The Prince Who Loved Me (The Oxenburg Princes)

  Strath looked down at Sorcha. “Well? Would you like to be the lady of Tulloch?”

  Sorcha beamed. “I’d happily be the lady of a crofting hut, as long as you were there.”

  He hugged her and turned to his uncle, gratitude in his voice. “I can’t thank you enough, Uncle. You won’t be sorry. I’ll implement every change you’ve suggested.”

  Sir Henry looked pleased. “You’re a good one, Strath. I’ve always thought so. And I’m ashamed I haven’t kept Tulloch up as well as she deserves. Now I can visit every year and you can show me the improvements you’ve made.”

  He cocked his brow at Lady Malvinea. “There, my lady. I’ve sweetened the pot with a castle and all of its rents, which are considerable. Your lass will be well cared for. Not hugely wealthy, but she’ll be comfortable and safe, and will have a grand home for herself and her bairns.”

  “I’ll live close by, too,” Sorcha added, beaming. “You can visit all of the time.”

  Alexsey caught Strath’s wince, but Lady Malvinea glowed.

  She turned to Sir Henry. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Och, ’tis nothing. It’s settled, then, and we’re all quite happy for it.” Sir Henry straightened, his gaze turning to Alexsey as his expression turned grim once more. “But that dinna fix our other problem.”

  Tata waved a hand. “He’s not a problem. Bronwyn is the problem.” She turned to Lady Malvinea. “Our plan would have worked, if not for this complication.”

  Alexsey asked, “What was this plan, Tata?”

  “Ha! You would have liked it. It was for your own good.”

  “And Bronwyn’s,” Lady Malvinea added.

  “So you both knew I would never choose Sorcha.”

  “Of course we knew that!” Tata scowled.

  “Unlike other people”—Lady Malvinea sent a meaningful glance at Sorcha and Strath—“everyone knew how you felt about Bronwyn, and she about you.”

  “Everyone?”

  Sir Henry cleared his throat. “Actually, I had no idea.”

  “Neither did I,” Strath said.

  Sorcha looked up at her husband. “Really? It was so obvious.”

  Alexsey threw up his hands. “Tata, just tell me what mischief you’ve been up to! I’ve no patience for this.”

  Tata smirked. “It has been obvious to me for some time that you meant to have Miss Bronwyn, will she, nill she. She is a very independent miss. Very strong-willed.”

  “Which you did not like. You threatened to withhold the kaltso.”

  “I didn’t like it at first, perhaps. But Lady Malvinea came to see me. She told me things about Bronwyn that I did not know. About her strength and her caring. I decided the girl would do very well.”

  “You said she was too uncomfortable in public to be a princess.”

  “Easily overcome with practice.”

  “You also said she was too old to marry and have children.”

  “Pah. At twenty-four, she is a mere child. I was twenty-seven when I had your mother.”

  “So you just pretended not to like Bronwyn?”

  “I wanted to see how hard you were willing to work to be with her.”

  “So that’s why you had me do all of those useless errands.”

  “And protested, and demanded you stop seeing her. But no matter what I did, no matter what Lady Malvinea did, you did not let it stop you. You didn’t let anything stop you. But then you botched it royally when you let her get caught leaving your room. What a foolish move!”

  “I did not mean for that to happen. But it is nothing. I will have Bronwyn for a wife. Tonight I was going to ask her to marry me.”

  Tata threw up her hand, a pained expression on her face. “And she would have thought it was only because you were forced to.”

  “I would tell her that is not so.”

  “She would think you were merely being kind,” Lady Malvinea said softly. “She would have refused you. That’s why, at Her Grace’s suggestion, I made certain Bronwyn would not be here tonight, so that this would happen.”

  Alexsley slowly nodded in understanding. “And I would have to make a choice.”

  Lady Malvinea smiled. “And you would have chosen Bronwyn.”

  “You think that would have softened her to my cause?”

  Tata blew out her breath. “Did you not listen to a word we have said? Her pride would not let her accept a forced marriage. If you had a clear way to get out of it and didn’t take it, then her pride would no longer be an obstacle. Of course then she would say yes.”

  Strath moved impatiently. “I’m surprised you would play with Sorcha’s reputation in such a way.”

  Tata waved her hand. “No one would have known what happened here except us.”

  Lady Malvinea added, “And if anyone did come upon us, Her Grace would claim she was in the room the entire time. No one would dare challenge her. We thought of everything. Or thought we had.”

  Alexsey walked toward the door.

  “Wait!” Tata took a step after him. “Where do you go?”

  “To see Bronwyn, wherever she is.”

  Tata said, “Take her flowers.”

  “Or a gift,” Lady Malvinea said. “That would be nice.”

  “A ring is always welcome.” Sorcha glanced at Strath, who chuckled.

  “Soon, my love,” he murmured as he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “We will go to London this week and you can select one.”

  At the door, Alexsey looked back at Lady Malvinea. “She is at Ackinnoull?”

  She nodded.

  Sorcha added, “She was to come with us but she never came down, and we couldn’t keep Sir Henry’s coach waiting.”

  Lady Malvinea winced. “Actually, I locked the door to her room.”

  “Mama!” Sorcha’s eyes widened. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because if she’d been here, we’d have never gotten the prince away from her long enough to enact our plan.”

  At Alexsey’s dark look, Tata said defensively, “We couldn’t just tell her to stay away from you. You can’t tell a strong woman not to do something. That’s the same as—”

  But Alexsey was already gone.

  Gentle readers, love is elusive, but worthwhile. So, so, so worthwhile.

  —The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth

  Alexsey galloped up the drive to Ackinnoull and was halfway out of the saddle before the horse had even stopped. He threw the reins over an iron ring and then slammed his hand against the door.

  No one answered.

  He banged louder.

  Still no answer.

  He was debating kicking in the door when he heard Mrs. Pitcairn’s frantic voice behind the house.

  Bronwyn. He ran to the rear of the house and found the cook standing under a large oak tree, one hand covering her mouth.

  “Mrs. Pitcairn! What’s wr—”

  She let out a wailing cry and threw herself upon him. “Ye have to save her! Ye must!”

  His heart thudded sickly as he looked around. “Where is she?”

  Mrs. Pitcairn burst into tears and pointed up.

  Confused, Alexsey looked up . . . and saw Bronwyn high in the oak. She stood on one limb, her skirts hooked on another branch, a great tear in her sleeve, and her hair falling down about her face. As he looked, the branch on which she stood gave a crack and dropped down an inch, bouncing Bronwyn madly.

  “Her skirts are caught,” Mrs. Pitcairn said, wiping tears from her eyes. “She was climbin’ oot the window to escape, and her skirts got caught upon a branch and now she canno’ move.”

  “Are you injured?” he called to Bronwyn.

  She cast a startled glance down. “Lovely,” she muttered. “The one time I want to look composed, and what does the ass do but show up as if he’s some knight in—”

  “I can hear you.”

  There was silence, and then, “Oh.”

  “Are you injured?”

  “Only my pride, but that is qu
ite bruised.”

  The humor in her voice should have calmed him, but didn’t. “Stay where you are.”

  “As if I had a choice,” she returned. “My spectacles fell. Could you—”

  “They are not important. Mrs. Pitcairn, there’s no way to climb this tree; the bottom branches are well over my head. How do I reach the window nearest Miss Murdoch?”

  “Follow me.” She stopped to yell, “Hang on, miss! His Highness is comin’ fer ye!”

  Bronwyn muttered something that Alexsey was fairly certain was inappropriate for a woman of good birth, but he couldn’t blame her.

  He followed the cook up stairs upon stairs until they reached the top floor.

  “Oh, look!” Mrs. Pitcairn pointed to the key in the lock. “Tha’ is why she climbed oot. Someone locked her in.”

  Alexsey opened the door, and Walter and Scott bounded upon him. “Down, you pestilent pups!” he growled, pushing past them to the open window.

  Bronwyn was several branches below him, and he could see where her skirt had twisted around a knot well over her head. She was short a shoe, too.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered. It took him a few minutes, but with care, he climbed out the window and into the tree, and slowly worked his way to her side, careful not to disturb the branch upon which she stood.

  She let out her breath. “I can’t believe this. I never slip, but I was in a hurry.”

  To see him. “You shouldn’t have been in a hurry, lyubovnitsa; I would have waited. And now, you’ve torn your gown and lost your spectacles and your shoe.”

  “I can do without the crticisms. I’m well aware of my precarious situation.”

  “Good. Hopefully, you are done with climbing.” He placed his foot securely on a thick branch and wrapped an arm about another. Finally, he could reach her.

  “You didn’t complain when I climbed the trellis to your room,” she pointed out in a fair voice.

  “That was different.” With his free hand, he bent down, slipped an arm about Bronwyn’s waist, and lifted her up.

  She clung as he lifted her level with him. As her feet found purchase, she loosened her ferocious grip from his neck. “Whew! I was quite frightened. Thank you so much for your help. Mama locked me in my room and— Do you already know about that?”

  “I will help you back into your window, and then we’ll discuss all of the evening’s events. Unless you wish to do it here. This is quite comfortable, but I cannot kiss you properly without endangering our lives.”

  She turned a pleased shade of pink but almost immediately shook her head, regret clouding her eyes. “We will wait.”

  He bent down to carefully untangle her skirt from the broken branch. “This reads like one of your novels.”

  “Except in my novels, the hero never engages in wasted small talk when a rescue is necessary.”

  He chuckled and continued to try to free her skirts.

  She watched him. “It doesn’t look as if it’s coming free.”

  “I can’t tug any harder, or I might accidentally knock you from your perch.” He released her skirt. “You’ll have to take it off.”

  “Take it off—” She blinked. “Here?”

  “Da. I will help with the tie. I’m very good at ties.”

  She sighed. “I begin to wonder if you’re rescuing me, or if I’m merely entertaining you.”

  “I’m fairly sure we can accomplish both goals at the same time, but not in a tree.”

  Her lips quirked. “Fine.” With a few swift movements, she untied her gown and, with a careful step, climbed out of it.

  She wore nothing but her chemise, stockings, and one shoe; her cheek smudged, and her hair a mass of tangles. Alexsey had never seen a more beautiful woman.

  “There.” She reached for a nearby branch. “I can get back to the window myself.” Without giving him another look, she began the climb.

  He kept an eye on her, but she kept her balance quite well. His Roza was a woman of many talents.

  She finally climbed back through the window, Alexsey following. They were greeted by cries of happiness from Mrs. Pitcairn and large licks from the dogs.

  Mrs. Pitcairn clasped her hands under her chin. “Och, ’twas so romantic, miss!”

  Bronwyn found a robe and hurried to slip it on. “I wouldn’t call it romantic at all.”

  “It might no’ ha’ felt as if it were, but it seemed like it fro’ the window.”

  Alexsey turned to Mrs. Pitcairn. “I believe your mistress could use some of this tea you Scots seem to drink all the time.”

  “Och, tha’ will be jus’ the thing.” Mrs. Pitcairn scuttled to the door, then stopped and turned around. “Miss, ’tis no’ proper fer ye to be alone oop here wit’ a mon, miss. I couldna—”

  “It’s quite all right, Mrs. Pitcairn,” Alexsey said. “Miss Murdoch and I are about to become engaged.”

  Bronwyn stiffened. “We are not.”

  “Aye, we are,” he replied. “If not today, then very soon.” He looked meaningfully at the servant. “It will be sooner if we are alone.”

  Mrs. Pitcairn beamed. “I’ll go an’ make the tea.” Despite Bronwyn’s murmured complaint, she disappeared down the stairs.

  Alexsey sat on the edge of the bed, admiring the lace chemise his bride-to-be was wearing where it peeked from her robe.

  Her face heated, Bronwyn dove back into her wardrobe and looked for a gown. “There’s no need for you to stay here.”

  “I wish to speak to you. I’ve waited all evening to do so, and now is a good time.”

  She found a gown and hurried to pull it on, aware of his hot gaze.

  Alexsey’s eyes were dark and inscrutable. “Much has happened over the past few weeks since we met.”

  “Yes, and some of it has implications for our futures. Alexsey, I know what you are going to say, but I must be clear; I can’t marry you.”

  His eyes warmed. “You don’t know what I’m going to say. I wasn’t going to talk about marriage yet. I have other, more important things to say. Like how much I love you.”

  She threw up a hand. “No! You don’t have to say that.”

  “Have to?” He looked amused. “I don’t have to do anything. I could leave this country right now and go home, and no one could stop me.”

  She stiffened. “You could, couldn’t you?”

  “Da. But I don’t want to. Not unless I am able to take my prize with me.”

  “Prize?”

  “You, Roza.” He took her hand and pulled her toward him, standing her between his legs. “There are two facts I have failed to admit to either you or to myself. Bronwyn, I want you, and no one else. And I will have you, or I will have no one.”

  “Want? That’s not enough—”

  “It is. I want you in my life for one reason and one reason only. Because I love you.”

  Bronwyn’s throat tightened. She so wanted to believe him. “Alexsey, I know why you started courting me. I overheard you talking to Strathmoor at Tulloch.”

  He winced. “That was wrong of me and I owe you a great apology. I was selfish and bored and . . . none of it is to my credit. But since it brought you to me and let me see what an amazing, beautiful woman you are—Bronwyn, I am not the same man who stood in that hallway, a man who did not believe in love. Whether you have me or not, I will never again be that man.” His eyes glowed with truth.

  “I have to admit something myself,” she said. “After I heard you, I wished to punish you. I tried to seduce you, to make you mad with lust for me.”

  “You succeeded.”

  “And then I was going to reject you.” She pursed her lips. “I never really got around to the second part.”

  He laughed and moaned at the same time. “It has been agony! I could not tell you no, even when I wished to. You drove me mad with lust, and then with desire, and then with love. I am yours, Bronwyn. I will never belong to anyone else.” He cupped her cheek. “I was going to ask you to marry me tonight, but not because I h
ad to. I was going to ask you to marry me because I can’t imagine not having you in my life. My future without you is a desert, a lone tree in a windy plain, a rock perched on a mountain with nothing but echoes to keep it company.”

  Her eyes had grown wide at his words, the faintest quiver of a smile on her lips.

  Alexsey raised his brows. “Well?”

  “That was beautiful. I especially like the desert/plain/mountain part.”

  He was silent a moment. “To be honest, I stole that part.”

  “From Sir Gordan Bradford.”

  He sighed. “I can see I’m going to have hell to pay for marrying a well-read woman.”

  “I haven’t said I’d marry you.”

  “Not yet. But you will.” He stood. “I have something to show you. But first, you must sit.”

  She perched on the edge of the bed. “Why?”

  “You will see.” He knelt before her.

  As she watched, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin, narrow package. He unwrapped it and held it up.

  “That’s . . . that’s my shoe!”

  “You left it in the woods the first time we met.”

  “And you kept it all this time?”

  “I kept it in my drawer and wouldn’t let the servants touch it.” His warm hand clasped her stockinged ankle, and he lifted her foot. His gaze rose to hers. “May I?”

  It was a moment like one of her books—only better, because it was real, and he was real, and he was here, with her. “Yes.”

  His lips quirked and he held the shoe in one hand, his other around her ankle. “You have very delicate ankles.”

  “Thank you. I suppose that is what made you love me?”

  “How can I resist a woman with a leaf in her hair—”

  “Oh no!” She patted her hand until she found it.

  “—and who smells like turtle soup, and sings with such passion even though she cannot carry a tune?”

  She stiffened. “You didn’t like my singing?”

  He slipped his hand up her calf. “I would have you sing to me every day and every night, just to see the happiness in your eyes.”

  She tried to ignore the warm hand on her knee. He must love her, to still wish her to sing. “I know quite a bit about Oxenburg, too,” she added helpfully. “The highest mountain is thought to be over 12,520 feet tall.”