Authors: Julianne MacLean
“How kind of you to say so,” Alexandra replied. “Perhaps you might travel to the north while you are visiting our fair country and see it for yourself?”
He narrowed his gaze flirtatiously. “Is that an invitation, Lady Alexandra?”
She gave him a warm smile mixed with a hint of desire that went no deeper than the powder upon her skin. But he would not know that. He would see only what she wished him to see. “If it would please you, sir, you would be most welcome.”
Though she had no right to extend such an invitation, for she’d not set foot in St. George Palace for seven years. Others resided there now.
The dinner gong rang out, and he bowed to her. “It has been a pleasure, Lady Alexandra. I trust you will honor me with a dance later this evening?”
“Most certainly.”
He bowed to her stepmother as well. Then he turned to offer his arm to his sister, Rose, who waited a distance away.
Together with the regent, they led the guests into the large banqueting hall.
“If he only knew,” Lucille sighed with casual triumph as she watched him disappear.
Alexandra exhaled sharply and fought to steady her breathing. “I am relieved he does not.”
For if he or anyone else in the room knew that she was the true blood heir to the throne of Petersbourg, she might very well end up dead.
Chapter Two
After dinner was served and speeches were delivered, the guests filed into the ballroom, where the orchestra had already begun to play.
Alexandra glanced about at the lavishness of the room, adorned with sheets of white muslin draped across the walls. Fragrant batches of white roses were set out in every direction, while hundreds of flickering candles provided a brilliant illumination for the regent and his regal guests to mingle through the crowd.
Part of her wondered if this was all a dream and she would soon wake to find herself back in her tiny cottage in Wales with her sisters, arguing over how to scrape together enough coin to pay the butcher.
Her gaze fell upon a liveried footman. He was moving slowly through the crowd and carrying a tray of champagne. The crystal glasses sparkled almost blindingly in the candlelight, and for some reason it made her heart beat uncomfortably fast. A heavy shadow of apprehension settled over her, and she felt terribly displaced as memory transported her back to the cold chill of winter when there was not enough coal in the grate. And the dreadful fear that came at night when a sound outside the cottage woke her from her slumber. Who was it? Friend or assassin?
She had been forced to keep secrets from her sisters, who were not really her true sisters. Not by blood. She cared for them deeply and would do anything for them, but she had never been able to confide in them. She had been able to confide in no one.
A cheerful waltz began, and the prince escorted his sister onto the floor, set his hand at the small of her back, and began to dance around the room.
It was the first time Alexandra had ever seen a waltz performed, for it was very new.
How happy and carefree the young royals looked. Did they ever think of the ancient bloodline they had toppled? Of the family they’d destroyed? Did they ever feel guilty for the wealth and luxury that was now theirs to enjoy while the true king and queen lay rotting in their graves?
Alexandra shut her eyes for a moment to purge such thoughts from her head. This was not the time for morbid reflection. She must smile and be merry.
She turned to her stepmother. “I apologize, but I require a moment to myself.” Lucille frowned at her, but she would not be daunted. “I must take some air and gather my wits about me, or I will never make it through this night.”
Lucille tried to stop her, but Alexandra turned away and passed through the open French doors that led onto the stone terrace, which was dimly lit by two flaming torches, one at each corner.
She rushed to the balustrade and sucked in the cool, fresh scents of the night. A light breeze blew across her cheeks, but nothing seemed to ease the knot of anxiety in her belly. She had not imagined it would be this difficult. So much depended upon this one night and the performance she must deliver.
At last, the chaos in her mind began to subside. She sat down on the balustrade and looked up at the stars in the sky. “That’s better. Breathe, Alex. He’s only a prince, and not even a real one.”
A throat cleared unexpectedly from somewhere in the shadows, and she quickly stood. “Who’s there?”
No one replied, so she took an unflinching step away from the balustrade. “This is highly improper, whoever you are. Reveal yourself to me now, sir, if you please.”
It was dark in the far corner of the terrace, but not so murky that she could not make out a pair of long booted legs swinging down from a horizontal position on a bench.
Evidently, a gentleman—completely unknown to her—had been using it to take a nap.
She should have darted inside straightaway, but something held her fixed to the flagstone upon which she stood. Perhaps it was the sight of the man’s upper body coming into view as he leaned into the torchlight. Or maybe it was the finer details of his face—for it was a beautiful one, with strong, masculine lines and flawless proportions, capped off with an unfashionably wild mane of wavy black hair.
He held a silver flask in a leather-gloved hand, and Alexandra surmised that he could not possibly be a guest at the ball, for he wore a black riding coat and one did not wear muddy boots to a banquet.
His voice was deep and low and strangely exotic as he began to chuckle in the dark. “Not a real prince, you say. That’s not very polite, Miss Whoever You Are. I ought to report you to someone.”
“Like whom?” she countered, fearing suddenly that her identity and treasonous plot were about to be discovered.
“Like … Oh, I don’t know. I can’t think straight. All that music and laughter is clouding my brain. What about you? Why are you out here when all the other ladies are inside scrambling for a chance to dance with the distinguished guest of honor?” He raised the flask to his lips and took a long, slow swig as he awaited her reply.
“I don’t need to
scramble
for anything,” she said. “All I need to do is wait patiently, for His Royal Highness has already invited me to join him in a dance. I simply required a bit of air, that is all.”
“Air?” The stranger stood and approached. He was an imposing figure to be sure, and she was strangely spellbound by each step he took across the terrace. “We have something in common, then.”
The torchlight danced in a sudden gust of wind. “And what, pray tell, is that?”
He halted before her. “We both like to breathe.”
Alexandra watched him for a moment, then narrowed her guarded, suspicious gaze. “You smell like a distillery. Are you drunk?”
“Only a little, but let us keep that to ourselves, shall we?”
As it happened, she was very good at keeping secrets.
Nevertheless, there were rules of etiquette to consider. “If you are drunk, sir, then a royal ball is no place for you. You ought to go home. I have no doubt you’ll feel much better in the morning.”
He chuckled. “I doubt that.”
She glanced down at his boots, then let her eyes wander with interest up the impressive length of his body. He was strong and well proportioned and possessed the firm, muscled thighs of an active horseman.
“I suppose I wouldn’t know about such things,” she replied. “I’ve never had more than a few sips of anything. Not that it’s any business of yours.” She gave a quick curtsy. “Good evening, sir.”
She tried to leave, but he blocked her way.
“Don’t go yet.” He leaned close to speak softly in her ear—so close that she could smell the brandy on his breath and feel the moist heat of his words on her lobe. “I need someone to talk to, and I like the sound of your voice. It reminds me of…”
He paused, and her breath caught in her throat.
He was unbelievably attractive.
“Of what?” she cautiously asked.
Those dark eyebrows pulled together. “I’m afraid I can’t quite recall, but I am certain it will come to me.”
Alexandra felt a heated stirring of arousal in her core. She worked hard to quell it, however, for she was here on a mission, and this was not it.
Thankfully, he backed away and gave her some space to collect herself—though it was not easy to do.
“This is not appropriate,” she said, realizing with more than a little displeasure that she was stalling, for this mysterious horseman from the shadows was an overwhelming distraction—and heaven knew she needed one. “We have not been properly introduced.”
“You are quite correct,” he replied. “Where is your chaperone? Shall I call for her?”
“No!” She looked inside, then spoke in a quieter tone. “Please do not.”
For she knew exactly what her stepmother would say. Lucille would demand to know why Alex had taken her eyes off the prize.
The horseman glanced toward the open doors. “Fine, then. We’ll take care of the introductions ourselves. I’ll tell you my name if you promise to tell me yours.”
“Agreed,” she replied, “but then you must let me pass.”
He bowed to indicate his agreement. “Very well then. And your name is…?”
“I am Lady Alexandra Monroe, honored to make your acquaintance. Good evening, sir.”
She curtsied again, made another attempt to return to the ballroom, but he stopped her again—this time with a gloved fingertip upon the bare skin of her upper arm, just below her puffed sleeve, which caused a flash of heat to rush from the point of contact straight down to her toes.
His blue eyes narrowed. “Lady Alexandra … Are you the daughter of the Duke of St. George?”
So he knew of her.
“Yes, but not the current duke. My father died six years ago.”
Though my real father was put to death by greedy insurgents before I was born.
“Ah, yes.” He lowered his hand to his side and removed his gloves. “I have heard of you. You are quite notorious in fact. They say you have been living in Wales with your sisters, and that you have been…” He paused. “Unjustly impoverished.”
Alexandra detected a hint of compassion in his voice and had to work hard not to immerse herself in it. She had learned a long time ago that one cannot wallow in self-pity and stand strong and mighty at the same time. “Evidently I am quite the spectacle this evening,” she said.
“Indeed. This is your first Season, correct?”
“Yes.”
He leaned close and spoke in a husky voice that feathered across her skin. “At least the gentlemen at White’s were right about one thing.”
Alexandra quirked a brow. “And what was that?”
“They said you were the most beautiful woman in England, hidden away and guarded like a priceless jewel.” He drew back and regarded her intently for a moment. “Beautiful to be certain, but why have they kept you hidden away, may I ask? You are the daughter of a duke. Why have you been residing in Wales? Why not at the estate where you were raised?”
She wet her lips and concealed the more pertinent question:
Why not with my real family, in the country where my ancestors had been born, and where they had ruled for centuries?
“I am surprised you don’t know the answer to that question,” she said, “when you seem to know everything else about me.”
The blue of his eyes shone in the torchlight. “Indulge me.”
“Why should I?”
Again he leaned close. “Because you want to.”
An intoxicating shiver of arousal ran through her as she comprehended the truth in his words, spoken so provocatively.
She had never met a man quite like this one before. He was very confident and exuded a distinguishable air of sexuality. All the little hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. Her heart was beating wildly with exhilaration, and she could not deny that she wanted to revel a little longer in this feeling of excitement.
“My father the duke died without an heir,” she explained, “so the title passed to his estranged younger brother, who arrived at the palace with four daughters of his own, roughly the same age as my sisters and me. He took one look at us and decided that we would be an obstacle to the marriage prospects of his own daughters, so he sent us away, banished us to a place well beyond the reaches of polite society.”
The gentleman frowned. “Because the four of you were prettier?”
“I suppose that would be an accurate conclusion to derive from the circumstances.”
He inclined his head with curiosity. “Tell me more.”
“His Grace provided us with a very meager allowance, barely enough to live on and certainly not enough to provide a dowry or even gowns for a proper Season. That is why we have never been to London.”
He studied her with some concern. “That is most unfortunate. It sounds as if you and your sisters were greatly wronged.”
Alexandra swallowed uneasily. There it was again—the compassion. But she had not told him of her situation to seek his pity and wished for a moment that she had not revealed any of it.
Another part of her, however—the deeper, more honest place that had been profoundly hurt and wounded by all the lies and betrayals from those she trusted most—cracked just a little, and she found herself opening up even further to this stranger before she realized what she was saying.
“Indeed, and here I am, dressed in a borrowed gown and jewels, hoping to win a proposal from a prince, along with dozens of other young women, each with her own story, I suppose.” She paused and looked up at the stars, listened to the crickets chirping in the grass. “It’s strange. There was once a time, long ago, when I imagined I would marry for love. I would have settled quite happily for a simple life with a mere clerk or merchant for a husband, but others insist that such a common existence is beneath me.”
She dragged her gaze down from the stars and spoke in more practical terms. “More importantly, my stepmother controls our allowance from my uncle, so it seems I must choose a husband in a more mercenary fashion if I am to help my sisters improve their situation. I am the eldest. It falls upon me to lift us out of the trenches. That is the world we live in, I suppose. Duty must come first.”