion.
“Tell me, mademoiselle, where should we go?”