The Prince Who Loved Me Part 9

"I have three brothers. And as Tata Natasha is fond of telling us, there is not room on the throne for four a.s.ses. My oldest brother, Nikki, will sit on that throne. My youngest brother, Wulf, is already doing what he does best, bringing wealth to our country. My brother Grisha is a soldier, one of the fiercest fighters in the history of the world. He will lead our armies."

"And that leaves you free to help the Romany."

"Not so free, perhaps, but da, it is what I will do when the time comes." He reached over to brush a leaf from her shoulder, trailing his fingers back to her neck and then up to her cheek. "And you? What do you dream of, Roza? What far sh.o.r.es beckon? What mountains do you wish to climb?"

His voice was seductive and silky, and she had to fight the urge to turn her cheek into his hand. "I'm quite content where I am."

Puzzlement turned his eyes a darker green. "Content with the place, that I can understand. It is lovely here. But surely there are things you wish to accomplish yet."

"I'd like to see both of my sisters well married and happy."

Alexsey frowned. "That is a dream for them, not for you. What do you want to do?"

She tilted her head to one side, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I don't really know. I've been so busy helping with Sorcha and Mairi, and helping my father with his patents-he's an inventor and must file the paperwork or lose any profits. I haven't really thought of doing anything else."

"You must have dreams of some sort," Alexsey insisted. "I already know you possess an adventuresome spirit, one that allowed you to share a most delightful kiss with a huntsman you'd just met in the woods." He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over the fine line of her cheekbone. She had delicate features, deliciously at odds with the errant sprinkle of freckles that dusted her nose.

Her cheeks pinkened, but she didn't move away. Indeed, he thought she might have leaned into his hand just the slightest bit.

She cleared her throat, her voice still husky. "People are usually adventuresome in some aspects of their lives, while not as much in others."

"We should rise to all challenges. Fortunately, the things that frighten us can also tempt us." Alexsey brushed a curl from her cheek, tucking it behind one of her sh.e.l.l-pink ears. He couldn't seem to stop touching her. Just having her so close, her hip against his on the small bench, made his body ache with yearning. "What frightens you, Roza? What do you both want, but fear?"

Her gaze met his, and he knew his answer. She desired him, yet feared the consequences of that desire. His body leapt in answer, and he found himself leaning forward, his lips brushing hers with the lightest of touches.

It was a teasing kiss, one meant to tempt her into wanting more, but he never had the chance to place the second kiss, nor the third. For the moment his mouth brushed hers, she moaned softly, fisted her hands in his coat and yanked him toward her, pressing her mouth to his and opening beneath him with demanding insistence.

Alexsey was lost in a flood of desire. He pulled her into his lap, never breaking the kiss, running his hands over her, molding her to him. She gasped against his mouth and he deepened the embrace, running a hand along her side to cup her breast. It was as deliciously full as he'd expected. Moaning softly, he found her nipple and flicked it with his thumb.

She arched against him, moaning desperately as he- The gate creaked, and instantly Alexsey moved her back to his side.

They sat for a long moment, their breathing harsh as the gravel crunched down the pathway. From the swirling mist a maid appeared, carrying a basket of linens. She walked past them, turned toward the kitchen, and disappeared through the door, never seeing them.

As soon as the door closed, Bronwyn leapt to her feet, her hands on her hot cheeks. "That's not what I expected to . . . I mean, it's . . . Oh dear. I should really . . . No, don't get up! I'll-" She dipped a quick curtsy and then disappeared into the mist. A second later, the gate slammed shut.

Still sitting on the bench, Alexsey wondered if he should walk to the loch for a cold swim, or call for an ice bath. Either way, he feared it would not be enough.

The afternoon sun shining overhead, Sir Henry Davidson stood on the terrace overlooking the south lawn, wishing he could spend more time here. It was a beautiful castle, one that deserved far more attention than he had time to give.

Though solidly built, the castle needed improvements in a dozen ways. If he made Tulloch one of his permanent residences he'd have to update the kitchens, add more water closets, install lighting, fix the roof over the west wing, repair the long drive-all expensive items for a castle he rarely visited. No amount of money could move the castle closer to Edinburgh, and Sir Henry couldn't imagine living so far away from civilization.

He'd come to Tulloch for one reason alone: because the woman standing at the end of the terrace had asked him. Or perhaps ordered was more correct.

At one time in his life, he would have given his right arm just for a glance from the fine eyes of the slender woman who was glaring across the lawn at his guests. But now he was forty years wiser, and time had changed things.

Given the choice now between the lady's still fine eyes and, say, a well-basted leg of mutton, he'd take the mutton.

Of course, that might be because it was far past his normal dinnertime, and the lady had called him away from the buffet just as he'd been ready to partake of an especially lovely lemon cake, which hadn't concerned his guest in the least.

His stomach grumbled in protest.

Not noticing, Tasha waved a dramatic hand at the guests enjoying the unusually warm afternoon. "Just look at him!" she ordered. "He's impossible!"

Henry joined Natasha, reluctantly tearing his gaze from the wide doors that led to his library, located a few steps away. Inside, a waiting scotch decanter called him. He could also ring a bell and have a footman bring him some tea cakes, and perhaps a roasted- "Are you listening?" Her eyes narrowed on him. "We are talking about my grandson."

He swallowed a sigh. "Och, of course." He searched the pastel gowns and dark coats strolling about the leaf-strewn lawn. It took him but a second to locate the tall young man who stood to one side of the lawn, surrounded by a bevy of young ladies. "Your grandson cuts quite an impressive figure. How many grandsons do you have?"

"Four. One married and the other three stubborn."

That made him laugh. "Stubborn he may be, but Prince Menshivkov is a fine mon. And he appears to be enjoying the company, too."

"He likes women well enough," she said darkly. "Too well."

"Then surely 'tis only a matter of time before he's wed."

Natasha fixed a fiery stare upon him. As she was as tiny as a fairy, her gesture merely brought the top of her head a mite closer to his shoulder. "Not this one. Look at him smiling at them, talking to them, giving them hope. But all he really wishes is to bed them and then leave."

Which, as plans went, had its own merits. But Sir Henry knew better than to say so aloud.

He nodded as if in full agreement and stared at the prince with what Henry hoped was a look of disapproval. As he watched, Prince Alexsey reached down and scooped up Natasha's dog-a small white fluff of an animal-and, patting it soothingly, said something that made the women about him laugh. The breeze ruffled the prince's black hair and flattened his coat across his broad shoulders, which made the women stare hungrily as if he were a giant sweet ice.

Henry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Tasha, if you dinna mind a man's thoughts on this . . ." He waited.

She cut him a curious glance. "Da?"

"It's possible-just possible, mind you-that you're being a wee bit overconcerned. Give the mon time. He'll find the right la.s.s and settle. You'll see."

"I won't see, for he has no intentions of doing any such thing. He's made it very plain to us all-all he wants is a flirtation, flirtation, and nothing but a flirtation."

"That's all most men want, until we meet the right one. Your grandson's educated, sophisticated, intelligent, a fine shot and a better hunter, and he plays a d.a.m.ned good hand at whist. He's a fine mon and the la.s.ses love him. Added to that, he's wealthy and a prince, to boot. That is a recipe for marriage if I ever heard one."

Tasha absently fingered the thick gold chain that hung about her neck. "Despite my complaints, I have hopes he will soon change his ways."

Encouraged, he added, "At least he made some attempt to meet the local beauties at the ball last night."

"He danced with two women only. Miss Bronwyn Murdoch, and her sister, Miss Sorcha."

"Miss Sorcha is very lovely-a blonde with vivid blue eyes and a delicate, graceful nature. Everyone is in raptures over her."

"She was lovely," Natasha agreed. "Do you think he was interested in her?"

"Very," Henry said boldly, though to be honest, he hadn't paid much heed to the prince's expression. "She's from a good family, she is. Her mother is Lady Malvinea, the youngest daughter of Earl Spencer."

"I don't remember a Lady Malvinea, but there were many people at your ball."

"Had you met the Murdochs, you would have remembered them. Lady Malvinea is a woman of forceful character, and her daughter Sorcha is quite beautiful, as I've said. There are two daughters other than Sorcha; one is younger, while the other-an older stepdaughter-serves as chaperone. The father, Mr. Murdoch, is a genteel man of a good and ancient name-'tis a charming family."

"Good. Very good." A thoughtful expression entered Natasha's eyes. "You believe this Sorcha would make a good wife to a restless man like Alexsey?"

"Och, o' course. I wouldna mind having her in my family, had I any sons to share. Lady Malvinea has spared no expense regarding her daughters. They are fluent in several languages, possess refined accents and manners, and are accomplished in musical arts. Whatever you might wish a wife to know, the daughters know. At least the two younger ones."

"But not the stepdaughter?"

"Nay. The vicar's wife told me Miss Murdoch was sixteen when Lady Malvinea came to Dingwall, much too old to benefit from her stepmother's guidance."

"But this Sorcha, she sounds well suited." Natasha's gaze fixed on her grandson. "I wonder . . ."

Sir Henry's stomach rumbled and he winced, wondering if he dared suggest tea at such an early hour. He was just about to mention it when Natasha said, "Perhaps I should meet Lady Malvinea and Miss Sorcha."

"That would be easy to arrange. But . . . a word of warning. Though her heart is good, Lady Malvinea can be a bit abrasive."

Natasha flicked him an unconcerned glance. "I do not fault a woman for having ambition for her children. This Sorcha has potential. Potential is a beginning. And since Alexsey took the time to dance with her, he must be attracted to her."

"He also danced with the eldest, less attractive daughter," Sir Henry reminded her, "perhaps for politeness' sake."

A faint look of approval crossed her face. "That was well done, and quite unlike him. Perhaps you are right, and he is interested in this Miss Sorcha." Natasha pursed her lips. "I will invite the Murdochs to the castle for tea. I wish to meet this girl myself, and Lady Malvinea, as well."

"Of course."

"That is done, then." She smiled, a flash of humor in her black eyes. "Come, let us find you some sustenance. Your stomach has been grumbling nonstop. I fear if we do not answer it, and soon, it will decide to go to dinner without you."

He laughed and proffered his elbow. "I'm a sad case, Tasha." He wagged his brows suggestively. "Always hungry, especially where you were concerned."

"I'm hungry, too." She tucked her hand inside his elbow. "But only for tea cakes."

He patted her hand. "Then cakes it will be."

Lady Catulino gave Lucinda a handkerchief. "My dear, you are such an innocent. Men were made to drive women to madness, either with what they will do, or what they won't. It is simply the nature of the beast."

-The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth Sir Henry's liveried footman opened the door and then stood to one side as Mama, Sorcha, and Mairi entered the sitting room. Bronwyn trailed behind, taking in the luxurious, if rather out-of-date, appointments of Tulloch Castle's sitting room with deep appreciation.

Since talking to-or rather, kissing-Alexsey in the garden, Bronwyn had been a tangle of thoughts, trying to put everything that had happened into some kind of order. But all she'd managed to do was realize two difficult and sadly conflicting things.

First, prince or no, Alexsey possessed a highly sensual nature. A nature that, most likely encouraged by his upbringing in an exotic land, and the fact that princes rarely faced correction by societal rules, had obviously gone unchecked. Sadly, she reacted strongly to that sensual nature; his mere presence made her heart flutter and her knees quake.

She wasn't pleased with this realization, but it was better to admit the truth of things rather than hide them.

Her second realization was about herself. When faced with Alexsey's unfiltered sensuality, her imagination was thrown into an instant war with her common sense. She knew a dalliance of any kind with Alexsey was dangerous, and would likely go further than it should. Yet despite knowing how disastrous that could be for her future, she still found herself imagining what might happen if they were ever alone again. It was as if the moment he touched her, she became someone else, someone far more adventuresome than she'd ever thought herself to be.

Faced with these contradictions, all she could do was to make certain she and Alexsey were never alone, so she'd never have to make a choice between her imagination and her common sense. She feared she already knew which one was stronger.

"Bronwyn?"

Her mother and sisters had taken their seats and were looking at her expectantly.

Flushing, she hurried to join them. "Sorry, I was admiring the rug. It's beautiful."

Mama's lips thinned, but she turned to the waiting footman. "Please inform Her Grace we have arrived."

"Yes, my lady. She will be down shortly."

Mama inclined her head in what she obviously thought was a regal manner, but only succeeded in looking awkward. "Thank you."

He bowed again and then left. The second the door closed behind him, Mairi hopped to her feet. "Have you ever seen such elegant furnishings? These chairs! The settee! The rugs! Even the footstools are elegant; they all have golden feet!"

"It's beautiful," Bronwyn agreed. The long room had glittering golden candelabras upon a large marble mantel, rich oriental rugs covering almost every inch of floor, and gorgeous silk-covered furniture arranged throughout.

Sorcha looked about her in wonder. "It was so kind of the grand d.u.c.h.ess to invite us to tea."

"It wasn't mere kindness." Mama couldn't seem to keep her smile to herself. She had been in a particularly sunny mood since the ball, and now she beamed at them all. "It's my belief it wasn't the grand d.u.c.h.ess who issued the invitation. In fact, I'd wager my best shoes on it."

Mairi turned from admiring a particularly lovely ormolu clock. "If the d.u.c.h.ess didn't, then who? Surely not Sir Henry, for the invitation didn't bear his name, only hers."

An impatient look crossed Mama's face. "Think, Mairi. We didn't even meet the grand d.u.c.h.ess, so why would she invite us to tea? Someone else manipulated this little meeting. Someone who spent time with us at the ball."

Good G.o.d, she thinks Alexsey is behind our invitation! Bronwyn couldn't have disagreed more.

The prince's intentions were far from pure, but she couldn't imagine he was so lost to propriety as to induce his grandmother to a.s.sist him with a seduction. Had he been a weaselly sort, she supposed it might be true, but he wasn't a bit weaselly.

Frankly, she thought him boldly honest, even when the truth made him seem a libertine. She found his honesty appealing. She bit back a wistful sigh. "Mama, I don't believe the prince was behind the grand d.u.c.h.ess's invitation."

Mama's smile faded. "Of course he was. I think he wanted to see Sorcha, and it is a great honor that he wishes her to be introduced to his family."

Sorcha, pink-cheeked, shook her head. "No, Mama. I think you're reading far too much into this."

"I'm not! My dear, just think. The prince paid particular attention to you the night of the ball. You are the only woman he danced with."

"He also danced with Bronwyn."

"She's not an eligible parti. Besides, he left the ball right after he danced with you. In fact, he barely spoke to anyone else." Mama looked as if she might explode with happiness. "The entire neighborhood has been roaring with speculation. Many people have commented upon his behavior."

Probably spurred on by Mama's own hints. Bronwyn wisely kept her thoughts to herself.

Sorcha shook her head, her knuckles white about her new reticule. "Mama, you exaggerate. He barely spoke when we were on the floor. Meanwhile, he talked to Bronwyn the entire time they danced. I know, for I saw them."

And he'd had far too much to say to her, Bronwyn thought.

Mama's smile faltered, but only for a moment. "He was probably lost in thought. You know how some men are at large functions-they dislike dancing and the noise makes conversing difficult. That's most likely why he had the grand d.u.c.h.ess invite us today, so he could speak with you in a quieter setting."

"I have nothing to say to him."

"Of course you do! And if he should ask, it would be perfectly acceptable if he drew you to one side of the room while I speak with his grandmother. So long as you stayed within sight, you two could have the most comfortable of cozes." Mama cast a sharp look at Bronwyn and Mairi. "When you see the prince take Sorcha to one side, pray do not jump up and follow them."

Mairi sniffed. "What if the prince invites us?"

"I daresay politeness will make him do so, but you're both to refuse. After a nice visit, we'll invite the grand d.u.c.h.ess and the prince for a visit, although"-Mama ran her hand over a silk-ta.s.seled pillow, a dissatisfied shadow darkening her eyes-"I don't know how I'd ever welcome them into our poor sitting room. Obviously Her Grace is used to the finest of everything and there we'll be, our house barely fit to view."

Bronwyn bit back a sigh. "Mama, this is Sir Henry's home, not Her Grace's. Who knows what she is used to?"