Authors: Julianne MacLean
Lucille looked out the window while Alex cautiously locked eyes with Nicholas.
As the coach rolled along, they watched each other but did not say a word. The tension, however, was palpable, for she knew his feelings. He had made them excruciatingly clear.
She, on the other hand, must keep her traitorous feelings secret from everyone. She could not reveal even the smallest measure of her heart.
As the coach pulled to a halt in front of the house, he stepped out first and assisted Lucille out of the vehicle.
“Thank you again,” she said. “We enjoyed ourselves immensely. And please tell Randolph that we will look forward to seeing him at Covent Garden.”
“I will deliver the message,” he replied.
Without looking back, Lucille sauntered to the front door and waited while Alex took hold of Nicholas’s gloved hand. As she stepped down, however, he did not let go. He clung to her fingers and she had to pull them firmly from his grasp.
“When I watched you go off with my brother,” he said in a low, gruff voice, “I didn’t like it. I was jealous. I am
still
jealous.”
Startled by his unexpected confession, Alexandra wet her trembling lips. “I beg your pardon?”
He glanced up at the front of the house to ensure that Lucille could not hear what he was about to say. “I know I said I would help you, and I will because I want you to have what you desire. But I believe you are mistaken about what you think you want, Alexandra, because I believe you desire
me
.”
Her heart began to beat very fast. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” There was a dangerous, almost angry level of persistence in his voice.
Meanwhile, she couldn’t seem to make her feet work in order to walk away from him.
“We’ve only just met,” she argued, as if she did not feel the same way … as if she could convince him that whatever attraction he felt was no deeper than paper when, in reality, a wild fever had stirred her blood as well. Even now, here on the street, the intensity of it struck her like a firestorm. “Surely whatever you are feeling will pass soon enough,” she added. “You will find some other woman to dally with.”
“Dally?” He frowned. “Again, you judge me by my reputation. You think I am not capable of commitment.”
His indignation both surprised and intrigued her. “Well? Are you?”
“Of course I am. I have loved before, and contrary to what the world thinks of me, I wish to love again.”
She darted a glance at the house and expected her stepmother to call her in at any moment, but Lucille continued to wait.
“What happened to this woman you loved?” Alex asked before she could stop herself. “I am hesitant to ask where she is now. Not ruined, I hope.”
A muscle clenched at his jaw. “Did you ever stop to consider the possibility that I was the one who was jilted and left for another?” He looked down at her lips, then shook his head, as if he did not wish to reveal any more ugly details. “Let us simply say that I am not cavalier about matters of the heart. I know how it feels to want something and to be ultimately disappointed.”
Oh, what was it about this man that aroused her so? Each time he spoke, she was captivated. Whenever she looked at him, she shivered with desire. She had felt nothing close to this while walking in the park with his brother. That had been proper and polite. Artificial. Deceitful, even. Most definitely a chore.
She had not known that an attraction like
this
could even exist.
“Perhaps one day,” she said, still determined not to become reckless of mind, “you will find another special woman to love, but I am afraid it cannot be me. I believe you are mistaken in your impression of my feelings. You do not know me at all. You are laying your affections in the wrong place.”
But heaven help her, she was plagued by her feelings as well, and he was not wrong about that. He saw her exactly as she was, and she had lied to him just now.
One giant, heartbreaking lie on top of so many others.
“I must go,” she said.
He reached out to stop her. “Wait.”
The raw command in his voice caused her to halt in her footsteps, but she did not dare turn around.
“I will bring the coach around to escort you and your stepmother to the theater on Tuesday,” he said. “Be ready for me at seven o’clock.”
She was furious with him for ordering her about in such a manner and for igniting her passions when she did not wish for them to be ignited, yet she could not bring herself to refuse.
“Very well. Do not be late,” she replied with an equal force of command, though she hated herself for her surrender as she hurried to the door.
Chapter Seven
The following day, the St. James’s Palace coach pulled up in front of the house on Grosvenor Square, but this time Nicholas did not step out.
Instead, Alex found herself watching with stark disappointment—which vexed her terribly—as a servant knocked on the door, delivered what appeared to be a letter, returned to the coach, and drove off.
Was it a note from Nicholas, or was it an official communication from the palace?
It was not easy to maintain an appearance of calm, but Alex managed to gain a stranglehold on her emotions, for she could not possibly let anyone learn of her foolish infatuation with the future king’s younger brother. She must work harder to smother it.
“A letter from the palace, Your Grace,” the footman said as he entered the room.
Despite all her best intentions to remain indifferent, Alexandra’s heart sank with disappointment as she watched the footman deliver the letter to Lucille, who picked it up off the silver salver.
“Oh look, there is something here for you, too, Alexandra. Not one but two letters from the palace.” She held out the second letter, which Alex accepted with the pretense of disinterest.
“Come, come, what does yours say?” Lucille broke the seal on her own. “Mine is an invitation for us both to join Prince Randolph on Thursday for a tour of the Egyptian Hall.”
Alexandra turned her back, broke the seal, and stared at the letter briefly while her heart began to pound out of control. “That is what mine says, too.”
Then she politely excused herself and hurried to her room—in order to read Prince Nicholas’s personal letter in private.
My dear Lady Alexandra,
Please accept my most sincere apologies for my behavior when we walked in the park together and later parted ways at your door. It is not my custom to allow my passions to overtake my good sense, and I am still struggling to come to terms with how I behaved and what I must accept—that your ambitions are engaged elsewhere.
For that reason, I must honor your wishes by bowing out of the race.
I also believe that I would be doing a disservice to my country if I deprived the people of Petersbourg of such a strong and beautiful queen.
I will therefore offer my assistance to you, for I am nothing if not your devoted servant in all ways. I will advise my brother to recognize your superior qualities, and I will dedicate myself completely to the task of helping you achieve all that you desire.
I will not stand in your way, nor will I speak of my affections again.
Please accept my apologies, but I must send another servant to deliver you to Covent Garden on Tuesday. Randolph will look for you in the lobby at intermission. I will arrange it on your behalf.
Yours sincerely,
N.
Alex sank into a chair and lowered the letter to her side. Every inch of her being was sizzling with shock.
She read the letter again.
I will dedicate myself completely to the task of helping you achieve all that you desire.… I will arrange it on your behalf.
She should be happy. She was now very close to the ultimate fulfillment of her destiny, but her heart was turning in another direction, for she knew Randolph did not touch her heart the way his brother did. The sparks had turned to flame that first night on the terrace, even before she knew his name. The very instant he spoke, she had felt the power of their attraction. It was not something she could explain in rational terms, even while her intellect was scolding her and demanding that she forget him.
Suddenly all that seemed to matter was the strange fever that was overtaking her body in the most intoxicating way.
Sitting forward, she chastised herself for feeling disappointed that he had decided to withdraw his pursuit, and would not escort her to the theater on Tuesday. Her benefactor would be appalled if he knew her thoughts—but heaven help her, she wanted Nicholas to keep fighting. She wanted to write back to him now and tell him not to accept defeat so quickly. She might yet change her mind, but what kind of idiocy was that?
She was the true hereditary heir to the Petersbourg throne, and her family had been forcibly removed and banished to a place where they all perished tragically.
It was her duty to return to her homeland and restore the true monarchy. She wanted to serve the people and be a kind and benevolent monarch. They were currently ruled by a power-hungry revolutionary, but they deserved so much more than that—and it was no secret that they wanted it, for the country was divided. The Royalists and the New Regime could not agree on anything.
Cupping her forehead in a hand, she wondered what to do with this letter.
She should not keep it. She should destroy it, for what if she became queen and it fell into the wrong hands?
Without giving it another thought—for if she read it again she might very well succumb to weakness—she rose from her chair, lit a candle, and held the letter over the flame.
As she watched it disintegrate, her heart squeezed with misery at the price she must pay in the name of duty, and it took no small measure of discipline to keep from rescuing the letter and patting out the flames.
As soon as it was gone—reduced to nothing but a small pile of ash on the desktop—she turned and made a solemn vow not to spend another moment dreaming about Prince Nicholas, for he was the most dangerous of men. He had the power to divert her from her goal, and she could not allow him to do that. No matter that he fired her blood and made her body yearn to be touched.
His brother made her feel no such things, and yet it was he whose children she must bear.
Suddenly the thought of bearing Nicholas’s children possessed her, and she felt a deep pang of longing.
She pushed the thought away. It was no use dwelling on what could not be.
For those reasons, and a dozen more, she vowed to forget about Nicholas once and for all. She would focus on her duty, no matter what the cost.
Chapter Eight
On the night of the play at Covent Garden, Alexandra and Lucille took their seats in the center of the fifth row.
“I wish Randolph could have escorted us himself,” Lucille whispered, “instead of sending a servant to do it for him. Is there any possibility that he has escorted another woman here this evening? Are we second choice, do you think?”
“I don’t know, Mama. We shall have to wait and see.” Alex looked up at the only empty box, which was reserved for Randolph, his sister, Rose, and the regent, and wondered if her stepmother was correct. Perhaps another more purposeful young lady—not distracted by the wrong man—had put her hooks into Randolph already and was well on her way to becoming the future Queen of Petersbourg.
Just then, Lucille turned in her seat, then quickly faced forward again. “Good Lord. Sit up straight, Alexandra. Your benefactor has just walked in.”
Alex turned to see Mr. Carmichael taking a seat at the rear of the theater. She faced the stage again and kept her eyes fixed on the velvet curtains while she comprehended the situation.
This was the first time she had encountered her benefactor since her debut into society. He had always remained on the fringes, never interrupting her social engagements or her interactions with Randolph.
Was Mr. Carmichael here to observe her progress? Did he somehow know she had become diverted from her goal—a very expensive goal, which he had financed himself with the hiring of the house in Grosvenor Square, not to mention the servants, the carriage, and all the gowns?
“Is he not worried the prince will recognize him?” Alex quietly whispered. “He was once secretary to my father. Surely his face is known in Petersbourg.”
Lucille shook her head. “King Frederick would recognize him, most definitely, but not Randolph, for he was only seven when they removed Carmichael from the palace. Since then he has remained invisible to the revolutionaries who now hold power. He has not dared return to court.”
For a few tense seconds Lucille and Alex sat in silence while members of the orchestra tuned their instruments in the pit. It was a frenzied discordance of notes that did not help Alex to relax.
She could feel Mr. Carmichael’s gaze burning into the back of her head, watching her every move, no doubt wondering why she hadn’t accomplished more by now. Shouldn’t it be the heir to the throne sending her secret love letters and not his younger brother?
But Mr. Carmichael would not know of that. There was no possible way. At least she hoped there was not.
“I don’t want him here,” she whispered to Lucille. “He makes me uneasy. I will not be able to focus my attentions on the prince if Mr. Carmichael is breathing down my neck.”
Lucille glared at her. “You hardly have a choice in the matter. He bought the tickets for the seats we are now occupying, not to mention our gowns and jewels. Without him, we would be nowhere. We would be stuck back in our little house in Wales, counting farthings to pay our debt to the landlord.”
Alexandra’s chin shot up. “Do not tell me I do not have choices, Mama, for I suspect the gowns and jewels we are wearing are a product of my family’s lost wealth. Where else would Mr. Carmichael obtain such resources? Unless he comes from money himself … Is this his private investment?”
Lucille stiffened. “I do not know where his money comes from. All I know is that he was your father’s loyal servant until the day he died, and he saved your life. He smuggled you to safety after both your parents had been erased from existence. So do not forget that when you speak to him.”