The Prince Who Loved Me (The Oxenburg Princes) (8 page)

His gaze turned politely to Mama. “Lady Malvinea. Allow me to introduce you and your lovely daughters to our guest of honor, His Highness, Prince Menshivkov.”

Oh, good, Sorcha will be so pleased.
Bronwyn’s gaze moved past Sir Henry’s nephew to rest on . . . the prince?

No.

The breath left her body in a flat second.

It can’t be.

But it was.

As Lady Malvinea, Sorcha, and Mairi curtsied, Bronwyn’s world froze.

My huntsman is the prince.

Gentle reader, to say that Roland knew the depth of his love for Lucinda with his first glance would be akin to saying that one can know the depth of the ocean at a glance. It takes time, and a very long knotted rope, to work that particular measurement.

—
The Black Duke
by Miss Mary Edgeworth

Alexsey bowed to the group, his gaze locked upon Bronwyn. “Pleased to meet you.”

Bronwyn didn’t know where to look or what to say. All she could do was gaze into his green eyes, her mind whirling in disbelief.

How could this be? He’d been dressed so simply and had been carrying the gamekeeper’s quiver and arrows and—
Good God, why didn’t he
tell
me?
He must have been laughing at me the entire time.
Her cheeks burned at the thought.

Unaware of her turmoil, her stepmother and stepsisters greeted the man with the greatest enthusiasm. “Your Highness!”

“Most pleased!” Sorcha, flushed with pleasure, dipped a curtsy.

Mairi followed suit. “Such an honor!”

He bowed absently to them, his gaze never leaving Bronwyn, possessive and hot. She felt every bit as exposed as she had in the forest—and more. Her heart thudded sickly against her chest and she felt as if she were caught in a horrible dream.

He looked so different in formal dress; lordly, prouder, and far less approachable. His perfectly cut coat fit across his broad shoulders and then tapered down to his narrow waist. His close-fitting knit breeches molded to his muscular legs and made her fight to breathe.
Now he truly does look like Roland.
“You are no huntsman.”

Lady Malvinea’s startled gaze flew to Bronwyn. “Bronwyn!”

Sorcha’s eyes widened.

Mairi gaped as she looked at the prince from head to toe. “
This
is your huntsman?”

Oh dear. I shouldn’t have said that aloud.

Alexsey took Bronwyn’s hand, his green eyes twinkling as he bowed. “I am indeed a huntsman. Since our meeting, I’ve done nothing but hunt”—he flashed a wolfish grin—“for you.”

She opened her mouth, but not a single word came out. This was not good. Not good at all. He was the prince, the very man Mama wished for Sorcha. And yet here he was, holding her hand.

He traced a circle over the back of her hand with his warm thumb, and she had an instant memory of his hands on her waist and hips, of his firm, warm mouth upon hers. Heat flooded her and her face burned yet again.

“Do not blush, little one.”

Mama, who had been staring at them with her mouth agape, stiffened. “Little one?”

Strathmoor leaned forward to say something under his breath to the prince, who looked irritated. “Ah. I did not know.” He inclined his head toward Mama. “ ‘Little one’ is what I call your daughter, but I have been informed that’s not a polite form of address.”

“Oh. I—I’m sure you didn’t mean to be forward.” Mama couldn’t have looked more irritated. “That’s . . . I’m certain there’s . . . I just don’t . . .” She subsided into red-faced silence, her eyes blazing.

The prince turned back to Bronwyn. “I am glad to have finally found you.” His hand tightened over hers, warm and powerful.

“Oh. Yes. That’s very nice.” Bronwyn tugged her hand free. “Thank you, Al—Your Highness. You are too kind.”

Alexsey’s eyes warmed, and he moved closer.

A shiver traveled through Bronwyn, warming her skin and making her nipples peak. The reaction was so quick, so raw, that she had to fight to breathe.

Mama’s brittle laugh cut into the moment and jarred Bronwyn back to her senses. “My goodness, I scarcely know what to say! How do you two know one another?”

Bronwyn shook her head. “We don’t know one another. Not really.”

“But we do,” Alexsey said, his smile fading. “Lady Malvinea, I had the privilege of meeting your stepdaughter several days ago. My grandmother’s dog disappeared during a hunt and your stepdaughter, who was reading a book in the woods, found her.”

“In the woods? Alone?” Mama cut a shocked, reproving glance Bronwyn’s way.

“Actually, no,” the prince said, looking regretful. “She had two large horse-dogs guarding her. She was quite safe.”

Mama said in a stiff tone, “I didn’t mean to suggest she wasn’t; I’m sure you were a perfect gentleman. I’m just surprised Bronwyn never mentioned this meeting.”

Bronwyn shook her head. “I didn’t think it was important. He had some of Selvach’s arrows and was wearing common clothing—he didn’t look a bit like a prince.”

Mairi leaned closer to Bronwyn and said under her breath, “How could you forget what he looked like? He’s
perfect
!”

Alexsey laughed, the deep, rich sound sending familiar tremors through Bronwyn. “Miss Mairi, I am many things, but perfect is not one of them.”

“I’ll vouch for that,” Strathmoor offered, looking amused.

Mama wasn’t finished. “Bronwyn, you obviously told your sisters about this meeting in the woods, but you said not one word to me.”

“I told them I’d met a huntsman, because that’s what I thought he was.”

“And she only told us because we made her.” Mairi bit her lip when her mother’s gaze flashed her way.

“I can see I’ve caused an uproar, and it was not my intention.” Alexsey tried to hide his impatience. “Roza did not know my title because I did not tell her.”

“Roza?” Miss Sorcha frowned.

Bronwyn said, “I refused to tell him my name, so he called me Roza and—”

“But—” Lady Malvinea began.

“Pardon me.” Alexsey bowed. “I will dance with your stepdaughter.”

“Oh no!” Bronwyn moved back until she was slightly behind Miss Sorcha. “I don’t dance.”

“Bronwyn doesn’t dance, and Mairi’s too young.” Lady Malvinea’s back was ramrod straight, like a soldier preparing for battle.

Alexsey had to give the lady credit. Her words and expression were pleasantly polite, but her posture and the line of her jaw showed a determination that gave one pause. He knew many statesmen who would pay money to be able to use just such skills.

“Mama!” Miss Mairi hissed, her face red. “You said I could dance this evening!”

Lady Malvinea’s smile didn’t slip. “Not with the prince.” She slipped an arm about Sorcha and edged her forward. “But Sorcha dances divinely.”

Alexsey bowed. “I look forward to dancing with both of your daughters.”

“Excellent! Sorcha will—”

“—dance with me
after
I have danced with Miss Murdoch.” He captured Bronwyn’s hand, tugging her forward.

She tugged back. “No, no. I’m only here to chaperone—”

“We will dance.” Alexsey tightened his hold. He’d waited many long days to find this woman, and he’d be damned if he’d let her out of his sight. “I will not accept a no.”

“But I—”

“Bronwyn!”

Everyone looked toward Lady Malvinea.

Her fan quivered, but she managed a credible smile. “Bronwyn, the prince has been most polite in his offer. You will dance with him. I’m sure someone will claim Sorcha’s hand.” Lady Malvinea looked directly at Alexsey. “Sorcha is in much demand. She may not be here when you return and you will have to wait for your dance.”

“Strath!” Alexsey said over his shoulder.

The viscount, who’d been watching them as if he were at the theater enjoying a show, started with surprise. “Yes?”

“Dance with Miss Sorcha.”

“But—”

“I will claim her hand at the next music.”

“But—” Strath caught Alexsey’s firm gaze and sighed. “Of course I’ll dance with the lovely Miss Sorcha. It will be my pleasure.” He bowed and held out his arm. “Miss Sorcha, shall we do as we’ve been royally commanded?”

Miss Sorcha looked as if she’d swallowed a bee, but after an awkward second, she gave a jerky nod and a fluttery, pained smile. “Of course.” She placed her hand upon Strath’s arm. Without looking at one another, the two joined the dancers upon the floor.

“There,” Alexsey said with satisfaction. Refusing to look at anyone else, he placed Roza’s hand upon his arm, and led her onto the dance floor.

Finally, he had her where she belonged: within the circle of his arms.

There was something tantalizing about the way Lucinda’s lashes trembled upon her cheeks, as if she were the smallest, most innocent dove. As Roland watched her, his heart swelled, and the urge to protect her filled his soul.

—
The Black Duke
by Miss Mary Edgeworth

No woman had ever danced with less grace. Still, though Alexsey feared his toes would be permanently bruised, he couldn’t stop his wide grin. He was dancing with his Roza.

He looked down at her and wondered what she was thinking. She seemed lost in her thoughts, her brow knit, her gaze on her feet. Of the many ways women reacted to dancing with him, he’d never met with such silence.

Alexsey bit back an “oof” when her small, slippered foot came down on his boot again. Perhaps because her stepsisters and stepmother were so much taller than she, Roza seemed shorter than he remembered, more delicate in some ways. But her skin was just as sun-kissed, her brown hair gleaming with russet lights that glowed in the candelabra light.

But gone was her openly curious expression, and in its place a polite-society façade, the sort worn by someone uncomfortable in public.
Are you shy, little one? I did not see it before, but now I think it’s possible.

He noted how stiffly she held her chin in the air, her lashes low, almost resting on her cheeks. He wondered if she found the silence unnerving, and if that was why she refused to look at him. Then he realized the truth: she was struggling to keep up with the dance steps, her lips silently moving as she counted out the time.

Her attention on her steps didn’t seem to help, for her dancing was worse than atrocious. She missed steps, had twice moved in the wrong direction, refused to allow him to lead, and had stepped on his left foot six times already.

Fortunately, while her eyes were turned downward, he had the opportunity to admire her at his leisure. How had he missed noticing how thick her lashes were? And how her small nose gave her a piquant look? He wanted to kiss that nose, along with other parts of her. He adroitly guided them out of the path of another couple.

Her hand tightened over his, and to his amusement, he realized she was once again trying to lead, a habit he attempted to squelch by refusing to follow.

Thwarted, Bronwyn flashed her gaze up to his. “I told you I don’t like to dance.”

“So you did. What you did not tell me is that you
couldn’t
dance.”

She flushed. “You should have danced with Sorcha. She’s very good at it.”

He glanced at Strath, Bronwyn’s gaze following. The viscount and Sorcha were exceptional dancers, moving smoothly and without error, seeming to float as they swept about the floor. With her gown of white crepe sewn with tiny pearls, long white ribands floating about her, Sorcha looked as if she belonged in a fairy tale.

But though the couple danced divinely, their conversation seemed to be of a less perfect turn. It was obvious they’d exchanged harsh words. Strath looked as if for a penny he’d willingly strangle Sorcha, while she appeared ready to return the favor for free.

Alexsey looked down at Bronwyn. “I prefer to dance with you, wretched though you are at it.”

“Why that’s— How rude!”

“It is the truth. I would not patronize you with less.”

She lifted a brow. “You truly are a prince charming.”

“Was that . . . what is the word? Ah yes—you are sarcasm.”

“The word is ‘sarcastic.’ And yes, I am.” She frowned up at him. “Pardon me, Alexs—Your Hi—good God, I don’t even know what to call you. This whole thing is confusing and awkward. I can’t seem to accept that you are a prince. A
real
prince.”

“If it bothers you, then tonight, I will be a huntsman once again.” His expression warmed. “I love hunting, especially for you.”

She narrowed her gaze. “I have the feeling you mean something else when you say ‘hunting.’ ”

He laughed. “I might. Come, Roza. Do not become so disturbed over things neither of us can change. Besides, we are just dancing.”

“If you think balls are held merely for dancing, then you’re very naïve.”

“Oh, I know that balls are for matchmaking. But I do not pay attention to such nonsense, and neither should you.”

She eyed him with curiosity. “You’re not looking for a wife?”

“I cannot think of anything I want less. I came to Scotland to escort my grandmother, who is older and far more frail than she will admit. Other than that, I had no purpose, and I certainly have no desire to marry. Not yet, anyway.”

“Neither do I.” She nodded thoughtfully and relaxed a little, her steps not quite so stiff as they turned to the music. After a moment, she peeped up at him through her lashes and said in a confidential tone, “Had I realized you were a prince when we met in the woods, I wouldn’t have spoken to you at all, much less—” She glanced around, and then lowered her voice. “You know.”

“Kiss—
OW!
” He stopped and another couple almost collided with them. “You stepped on my foot on purpose!”

“Did I? I’m sorry.”

He could tell she damned well wasn’t sorry at all. He firmly danced her to the side of the floor, keeping a cautious eye on her feet.

Once they were out of the main press, he slowed to a more comfortable tempo. They were now completely out of step with the music, but more in pace with her abilities. “There. Now you can stop pretending you can dance.”

“I warned you.”

“My ears did not work; I was too happy to have finally found you. Now, though, I regret not listening.” He shook his head in mock despair. “The tops of my shoes will never be the same.”

Her lips quirked into an irrepressible grin.

“So you have no shame for ruining my shoes,
nyet
? If it weren’t so difficult to replace shoes here in the middle of nowhere, I would let you stomp on the tops of all of them, but such is not the case. If they are ruined, I must go without.”

“A barefoot prince? That sounds like a bad Italian opera.”

He chuckled. “So it does. And it will sound even more like one if you mar my shoes until I cannot wear them, for then I will have to punish you.”

Bronwyn wasn’t sure what it was, the golden glow from the hundreds of candles that lit the ballroom, the musical swirl of the orchestra, or the fact that she was dancing with a real, straight-out-of-a-fairy-tale prince, one so handsome that everyone was staring at her with obvious jealousy, but she felt light-headed, as if she’d had too much champagne. It caused her to look up at the prince through her lashes and say in a completely un-Bronwyn-like way, “Oh? And how will you ‘punish’ me?”

His eyes sparkled. “I would spank you.” He bent until his lips were near her ear. “But in a
very
pleasurable way.”

Bronwyn’s heart leapt at the low-spoken threat.
I can’t believe he’s saying such things to me. Even more, I can’t believe I’m letting him.
But some part of her, a part she’d never known even existed, thrilled at the naughtiness of it. For one mad moment, she
wanted
him to do something “pleasurable.” In fact, she could think of several pleasurable things she would like from him right now—

I must stop this. Such thinking will only lead me down a very dangerous path.
She knew there would be a price to pay, for actions always followed thoughts. She pulled back a little and forced herself to appear disinterested. “I suppose all princes are flirtatious.”

“I can only speak for myself, but I am not usually so,
nyet.
Tonight I am flirtatious with you, and no one else.”

He said the words as if conferring a great gift upon her. “I suppose I should be honored. For tonight, anyway.” Oddly enough, she
was
honored . . . a little. And flustered . . . and still breathlessly happy, which worried her.

His smile warmed her. “I only know this, Roza: I am glad to find you, and I wish to kiss you more. But this time, I think it will be a different kiss from the ones we shared in the woods.”

There are different types of kisses?
Her chest tightened and her skin prickled in anticipation. “Oh?”

Alexsey laughed softly, soaking in the mixture of excitement and wonder that shone in her expression.
She is so lovely, so open, every emotion clear in her eyes.
The obvious excitement in her eyes spurred his own. “Our first kisses were gentle, new.” Alexsey bent closer, the scent of her hair engulfing him in lilac and sunshine. “This time, I will kiss you without mercy. I will kiss you over and over and over, until you beg for more than mere kisses.”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted, pure, naked desire in her dark eyes.

His body tightened instantly, his heart thrumming in an odd sort of recognition, as if his body, primed by her nearness, recognized hers.

Wanted hers.

Needed
hers.

But as quickly as desire had flashed across her face, her lashes dropped and she banished every vestige of longing. With a faint look of regret, her jaw firmed and her face set with a new determination.

As he watched the play of emotion, disappointment settled on his shoulders.
So quick to deny your own desires. Why is that?
She was as prickly as the flower he’d named her after. He wondered why he found her so appealing, what trait of hers pulled him closer. But one glance at the plump curve of her lips and the apple-round silk of her cheek, and he only knew that he wanted to taste this lush maiden and stir her sensuality awake. Just a single touch would free it; he could see it in her eyes.

His gaze swept over her to where her bosom filled her gown in a delightful manner. He’d wager his favorite summer palace that her breasts would fill his hands like ripe fruit, soft and succulent.

His mouth watered and he wished they were alone, where he could explore such intriguing possibilities. She’d looked different when they’d been in the secluded woods—had
been
different, softer and more approachable. Her hair had been loose and her gown muddied, and—after he’d kissed her—she’d had a dreamy expression on her face. Now she was primped and starched, her expression as cautious as her clothing.
Ballrooms do not become you, Bronwyn.

It would take some effort to loosen the bindings she’d wrapped about herself. “Tell me what sort of kisses you like best: slow ones that make your skin heat, or quick, urgent ones that make you ache for more, or—”

“Stop.” She glanced around as if to make certain no one could hear, her cheeks flushed an attractive pink. “This conversation is not acceptable for a lady, and you know it.”

“I do not like this word, ‘acceptable.’ ” He wasn’t overly fond of “lady,” either, now that he thought about it.

“Well, I
do
like that word. And if you don’t stop teasing me in such a way, I’ll ask to be returned to my family.”

He sighed. “So prim. This I do not like.”

Her gaze darkened. “I’m not fond of it, myself, but it’s how things must be.”

“Why?”

She blinked. “Why? Surely you can imagine the horrible complications that could occur if we continue to—” She glanced over one shoulder and then the other, before she bent closer and whispered, “Push the boundaries of acceptable behavior.”

He had to laugh. “I don’t think you need to whisper that.”

“Perhaps not, but we would both do well to behave with more propriety. You may not have a care about your reputation, but I care about mine. If I were to cause a scandal, my sisters could be harmed by it.”

Alexsey found himself looking over Bronwyn’s head to where Tata Natasha stood with Sir Henry. They were no longer deep in conversation. Instead, she was watching him dance with Bronwyn, a frown on her face. The heavy gold necklace that held the
kaltso
glimmered in the candlelight.

He returned his gaze to Bronwyn. “Sadly, there are people who will judge one based upon a reputation.”

“It is unfair, but it is the way of the world. Therefore, it is better for us to put our past nonsense behind us, and remain acquaintances.”

“What does that mean?”

“There will be no more kisses.”

“
Nyet
.”

She frowned. “I didn’t ask. I’m telling you.”

“I agree we should be more circumspect when in public. But in private? That is an entirely different matter.”

“Someone might catch us.”

“No one caught us in the woods,” he pointed out. “We must find more time in the woods.”

“We were merely lucky. The next time, we wouldn’t be.”

“Then we would set a watch of some sort, bribe the servants to—”

“
Nyet
. No. Not in a million years.”

Alexsey wasn’t used to such direct speaking, and he sure as hell wasn’t used to being told
nyet
in such a bald way. He, a prince of Oxenburg, a huntsman without compare, the future
savyet lidir
of the Romany (or so he’d be once Tata Natasha was through trying to make a point), was being put in his place by a Scottish lass who enjoyed books more than his kisses. “You are making this most difficult.”