Princess in Love
Authors: Julianne MacLean
Tags: #Romance, #Regency, #Historical, #Fiction
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Contents
Prologue
Briggin’s Prison, Petersbourg, January 1815
She’d always known life did not follow a straight or predictable path—it was riddled
with unexpected twists, turns, and steep inclines—but never had Rose Sebastian understood
that fact as well as she did on the day her world turned upside down and her heart
was smashed to pieces.
As the uniformed guard led her down a steep set of spiraling stone steps that seemed
to go on forever into a hellishly dark dungeon in the very guts of the earth, Rose
wondered if she would ever look back on these events and understand why it all happened
the way it did. Would she ever let go of the regret? Would she ever be grateful for
the cruel lessons that had been forced upon her?
The guard continued down a long stone corridor with torches blazing in wall sconces.
The hay-strewn floor was wet beneath her feet. She had never ventured this deeply
into Briggin’s Prison before. How medieval it seemed. The air was cold and damp and
made her body shiver.
At last they reached the cell at the end of the corridor, and the guard lifted the
bar on the heavy oaken door. It creaked open on rusty iron hinges.
“He’s in here, Your Highness. Shall I accompany you, or do you wish me to wait outside?”
Rose hesitated. Of course the guard must wait outside, for there were intimate matters
to discuss with the prisoner.
The prisoner.
Dear God, what if she lost her temper and struck him? Or worse, what if she took
one look at him and desire still burned, despite everything he had done?
“Wait outside, please,” she firmly replied, moving toward the threshold. “Shut the
door behind me and bar it. I will knock twice to signal when I am through with him.”
She handed the guard a ten-pound note—a small price to pay for his silence—then took
a deep breath and steeled her nerves as she entered the prison cell.
The door slammed shut behind her, and she jumped at the sound of it—like a judge’s
gavel—while her gaze fell upon the man she had come here to confront.
He was already standing in the center of the cell as if he had known it was she outside
the door.
She,
who had once adored him. Trusted him. Desired him.
He wore the same fashionable clothing from a few short hours ago when he was arrested
in the palace courtyard and dragged away for high treason and attempted murder.
For he had tried to kill her beloved brother, the king.
Her heart squeezed like a wrathful fist in her chest, and for a moment she couldn’t
breathe.
“You seem surprised to see me,” Rose said, lifting her chin and resisting any urge
to rush forward into his arms and beg to hear that he was safe and unharmed, for his
welfare did not matter. She should not care about that. He deserved to rot down here
with the rest of the rats, and she hoped he would.
“Yes,” he replied. “And no, because all I’ve done since they dragged me here was pray
you would come to me. I could think of nothing else.”
Rose scoffed. “There it is again. The flattery and seduction. Did you imagine I would
learn of your peril and try to rescue you? Did you think I would drop to my brother’s
feet and beg him to set you free because I had fallen in love with you? Even after
what you did to my family and how you used me?”
He stepped forward, but she held up a hand. “Stay where you are, sir. I know everything.
My brother told me of your plot to replace him on the throne. I know how you came
to the palace to win the queen’s affections. I know that your father has been planning
your marriage to her since the day you were born so that you would one day rule this
country at her side. You have been deceiving us all, and for that reason I came here
to tell you that anything I felt for you in the past is annihilated. Nothing I said
remains true any longer for I was misled, and I certainly have no intention of helping
you escape your sentence, whatever it may be.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re lying. If you felt nothing for me, why did
you come here? If I did not matter to you, you would simply watch my head roll.”
Her fury erupted again, for he was not wrong. She was not indifferent, but damn him
for recognizing it. Damn him for pointing it out.
The chill of the prison cell seeped into her bones, and she rubbed at her arms. “I
will never forgive you,” she said.
He stared at her. “Yes you will, Rose, because you know I am innocent.”
She felt nauseous suddenly. A part of her wanted to weep at the loss of him. Another
part of her wanted to strike him and shake him senseless until he confessed that he
had treated her wrongly and that he was sorry. That he regretted all the lies and
betrayals, and that this was all just a bad dream.
“I know no such thing,” she replied nevertheless. “My brother was poisoned with arsenic
just like my father, who is now dead. You of all people know how much I loved my father.
Yet you, as a devout Royalist, were behind the plot to kill him.”
He made a fist at his side. “No, I knew nothing of that, just as I knew nothing of
the attempt on Randolph’s life. I love you, Rose. You know that. You know I would
never do anything to hurt you.”
He tried to move closer again, and what was left of her heart split in two. He was
still the most beautiful man she had ever known, and despite all her cool, contemptuous
bravado, she could never forget the passion they shared, how his touch had ignited
her whole world into a boundless realm of happiness.
But she must push those memories aside, for she was devastated by his betrayal and
by the total destruction of her first love.
How could she have been so foolish? How could she not have seen the truth? How would
she ever recover from this?
“Please,” he said, spreading his arms wide in open surrender. “Tell Randolph I had
nothing to do with the arsenic. I confess I was raised as a Royalist, and yes … my
father wanted to remove your family from the throne and I was involved in that. But
since the day we met on that muddy road in England, Rose, I have cared less and less
for politics and thrones. I fell in love with you. You know it in your heart.” He
inhaled deeply. “Speak to Randolph on my behalf. Tell him I am sincere. I knew nothing
of the attempt on his life or your father’s murder. Treason, yes … I am guilty of
that. I was part of the plot to take back the throne, at least in the beginning, but
I am no killer.”
Her heart was beating so fast she feared she might faint, but it was not like before,
when her heart raced simply because Leopold Hunt, Marquess of Cavanaugh, entered a
room. This was different. Everything had changed. She was not the same naive girl
she was six months ago. The trust was gone. She must smother all that remained of
her foolish infatuation.
“It will fall on the court to determine whether or not you are a killer,” she told
him. “I cannot help you in that regard, for clearly I am incapable of sensible judgments
where you are concerned.”
“That is not true.”
A part of her wanted to believe him, but she clung to the dark shadow of contempt
that had taken over her soul.
“Yes it is,” she replied, “for you were the worst mistake of my life.”
All the color drained from his face—as if she had thrust a knife into his belly.
“I pray you will not feel that way forever,” he said.
She laughed bitterly. “Why? So there might be a chance for us? Or perhaps you hope
my feelings might change in time to reduce your sentence?”
“It has nothing to do with that.”
For a flashing instant, her thoughts flew back to that muddy road in England when
the world was a different place and she still believed in heroes and fairy tales.
She quickly pounded the life out of that memory and kicked it into a deep grave.
“If I must repeat myself, I will,” she replied. “I want nothing more to do with you,
Leopold. I want to forget what happened between us and move on with my life. I wish
you luck in the trial, but I will not be here to witness it, for I will be leaving
Petersbourg as soon as possible. I intend to marry the archduke of Austria, as planned.”
“Rose, wait…”
Again, he took a step closer but she swung around, fearful that he might touch her,
hold her, weaken her resolve. She rushed to the door and rapped hard against it with
a tight fist. “Guard!”
The bar lifted and the door opened. Rose rushed out.
“Is everything all right, Your Highness?” the guard asked, looking more than a little
concerned.
“I am fine,” she lied.
While she struggled to resist the treacherous urge to change her mind and return to
Leopold’s side, the door slammed shut behind her.
Suddenly, to her utter shame and chagrin, she wondered what would happen if she spoke
to Randolph on Leopold’s behalf. Would he show mercy? Life in prison perhaps, instead
of death?
No. No! She would do nothing of the sort! She was a Sebastian and had a duty to fulfill.
Her brother’s new monarchy had only just begun. She must remain strong, serve her
beloved country, and marry the future emperor of Austria.
She would forget about Leopold Hunt, and she would be more sensible from this day
forward. She would not spend another moment wondering how this unthinkable heartache
had come to pass, nor would she wonder what she could have done differently to avoid
it.
What was done was done. He was dead to her now.
It was time to leave Petersbourg.
PART I
England
Six months earlier
Chapter One
June 22, 1814
“What is happening? Dear Lord, we are all going to die!”
The coach swerved ominously like a snake’s tail behind the frightened team of horses.
With terrifying violence, Rose was tossed out of her seat and thrown against the side
door.
“We are not going to die!” she shouted to the dowager Duchess of Pembroke. It seemed
a rather silly assertion, however, spoken from the floor of the coach when she was
blind as a bat because her bonnet had fallen forward over her face.
She tugged it back and groped at the seat cushions to remove herself from the floor,
when suddenly the coach veered sharply again in the opposite direction. She shot across
the interior like a cannonball and slammed into the window.