The Prince’s Bride (7 page)

He rose from the bed to go and retrieve the key. She took note of the fact that he
had changed into the clothes the marquis had provided for him—clothes she suspected
belonged to his late son. He looked less like a prince. More like a normal man.

Nicholas slipped the key into the pocket of his waistcoat and moved to the window
to survey the surroundings.

“Are there any guards out there?” he asked, ignoring her last comment, as if he did
not care in the least about his reputation, and wanted only to narrow in on the most
important issue at hand—his escape.

“No,” she replied as she inched to the edge of the mattress and stood. “There have
never been any guards except for Gabrielle, Pierre, and me. Even the servants have
been kept in the dark about your presence here. Only the butler knows. This part of
the east wing is usually deserted, except for Pierre’s room, which is closer to the
stairs. They have been informed about Gabrielle and me, but that is all. The marquis
left instructions for Pierre, and no one else, to deliver meals to us while he is
away.”

“That is rather worrisome,” Nicholas replied. “If no one knows I am here, it seems
too easy for me to disappear without a trace, do you not agree?”

She nodded as she walked to the trapdoor in the wall, which was located behind a large
gilt-framed portrait that swung open on hinges. The compartment for the dinner trays
was empty.

“I honestly don’t know what he has planned for you,” she said absently, then stiffened
with shock when Nicholas clasped a hand around her wrist and pulled her around to
face him.

She backed up against the wall until she was trapped there by his lean, muscular body.

“There is something else we agreed upon,” he said, “and I believe I will claim it
now.”

In a smooth, swift wave of motion, his mouth found hers. The kiss was firm and demanding,
and before she could comprehend what might happen next, she wrapped her arms around
his neck and began kissing him passionately in the last of the afternoon light.

As she drank in the exquisite taste of his lips and tongue, and the warm damp sensuality
of a hard kiss she should
not
find pleasurable—she knew that he was not expressing passion, affection, or love.
This, for him, was something else. Something vengeful. He wanted her to know that
he would take what he wanted from her, whether she liked it or not.

She should have been outraged by this show of disrespect, but she had been dreaming
of a kiss from him for days, and it was disconcertingly easy to remember those fantasies
as he kissed her now, mere minutes after he had held her down and she had fought against
him with all her might.

His hips pressed forward and pinned her snugly up against the wall while his hands
cupped her face, then gracefully stroked down her neck to the tops of her shoulders,
where he squeezed gently until she sighed with a delicious swell of satisfaction.

Her knees were just about to buckle beneath her when he drew back and rubbed the pads
of his thumbs across her cheekbones.

At last she opened her eyes.

“Thank you for bringing the key,” he said in a soft, husky voice.

Véronique felt a deep shudder in her core, caused by a flash of heat that raced through
her senses. “Does this mean you will help me recover my home?” She would do anything—anything—to
get it back.

He released her and stepped away. “I gave you my word and I will keep it. Once we
are free from here, I will bring a hammer down on d’Entremont’s head like nothing
you’ve ever seen. Everything he owns, I will take from him, including his freedom,
for I will have him arrested and charged, at the very least, for unlawful confinement.”

She was surprised when the scorching vengeance she saw in Nicholas’s eyes caused a
spark of arousal in her core, for it was a vengeance that
she
wanted, too, with all her heart and soul.

She hated d’Entremont and she wanted him to pay for the pain and humiliation he had
inflicted upon her family. The rage felt like a dark monster inside her, awakened
by what Pierre had just done to Gabrielle, who was pregnant and in danger because
the man she loved could not marry her.

D’Entremont had stolen everything from her family, and Véronique wanted to see him
punished. She wanted to see it again and again until the marquis atoned for all the
pain he had caused.

“I hate him,” she said. “I did this to you only so that we could rid him from our
lives forever. It wasn’t anything against you or your country,” she explained. “I
should have thought it through and told you the truth sooner. Perhaps we could have
been allies from the start.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We are allies now.” He moved to the door, carefully
opened it, and peered out into the corridor. “Where is your sister, and can you both
ride?”

“Yes,” Véronique replied. “I could go to the stables and see about taking a few of
d’Entremont’s horses. If I can sneak them out, where should I take them?”

He closed the door and faced her. “No, do not attempt anything like that. You might
be discovered. We will simply wait until midnight and go to the stables together while
the servants are sleeping. If you are sure there are no guards.”

“I am sure.”

“Good. Here is what you will do: Find our best escape route from here. There must
be a servants’ staircase in this wing somewhere. Make sure that it will lead us to
an unlocked exit. Tell Gabrielle about the plan and be ready to leave at midnight.”
He paused to think for a moment. “What about the driver, Pierre? Will he be asleep
by then?”

“I am not sure. He is always skulking about, keeping an eye on us. I must tell you …
he just tried to assault Gabrielle in the gardens. I do not trust him.”

Nicholas tapped a finger on his thigh. “He assaulted your sister? Just now?”

“Yes, but I saw what was happening, and I stopped him.”

“How?”

Her body tensed at the memory. “It’s all a bit of a blur … but if you must know, I
kicked him where he was most vulnerable. He crumpled to the ground like a wet rag.”

Nicholas pondered that. “Well done.” He then walked to the window and looked out again.
“We must finalize our plan for later.” He reached into his pocket for the key and
held it out to her. “You’ll have to lock me in again. Otherwise, Pierre may discover
our plan. Can I trust you?”

“Of course.”

Before handing the key over, however, he studied her carefully with hooded eyes. Then,
at last, he relinquished it. “I don’t suppose you have any laudanum left from the
other night, do you?”

She understood his intentions instantly. “I believe I do. It would be in my reticule.”

“Excellent. Now, one last thing,… do you know where my sword is being kept? I shall
need it.”

“I already have it in my possession,” she told him. “I stole it out of Pierre’s room
just now.”

Nicholas’s eyebrows lifted, as if he was surprised that she had thought of it and
accomplished so much already. “Good.”

For a moment their gazes locked and held. No doubt, he was gauging whether or not
he could trust her, as she was thinking the same thing. When he took in the full length
of her body, however, she experienced an unexpected sensual thrill and remained fixed
to the spot, inviting his intense scrutiny, feeling invigorated by thoughts of what
would occur in a few short hours.

They would leave this place together and ride into the forest.

And d’Entremont would finally get what he deserved.

Feeling unnerved by the sinister arousal that coursed through her veins, Véronique
turned toward the door, but Nicholas grasped her arm.

“Before you leave,” he said, his voice quiet and low, “you should know that I still
haven’t forgiven you for what you did. But I am pleased that we are at least on the
same side.”

“As am I,” she shakily replied, for her body was on fire beneath heat of his touch.

She pulled her arm free, quickly walked out, and locked the door behind her.

Chapter Seven

After the sun went down, heavy drops of rain began to fall from thick clouds in the
sky. The wind blew hard and rattled the windowpanes.

Why must it rain tonight, of all nights?

Fighting a relentless impatience, Véronique paced back and forth across the carpet
while Gabrielle sat in a chair, watching the flames dance wildly in the grate.

“Come and sit down,” Gabby said. “You’re making me nervous, and you’re not making
the time go by any faster.”

Véronique shut her eyes and massaged her temples. “You’re quite right. I must try
to relax.” She glanced up at the clock on the mantel. “Only one more hour…”

She wondered if Pierre had consumed the wine yet, for she had managed to wrestle his
supper tray out of the maid’s hands in the corridor, slip the laudanum into the decanter,
and deliver it to him herself—under the pretext of speaking to him about what happened
in the garden earlier that day.

She promised Pierre that she would not tell the marquis what he had done if he promised
never to do anything like it again. He had agreed, of course, and she gave him his
supper.

Now, as she sat down across from Gabby before the fire, she had to work hard to relax.

“Perhaps you should ring for some brandy,” Gabby suggested.

Véronique shook her head. “No, I must have my wits about me tonight.”

Especially when she slipped the key into the lock, opened the door, and found herself
back in the presence of Prince Nicholas.

That kiss had rattled her brain. Whenever she thought about it, her body fairly trembled
with excitement and desire.

She mustn’t allow herself to become swept away by it, however. She was not helping
him escape to satisfy her own pleasures, or to enjoy acting the part of a harlot.
She was doing this for her family. Gabrielle, especially, who was now in a perilous
situation.

The only way out of this was to rely on the generosity of Prince Nicholas, who had
more power than their enemy.

The clock began to chime. Her gaze flew to the mantel. “It’s eleven o’clock. Will
you be ready to leave when the time comes?”

“Of course,” Gabrielle replied. “I’ve been ready since the supper trays were collected.
Will
you
be ready?”

Véronique slid her sister a sidelong glance.

“Of course you will be,” Gabrielle added with a knowing look. “I daresay you’ve thought
of nothing else since you walked out of his bedchamber this afternoon with your cheeks
flushed the color of a ripe tomato, and your hair all tousled.”

Véronique frowned. “What are you implying, Gabrielle?”

Her sister shrugged innocently. “Nothing at all, for surely you would tell me if there
was anything important to relay. You would share your feelings with me, since we are
sisters and so very close.”

The windowpanes rattled in the storm. “I have
no
feelings about Prince Nicholas whatsoever,” she insisted, but Gabby raised an eyebrow
at her. “Fine, I do find him attractive, but you know I am not like you. I am not
romantic. I am practical. His appeal matters not, for he is just a means to an end.
He will help us get our home back.”

“Just because you are practical,” Gabby argued, “does not mean you feel no passion.
I saw him with my own eyes, and I cannot imagine that you could fail to be affected
by his looks and charms, and surely if you are concocting plans of escaping together,
there must be some sort of bond between you. Do you want to talk about it? I may be
younger than you, but I do have some experience with love.”

“Love?” Angered by the suggestion—for she had no intention of feeling anything of
the sort—Véronique stood abruptly. “This has nothing to do with love. He is handsome,
but prince or pauper, he is also a notorious rake. I am not only practical, but I
am
sensible,
as well, Gabby. All that matters to me now is our escape from this place, and the
recovery of our home.”

Footsteps pounded down the corridor. Both Véronique and Gabrielle turned their attention
to the door.

“What was that?”

The footsteps passed by and continued down the hall toward Nicholas’s room.

“Do you think it could be Pierre going to check on him?” Gabby asked.

Véronique tiptoed quickly to the door and pressed her ear up against it. The footsteps
stopped farther down, and she heard the jingling of keys.

Gabrielle joined her at the door. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” Véronique whispered.

The sound of a lock clicking and the turn of a knob struck Véronique with terror.
Carefully, she opened the door a crack and peered out. “Oh no,” she whispered.

Gabby touched her arm. “What is it? Tell me.”

Véronique watched the end of the hall. “The door is open. Someone has gone inside.”

Something clattered across the floor in Nicholas’s room. Then an obvious scuffle followed.
Véronique pulled the door open and dashed out into the hall.

*   *   *

Nicholas raised his hands over his head in surrender when the cold barrel of a pistol
touched his forehead, square between the eyes, and the chamber cocked.

As soon as Pierre relaxed his shoulders, Nicholas knocked the weapon away and kicked
Pierre in the stomach. He was about to dive for the gun, but the sound of a second
pistol cocking from just inside the door halted him on the spot.

Pierre, who was doubled over in pain, glared at him with flaring nostrils.

Nicholas turned his gaze toward the second intruder—a well-dressed older man with
silver-rimmed spectacles and slightly graying hair.

“Who are you?” Nicholas asked, his body tense and primed to fight.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” the man said with a bow. “I am Jean Fournier, butler
of the house. I am here to inform you that the marquis wishes to see you now.”

Nicholas frowned. “The marquis is here?”