The Prince’s Bride (21 page)

Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her to the bed and set her down. He marveled
at her splendor as she lay before him like a lush golden goddess, exquisite in her
nudity. He tugged roughly at his cravat and ripped it from his throat. After tossing
it carelessly aside, he unbuttoned his brocade waistcoat, shrugged out of it in a
mad rush to rid himself of his clothes, pulled his shirt off over his head, and stepped
out of his breeches.

The warm summer air touched his flesh and heightened his senses. He clenched his hands
into fists as he beheld his bride on the bed. She was watching him with burning eyes.
Her gaze traveled down the length of his form, pausing to stare in fascination at
his large, rigid erection.

“I’ll try to be gentle,” he said in a strained voice, though he wasn’t entirely sure
he could be, for he wanted her like a raging, bucking stallion after a monthlong confinement
in the stalls.

As he climbed onto the bed and settled his weight upon her, he reveled in the softness
of her breasts and the flavor of her tongue, like sweet candy in his mouth. A wave
of sensual pleasure flooded to his groin and filled him with fierce carnal urges that
were violent in their intensity.

He stroked a hand down the luscious curve of her hip and the top of her soft warm
thigh, hooked his arm under her knee to allow his body to fit snugly into the warm
valley of her legs, parted just for him.

“I apologize in advance,” he said, “for my artless lack of foreplay, but I am impatient.”

“No need to apologize,” she replied in a rush of desire that matched his own in its
impetuosity. “All I want is to be yours, and give myself to you fully—body and soul.”

They were romantic words—too romantic for a man like him, who was accustomed to licentious
talk more suitable to endless nights of debauchery in unfamiliar rooms with nameless
strangers.

This was something else. Her heartfelt words touched his emotions and stirred his
passions in a way that was rare and new and completely foreign to him. He didn’t know
what to make of it.

*   *   *

Véronique sucked in a breath as Nicholas pushed into her, breaking at last through
the tight barrier of her virginity.

The pain was sharp and instant, unlike any other sensation. She did not possess the
experience to understand why she welcomed it, and was therefore amazed at the pleasure
that pulsed through her body, filling her with an urgent need for more. The pain did
not matter. To the contrary, she was enchanted by its intensity.

Nicholas let out a groan of profound satisfaction when he thrust as far as he could
into the feminine depths of her body. Véronique dug her fingernails into his back
and realized she was panting like an animal, wanting more.

He remained still, as if allowing her to become accustomed to the feel of him inside
her. Then slowly he began to move. He slid almost all the way out, then pushed in
again, filling her with sweet pulsating ecstasy for a second glorious moment.

Each time he withdrew, she clung to him and arched her back in sizzling anticipation,
knowing he would plunge into her again, and shoot an even hotter bolt of pleasure
into her core.

Then he rose above her, both arms braced on either side of her on the bed, and watched
her face as he perfected the rhythm of their coupling. Her eyes were open, but she
felt lost in a fog of sensual delight, all her attention focused on this sweet, hot,
pounding friction.

She let out a moan and writhed like a woman possessed.

Soon Nicholas’s movements quickened, and he shut his eyes as his mouth found hers,
wet and open in the fever of the night. She drank in the delicious taste of him as
their bodies pounded together in a rhythm that was both violent and graceful.

Their orgasms came quickly—hers first, as a trembling wave poured through her like
wine. She cried out while he continued to pump into her, prolonging the duration of
her climax until her body could throb no more. Then he released his own passions,
ejaculating into her with a hot rush of his seed.

Nearly delirious with exhaustion, Véronique let her arms fall to the sides while he
collapsed on top of her, his body heavy and damp with perspiration.

“Can you breathe?” he asked, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

“No,” she answered honestly, for he was built of hard sinewy muscle and fine thick
bones. The weight of him upon her slender frame was crushing.

He gently withdrew from her sweltering depths and rolled to lie beside her on the
bed. She welcomed the cool air upon her damp flesh, but regretted the loss of their
physical connection.

Lying on her back, she turned her head to look at him. With a slight frown, he was
staring up at the crimson velvet canopy over their heads. She worried that she had
not performed as well as others in his past.

He seemed to sense her eyes on him, and rolled to face her. “What did you do to me?”
he asked, his expression curious and bewildered.

“What do you mean?” she replied. “I thought it was you who did something to
me
tonight.”

His eyes searched all the corners of her face as if hoping to find answers; then he
searched lower, pausing at her breasts and taking in all the curves of her body in
the warm glow of the firelight. “I don’t want to go back,” he said. “Not yet.”

She leaned up on one elbow. “You mean to Petersbourg?”

He nodded and slid an arm around her waist to pull her closer. “We were married just
today. Don’t you think we deserve a honeymoon?”

She could not suppress a grin. “So we can do more of
this
?” She wiggled her hips to rub up against him. “I think it is a brilliant idea, because
I still have so much to learn.”

“And I intend to teach you everything. Besides that, we can attend your sister’s wedding.”
He flipped her over onto her back again and pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her
firmly, as if staking one more claim upon her; then he drew back and rose up on all
fours above her. His hair fell forward over his temples.

With a sudden burst of energy, he leaped off the bed and strode naked to the desk.
“I will write to my brother tonight and convey our happy news.” He searched around
for paper and quill, flipped open the lid of the ink jar, and immediately dipped his
writing utensil into it.

Véronique sat up and hugged the silk sheet to her breast. “How will you ever explain
any of this?” she said with a laugh.

“I’m not sure yet,” her husband replied. “I only hope he survives the shock of it.”

Petersbourg Palace, one week later …

King Randolph’s breathing was suspended momentarily as he blinked a few times and
struggled to refocus his vision on the words he could not possibly have read correctly.

He rose from his chair at the large table in the Privy Council Chamber and walked
to the window to hold the letter up to the light.

“What is it?” his wife, Alexandra, asked with concern as she set down her quill. She
had joined him at the table in the chamber a short while ago to answer her own correspondence,
and had obviously taken note of his surprise.

“It’s a letter from Nicholas,” he told her as he continued to read the rest of it.

“What does it say?”

Randolph laughed and lowered the letter to his side. “You will not believe it. He
is married!”

“I beg your pardon?” Alexandra held out a hand. “Let me see it for myself.”

Rand circled around the table and handed it to her. She read it quickly and looked
up. “It cannot be possible. This must be a hoax.”

“I don’t believe so,” Randolph replied. “I know my brother. He would never joke about
something like that. I assure you, he would find no humor in it.” He took the letter
back from her and reread some of the details. “It says he plans to stay in France
for a month to enjoy his newlywed status, but asks that we do not alert the newspapers
just yet, for he wants to present his bride properly upon his return.”

Alexandra shook her head in disbelief. “Who in God’s name is this unlikely bride?
She must be quite a woman to have succeeded where every other woman has failed before.
Nicholas! Married!
”

Randolph laughed in agreement. “It is a miracle, isn’t it?” He stared at his beloved
queen and smiled before referring back to the letter. “According to Nicholas, she
is of French descent, and he met her at a masked ball. He will explain everything
when he arrives at the end of the month. Until then, he intends to remain at d’Entremont
Manor, which he says is on the coast, near Dieppe.”

“I wonder if that is her family’s estate?” Alexandra asked.

Randolph flipped the letter over to look at the back. “He doesn’t say. He hasn’t even
told us her name. That is so like Nicholas.”

Alexandra’s eyebrows lifted. “I just hope he doesn’t find a way to turn this happy
event into another scandal—for that, too, would be so like Nicholas.”

Randolph sat down, tipped his head back to look up at the ceiling, and squeezed the
chair arms. “My God, you’re right. What if she’s a barmaid?”

“Or a widow with six children.”

He sighed as he regarded his wife in the fading light. “I suppose we should brace
ourselves for anything.”

PART II

A Prince’s Homecoming

Chapter Twenty

“Is something wrong, Nicholas?” Véronique asked as she sat forward in the coach and
laid a hand on her husband’s thigh. “You’ve seemed irritable since we crossed the
border.”

Not just irritable, she thought.
Distant.
All those leisurely days of sensual enchantment at d’Entremont Manor had been magical.
They had gone riding together each morning at dawn, and had dined privately by candlelight
in his bedchamber each night. He had loved her unreservedly and been a perfect husband,
but now it all seemed a lifetime away—as if it had been a mere dream, but it was time
to wake up. Soon they would return to
his
world, which would be strange and unfamiliar to her.

He propped an elbow on the windowsill of the coach while resting his temple on a finger.
Eventually he turned to look at her. “Have I?”

“Yes. You’ve hardly spoken to me. You seem lost in thought. I hope—now that we are
returning to your home—that you are not suddenly steeped in regret.”

She had known when she entered into this that it was a stretch to imagine he would
be a faithful husband. Even Nicholas had warned her against believing such a thing.
But she couldn’t help herself. She would not give up on him.

He angled his body on the seat to face her. “I suppose I don’t enjoy endless coach
rides over bumpy roads, but you are mad if you think I could have any regrets. How
many times must I tell you? You are my obsession.” He pressed his lips to hers, and
she was immediately pulled into the intoxicating fire of his allure.

He was her husband now, and their month together in France had been the most pleasurable
of her life. Surely she had nothing to fret about, for later today, they would reach
Petersbourg Palace and she would meet his brother, the king.

She had married a handsome prince, and she was the luckiest woman on earth. It was
time to embrace her new life.

*   *   *

There was some talk of having Véronique formally presented to Randolph and Alexandra
in the throne room, but Nicholas quashed that idea when he barged into his brother’s
private apartments and found him dozing on the bed at four o’clock in the afternoon.

“I roll into the courtyard after two months in France, and you cannot be bothered
to get out of bed and welcome me home?”

Randolph sat up. “Nicholas!” He leaped off the bed, strode quickly across the room,
and pulled Nicholas into his arms. He slapped him heartily on the back. “Welcome home!
We didn’t expect you until next week.”

Nicholas collapsed into a chair before the unlit fireplace. “The weather was good.
We made excellent time.”

“The weather was good? That’s all you have to say?” Randolph chuckled as he uncorked
a decanter and poured a couple of brandies.

“Should there be more?” Nicholas responded with teasing mischief.

“Bloody well right there should be. Your letter nearly knocked me unconscious when
I read it.” He handed the drink to Nicholas and sat down in the facing chair. “And
poor Alexandra … The next day she thought she had been hallucinating.”

Nicholas contemplated the amber liquid in the crystal glass and swirled it around.
“I thought the same thing myself when I woke up to find myself in bed with a wife.
Good God.”

Randolph laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “What the devil happened? Did the
woman put some sort of spell on you?”

“Not exactly. She drugged me with laudanum, though,” he casually added as he tipped
up his glass and poured the entire contents down his throat.

Randolph threw his head back and laughed. “I’m sure she did. Then she tied you up
like a prize sow and dragged your drunken ass to the altar, no doubt.”

Nicholas leaned forward. “We both know I am no sow.”

“Indeed.” Randolph raised his glass as if to toast to Nicholas’s gentlemanly charms
and renowned good looks. He took a drink, then lounged back in his chair again. “Damn,
it’s good to have you back. And I might as well tell you now. I’ve already bestowed
a new royal title on you. You are the Duke and Duchess of Walbrydge. It comes with
a property, of course. Now, tell me, really—how did you two meet, and how in God’s
name did she convince you to propose? No doubt she is a beauty, but did she have any
idea what she was getting into when she said yes?”

“Probably not,” Nicholas replied, “and she is indeed a beauty. You will see for yourself
when you meet her, but I warn you, the French accent is somewhat … inebriating.” He
raised the empty brandy glass to reference the effect.

“I don’t doubt it.” They clinked their glasses together; then Randolph reached for
the decanter and refilled Nicholas’s drink. They sat back in easy companionship and
sighed heavily.