The Prince’s Bride (4 page)

When at last Nicholas spoke, his tone was only slightly less threatening. “Are you
afraid I will try to escape?”

“Yes,” she replied. “That is my main concern. If you are not here when the marquis
arrives, I will not be paid what he has promised me.”

“It cannot be money that you want,” Nicholas said. “Otherwise, you would have accepted
my offer to triple the amount. Does he have some sort of hold over you? Is it blackmail?”

Véronique could almost feel the heat of her unease burning through her veins, for
it was no small matter to have a powerful prince asking about her welfare, as if he
actually cared.

She did not dare tell him anything, however, for she could not be sure he was not
simply manipulating her to get what he wanted. She could not be sure he would not
use it against her somehow.

At the same time, she wanted desperately to confide in him and reveal Lord d’Entremont’s
cruelty and unfairness. She wanted to say horrible things about the marquis, confess
her loathing, and drag his name through the mud, but she could not. Not now, when
her home hung in the balance, and he held control of everything.

“I do not wish to say one way or the other,” she carefully replied.

“Well, that is as good as a yes.” Nicholas was quiet for a moment; then he scratched
a finger against the door, which made her draw back in surprise.

“What if I promise not to leave?” he softly said. “What if I give you my word as a
gentleman that I will remain here inside the house until Tuesday?”

His voice was soothing, and she found herself listening to his request, considering
whether or not she could trust him. Then she struggled to knock some sense into herself.
“I cannot take that chance.”

“Why? Do you not trust my word? Do you believe I would endanger you? All I ask is
to be treated like a guest, not a prisoner.”

“You just threw a desk out the window, sir. That is hardly the behavior of a proper
guest.”

He paused. “I was at my wit’s end. I needed to do
something
to get your attention.”

There was a spark of flirtation in his tone, which filled her with mistrust. Véronique
knew that he wanted something from her—namely his freedom—and he would likely say
anything to get it.

“I am sorry,” she firmly said. “You must be patient and wait until Tuesday. Is there
anything else I can do for you? More books perhaps? Do you have a set of playing cards
in there?”

She heard the sound of something going
plunk
against the door. His forehead?

Oh, she was not enjoying this. She didn’t want to keep him locked up. She wanted to
open the door and see him. Talk to him. Apologize for flirting with him, and slipping
laudanum into his champagne glass.

“Please, Véronique,” he said. “I am begging you. If you unlock the door, I promise
I will behave.”

Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest, and again she had to remember that he was
a seductive genius. He knew how to play women like musical instruments.

“Try to think of this as a holiday … some much-needed time to yourself to do nothing
but lie around and daydream. Surely a man in your position rarely enjoys such a luxury.”

She heard his finger scratch the door again and moved closer to press her ear up against
it. She could hear him breathing.

“I wish you would trust me,” he whispered, so close, only an inch away, as if he knew
exactly where her ear was resting.

Her body grew warm. It felt as if he were close enough to touch. She could almost
feel his breath on her neck.

“What does he hold over you?” Nicholas asked. “Tell me. I can help you. You and your
sister.”

She forced herself to back away. “No, I don’t think you can.”

But that wasn’t entirely true. He was a prince. He could do anything. She simply wasn’t
sure that she could trust him to follow through on such a promise. Not after what
she had done to him.

“Please do not make this more difficult than it already is,” she said. “Just wait
for the marquis.”

“Fine,” he replied. “If that’s the way it must be. But I will ask something of you
in return.”

“Yes?”

A few seconds passed. Did he even know what he wanted to ask?

“I promise not to destroy any more furniture,” he said, “or throw anything out the
window—myself included—if you will come again and talk to me, to help pass the time.
Perhaps bring a chair and stay awhile.”

Véronique wasn’t sure if he genuinely desired her company, or if this was a clever
scheme to trick her into eventually opening the door for him.

It didn’t matter, she supposed, because she wasn’t going to break. She had come this
far. The hard part was over. She’d be a fool to throw it all away now.

“Fine,” she said, “I will return in a short while after I am dressed.”

“You’re not dressed?” he inquired, almost playfully. “You are truly bent upon torturing
me, aren’t you?”

Véronique couldn’t help but chuckle at the flattery, even while she suspected it was
another form of trickery.

“You’re wasting your time if you think you’ll be able to charm me into setting you
free,” she told him. “I know your reputation, remember?”

“I remember a lot of things.”

Dear Lord. He was impossibly charming when he wanted to be. Just the sound of his
voice sent her spinning back into the excitement of their brief encounter in the coach,
when he had touched her so enticingly.

But she must be sensible. There could be no further intimacies between them.

“I will return later,” she said decorously as she turned to go. She stopped, however,
when she spotted Pierre at the far end of the corridor, leaning one shoulder against
the wall, picking at his teeth with a small stick as he watched her.

Pierre … who had driven the coach and helped carry Nicholas to this room. Pierre …
who held the key to the lock and was the only person who could open the compartment
to deliver meals to the prince.…

Suddenly conscious of her improper state of dress, Véronique gathered her collar in
a fist and closed it about her neck as she approached him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “And how long have you been listening?”

“Long enough,” he replied. “After the commotion on the terrace, I had to check on
His Royal High and Mighty. The marquis won’t be pleased when he finds out about that
desk.”

Véronique raised her chin. “Do not look at me as if it is my fault. The marquis will
have no one to blame but himself. I would consider it the proper cost of locking a
man up against his will.”

Pierre always seemed to wear a permanent scowl on his face, and this morning was no
different. “Someone’s going to have to clean that up,” he said, “and it ain’t gonna
be me.”

She squared her shoulders. “Why
not
you? You’re as much a part of this as I am.”

“I have to go fetch him his breakfast.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then I suggest you alert the butler. Though I suspect he’s
already aware of the situation.”

Pierre had made it clear when they arrived that he did not get on well with the servants.
He worked among them, but considered himself apart—and above them. He wouldn’t enjoy
having to speak to the butler about such a matter, for the butler was an intimidating
man and did not consider Pierre to be his superior.

Véronique tried to shoulder her way past Pierre, but he grabbed hold of her arm. “I’ve
got my eye on you.”

He gazed leeringly down the length of her body.

Véronique pulled her arm free from his grasp, gave him a fierce look of warning, and
quickly headed back to her own chamber.

Chapter Four

Nicholas was pacing back and forth in front of the bed when the sound of the sliding
door in the wall alerted him to the arrival of breakfast.

Immediately, he moved to the large portrait that swung open on squeaky hinges, and
opened a second door that slid upward like a sash window. There, in the large compartment,
he found a tray with eggs, toast, and coffee. The aroma filled his nostrils and fed
his obsessive desire to find a way out of here.

After removing the tray, he set it on the nearby chest of drawers, then tried again
to open the second sliding door at the back, but it was locked securely, as it had
been the night before.

He had checked behind all the other portraits in the room to search for another means
of escape, but found nothing. It was as if this room had been constructed for the
purpose of keeping someone prisoner and delivering meals.

What sort of place was this, and what did the French lord want from him?

He would find out soon enough, he supposed. In the meantime, he must keep up his strength
and prepare for his meeting with the marquis. Or preferably, escape before that moment
arrived. So he dug into his breakfast and ate heartily.

As he spooned some fruit preserves onto a slice of toast and bit into it, he considered
his plan for the day. His best hope was Véronique. He would do what he must to win
her trust before Tuesday. In fact, he would do whatever was required, for he didn’t
know what the marquis had planned for him.

It was going to be an interesting day, he realized, because despite all the charm
he was about to send through that locked door, he still wanted to wring her bloody
neck, and would take great pleasure in doing so, as soon as he had the chance.

*   *   *

“Slow down, you’re going too fast,” Gabrielle complained as she struggled awkwardly
to help Véronique carry the blue upholstered chair down the corridor toward the prince’s
chamber.

“Try to keep up,” Véronique replied, walking backwards. “Is that better?”

“Yes, but what are you going to do in this chair all day? What will he want to talk
about? Does he want you to read to him, or sing to him?”

Véronique glanced over her shoulder to ensure she didn’t bump into anything. “I’m
not certain. All he said was that he wanted company to help pass the time.”

Shuffling along in their heavy skirts, fumbling with the chair, they finally reached
the prince’s chamber and set their cargo down.

“Be careful,” Gabrielle whispered. “He might have some dastardly plan in mind.”

They both turned their heads at the sound of Nicholas striding across the floor inside
the locked room.

“Is that you, Véronique?” he asked.

“Yes. I am here with Gabrielle. She helped me carry the chair.”

“Were there no servants at hand to perform such a task?”

Gabrielle’s eyes shot to Véronique’s, and she frowned.

“There are plenty of servants here,” Véronique explained, “but the marquis has instructed
them to keep out of this wing until he returns.”

“Ah, so my imprisonment is a secret.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He paused. “What about the driver who brought me here? Has he been sworn to secrecy
as well?”

“Yes.”

They were all quiet.

“Is your sister still with you?” he asked.

Véronique gestured for Gabby to reply.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she said. “I am here.”

Silence again.

“We have not been formally introduced,” he said. “I am Prince Nicholas of Petersbourg.
It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Gabrielle couldn’t help herself. She curtsied. It was all very strange. “It is an
honor, sir.”

“Yes … well, I must apologize for nearly crushing you with the desk earlier today.
It was not my intention. I simply didn’t see you there.”

“Apology accepted,” she replied. Then she darted a glance at Véronique and grinned
like a schoolgirl before mouthing the words:
He’s lovely.

Véronique put her hands on Gabby’s shoulders and turned her around to face the other
direction. “My sister was just leaving,” she said.

With a teasing smirk, Gabby headed back to their own chamber.

A moment later, Véronique sat down, while the sound of a chair being dragged across
the floor inside the room kept her waiting. She heard Nicholas sit down as well.

“What do you wish to talk about?” she asked. All her senses drummed with awareness
as she leaned forward. His chair creaked as he settled into it.

“You,” he replied in a low voice. “Put your hand up against the door,” he added. “Place
it flat on the middle panel, halfway down.”

“Why?”

“It’s lonely in here, Véronique, and I have not been able to think of much else besides
the other night when you lured me out of the ball. Have
you
thought about it?”

She tried to fight it, but was compelled to answer honestly. “Yes, I have.”

Closing her eyes, she imagined his open palm on the other side, only an inch or so
away, and ran the pad of a finger over the smooth texture of the wood.

“What specifically do you think about?” he asked.

Her heart fluttered like the wings of a bird, and it took some effort to speak in
a steady voice. “Our conversations, mostly.”

That was a lie.

He was quiet. “You don’t think of how we danced? Or how it felt when we were finally
alone together in the coach, and I held you in my arms? Or was the spark between us
all an act?”

“It was not an act,” she said. “But that is irrelevant, because we will not see each
other again after this. Besides, I am not the sort of woman who routinely leaves masked
balls with strangers. That part, at least, was an act.”

“I see.”

Her arm was growing tired, so she lowered her hands to her lap.

“Is there anything else I should know that was not real?” he asked. “You are not married,
are you? Or betrothed to someone?”

“No, I am unwed.”

“With no chaperone that night.”

“The masks made it possible,” she explained. “I entered without revealing my true
identity to anyone.”

“Not even to me,” he replied with a sigh.

She heard him stand up and walk away. Leaning close, she listened carefully.…

“I am pouring a glass of wine for myself,” he explained, as if he could sense her
curiosity. “Pity you are not in here with me. I would pour you a glass as well.” He
returned to his chair. “But that would be improper—for me to invite an unwed lady,
such as yourself, into the private chamber where I sleep. Unfortunately I do not have
a reception room to make it respectable.” He paused. “This is a rather odd room. Have
you been inside?”