The Prince’s Bride (3 page)

The silence went on and on.

“Your Highness?” she said. “Are you there?”

Of course he was there. He was locked inside.

The floorboards creaked on the other side of the door. “
Why
is the door locked?” he asked, and she recognized the height of his agitation.

“Because I am not supposed to let you out. You are to remain here until Tuesday, when
Lord d’Entremont arrives. I believe he wishes to speak to you about something. If
you will notice, there are fresh clean clothes for you in the wardrobe.”

“Who is Lord d’Entremont? And where are we?” Nicholas asked, ignoring her reference
to the clothes.

“He is a French marquis, and this is his house. We are near Dieppe.”

He paused. “Have I met him before?”

“I do not know.”

Another pause. “What does he wish to speak with me about?”

“I am sorry … but I do not know the answer to that question either.”

The sound of Nicholas’s heavy footsteps pacing back and forth behind the door caused
her to look sharply at the doorknob. She was expecting him to break through at any
second, and was tempted to open the door to avoid such a calamity, for she was not
equipped to do battle with him physically. But she could not risk that he might flee
before d’Entremont arrived.

“What is your relationship to the marquis?” he asked.

Gabrielle squeezed Véronique’s hand. “I am simply—” She hesitated, for she wasn’t
sure how to explain it. “—I am his courier, so to speak.”

The pacing stopped. “Are you telling me that you were hired to deliver me here? That
he is paying you?”

She saw no benefit in lying to Nicholas. He was not a fool. He was already seeing
this plot for what it was, and he would only grow more frustrated if she withheld
information from him. She would therefore reveal as much as she could.

“That is correct,” she said, “but I have not yet been paid. I will receive nothing
until he arrives and speaks to you.”

“On Tuesday,” Nicholas added.

She labored to keep her breathing steady and under control, even while this strange
conversation from opposite sides of a locked door was taking a dreadful toll on her
nerves.

“Yes.”

Again he was quiet, then: “You are aware—I hope—that what you have done is against
the law. It is kidnapping, Véronique, and I am a person who will most definitely be
missed. I am a prince of Petersbourg, here in France for diplomatic purposes. When
my brother finds out what has occurred, there will be serious consequences. Are you
sure you want to be involved in such a plot? If you unlock this door now and take
me back to Paris tonight, I give you my word that I will not press charges against
you. I don’t even know your last name, for pity’s sake. Let me out of here now, take
me back to Paris, and I will allow you to simply walk away from this. No questions
asked. Then I will deal with d’Entremont separately.”

Her mind was now swimming in panic, but she would not be deterred. She had promised
the marquis that she would deliver and hold Prince Nicholas here until Tuesday, and
she would not let anything keep her from doing so, for they had an agreement, and
she needed the marquis to fulfill his part of it.

“I am sorry, Your Highness, but I cannot take you back to Paris. You must remain here.”

His angry footsteps approached the door, and he banged so hard on it that it rattled
in the jamb. Both she and Gabrielle jumped back to the opposite wall, as if he were
coming at them with a knife and there was no door to protect them.

But there
was
a door, and they were safe. At least for now. She must not lose her courage.

“What does he want to see me about?” Nicholas asked again.

“I told you before, I don’t know.”

“Does it have something to do with Bonaparte?”

Véronique gave no answer, for she did not know the marquis’s intentions, nor did it
matter. She only wanted her house back.

“Does he want me to negotiate for the emperor’s freedom? Because I assure you, he
will be wasting his time discussing such a thing with me, especially if he means to
get what he wants through barbaric methods such as this.”

“Please believe me, Your Highness. I have no idea why he wants to see you. He did
not share that information with me.”

Gabrielle leaned close to her and whispered, “You don’t think the marquis will harm
him, do you?”

Véronique immediately put her finger to her lips to hush her sister.

“Who is that?” Nicholas asked. “Who is with you?”

“No one,” Véronique replied. “I was talking to myself.”

He was quiet for a few heated seconds, and all Véronique wanted to do was flee. She
didn’t want to have anything more to do with this, but she must weather it. She must.

“Whatever he is paying you,” Nicholas said, “I will double it.”

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow.

Véronique shook her head and mouthed the word
no.

Gabby rolled her eyes and shrugged in defeat. Then she took hold of Véronique’s arm
and pulled her down the hall, farther away from the door. “Why can’t we just put a
bullet in his brain?” she whispered.

“I hope you are not referring to the prince,” Véronique whispered in reply.

“Of course not. It’s Lord d’Entremont who needs to be murdered. Or locked up—and somewhere
a lot worse than this. Where can we find a dark dungeon with rats?”

Again, Véronique lifted a finger to say
hush,
and returned to the door.

“I can hear you whispering,” Nicholas said. “I know you are not working alone, so
I will ask again. Take me back to Paris tonight, and I will triple whatever he is
paying you.”

Véronique sighed heavily. “I told you that we cannot accept your offer. Again, I apologize
for this, Your Highness. We do not mean to cause you any distress or discomfort, but
you must wait for Lord d’Entremont. Do you have everything you need? Are you comfortable?”

Silence again. Then: “Am I comfortable?
Are you bloody insane?
”

Véronique stepped forward and placed her open hand flat on the door. “Please be patient,
sir. I will make sure dinner is brought to you posthaste, and I will try to make this
as painless as possible. You must trust me.”

She didn’t feel quite right speaking those words, however, because she had no idea
what the marquis intended to do with Prince Nicholas when he arrived. Or why he had
wanted him brought here in the first place.

“What I’d really like to do is wring your neck,” Nicholas said in a quiet, threatening
voice that caused her blood to run cold in her veins.

The memory of their thrilling encounter at the ball danced through her mind. She closed
her eyes and rested her forehead against the door as she recalled the touch of his
lips on her neck, and the way he spoke about the loss of his father, and other intimate
things. He probably regretted all of that now. Regretted ever setting eyes on her,
which filled her with sadness, for there would never be another flirtation with this
man, nor any more intimate conversations.

“I would like to say that was uncalled for,” she replied, “but I suppose I deserve
it.”

“Yes. That and a whole lot more. You’re making a mistake, Véronique.”

She had a knot in her stomach the size of a turnip, but she could not let her emotions
steer her away from this task. She had been warned that Prince Nicholas was a handsome
and charismatic rogue who enjoyed sexual conquests. She could not allow herself to
fall for his charms—though he was hardly charming at the moment when he expressed
such an urgent desire to wring her neck.

“I will have a meal sent to you now,” she said, stepping away from the door. “And
you are correct. I am not working alone, so there is no point trying to break down
the door and escape. There are guards here,” she lied, “and no one will care if you
continue to shout and pound on the door. You will only tire yourself. I therefore
suggest that you make yourself comfortable and read one of the books on the shelf
by the window. I was told that Lord d’Entremont selected those books for you personally.
They came from his private library.”

“Are you suggesting I should feel honored?”

Véronique wiped the back of her hand across her perspiring forehead. “I am simply
trying to make this as painless as possible for you, sir. Now I must go and arrange
for your dinner.”

Turning away, she met Gabrielle’s concerned gaze and signaled for her to follow quickly.

Véronique was surprised that her prisoner offered no further protest. She and her
sister were able to escape to the staircase—without hearing any more angry or profane
demands.

*   *   *

Bloody hell,
he wanted to do far worse than wring her neck.…

Nicholas backed away from the door and curled his hands into tight, murderous fists.

When he thought about how Véronique had smiled at him from beneath that bejeweled
mask when their eyes first met at the ball—how she had appeared so demure and innocent—he
wanted to spit. Every detail of their encounter had been part of this sinister plot
to lure him to her coach, drug him, and abduct him in the dead of night to the French
coast.

Was Véronique even her real name?

Damn it all to hell.

Nicholas turned away from the door, stalked to the window, and looked out at the Channel.

God help her when he found a way out of this room, for he would not rest until she
was rotting away in a prison somewhere, just as Napoléon would soon be doing.

Chapter Three

A supper tray arrived through a secret compartment in the wall, which enraged Nicholas
to a heightened degree after he’d spent a full hour waiting at the door, listening
for footsteps, while brandishing a vase over his head.

Nevertheless, when he heard the sound of a sliding door and the switch of a latch
behind a picture frame, and discovered a hot dinner of roast lamb with spiced gravy
and a full bottle of fine French wine, he was not entirely disappointed, for he needed
his sustenance if he was going to deal with his captors effectively.

And who were his captors, exactly? he wondered as he wolfed down the tender meat and
enjoyed more than half the bottle of wine, followed by a dessert of flaky raspberry
pie and a selection of sweet biscuits and cream.

As soon as he finished the meal, he slid the knife into his breast pocket and set
the bottle on his bedside table.

When the sun went down he found matches on the mantel, briefly considered setting
the bed on fire to force someone to open the door, but decided against such a drastic
escape strategy in case everyone decided to save themselves and leave him to burn.

Instead, he lit the lamp on the desk and inspected the collection of books that had
been selected for him by the mysterious marquis himself.

Who the hell was he, and why did he think he could abduct a prince and live to tell
about it? It’s not as if the marquis was anonymous. Nicholas knew where he lived.

Ah, Christ. That did not bode well.

What the devil was the man up to? What did he want?

*   *   *

Véronique woke the following morning to the sound of glass smashing and a woman screaming
outside.

Tossing the covers aside, she leaped out of bed and ran to the window. Down below
on the flagstone terrace was a desk and chair, both smashed to bits, and her sister,
Gabrielle, was looking up at Prince Nicholas’s window and shouting.
“Are you mad? You could have killed me!”
She pointed a finger at him. “Go ahead and try. Unless you have wings, sir, you’ll
fall to your death!”

Was he trying to climb out the window?

Not bothering to pull on a robe, Véronique dashed to the door in her nightdress and
flew into the corridor. Her hair was fluttering about her shoulders when she reached
the prince’s door and banged on it with a fist.

“Prince Nicholas! What have you done? You mustn’t endanger yourself! And please do
not vandalize the marquis’s property! I hear he values his furniture.”

Values his furniture? Oh, that was convincing. She grimaced at herself.

“Please come to the door and talk to me,” she continued in a calming voice. “How can
I help you?”

She heard the terrifying sound of his heavy boots pounding across the floor and experienced
a renewed surge of panic.

Again she found herself recalling those first few moments in the coach when he’d kissed
her—when she feared she might forget her purpose and allow him to ravish her.

She could not imagine being alone with him now. He was a beast with a dangerous roar.

Shaking away such imaginings, she laid her open hand on the door and listened. “Are
you there?”

“Yes, I am here,” he replied from the other side. His voice was low and wrathful,
very close to the door.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “You could have hurt someone.”

“Like your sister?” he replied. “And don’t pretend that’s not who she is. The resemblance
is obvious, except she has red hair and you are very blond.”

Damn him. She had hoped to keep Gabrielle’s presence here a secret, but it was too
late now. He knew. They would have to be very careful when this was over. They would
have to hide for a while.

“Yes, that was my sister,” she confessed. “I do not appreciate you frightening her
like that.”

“
Frightening
her?” he scoffed. “She didn’t appear the least bit frightened. In fact, she has quite
a colorful vocabulary. She called me a despicable rogue—among other things—which was
wholly unfair, since I am the victim here, not she.”

“Two steps to the left and she would have been victimized quite mortally,” Véronique
argued. “That was very dangerous, sir. Do not do it again.”

“I’ll do whatever I damn well please, Véronique—and worse—if you do not open this
door in the next three minutes.”

Véronique swallowed over her rising impatience. “I cannot do that. Not until Lord
d’Entremont arrives.”