The Prince’s Bride (25 page)

DUKE AND DUCHESS OF WALBRYDGE PLAN TRADITIONAL FAMILY CHRISTMAS DINNER AT NEW HOME.
KING, QUEEN, AND TOP MEMBERS OF PARLIAMENT EXPECTED TO ATTEND.

And so the holiday season began on a very high note.

*   *   *

Though Nicholas did his best most nights to remain at home with his wife in the evenings,
occasionally he kissed her on the cheek and ventured out to Carroway’s for an evening
of cards and cognac. She did not begrudge him for it, and he was thankful that they
had settled into a comfortable routine. She had not expressed any discontent or mistrust
since the night he stayed out until dawn and bought her the diamond necklace with
his winnings.

As Christmas was fast approaching, Carroway’s was uncharacteristically quiet one particular
night when he found himself sitting alone. It was not an unwelcome circumstance. There
had been much attention paid to him lately—most of it complimentary—but he was pleased,
for once, to be spared the backslapping congratulations.

It was past midnight when he decided to return home to the palace, forgoing the usual
trip to Wolcott’s for cards.

As he placed his hat on his head and walked out the door, he looked up at the sky.
It had just begun to snow. Nicholas paused to breathe in the fresh winter scents and
blinked up at the giant snowflakes falling lightly through the mist. They landed on
his cheeks, and he reveled in their coolness as they melted onto his skin.

Approaching the curb, he waved to his driver, who was parked a few doors down. The
coach pulled up and Nicholas greeted his driver. “Straight home tonight, Jenkins.
Not much going on.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Nicholas opened the door of the coach and stepped inside, taking note of the fact
that the lamp was not lit. It mattered not. He would simply close his eyes for the
ride home.

He was just brushing the snowflakes from his shoulders when he became aware of a shadowy
presence on the opposite seat, facing him.

The coach lurched forward and Nicholas squinted through the darkness. “Since it’s
Christmas,” he said, “and a time for goodwill toward men, I will give you ten seconds
to identify yourself, then I will have my driver stop here while I politely allow
you to vacate my vehicle. No questions asked.”

A throat cleared, and he knew at once that it was a woman.

A few months ago, he would have lounged back comfortably in his seat and awaited his
traveling companion’s next move, but tonight he found himself unnerved and irritated
by this person’s presumptuousness, for he was no longer available for such games,
and had certainly not extended any invitations to anyone.

“Please do not make him stop,” the lady said as she lowered the hood of her cloak.

“Ah…” He recognized the voice. It was Elizabeth, the prime minister’s niece.
Lizzie,
to him. One of his former, more regular lovers. “Good evening, Mrs. Kennedy.”

She stared at him. “Is
that
how it’s going to be now, Nicholas? You are going to address me as Mrs. Kennedy and
forget what we were to each other?”

He shifted uncomfortably on the seat. “I shall never forget it,” he courteously replied,
“but what we were is no longer relevant.”

She was quiet while the coach wheels rolled over the snow-covered cobblestones. “You
are telling me that I must accept it—because you are respectable now.”

“I am a married man,” he reminded her.

She sighed as she removed her gloves and set them on her lap. “I suppose your wife
would not appreciate knowing the nature of our acquaintance.”

“Véronique knows who you are,” he informed her. “You attracted her attention when
you walked out of your uncle’s dinner party so abruptly last month.”

“I see.” She rolled her shoulders with a clear show of discontent. “Well, I apologize
for that. It was impolite of me, but I was still in shock over your unexpected marriage.
I wasn’t up to meeting your wife just then.”

He gave her a moment to recover her composure.

“You would like her, I believe,” he said.

Elizabeth let out a small
hmph.
“Of course I would.”

They traveled in silence for a few minutes. Nicholas looked out the window, wondering
how much time he had before they reached the palace. He couldn’t very well drive through
the front gates with his former lover in tow.

The level of his impatience escalated. “What do you want, Elizabeth?” he bluntly asked.

She, too, gazed out the window. When she spoke, her voice was casual and composed,
as if she were in no hurry at all. “Your driver doesn’t know I am here,” she explained.
“I sneaked in, because I needed to speak with you alone. I didn’t know how else to
arrange it. You haven’t answered my letters.” Her eyes met his with concern. “Are
they keeping them from you?”

“No,” he replied. “They are not keeping anything from me. I received all of them.”

He had burned each one without reading a single word.

Suddenly, Lizzie slid across the dark space to sit beside him. “Forgive me, Nicholas,
but I cannot continue to watch you play this charade. Please tell me that you will
not live this life forever.”

“To what charade—what
life
—are you referring?” he asked with a frown, knowing, of course, where she was headed
with this line of questioning.

“The life of a proper, faithful husband,” she answered heatedly. “It is all very inspiring,
but I know you too well. Surely you are growing bored. I cannot imagine how you are
coping.”

“I am coping very well, thank you,” he replied, recognizing the familiar fragrance
of her perfume and taking note of the rapid pace of her breathing.

She scoffed. “Nicholas, this is
me
you are talking to. When will you come back?” she asked. “How much longer must I
wait?”

His chest tightened as he comprehended the risks of being alone with this woman in
his coach … this woman, with whom he had been sexually intimate—as intimate as a man
and a woman can be. They had done wicked things together—depraved things—that would
shock most married couples. They had spent countless hours in bed—in hotel rooms,
in her home, outdoors. In public places, even. The depth and extent of her sexual
knowledge of his body would astonish anyone. Véronique, especially.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “My driver will take you home.”

And pray God Jenkins wouldn’t blab about it.

“No, Nicholas, not yet.…” She inched closer, pressing her leg up against his thigh.
He couldn’t help but recall the lushness of her bosom, and how she had always been
so …
accommodating.

This was dangerous.

“I know you and your sexual appetites,” she said. “You will go mad under the glare
of everyone’s expectations. Please know that I will be here waiting for you when you
feel the need to … spread your wings.”

Her lips were now mere inches from his own, and he could smell brandy on her breath.

She laid a hand on his leg and stroked him. A fierce arousal stirred in his loins,
but he fought to suppress it.

“I appreciate your kind offer,” he said as he grabbed hold of her wrist and pushed
her hand away, “but I am a happily married man now, Lizzie. Go home to your husband.”

Sensing that she was enjoying his vicelike grip on her wrist a little more than she
should, he released her.

With another blatant move to entice him, she pulled open the collar of her cloak to
expose her deep cleavage. She wiggled her hips. Her ample breasts strained against
the fabric of her low décolletage.

“How I’ve missed you,” she softly cooed. “You can have me now if you like, right here
in the coach, as many times as you wish.”

Her soft, open mouth was close enough to taste. His heart pounded in his ears. She
was a woman of vast sexual experience, always eager to please, willing to try anything,
and he found himself tensing beneath her feminine offerings.

“Don’t,”
he said in low voice that was full of grave warnings.

She stared at him fixedly. A small breath escaped her. He could feel her desire like
an inferno inside the coach.

“Are you afraid I will get you into trouble?” she asked. “Because I can be very discreet.
We can find a way to meet secretly. No one has to know.” She wiggled closer, and he
felt a surge of dirty, degenerate lust.

“Go home,” he repeated firmly, then pounded a fist against the side wall of the coach
to signal his driver.

Lizzie gasped with delight as he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her onto
the opposite seat, plunking her down like a misbehaving child.

Disappointed, she slumped back. “I see you’re not ready yet.”

He practically fell back into his own corner and swallowed uneasily as he straightened
his cravat with trembling hands. “No, madam, and I would not hold my breath if I were
you. Stay away from me, do you understand?” He shouted at Jenkins. “Dammit, man! Let
me out!”

The coach jostled to a sudden halt a few blocks from the palace. Nicholas flung open
the door and spilled out, as if the inside were on fire. “My driver will take you
home,” he gruffly said, “and if you tell anyone about this, Lizzie, I swear to God
I will deny everything and ruin you for it.”

He did not wait for her reply. He slammed the door shut in her face and explained
the situation to Jenkins, demanded his complete and utter discretion, and gave him
Mrs. Kennedy’s address.

A disconcerting moment later he was standing at the curb, watching the coach grow
distant while rage pounded inside his skull. He shut his eyes, breathed in the cool
air, and waited for his erection to diminish.

Dammit. Nausea rolled in his guts. He had not wanted this tonight. He wanted to be
faithful to Véronique, and he certainly did not wish to fall backwards into a torrid
affair with Elizabeth Kennedy. She was a beautiful but lonely woman with an uncommonly
overactive sexual libido. He had enjoyed her tremendously at one time, and was not
proud of the fact that he had taken advantage of her willingness for his own pleasures
on more than one occasion, but that was another life. He had a wife now. A wife who
waited for him at home.

Should he tell her about this?

Nicholas turned to walk through the gently falling snow. When he finally walked through
the palace doors, he did not stop to remove his coat and hat. He went straight to
Véronique’s bedchamber, unfastened his breeches, and made love to her on top of the
covers, while still wearing his shirt and boots.

It was over too quickly, and he felt guilty about that. Yet he did not want to make
love again. He just wanted to sleep.

So he apologized, said good night, and left her room.

When he reached his own bed, he lay on his back for a long time, staring up at the
canopy, feeling unsettled by what had occurred in the coach with his former lover.
He worked hard to push their encounter from his mind, but it continued to torment
him long into the night.

Chapter Twenty-five

When Nicholas finally walked into the breakfast room the following morning, Véronique
waited anxiously for him to sit down with his coffee before she turned in her chair
and spoke to the servant, who stood against the wall behind her. “Will you excuse
us, please?”

The footman left the room while her husband watched her in the late-morning sunlight
streaming in through the large bank of windows. The snow was melting fast. Drops of
silvery water were dripping from the eaves.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, setting down his cup.

Véronique cleared her throat. “I am not sure. Maybe that is a question you should
answer.”

His eyes were hooded, unreadable, and when he gave no reply, she took a moment to
gather her thoughts.

“What happened last night?” she asked. “You weren’t yourself when you came home.”

He had walked into her room and exercised his husbandly rights without the slightest
show of seduction or foreplay, which was not like him at all. Then he’d left without
a word, leaving Véronique both baffled and sexually frustrated.

Nicholas sat back. “What makes you think something happened?”

“You were different.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. It felt …
rushed.
”

His hand, which was resting on the table, curled into a fist, then straightened and
flexed. Véronique fought an acute sense of dread.

“If you must know…,” he said at last, but stopped at that.

She braced herself. “Yes?”

He tapped his forefinger on the table, as if contemplating whether or not he should
explain, and if so, how best to phrase it. Her stomach, by this time, was in knots.

“A woman sneaked into my coach last night,” he told her. “She was waiting for me when
I left the club.”

Véronique tried to ease the tension that suddenly gripped her shoulders. “Who was
she?”

“What difference does it make? Nothing happened. I had Jenkins take her straight home.”

“But I want to know,” Véronique insisted.

Again, he paused. “Fine. If you must … It was Mrs. Kennedy. You saw her once, very
briefly, at Carlton House. Remember?”

“The prime minister’s niece?” Véronique made every effort to speak in a calm voice.
“What did she want?”

“Do you really need me to answer that?”

Having suddenly lost her appetite, she pushed her plate away. “You said nothing happened.
Is that not the truth?”

Nicholas gazed at her intently. “Mrs. Kennedy made me an offer. I declined. Then I
got out of the coach and sent her home.”

“What kind of offer?” Véronique asked with a frown.

“Trust me, you do not need to hear those details.”

“Yes, I most certainly do. I want to hear exactly what she said. Let there be no secrets
between us.”

Recognizing the stubborn tenacity in her voice, her husband stared long and hard at
her. A muscle twitched at his jaw. “She said I could have her in the coach if I wanted
her. As many times as I liked.”