Duchess Diaries [2] How to Pursue a Princess

  Wulf raked a hand through his hair, his chest so tight that it felt as if someone had put a metal band about it. His plan had been flawed; she had no experience, nothing to hold as a comparison to her reaction to him. “You think that if you work hard enough, you will grow to desire Huntley as you desire me, but you are wrong, Lily. What we have is very rare. I will not stop pursuing you. I will not stop touching you and reminding you that you long for me—”

  “You must!” Her cry roused the sleeping pug, who jumped off the settee and came to stare up at her.

  She scooped the dog up, hugging it forlornly, her lips trembling as she tried to hold back tears.

  The sight wrenched his heart and Wulf wondered how he’d made so many errors. He’d only wished to show her happiness, yet he’d somehow managed to do the opposite.

  She rubbed her cheek against the dog’s head before she said in a tremulous voice, “The duchess is right; it would be better if we did not see one another again.”

  Wulf gritted his teeth. He’d bared his soul to this woman, had shown her the miracle that flared between them, and she wanted none of it. There was nothing more to be said.

  For now. “Fine. You wish me gone, so I will go. But I can’t promise I will not try to see you again. I cannot keep such a promise.”

  “You will only make it more difficult for us both. I’m trying to fix things and you—” A sob broke from her and she pressed her face to the dog and turned away.

  He closed his eyes. He could stand anything except seeing her cry. “I cannot do as you wish. I cannot.”

  There was a long silence before she gave the dog a final hug and then put it back on the floor. She then crossed to the nightstand for a handkerchief to dry her eyes. “I hate not having a choice for my life, but I don’t.”

  He sighed and came to her. Her lips were still swollen from his kisses, one cheek red from where his beard had brushed her, her thick lashes spiked from her tears. She’d never been so beautiful, nor he more enslaved. “Is this what you really want, Moya? Huntley as a husband?”

  She hesitated, then nodded firmly. “I must, Wulf.”

  But he’d seen her hesitation, and hope flooded him. Perhaps all is not lost. There is doubt there now; that is new. “You think he will ask you to marry him?”

  “I don’t know. He’s been quite nice and he seeks me out. He is grateful that I’ve been kind to Emma, I think. She is like a sister to him.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Wulf sighed. “I cannot believe that I am about to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Help you with Huntley.”

  “You . . . you would do that?”

  “You give me no choice. If you wish Huntley to feel so strongly for you as to offer for your hand, he must see you as something more than ‘nice.’ You must be special.”

  “How do I do that?”

  He looked at her, her long, reddish-blond hair coming loose from its braid, her eyes large and mysterious in the low light. She was already special, and it irked him to his core that she didn’t know it and Huntley was too stupid to see it. But she must be shown the futility of her plan to wed Huntley and then fall in love. Which meant that Lily needed to see more of Huntley . . . and more of him, too.

  She is right; she needs choices. I can at least give her that. “I can show you how to gain Huntley’s attention. You do not know how men think, how to drive their passions, but as a man, I do.”

  “Wulf, I don’t know . . .”

  “Oh? As things stand, will Huntley make a declaration in less than the two weeks you have left here?”

  “I don’t know. He’s never really—” She bit her lip. “I hoped that if we continued to talk that it would just happen.”

  “Nyet. I do not know much about Huntley, but he does not seem the sort of man to do anything on impulse.”

  “He’s not. He’s very careful.”

  “So I thought. He will not put himself into a marriage without great thought. If you wish him to declare himself in such a short time, then you will have to appeal to both his reason and his passions.”

  Lily paused. “You’re right. I don’t know how to bring him to the mark. Though I’ve spoken with him every day, I can’t tell if he prefers me or if he’s merely being nice.” Her gaze grazed Wulf’s face and then shifted away. “It’s not the way it is between you and me.”

  “No lust, eh?” And there will never be, if I can help it. “Men look for certain things in women. Some look for peacefulness, some for laughter, some for intelligence, some for wide hips to bring forth many babies. What does Huntley look for?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve never had that conversation.”

  “And you won’t. Men do not announce these things to the women they think to court for fear of fakery.”

  Her brows locked. “What do you look for?”

  “Just you, and no one else. But you know that.”

  Her cheeks stained pink. “You make no sense.”

  “One day you will see that I do. Meanwhile, I will help you. I will win Huntley’s confidence and he will tell me what he wishes in a wife. I will then tell you. You can become that woman if you wish, or you can choose not to. It will be up to you.”

  He could see from the way her lips pursed that she was tempted to accept his offer. He prayed that she would take it. If they were working together, he and Lily, then she’d have to speak with him, have to meet with him. Right now, he’d trade his right arm for such a circumstance.

  “Why would you do this for me?”

  “I do not give this favor freely.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Oh?”

  “If you ever find yourself with Huntley and know that you cannot continue with your plan to marry him, then you will come to me.”

  “And then?”

  “You will marry me and become my wife.”

  She looked bemused. “And live in your cottage in the woods?”

  “It is my home.”

  A smile touched her lips. “One day, I wish to see your cottage. I—” She caught herself and pressed her lips together. “Very well, Wulf, I accept, but I won’t change my mind about Huntley. I can’t.”

  “We will see. Sometimes what we think we want is not what we expect when we finally get it.” He crossed to her and captured her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “We are agreed, then, you and I?”

  She nodded. “How will you gain access to Huntley since the duchess has forbidden you to visit?”

  “That will be my first hurdle, but I will overcome it.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before he released it. “Now, I must go. Good night, Moya.” He captured her gaze as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead.

  She stood still, and then, with a sigh, turned away.

  But it was a sad sigh. He would take that and stay hopeful. He turned and went to the window and unlatched it. As he pushed back the curtains, he caught sight of the pug standing at his feet, looking at him with adoring black eyes, her tail twirling.

  Wulf chuckled. “I cannot take you with me, little one. Not this time.” He picked up the dog, tickled its chin, and then handed it to Lily.

  She held it in both arms, resting her cheek on its head.

  He straddled the windowsill. “Starting tomorrow, I will extend my friendship to Huntley, earn his trust, and discover what he wishes in a wife. Miss Gordon knows him well, too. I will see what I can learn from her, too. Whatever hints I find, I will give to you.”

  “Thank you. That’s very generous of you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied grimly. It would turn his mouth sour to help her win a man who couldn’t look at her as she was now, sleepy eyed and mussed, and realize how beautiful she was, inside and out. But that was a truth she had to find out herself. “Just remember your promise, Moya: if you change your mind, you will come to me.”

  She nodded, and with her sad gaze haunting him, he climbed out the window and down the vine to his horse. He mounted and, just as he
turned for home, he heard her window close softly and he realized that she’d watched him leave.

  Feeling more hopeful than he had in days, he turned and rode for home.

  Twenty

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe Contrary to what others have said, I am not a proud woman. I am generous, too, often to a fault. But like Queen Elizabeth, Cleopatra, and all other great women, a good apology is never wasted on me. I enjoy every one.

  Lady Charlotte’s hands froze in mid-knit, her needles stilled. “Who did you say has come calling?”

  “Och, it has surprised us all, it has,” MacDougal said. “But the grand duchess and the prince arrived no’ five minutes ago. I put them in the green salon and came here to tell ye.”

  “Oh dear.” Charlotte glanced at Margaret, who had stiffened by the window.

  “That Gypsy is no longer welcome in my house,” she said coldly.

  The butler gulped. “Aye, yer grace.”

  She threw up a dismissive hand. “Tell them we’re not here.”

  MacDougal looked miserable, his face red as he shuffled from one foot to the other. He looked pleadingly at Lady Charlotte.

  Poor man. “There’s more?” she asked gently.

  “It’s jus’ . . .” He looked anxiously at the duchess before he turned back to Lady Charlotte and said, “I hesitate to say anythin’, me lady, but knowin’ how the grand duchess earned her banishment, ’tis tha’ verrah thing which makes me—all of us, to be honest—hesitate to send her off.” He bent low and whispered, “We dinna wish to be cursed.”

  “Oh, for the love of—” The duchess stomped across the room, picking up Randolph as she went. The gray-nosed pug grunted happily as she dropped into a chair across from Lady Charlotte and settled him in her lap. “I won’t have such nonsense at Floors Castle, MacDougal. We will not run our household based on silly superstition.”

  “Verrah weel, yer grace.” MacDougal was ramrod straight, though he looked as miserable as could be. He knew the duchess, though, had served with her longer than any other servant, and he knew she was close to losing her temper.

  Charlotte resumed knitting, though her gaze was on Margaret. “I don’t believe in curses, but—”

  “I should hope not!” Margaret rubbed Randolph’s ear and was rewarded when the dog drooled a bit on her skirt. “Such foolishness.”

  “However,” Charlotte added carefully, casting a covert glance at MacDougal, “I do think it would be to our advantage to heed the servants’ fears. We really don’t wish them to be falling all over themselves with worry, thinking every normal toothache has been caused by some sort of Gypsy-muttering.”

  The duchess’s expression grew stiff and she turned her blazing gaze on MacDougal. “There are those who seriously believe that the grand duchess can place curses?”

  The butler tugged at his neckcloth. “No’ me, yer grace. But there are others who might think jus’ tha’.” At her muffled exclamation, he hurried to add, “But ’tis jus’ one or two. However, I do think tha’ Lady Charlotte has the right o’ it: if’n we send the grand duchess off wit’out seein’ ye, she is like to be verrah mad. And if she can put a curse on someone, an’ they dinna have a talisman to ward it off, then—”

  “Ha! I dare her to try!” Margaret’s blue eyes were icy cold. “Curses and talismans—good God, what nonsense!” Her lips thinned. “I vow that my patience with this woman has about reached its end. I’d rather die than receive that woman again.”

  Charlotte slipped a glance at the butler and almost tsked aloud. The poor man was caught in the jaws of a horrid dilemma—facing a Gypsy’s curse or the wrath of his mistress. “Margaret, you’re quite right not to allow that wretched woman entrance. I’m sure she’s come to apologize, and I’ve no wish to hear her grovel, not even for a moment—”

  “Apologize?” The duchess sat up straighter. “Do you think that’s why she’s come?”

  “Why else would she be here?”

  “Oh. She does owe me an apology, of course. Several, in fact.” Margaret cocked a brow at MacDougal. “Did she mention her purpose in coming?”

  “No, yer grace.”

  “Humph. Does she look sorry? Or a bit guilty?”

  “No, yer grace. She just looks angry. I’m no’ certain, but from the way she was glarin’ at her puir grandson, I believe he may have made her attend ye here.”

  Charlotte considered this. “Perhaps the prince has demanded that she apologize.”

  The duchess absently patted her pug. “Which would make it all the more delightful. However it is, the fact that she doesn’t want to be here has made me wish to prolong her visit.” Margaret inclined her head at the butler. “Bring them in.”

  He bowed and then sent a look of blinding thanks to Lady Charlotte before he hurried out of the room, a lift to his step.

  Charlotte bent over to tug a ball of yarn free from her basket and then settled back into her seat. “Margaret, I must say that it’s very kind of you to see the grand duchess after her indiscretion.”

  “Well, you were right. If I don’t see her, the servants would be next to useless, for they’d be too busy blaming every broken lace and dropped tray on some supposed curse.” Margaret rubbed Randolph’s ears. “Silliness, but there you have it.”

  “It’s still very kind of you to see her after her actions. Of course, the question now is whether or not you will allow them to attend the rest of our house-party events.”

  Margaret pursed her lips. “If the grand duchess apologizes . . .” She shrugged. “Why not? Besides, I think our Miss Gordon has an interest in the prince.”

  “Oh?” Charlotte cocked an interested gaze on her friend. “And you would favor that match?”

  “Of course. Miss Gordon is a close friend of Huntley’s, and if she’s busy with the prince, it will leave Lily more time to cast her spell over the earl.”

  Lady Charlotte smiled. “I vow, you are positively devious.”

  Margaret looked gratified. “Thank you, Charlotte. I do try.”

  “And you succeed, too.” Charlotte’s needles clacked softly. “If you could bring about two matches at one house party—oh my! Your name will be legend among the hostesses of the ton.”

  The door opened and MacDougal appeared, announcing in a respectful tone the Grand Duchess Nikolaevna and Prince Wulfinski.

  Meenie gave a joyous bark and ran forward to dance about the prince’s feet.

  The prince chuckled and bent to scratch the dog’s ears. “Ah, Meenie. You miss me, eh?”

  Margaret watched, surprise clear on her face. What’s wrong with Meenie? It’s as if she recognizes him. “Meenie!” she called. “Come!”

  The prince gave the dog a final pat and then reclaimed his grandmother’s arm, and they walked toward Charlotte and Margaret. The prince was so tall and his grandmother so short that they made one think of a powerful giant assisting a bent, gnarled elf.

  Charlotte watched them closely. MacDougal had been right; the grand duchess’s face was tight with rage and she sent her grandson dagger glance after dagger glance as they approached. The prince didn’t seem perturbed, accepting her glares with an amused look.

  As their guests reached the sitting area, Charlotte put aside her knitting, and she and Margaret stood to welcome them.

  “Your grace,” the grand duchess muttered. “Lady Charlotte.” The old woman bobbed a barely there curtsy, her mouth twisted into a scowl.

  “Good morning.” Her grandson made his bow, murmuring something under his breath to his grandmother as he straightened.

  She sent him a bitter look, but then she set her shoulders and said sullenly, “I have come to say I am—” She looked at her grandson, who lifted a brow.

  She grimaced and turned back. “I was wrong and I am s—” She scowled as if the word had cut her tongue. “I am s—” She threw up her hands and rattled off a spate of words in her native tongue.

  The prince answered in English, “Tata Natasha, you were wrong and yo
u know it.”

  “Wrong isn’t what I’d—”

  “You gave your word.”

  She waved a hand. “Fine! Fine! I will do it. I said I would, and I will.” She faced Margaret again. “I’m sorry for casting magic indoors at your castle. I lost my temper, thinking Miss Balfour was making eyes at Wulfinski.”

  Margaret managed a magnificent smile that she was certain would scald her reluctant guest. “I accept your apology.”

  Lady Charlotte added, “I’m sure we were all a bit out of sorts that evening and said things we didn’t mean.”

  Margaret’s smile slipped, but she managed to catch it before it completely disappeared. She hadn’t said one blasted thing that she hadn’t meant.

  The grand duchess sniffed. “Perhaps. I should not have attempted a curse indoors—”

  “Tata, you should not cast curses on anyone,” her grandson corrected. “Ever.”

  She folded her lips into a straight line.

  He crossed his arms. “Need I remind you of my promise if you do not make things right with her grace?”

  “Oh, I remember! You’re a heartless boy, you are, to threaten to send me home locked in a trunk. Pah! You are my grandson! You shouldn’t speak to me like that.”

  “You left me no choice.”

  “Well, I’ve apologized, but I still think the same of Miss Balfour as I ever did. You are a prince and she is a nobody, a Scottish wench with no looks or property or title—”

  “I beg your pardon,” Margaret said icily, “but Miss Balfour is my goddaughter and is quite well born, too. She was gently raised and is every inch a lady. Furthermore, you are grossly mistaken if you think Miss Balfour has any interest in your grandson. She is on the brink of a very suitable proposal from the— Well, it doesn’t matter who, but you will soon see that she never has been, and never will be, interested in your grandson. Although if she were”—Margaret’s voice snapped like a whip—“then I would personally see to it that the prince and Miss Balfour were together, regardless of your opinions.”

  Charlotte stole a glance at the prince, who was smiling, a faintly satisfied look in his eyes.