My Footman, My Prince

My Footman, My Prince Robin Danner (c) 2006

My Footman, My Prince Robin Danner Published 2006 ISBN 1-59578-261-3 Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2006, Robin Danner. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://LSbooks.com Email: [email protected] Editor Ansley Velarde Cover Artist April Martinez This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Chapter One “Damn this curse!” Prince Nicolai Eduard Alexandrov burst through his chamber door with his loyal manservant, Frankov, at his heels. Tearing off his purple sash, he tossed it across the room. It was quickly followed by his jacket and waistcoat, until Nicolai was left wearing a loose fitting white shirt and black trousers. Every inch of his body vibrated with anger as he strode across the room. “They cannot demand that I marry. This time the counsel has gone too far.” Nicolai knew his stance and belligerent expression might make Frankov remember him as a child, but he didn’t worry overmuch. He was no longer that mischievous boy, but a man that stood in line to inherit the great crown of Villanova in less than two months’ time. Even though Nicolai had ruled the kingdom since his father’s death, Villanovan law decreed that the heir could not receive the crown until the one year anniversary of the previous monarch’s demise. The period between one monarch’s death and the crowning of his successor was historically a period rift with political schemes and attempted overthrows, yet the past ten months of Nicolai’s interim had been calm. He had easily acquired the good will of his father’s subjects by ruling with the same fairness of the previous king. Yet now, two months from his coronation, Nicolai was in jeopardy of losing their support if he ignored the curse. Although he was a young ruler, he knew enough of politics to realize that the ramifications of such an act would be great. The prince spun back to face Frankov, who was visibly agitated. He crooked a finger at his servant and he cautiously ventured forward. “Tell me, Frankov. Do you believe there is any truth in this talk of a curse?” Frankov made the sign of the cross and nodded vigorously. “That I do, Your Highness. For several months now, the farmers have complained of ruined crops.” Nicolai believed there was a perfectly reasonable explanation. “We are in a drought season. It is no worse than the crop shortage we suffered three years ago.” “And the accident at the mines last week?” Frankov prodded. Nicolai grimaced at the reminder of the valuable workers that had been injured when a scaffold collapsed. “That was due entirely to human error. The person responsible has been reprimanded.” “Yes, but what of the infertility our women have been experiencing?” “Malnutrition and the men’s low spirits,” Nicolai said, but his voice lacked his previous conviction. “Besides, the curse made no mention of infertility.” Frankov began to recite from an ancient scroll that he held in his hands. “The demise of Villanova will begin when the blood of its ruler is too weak to sustain her. Famine, illness, and poverty will lead to the destruction of Villanova unless the blood of her two first families is once again united.” Frankov looked up from the scroll with a pointed glance. “I certainly believe that infertility qualifies as a type of illness.” Nicolai came forward and took the scroll. He scanned the remaining lines with a studious eye, shaking his head when he was finished. He rolled up the scroll and handed

it back to Frankov. “I will not marry just because the counsel and a small group of my subjects are superstitious.” “A small group?” Frankov asked in disbelief. “Almost the entire population of Villanova is gathered outside the palace walls, demanding an audience with you. Each of their stories is more tragic than the last.” Nicolai appeared taken aback by the information. “Is this true?” Frankov nodded. “Take a look for yourself.” Nicolai strode toward the window and tossed back the curtain. A large number of his subjects were indeed camped on the palace lawn. Even from a distance, he could tell that they looked frighteningly downtrodden and weary. His appearance at the window normally gained an exuberant cheer. This time, his presence apparently went unnoticed, since no one made a sound. He turned back to Frankov with worry evident in his clear green eyes. “You have spoken with them?” “Yes, Your Highness, and I fear there may be trouble brewing if you do not agree to end the curse.” Nicolai glanced down at the signet ring on the third finger of his left hand. His father had given it to him shortly before his death. When he had accepted the ring, Nicolai had promised to do everything within his power to keep Villanova safe, but he had never expected to be forced into an arranged marriage. In Villanova, young people were given the freedom to choose their mate. Even his father had exercised this right when he married the only daughter of a lowly baron. His parents’ marriage had been a happy one, full of love and laughter. Nicolai had wanted no less for his own. “How long have they been out there?” “Nearly all morning, Your Highness.” Nicolai’s face tightened with irritation. “Why was I not informed of their presence sooner?” “The counsel believed it best that you hear the demand from them rather than your subjects. They were unsure of how you would react.” Frankov paused, giving Nicolai a brief look of censure. “And judging from your outburst this morning, the counsel was correct in their decision.” Nicolai was ashamed of his behavior that morning, when he had jumped to his feet and proclaimed to all and sundry that he would not be forced to marry for such a ridiculous reason. He had then stormed out, leaving the counsel stunned at such an explosive reaction from a normally even-tempered prince. He tried to think of a way to rationalize his reaction and finally settled on a halftruth. “What they are asking goes against every principle for which my father stood. If I ever decide to marry, it will be for my own purposes, rather than that of the counsel.” “And is ensuring the well being of your people not one of your purposes?” Nicolai heaved a sigh. “You are right, of course, but damned if it makes it any easier to swallow.” Frankov cleared his throat with a delicate cough. “If I may ask, why are you so opposed to marriage?” “I am not opposed to marriage itself,” Nicolai answered as he sat down in the chair beside the window. “I dislike not being able to choose my own bride.” Frankov’s worried face suddenly cleared. “Oh, but you do have a choice, Your

Highness!” “I do?” Nicolai paused in the act of removing his boots and glanced up with a surprised look. Frankov nodded and reached into his pocket to retrieve a small packet of letters. The paper crinkled in his hands as he unfolded it and handed it to Nicolai. “There are two unmarried females that are believed to be descendants of Pasha Savin and Nellya Kuzmin.” “There are only two?” Frankov nodded. “The Savin line is nearly extinct.” “As is the Alexandrov,” Nicolai remarked wryly. In fact, other than a smattering of cousins, he was the only remaining heir to the powerful dynasty that had ruled Villanova for nigh five hundred years. Nicolai quickly read the detailed descriptions of Miss Eliza Dewitt and Lady Bronwyn Montgomery. Miss Dewitt was apparently the daughter of a wealthy merchant, while Lady Bronwyn’s father was an influential earl. If he did decide to pursue one of these women as a bride, Miss Dewitt would be the obvious choice, since she would be more biddable. Yet he found himself drawn to the challenge, according to the information, that Lady Bronwyn would present. His gaze moved to the window and was captured by the sight of a small boy clinging to his father’s neck. Exhaustion and worry was evident in the father’s face. Ragged clothing hung on the farmer’s normally robust frame, as if he had not eaten in days. It was an unusual sight in a kingdom renowned for the general health and well being of its lower classes. “Has anyone sent food to them?” Nicolai asked calmly. Frankov shook his head. “I am not sure, Your Highness. Shall I see to it?” “Right away, if you please.” Frankov turned toward the door, but paused and sent Nicolai a questioning look. “What about the curse, Your Highness?” Although he doubted his kingdom’s current problems stemmed from an ancient prophesy, as a ruler Nicolai could not stand idly by and witness such dejection in his subjects. If his marriage would restore their previous spirit, he would do it. Nicolai made his decision instantly. “Find out all you can about Lady Bronwyn.” Frankov began to sputter. “Lady Bronwyn? But, Your Highness, did you read the part about…” Nicolai held up a hand for silence. “I have made my decision.” “But it is rumored that she…” Nicolai once again interrupted. “Her father is an earl. If I must be made to marry for political reasons, I might as well gain an influential father-in-law in the process.” Frankov tried one last time to dissuade him. “Lady Bronwyn is a recluse. Some say that she has not seen a man, other than her servants, in over five years.” “Wonderful.” Nicolai’s mouth widened into a satisfied smile. He yanked one boot off and tossed it across the room. “Then I won’t have any competition for her hand, will I?” “No, I suppose not,” Frankov answered. “But how do you plan to get close to her if she won’t allow visitors?” Nicolai smiled mischievously as he heard his servant groan.

“My dear Frankov, I have a plan.” **** Unaware of the conversation taking place nearly half a continent away, Bronwyn Montgomery was facing a distressing decision of her own. “An entire month?” Bronwyn did not even pretend to consider her father’s proposition. “I cannot do it.” Walter Montgomery looked at his daughter with undisguised pity as he settled into the chair opposite her. He was an attractive man in his fifties with graying hair and thick sideburns, although his face was presently lined with concern for his only daughter’s state. The chair’s leather creaked as he shifted into a comfortable position. “I know that your first experience in London was not pleasant, but won’t you give it another chance?” She lifted a hand from the book she was holding and cradled the right side of her face. “I can’t, Papa. You must understand that.” He sighed and reached over to cover her hand with his own. “Sweetheart, you are a lovely girl. You cannot continue to hide yourself in Wiltshire forever.” “I am happy here.” She forced a smile to her lips. “Wiltshire is my home.” Walter’s hand moved to her shoulder and he patted it awkwardly. “I know it is, but I feel guilty leaving you here all by yourself.” “Don’t be ridiculous, Papa. I know that your presence is required in London when Parliament is in session. It will be Easter soon enough. Surely I can last a few months on my own?” Though he had to know it was a losing battle, Walter continued to press the issue. “I know you are old enough to make your own decisions, Bronwyn, but I really wish you would consider returning to London with me.” Bronwyn’s hand returned to her lap, where she clenched it tightly. “Don’t ask this of me, Papa. I will never go back to London.” Walter looked disappointed at her answer. It was obviously not what he wanted to hear, but he should have gotten used to it over the past five years. Each year, he came to her and requested her presence in London. Each year, she gave the same answer. He smiled encouragingly. “What if I promise to take you to Vauxhall? The fireworks are extraordinary this time of year. Remember how much you used to enjoy the fireworks?” She lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “Are you trying to bribe me, Papa?” “That depends,” Walter answered. “Is it working?” She shook her head regretfully. “No. I am sorry.” “At least say you will think about it,” he pleaded. “I will,” she promised. “But I doubt it will affect my decision.” “If you change your mind,” he began again, only to be interrupted. “I won’t,” she answered quickly. He continued as if she had not spoken. “But if you do, please let me know.” She nodded. “If I ever decide to return to London Papa, rest assured you will be the first to know.”

Chapter Two There was something odd about her new footman. Bronwyn could not put her finger on what it was exactly. There were so many oddities about him that she could not determine which intrigued her more. Perhaps it was the twinkle in his eye when his gaze met hers? Or maybe it was the clumsy way he poured her tea? Of course, it could be the fact that he was more handsome than any footman had a right to be. She knew it was impolite to stare, but she could not seem to help herself. As he crossed the room toward her, his long strides eating up the distance between them, his tall frame drew her eyes as surely as a moth to a flame. She had never experienced this mixture of trepidation and curiosity that currently consumed her. Her curiosity probably stemmed from the fact that she had not seen a man, especially one as handsome as this, for five years, yet Bronwyn knew that this man would warrant a second look from her regardless of the situation. He was handsome in a way that made her teeth ache just to look upon him. As he drew closer, she knew she should look away. All it would take was one glance for him to know that she was all but undressing him with her eyes. She lifted a book to her face and continued to study him from the corner of her eye. He spoke, drawing forth a shiver along her spine at the delicious rumble of his voice. “Where would you like me to set the tray, my lady?” Bronwyn glanced up from the book she was pretending to read and motioned to the table beside her. “Right here is fine.” She ignored the breathless quality to her voice and waited as he completed the task. “Thank you, Abbott.” “You’re welcome, my lady.” She was transfixed by his eyes, which were the most startling shade of green she had ever seen on another person. In a way, his eyes reminded her of a kitten she had once owned as a child. She felt that she could spend all afternoon just gazing into his eyes and still be unable to accurately describe the shade. “Would you like me to pour for you, my lady?” There it was again. Another oddity. He spoke with an accent that sounded suspiciously like Eastern Europe, even though his background information had revealed him to be from Wiltshire. She placed her hand over her teacup and shook her head when he began to tilt the pot. “I will pour. Thank you, Abbott.” “Will you be requiring anything else, my lady?” “No, thank you. That will be all.” He bowed and began to back away while she set aside her book and reached for the pot of tea. As she poured, she gave him another quick look, not paying any attention to her task. She cursed when the scalding tea splashed onto her fingers. Quick as a wink, Abbott was at her side, pressing a cool cloth against her hand. Her surprised gaze moved from the cloth to his face. “How did you…” His eyes met hers as he finished her question. “Dampen the towel?” He tilted his

chin to a vase of flowers on the table. “Oh! That was very quick thinking of you.” He did not reply. Instead, he removed the towel and inspected the small red welt that had appeared on her wrist. Lifting her hand to his mouth, he gently blew a stream of cool air. Bronwyn shivered, causing her fingers to twitch within his grasp. Feeling embarrassed, she removed her hand from his grasp and nervously tucked her hair behind her right ear. As she did, she heard his quick intake of breath. Suddenly she remembered the birthmark that she took such pains to hide. She hastily averted her face. No matter how many times it received such a reaction, it never failed to hurt her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but she interrupted him. “Don’t apologize. I am quite used to it by now. My birthmark is something that I have had to deal with my entire life.” She pulled her hair forward to cover it and turned back to face him. Instead of showing disgust or even pity, his face was entirely pensive. Bronwyn laced her fingers together in her lap. She was startled when he spoke. “Do others in your family bear this mark?” She shook her head. “None, except for me. It is believed that I inherited it from a long dead ancestor, but I cannot be certain.” “I have heard of such things.” He reached up and pushed her hair behind her ear. He lightly traced the crescent shaped mark beside her right eye. She frowned at the impropriety, but did not demand that he remove his hand. It was the first time that a man had viewed the mark with such casual disregard. And, to be completely honest, the first time a man had ever touched her in such a gentle manner. “Why do you hide it?” She had not always hidden it. Before her presentation at court, her birthmark had been of almost no significance. Only in London, had she become aware of how hideous it appeared to others. The look of revulsion on the faces of those she encountered caused a retreat to her father’s estate in Wiltshire, where she’d buried herself for the past five years. She seldom received visitors, preferring the company of her servants to that of society. When she did not answer, Abbott put his hand under her chin and tilted her face toward the light streaming through an open window. The brightness stung her eyes and she blinked several times until her eyes adjusted to the glare. His face was in shadow, but the gleam of his eyes told her that his gaze still remained fixed on her face. “You should not be ashamed of the mark that God has given you.” She tilted her chin up even further. This mere footman was questioning her faith? “I am not ashamed.” He did not look convinced, but he changed the subject before she could argue further. “Is it true that you never venture out of doors?” Her eyes widened, amazed that he was so daring. No one ever spoke to her like this, especially not a servant. She expected his face to be mocking, but he actually looked concerned, which struck her as odd. Besides her father, he was the first person to ever worry about her predilection for staying indoors. Bronwyn forced a laugh to her lips. “Only here a fortnight and you have already heard the rumors. I’m impressed.” He didn’t seem amused by her teasing. Instead, his lips tightened into a grim line as he ran his gaze over her pale face. A face which had not seen direct sunlight in five years.

“It is not healthy to stay indoors.” He was right, of course, since he could have no idea that Bronwyn routinely escaped into the garden for a brisk walk to the edge of the forest and back when everyone else was asleep. She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I am perfectly healthy, I assure you.” He shook his head, but didn’t argue with her. His hand finally dropped away from her face as he stood. At full height, he was several inches over six feet, a fact she had discovered when she had happened upon him in the hallway earlier that morning. Her intense reaction to this man frightened her even then. Seeking to dismiss him, she reached for her book and bid him good day. He was silent for several moments, but she was aware of his gaze on her. Unable to take it any longer, she glanced up at him pointedly. “Is there anything else, Abbott?” His green eyes, always so full of mystery, slipped away from hers and he bowed respectfully. “No, my lady.” “Then you are excused.” “Yes, my lady.” He made a move toward the door, but at the last minute he turned back to her. “I am sorry if I offended you. It was not my intention.” “I’m not offended.” In fact, she was impressed by his boldness. Most of her servants tiptoed around her as if on eggshells, afraid that anything they said might be misconstrued. His honesty was refreshing. “Good day, Abbott.” “Good day.” He turned on his heel and strode from the room. As he left, she snuck a final look at his departing form. His posture was straight and she noted the confident way he moved. He did not walk the way a footman walked. She could hear the echo of his footsteps as he retreated to another part of the house. She heard a door close somewhere down the hall and immediately reached for the bell pull above her head. Her butler immediately appeared. “Is there anything you need, my lady?” Bronwyn motioned Milton into the room and instructed him to close the door. “Tell me all you know about Abbott.” Milton launched into a brief recitation of Abbott’s credentials. “He grew up in Wiltshire, where he worked as a stable lad. A few years ago, he was promoted to footman.” Milton’s lined face creased with worry. “Is there something wrong with him? I can dismiss him if you so desire.” “No,” Bronwyn said with a quick shake of her head. “I was just curious.” A thoughtful expression crossed her face. “Does he strike you as odd?” “Odd, my lady?” Bronwyn reached for her teacup and lightly blew on it. “His manner is not that of a typical footman.” Milton nodded in agreement. “I thought the exact same, but he came highly recommended.” “From whom?” Milton struggled to recall the name of the lord that had previously employed Abbott. “Lord Denton, I do believe.” Bronwyn recognized the name of one of the most respected peers in London. “Maybe that explains it. Working for a duke is bound to give him airs.” She took a sip of her tea. “Thank you, Milton. That is all.” Milton backed out of the room after bowing respectfully. She picked her book back up, but found it difficult to concentrate on the words.

Abbott’s face continued to play in her mind. **** After leaving Bronwyn, Nicolai escaped to the music room that he’d discovered deep in the recesses of the house. It was a rarely used room, as neither Bronwyn nor her father were particularly inclined toward music, but it was clean and well lit from the massive windows flanking three of the four walls. He crossed the room and settled himself on the padded bench beside a small pianoforte. His fingers lightly tapped out a Mozart piece, entirely from memory. After that, he moved on to the several other works that he could recall until he’d depleted his store of knowledge. He was unable to read sheet music, so he relied on the works that his mother had taught him. Music had always been a release to him. As a young lad, he could remember his mother and the joy she received from playing. One of his fondest memories was the day she realized that her talent had been passed on to her only son. It had formed a bond between mother and son that continued well into his adult years. Closing the lid to the instrument, he placed his elbows on top of it and cupped his chin in one hand. For the two weeks he had been in Bronwyn’s employ, he discovered that her reputation of a recluse was well deserved. She never left the house and the only company she kept was that of her servants. Her father was in London for the Season, which he hoped was the only reason that he wasn’t in residence. Her life was already lonely enough without adding an absentee father into the mix. As for Bronwyn herself, she wasn’t quite what he’d expected. He’d assumed her to be a plain spinster, timid and soft spoken. Instead, he had been pleasantly surprised to learn that she possessed both beauty and intelligence. Her hair was the color of honey, tempting him to run his fingers through its silky strands. Her dark brown eyes alternately teased and rebuked him with just one look. Her birthmark, which he knew to be a Savin trait, lent her an exotic air. He wished he could have reassured her that her mark was indeed inherited, but to do so would have damaged his carefully constructed plot to win over her affections before revealing his intentions to make her his queen. When he’d lifted her face to the sunlight, he’d been struck by a sudden desire to claim her as his own. He’d seen the way she efficiently ran her household and knew that she would be an equally proficient queen of Villanova. She possessed equal amounts of kindness and candor, all characteristics that he found desirable. He stood and opened the bench seat. It was usually a place to store sheet music, but he’d discovered it to be the best place to hide some of his personal items. He withdrew a piece of vellum and a writing utensil and set them on the lid of the pianoforte. Reaching back into the seat, he withdrew the velvet pouch containing his signet ring. He jotted a quick letter to Frankov, letting his manservant know that all was going as planned and that he planned to return shortly. He gave a quick description of Bronwyn and some instructions regarding the wedding he planned to have as soon as they returned to Villanova. He sealed the letter and used his ring to make an impression in the wax. He returned everything to the bench and stuffed the letter into the pocket of his jacket. After everyone was asleep, he would take the letter to one of his manservants, who was stationed in a nearby inn. Gregor would make sure that it reached Frankov, who would in turn reassure the counsel.

So far, the counsel seemed satisfied that he was fulfilling his duty, although they were anxious for him to return to Villanova with his bride. His bride. Nicolai could easily imagine Bronwyn in his home, his bed. For an arranged marriage, it had the possibility of being a satisfying relationship for the both of them. He would gain a companion and she would regain the confidence she’d lost. Nicolai was startled when the door to the music room opened. He quickly pulled out a rag and pretended to be dusting the already spotless pianoforte. Bronwyn stood on the threshold, appearing confused to see him. “I’m sorry. I thought I heard music coming from this room.” He shook his head and gave the pianoforte one last swipe. “You must be mistaken, my lady.” Bronwyn stepped farther into the room, shutting the door behind her. “Are you certain? I do believe I recognized a piece from Mozart. It is one of my particular favorites.” Nicolai recognized the determined glint in her eye. She wouldn’t give up until he admitted that he’d been playing the instrument. It was another one of her traits he’d uncovered. She was very stubborn, as was he. He grinned sheepishly as he pocketed the dusting rag. “I am sorry, my lady. I shouldn’t have been so bold, but I couldn’t resist playing on such a fine instrument.” “I am glad. If my mother was still here, she would be happy to know that it was being used.” She came forward and opened the lid. She gestured with one hand for him to take a seat. “Please, continue.” He sat down, his fingers naturally curving into the perfect position over the keys. If she found it odd that a footman could play Mozart, she hid it well. Instead of appearing disapproving, her face practically beamed. He was further amazed when she sat down beside him on the small bench, surrounding him with the fresh scent of lavender. It was the closest he had ever been to her and he found it hard to concentrate on the notes. Instead his mind filled with images of taking her in his arms and proving to her how desirable she was, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. He missed a note and the jarring sound wrenched him from the daydream he had found himself. “I’m sorry, my lady. I’m afraid I’m a little rusty.” She waved aside his worry and lightly touched the back of his hand. “It was wonderful. Would you play another?” He nodded and played a selection that he believed she would appreciate. She hummed lightly to the familiar tune. When he finished, this time with no mistakes, she applauded enthusiastically. “How did you learn to play so beautifully?” He turned his attention back to the keys, refusing to look at the face that was turned up to his expectantly. “My mother taught me.” “I see. She must be very proud to have such a talented son.” He nodded. His mother had been proud of him, but he doubted she would approve of the charade he was playing now. Along with music, Nicole Alexandrov had taught him the value of honesty. “She was.” “Oh, I’m sorry,” Bronwyn hurried to apologize. “I did not realize…” He shook his head and turned to face her. “Don’t apologize. How could you have

known?” A sheepish smiled tugged at the corner of her lips. “I suppose that is true. After all, I know nothing about you.” Was she hinting that she wanted to learn more? He was probably grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t care less. “We can change that, if you like.” Her eyes flew to his, mirroring her surprise. For a moment, he feared that he had pressed her too hard. He was relieved when a curious expression flitted across her face. “We could do that, I suppose.” She turned her face away, but the pale curve of her cheek flushed with a rosy color. He watched as her lashes swept down to cover her eyes. Her reaction was interesting. He could easily see that he had intrigued her, which was what he’d hoped for when he came here, but dare he hope that she was already beginning to think of him as more than a footman? True, it had taken him two weeks to finally get the opportunity to approach her, but everything seemed to be falling into place now. He felt a brief pang of guilt for deliberately misleading her, but then he thought of all the Villanovans depending on him and his resolve strengthened. “Is there anything in particular that you want to know?” He knew that it was time his seduction began. He gave her the grin that reportedly caused dozens of Villanovan girls to swoon. It didn’t seem to have such an effect on Bronwyn, but it did serve to bring her gaze back to his. “Oh dear,” she murmured and clapped a hand over her mouth. Either he was mistaken or she was clearly laughing at him. Her shoulders began shaking with mirth. The sight of her amusement gladdened his heart even if he was the cause. He stretched an arm along the top of the pianoforte and turned so that his back was resting along the keys. It was not the most comfortable of positions, but it afforded him the chance to fully see her. And, he was coming to realize, seeing her was the one thing he looked forward to every day. It made the menial labor he did every day worthwhile. She continued laughing at him. He lifted an eyebrow quizzically, which only caused her to laugh harder. She held out her hand and struggled to catch her breath. “I am sorry, but does that normally work?” What on earth was she talking about? He gave her a blank look. “What do you mean?” She smiled again and he noticed a tiny dimple in her left cheek. She flapped her hand toward his face. “The boyish grin and cocky eyebrow? Does that normally work for you?” It had up until now, he thought wryly to himself. It seemed his future bride was not some naïve chit to be taken in by a handsome face. The thought pleased him even further. “Usually.” Her face took on an expression of mock seriousness. “It is quite impressive.” She ruined it by giggling again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh so,” she said in between gasps. He was enjoying this far more than he should, especially since he was the object of her amusement, but when she smiled her face lit up. He already believed her to be attractive, but the vision in front of him now was breathtaking. His mind was not tricking him into believing she was pretty. She truly was, which made her reclusion all the more odd. “You have a lovely smile,” he found himself saying without meaning to.

The smile slowly faded from her face to be replaced by a look of wary suspicion. He silently cursed his unruly tongue. Now he’d flustered her and she would probably go running from the room. She surprised him further. Instead of running, she tilted her head to one side and regarded him carefully. “So do you.” That was definitely not the response he’d been expecting. He was used to receiving compliments, but with Bronwyn he suspected she was being honest, not trying to further her own means by empty flattery. He straightened away from the pianoforte. As he did so, his thigh brushed against hers. Ignoring the pull of desire he immediately felt, he resorted to teasing her. “Careful. You might give me a swelled head.” The warning was a moot point since one of his heads was well on its way to swollen already. Thankfully she was unaware of any sexual innuendo from his last statement. At least, he hoped so. To hide the direction of his thoughts, he shifted on the bench so that he was once again facing the keys. He slid a glance in her direction. “Is there anything else you would like to hear?” She looked tempted, but she shook her head. “I would love to, but I better not keep you from your duties.” Ah yes, his duties. “You’re right. I have tarried long enough.” “Perhaps another time?” Her tone was hopeful. He responded with a small nod. “Of course.” Bronwyn licked her lips, a gesture which drew his gaze to the perfect shape of her mouth. Her full bottom lip always seemed to be begging for a kiss. He could feel his own lips trembling with the urge to kiss her. Feeling the need to distance himself from her, he closed the lid and nearly bolted from his seat. “I should get back to work.” She did not argue, but then he hadn’t expected her to. She stood also and took a moment to shake out her skirts. “Thank you for allowing me to listen to you play. It was very lovely.” “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He remembered the role he was playing and belatedly added, “My lady.” At the use of her title, something undeniably changed between them. She went back to being the lady of the house and he a mere servant. The humor that he had glimpsed so briefly was doused and she was once again the silent wraith he had gotten used to seeing. He bowed respectfully as he backed out of the room. She turned away from him to gaze out of the window and he had the fleeting thought that he’d never seen a more lonely sight. But then he remembered the dozens of other times that he had witnessed her standing just so. Her loneliness called to the part of him that had felt adrift since the death of his parents. Though her isolation was self-made, he commiserated with the solitary life she lived. For a prince who was always surrounded by people, there were still times when he felt alone. Hopefully together, they could build a marriage based on respect and banish the feelings of loneliness from their minds. And, if he were lucky, he could spend the rest of his life listening to the sweet sound of her laughter.

Chapter Three Once the household was asleep, Bronwyn slipped downstairs and through the doors that opened onto the terrace. The smell of roses hung heavy in the air and she paused for a moment to savor the assault on her senses. She skirted the edges of the terrace and descended the steps leading to the garden, being sure to keep to the shadows. Once she was a safe distance from the house, she threw back the hood of her cape and reached up to untie the ribbon braided through her hair. The wind caught the strands at once, sending them whipping about her shoulders. There was dew on the grass, which dampened her slippers and the hem of her nightgown, but she ignored the chilling wetness. There was nothing Bronwyn liked better than a walk in the moonlight, and this night was especially fine since there was a full moon and not a cloud in the sky. If any of her servants knew that she routinely escaped into the garden, they didn’t speak of it. Her father had his suspicions, but he didn’t press her for the truth. Her selfimposed exile had begun five years ago, but she’d not been able to completely give up nature. At midnight, it was highly unlikely that she would encounter anyone, so she was safe. Some rumormongers believed she was afraid to be outdoors. That was not the truth. She was afraid of being ridiculed. An owl hooted and she looked up to watch its flight above her head. She felt a pang of envy. How she wished she could be like that owl. To be able to fly away, to be beautiful and appreciated. Instead she felt like the mouse that the owl swooped down and gathered into his beak, completely helpless and alone. She’d reached the edge of the forest when she heard the breaking of a twig. Suddenly the night did not seem as friendly. For the first time since she had begun her nightly walks, she became aware of the shadows that could conceal an unknown assailant. The limbs of the trees creaked and groaned every time the wind blew, causing an eerie sound. Turning on her heels, she gathered her skirts in one hand, prepared to flee. The touch of a hand on her shoulder caused her to shriek and begin running toward the house. Normally she was not so skittish, but it was midnight and she was the daughter of an earl. She would make an easy target for ransom as she was often left alone. Why had she ventured so far from the house? Her legs ached, but she forced herself to continue running. Strained muscles were preferable than death at the hands of a hardened criminal. She pushed herself harder, but she heard the footsteps gaining on her. She prayed as she ran, hoping that someone had heard her cry of distress. No one knew of her nightly walks, a fact which only caused her to run faster. By the time she reached the garden, she was about to drop from exhaustion. Clamping a hand around her abdomen, she tried to calm her heavy breathing. She ducked beneath a massive hedge and remained as still as possible. She curled into a ball and prayed that she wouldn’t be discovered. Her cheek pressed into the dirt and a thorn poked painfully against her palm, but she remained motionless. She bit her lip to keep from crying out when the tip of a boot appeared in front of her eyes. If she stayed quiet, he would give up the search and she could make a mad dash for

the house. It seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, before the boots moved away. Taking a deep breath, she gathered what remained of her strength and emerged from her hiding place. No sooner had she crawled out from under the hedge than a heavy hand clamped over her mouth. She began to fight, kicking and clawing viciously at the person holding her. She tried to scream, but the only sound that emerged was a pitiful whimper. She was dragged farther into the garden as she began to fight in earnest. She aimed the heel of her slipper at a particularly vital area of her assailant’s body, gratified when her kick drew forth a pained groan. The arms holding her loosened slightly, allowing her to slip from his grasp. She didn’t risk taking a look back. In fact, she was halfway across the terrace before she recognized the voice calling after her. Her steps slowed and she glanced over her shoulder to see the disheveled figure of her newest footman. He was walking with a limp and she could tell from the grimace on his face that her kick had been very well placed. Still entirely uncertain of what was happening; she stepped closer to the door. Her voice was shaky as she spoke. “Abbott?” “Yes, my lady,” came his strained answer. “What are you doing out here?” “Probably much the same as you,” he said as he reached the first step. “I was taking a walk.” “At midnight?” She eyed him doubtfully as he came closer. He wore no jacket and the linen of his shirt clung to his broad shoulders. His dark hair was windblown, which lent him the air of a young boy, though the look in his eyes broadly proclaimed his masculinity. He appeared as if he wanted to toss her over one knee, a thought which did not disturb her as much as it should. He smiled, displaying his perfectly aligned teeth. “It is a very fine night.” His smile faded slightly as he gave another groan. “Or at least, it was, until you nearly unmanned me.” “I’m sorry,” she instinctively apologized. Then she realized that he should be apologizing for frightening her out of her wits. “Wait a moment! Why am I apologizing? You nearly gave me an apoplexy.” She strode forward and poked her index finger into his chest. “Why did you not announce your presence instead of sneaking up on me like a common criminal?” He winced and wrapped his hand around her wrist to keep her from poking him again. “I tried, but you fled before I could.” He looked so put out, that a giggle escaped her lips before she could stop it. She clamped a hand over her mouth, removing it only to ask, “Did I hurt you?” He nodded, wincing at the remembered pain. “Yes, very much, I’m afraid. I doubt that I will be able to have children now, thanks to you.” Her smile faded and she gave him a concerned glance. “Are you serious?” She’d heard of such things, yet she hoped that she had not injured him that badly. He grinned wickedly and shook his head. “No.” She found herself smiling in response. “Well, that is a relief.” He raised one eyebrow, which caused her to blush like a silly girl straight out of the schoolroom. She hurried to amend her previous statement. “I mean, for you and your sweetheart. Not for me, of course. Why would I care about such things?” She realized

that she was stammering and snapped her mouth closed. “I’m sorry. I am making a total muck of this, aren’t I?” He held up his hand and placed his forefinger over his thumb. “Just a tad. I don’t even have a sweetheart.” Realizing that he was teasing her, she reached out and lightly punched his arm. “You wretch! You are teasing me.” “Yes,” he said without a hint of contrition, before his face grew serious. “What are you doing out here alone?” “Walking, of course.” “I thought that you never left the house?” “Perhaps you shouldn’t believe every rumor you hear about me,” she answered cheekily, then immediately regretted it. Dear Lord, she was flirting with her footman. And the most amazing thing was he was actually flirting back. “So I should also assume that you go outside during the day?” Bronwyn shook her head. “No, that particular rumor is true.” He looked disappointed by her answer. “Why is that? Do you have some sort of aversion to daylight?” “Yes, the aversion to be put on display like some sort of freak.” Bronwyn shuddered at the remembered cruelties she had suffered during her brief stay in London. He looked at her, realizing that she was serious. “Was it really that bad?” She nodded. “You are handsome. You cannot know what it is like to be ridiculed at the mere sight of your face.” He ignored the fact that she thought him handsome and focused on the problem at hand. “I do not think you are a freak. You are very lovely.” Bronwyn rolled her eyes at his blatant lie. “It is kind of you to spare my feelings, but you needn’t bother. I know what others see when they look at me.” He stepped closer and put his finger under her chin, tipping it to the moonlight. He stared down at her for what seemed like forever before speaking. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?” With him standing so close, she found it hard to breathe. Twice in one day, he had touched her. Something that no other man, besides her father, had ever done willingly. Her voice was husky when she spoke. “No.” “I see a very desirable woman, one any man would be lucky to claim as his own.” He traced the arch of her right eyebrow with his thumb as he continued to mesmerize her with his voice. “Anyone who thinks any differently is a fool.” She stared up at him wordlessly. His eyes were locked on hers, daring her to disagree. Standing this close to him, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, she could almost believe what he was saying to her. But she was not some naïve chit. She knew that some people would say anything to get what they wanted. The only problem was she did not know what it was Abbott desired. But whatever it was, she was not the person who could give it to him. In an attempt to lighten the mood, she forced a laugh and shook a finger at him. “Shame on you, Abbott. Are you trying to seduce me into raising your wages?” He stepped even closer, if such a thing was possible. His breath whispered across her cheek. “That depends. If I tried, could I seduce you?” Knowing she was wading into unfamiliar waters, Bronwyn thought it was time to

end this conversation before she did something horrible. Like throwing herself into his arms and pleading with him to kiss her. It would be only her second kiss and quite possibly the last kiss she would ever have. The urge was so strong that her knees actually began to shake. What would it hurt? He was there, claiming she was lovely. Then she thought of all the times that men had used her, only to increase their standing in society. Sometimes, being the only daughter of a powerful earl had its disadvantages. Stepping back, she reluctantly broke the spell that he had momentarily cast over her. Her gaze dropped to the tiles beneath her feet, finally landing on his boots, which were covered with thick red mud. The dirt surrounding the Montgomery estate was dark brown, so he had to have ventured into town. Her desire fled, to be replaced with suspicion. “Where have you been?” He looked confused by her abrupt mood shift. “What do you mean?” She pointed a finger at his boots. “Your boots would not be that muddy if you’d only been walking in the garden.” His brows drew together as he glanced down at his boots. “Did I forget to mention that I also went into the forest?” She put her hands on her hips and nodded. “Yes, I do believe you failed to mention that.” He shrugged as if the matter was of no importance. “If you are concerned that I will track mud into the house, you can be assured that I will clean my boots before venturing inside.” Mud on the floors was the least of her worries, but she let the matter drop. Besides, what did it matter to her where he went at night? Even if the mud on his boots looked suspiciously like that surrounding a well-known house of ill repute located not two miles from Bradford-on-Avon. **** Damn Gregor and his whoremongering ways! Nicolai silently wished his servant to the devil as he shucked off his boots and tucked them under one arm. If not for Gregor, he would not have spent half the night tracking him down. He’d gone to the inn only to learn that he’d gone to visit a bawdy house nearly two hours before. After much searching, Nicolai had finally found his servant in the bed of the Madame of the house. Nicolai strode into the room, heedless of the naked bodies writhing on the bed, and tossed the letter at Gregor’s head. Gregor had been abjectly apologetic, even offering Nicolai the use of his horse to make the return trip home. Nicolai had declined since he couldn’t risk being seen riding the prime horseflesh that he and Gregor had brought with them from Villanova. He returned just in time to catch a glimpse of Bronwyn at the edge of the forest. It hadn’t been his intention to startle her. He’d been so surprised to see her outside that he’d gotten careless and allowed her to hear him. When she had turned to flee, he chased her, wanting only to reassure her that she was safe. When he had caught her, the feel of her in his arms had been perfect. At least until she kicked him. Whoever had taught her how to defend herself had done an excellent job. On the terrace, he could feel that she was weakening. Her eyes darkened and her skin

flushed under his touch. If she’d not seen the mud on his boots, he had no doubt that he would have been able to steal a kiss, maybe two. He groaned aloud at the memory. She had appeared to recognize the mud. How, he had no idea, but he was quite positive that she was imagining that he’d spent the night with a whore. Nothing could be farther from the truth. In fact, since he’d first decided to marry, he’d not been with another woman. If he were honest with himself, he had to admit that it had even been longer than that. After the death of his father ten months before, he’d not been to see his mistress. At first, the pain had been too great. After that, the demands of his new position had taken all of his time. Recognizing the clawing feeling in his belly as desire, Nicolai prayed that he could convince Bronwyn to become his bride before he made a complete fool of himself. He’d denied his needs for too long already. Entering the silent house, he tiptoed his way down the hall to the servant’s quarters. Unlike most homes, the servants’ rooms were quite large and comfortably equipped in the Montgomery household, most likely due to Bronwyn’s influence. As far as he could tell, she spared no expense when it came to her servants. They possessed an abundance of fine clothing, were granted two personal days a week, and received a very generous salary. In fact, Nicolai’s pay as a footman far surpassed that of some of his own servants much higher in rank. As he slipped out of his clothing, he made a mental note to adjust the wages of his servants when he returned to Villanova. It was a change that he was certain that Bronwyn would approve of once she agreed to become his queen.

Chapter Four She was avoiding him. He’d spent all morning pretending to polish the staircase just so that he would be there when she descended for breakfast. Instead he was disappointed when a maid walked by carrying a tray up to Bronwyn’s room. Minutes later, the same maid returned minus the tray. He briefly debated bounding up the stairs and demanding that she see him, but that sort of behavior would be sure to get him dismissed. As a prince, he was not used to being made to wait. As a footman, there was nothing else he could do. He tampered down his irritation and continued to polish the banister. He would stay there all afternoon if need be. “You there! Come with me.” Nicolai glanced up to see Milton, the butler, snapping his fingers at him. Nicolai drew himself up to his impressive height and looked down his nose at the butler with all the self-importance he could muster. As a royal prince, he had much practice at looking superior. “Are you speaking to me?” Milton looked amused. “No, the Prince of Wales.” He laughed at his own jest and snapped his fingers again. “You have been polishing the staircase for an hour now. I have a new task for you.” It had been more like two hours, but Nicolai wisely kept his mouth shut. Not used to following the orders of others, his pride rankled as he followed the butler to a room at the rear of the house. They walked past the kitchens and finally ended up in the small yard behind the house. It was an area that Nicolai had not been in before and one he would soon come to wish he never saw again. Inside the yard, chaos reigned in the form of a dozen chickens. He flattened himself against the door to keep from being pecked by the mindless beasts as they squawked past. A feather flew into his face and he sneezed. Ignoring the chicken pecking at his boots, Milton pointed at a bird calmly standing in the opposite end of the yard. “You see that chicken there?” Nicolai nodded, already beginning to have an idea of where this was heading. “Yes.” “The cook wants to serve chicken tonight, so please get it ready.” Nicolai gulped. “Ready, sir?” Milton rolled it eyes and made a wringing motion with his hands. “You know, catch it and twist its neck.” “Oh!” Nicolai glanced back at the blissfully unaware chicken. “You mean kill it.” “Just have it ready within the hour, Abbot.” Milton stomped away, grumbling under his breath about the lack of good help in the wilds of Wiltshire. Alone in the yard, Nicolai began to creep toward the chicken, which lifted its head and pinned a beady eye on him. At a complete loss as how to proceed, he held out his hand and began to croon. “Here, little chicken. I won’t hurt you.” The feathers on the back of the chicken lifted as he crept closer. At the last moment, Nicolai sprung forward and wrapped his hands around its body. The feisty bird squawked and his sharp beak poked at the skin on the back of

Nicolai’s hand. With a yelp, he cradled his hand against his chest and glared at the chicken that had managed to escape. The chicken seemed to be glaring back. “Are you trying to catch him or frighten him to death?” Nicolai heard Bronwyn’s voice and his head whipped around to look for her. She wasn’t in the yard, but he’d distinctly heard her voice. He was sure of it. “Don’t tell me that you actually believed I had ventured into the sunlight?” She laughed at his obvious confusion. He finally realized that she was speaking from the third story window above his head. He smiled wryly at the sight of her face. He gestured broadly to the yard. “I take it that you are an expert chicken catcher?” She smiled and leaned slightly farther out of the window. “Me? No. I’ve never had the stomach for it, but I have seen it done a few times.” Her eyes drifted to the chicken that he was trying to catch. “It seems to help matters when you actually hold on to the bird.” “Easy for you to say,” he called back. “You’re not the one getting pecked by the bloody thing.” She folded her hands on the windowsill and laid her chin on them. She’d left her hair down and he judged the length to be well past her shoulders. She grinned at the look of irritation on his face. “Would it make you feel better to know that everyone has a difficult first time?” He straightened his shoulders and gave her as haughty a look as he could manage. “Probably not.” She shrugged. “Suit yourself then.” He turned his attention back to the bird, more determined than ever to catch it. It didn’t make his task easier knowing that she was watching his every move. He repeated the process of stalking the chicken, this time making sure to keep his hands out of the way of the beak. He managed to get his hands around it again, but couldn’t bring himself to wring its neck. As he debated, the chicken seemed to recognize its fate and stopped struggling. One look into the chicken’s dull eyes and he knew he couldn’t do it. He glanced up at Bronwyn as he set the chicken back on the ground. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it.” Instead of teasing him, she lifted her chin from her hands and gave him a wondrous smile. He was further amazed when she began to applaud. “Bravo, Abbott. I never would’ve imagined that you possessed such a tender nature.” “Neither would I,” he muttered under his breath as he brushed the dirt off his pants and jacket. All of this for a mere chicken! He propped his hands on his hips and grinned ruefully at her. “I will probably lose my job over this.” She shook her head. “No, you won’t. Stay there for just a moment.” He watched as she disappeared. Moments later, she returned and flipped a coin at him. She cupped a hand around her mouth and quietly called out her instructions. “Go to the market in town and see the butcher. Tell him that I sent you and he will understand.” He grinned at the implication. “You have done this before.” She put a finger to her lips. “I won’t tell if you won’t. Now you must hurry before Milton wonders what is taking so long.” He was loathe to leave her, but he knew that she was right. He couldn’t put his position in jeopardy. Especially since the more he learned of her, the more determined he

became to make her his bride. **** That night, Bronwyn dined alone in the massive dining room while Nicolai ate with other servants in the kitchen. The short time he’d been there, he’d learned that this was the most important time in a servant’s day. It was a chance to learn all of the recent gossip, but his mind was occupied with thoughts of Bronwyn suffering through a solitary meal. That afternoon, he’d discovered that she had the capacity for great kindness. Other employers might have insisted that he kill the chicken, but she had actually applauded his desire to let the animal live. Not only had she showed concern for the chicken, but also for his feelings. It was an admirable trait, one he wanted his future queen to possess. “The earl asked her to go to London again, you know?” Nicolai overheard the comment made by one of the upper maids and he immediately glanced up. “Are you talking about Lady Bronwyn?” The maid nodded. Her face grew flushed when she realized that she had caught the attention of the handsome new footman. “Yes, I am.” Her speech became bolder. “The earl pleaded with her, but she refused. She says that she will never return to that place.” “Why is that?” He took a bite of bread and pretended not to be too interested. “Why, because of what happened the last time, of course.” He frowned and glanced around at the understanding looks that crossed most of the servants’ faces. “I don’t understand. What happened?” One of the other maids leaned forward to confide. “Some dastardly gentleman pretended to be interested in her just so her father could help him get elected to the House of Commons. After he was elected, he claimed that he would never be able to accept a wife that was so horribly scarred.” Nicolai unconsciously tightened the grip on his fork. “What became of this gentleman?” The maid shrugged. “Dashed if I know. Probably still serving in the House.” He wished that the man were present so that he could smash his fist in his face. How dare he misuse Bronwyn so? He smiled grimly to himself as he imagined the man’s surprise when he heard that Bronwyn was the queen of Villanova. “Is that the reason she refuses to go outside? Because of that gentleman?” “Oh, it wasn’t just the one,” the maid said. “There were several other suitors that treated her in a similar way. I wasn’t there, but my aunt works at the earl’s London townhouse and she said it was just awful the way Lady Bronwyn was treated. My aunt said that she comported herself like an absolute lady the entire time, although everyone in London treated her like a pariah after her broken engagement. They were quite mean to her and teased her about her birthmark.” He felt a wave of pity for the seventeen-year-old girl that had suffered such treatment. Even though it had been five years, he could easily understand why she refused to leave the house now. The conversation turned to other topics, but he only listened with half an ear. As soon as he finished eating, he excused himself and made his way to the music room. He would play for a little while before going to bed. The song he played that night was melancholy. It perfectly matched his mood. When

he thought of what Bronwyn had been through, he wanted to put his fist through the wall. Or, better yet, the face of every person that had hurt her while she was in London. Since that wasn’t possible, he poured out his feelings of rage and helplessness on the keys. The music helped to relax him so that when he finally retreated to his room, he could feel the beginnings of sleep tugging at him. He stripped off his clothes, taking care to fold them neatly and place them side-by-side on a chair. He was by nature a neat person, but Milton was like a drill sergeant when it came to the treatment of their uniforms. He slipped naked under the covers and was just about to close his eyes when he heard a sound outside his window. Tossing back the covers, he padded barefoot across the room and peered into the darkened night. He caught sight of a familiar figure and smiled to himself. It was Bronwyn, out for another late night stroll. On the heels of that thought came the niggling worry that something might happen to her during her nightly ramble. He would never be able to sleep until he was sure that she was safe in her own bed. With one last glance at his bed, he pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt. Forgoing a jacket, he tugged on his boots and left the house. Bronwyn was nearly at the edge of the forest when he reached her. She didn’t seem surprised when he called out to her. Instead, she turned and lifted an eyebrow. “What took you so long?” He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Were you expecting me sooner?” She merely lifted one shoulder and turned to gaze at the forest. “I had a feeling that you would follow me.” “Are you disappointed that I did?” She shook her head and turned back to face him. “No, it is nice to have someone to talk to.” She brushed past him and he caught a whiff of the familiar lavender scent that always seemed to surround her. He sniffed the air, the smell sending a jolt of pure longing through his veins. He knew that he would never be able to smell lavender again without being reminded of her. He followed her, keeping at least ten feet between them. He knew if he got any closer, he would not be able to prevent himself from reaching out and embracing her. “How was your supper?” She smiled at him over one shoulder. “It was delicious. Thank you again for not murdering Fred.” “Fred?” He gave her an incredulous look. “You named the chicken Fred?” “Yes.” She brushed her hair away from her face, not seeming to care if he saw her birthmark. “Is that so odd?” “I guess not.” He moved closer to her, trying to ignore the sway of her hips and the way it made him want to ravish her. “What did you name the others?” She began to count off on her fingers. “Betty, William, Geoffrey, Ambrosia, and Beelzebub.” He laughed. “Beelzebub?” “Yes,” she laughed with him. “Would you like to know why?” “Please.” He made an expansive gesture with his arms. She stepped closer to him and held out her left arm. She pointed to a small mark in

the bend of her elbow. “He is the only chicken to ever peck me. It hurt like the very dickens, so I named him Beelzebub.” “Very appropriate.” His finger gently touched the small scar and he felt her skin pucker beneath his touch. It was a chilly night, but he doubted that was the reason for Bronwyn’s shiver. The simple touch had sent his pulse racing and he was glad to see he was not the only one affected. To hide his strong reaction, he offered his arm so they could continue their ramble. She glanced up at him, surprised by the courtly gesture, but she accepted readily enough. She glanced toward the window of the music room, which was barely visible from where they were standing. “I heard you playing earlier. It was quite haunting.” He wondered what she would say if she knew that the reason for the dark piece was because he was furious on her behalf. He wisely kept that thought to himself. He glanced down at her, noting how ethereal her pale face looked in the moonlight. Her brown eyes beckoned at him to reveal the reasons for his melancholy. Since he could not do that, he forcibly injected lightness into his tone. “Did you not like it?” She looked appalled at the suggestion. “It was very beautiful, as you very well know. It just sounded so ominous that I feared something was bothering you.” She peeked at him shyly. “Is there something bothering you?” “Nothing is wrong.” He gave her a smile of reassurance. He appreciated her concern. No one had spared a thought for his feelings in a very long time. It was a welcome change, one he looked forward to enjoying the remainder of his life. She smiled brightly at him. “I am relieved to hear that.” Her smile faded and she suddenly pulled him to a stop. “Okay, this is far enough.” They had circled around the garden, nearly reaching the front drive. It was abandoned at this time of night, but one glance at Bronwyn confirmed that she was apprehensive about venturing further. He briefly considered urging her to complete the turn around the house, but that could come later. Just talking to her privately was an accomplishment. He turned direction and headed back the way they had come. Silence descended upon them, both of them realizing at the same time that her continued refusal to venture into public would be a hindrance. He cleared his throat and sent up a quick prayer that she would not take offense to what he was about to say. “It is very unlikely that you would encounter anyone at this time of night. It is safe to cross the front drive.” She stopped walking and pulled him to a halt also. “I know that.” He was confused. “Then why did we turn around?” She smiled at him as she lifted her foot and displayed a dainty slipper. “The gravel hurts my feet in these slippers.” He studied the flimsy satin of her footwear. “I would imagine so. Why do you not wear something sturdier?” She bent forward and cupped a hand around her mouth. Her eyes glinted mischievously as she revealed her secret. “It is easier to sneak out of the house in these slippers.” He decided he liked this version of Bronwyn best. Her sense of humor and lack of artifice was very refreshing. “You, my lady, are very devious.” She seemed to be considering his words. “I suppose you are right, but how else am I to occupy myself? It gets very lonely with only one’s self for company.”

She since had broached the subject, he considered it safe to question her further. “Then why do you do it?” She turned her head away and he saw her shoulders rise as she released a tiny sigh. She turned back to him, but the light was missing from her eyes. “It’s better this way.” “For whom?” “For everyone. I spare myself the pain of being mocked and my father the shame of embarrassment for having such an uncomely daughter.” She was anything but uncomely. He opened his mouth to argue, but she stopped him with a look. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He nodded in agreement, even though his conscience urged him to continue the conversation. His expression grew serious. “Why is it that the more I learn about you the less I feel that I know you?” She stepped away and he could tell that she was uncomfortable. “Maybe because we barely know each other.” “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t get to know one another.” His eyes pleaded with her to agree. For a moment, she looked undecided. “It would hardly be proper.” “Because I am a footman?” She nodded. “Among other things.” She gestured to the property surrounding them. “I never leave this estate, so I am quite possibly the most boring person you will ever meet.” “That is not true.” He was being completely honest. “I think you are fascinating.” She dimpled prettily. “You are just trying to be nice.” He shook his head. “No, I’m completely serious. You are the most intriguing female I’ve ever met.” She laughed and continued walking. “Then you must not know many females,” she tossed over her shoulder. “But, if we are being honest, I must admit that I have never met a footman quite like you before.” You have no idea, he thought to himself. Out loud, he replied, “I will take that as a compliment.” She turned her head to glance back at him. And either he was mistaken or she actually winked at him. “I meant it as such.”

Chapter Five Early the next morning, Bronwyn was awakened by the sound of her maid’s cheerful singing. She normally enjoyed hearing Rosie’s voice, but she had stayed out late talking to Abbott in the garden and was exhausted. Groaning, she pulled the cover over her head and wished desperately for another couple hours of sleep. Rosie, unused to such a reaction, cautiously approached the bed. “My lady, are you unwell?” Bronwyn’s answer was another moan. “Oh, dear. You have not taken ill, have you?” There was no help for it. She would have to get out of bed. “No, I am fine. Just a little tired.” She tossed back her covers and allowed Rosie to assist her with her bath. As her maid dressed her hair in its normal fashion, Bronwyn found herself stopping her. “Wait. I want to pull all of my hair back.” “All of it, my lady?” Rosie echoed. “All of it,” Bronwyn stated with a nod. If Abbott could see the mark and not show horror, surely her other servants could too. She glanced in the mirror and saw the indecision in her maid’s eyes. “Maybe a simple chignon,” she prodded. Her words spurred Rosie to action. “Very good, my lady.” Rosie gathered the heavy mass of her hair in her hands and began to pin it up. As Rosie fussed over her hair, Bronwyn allowed her mind to drift over the events of last night. She still found it amazing that she could talk to Abbott and not trip over her tongue. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. That alone was enough to make a normal girl blush and stammer. And Bronwyn was far from normal. Her shyness was well known and even before going to London, she found it difficult to talk to strangers. She supposed it was the fact that Abbott was in her employ that she found it easy to talk to him. She felt comfortable with him, even though her pulse raced at the memory of his touch. When Rosie was finished with her hair, Bronwyn examined her reflection in the looking glass. A few tendrils curled around her nape and the elegant upsweep lengthened the appearance of her neck. “That is very pretty, Rosie. Thank you.” Rosie smiled and impulsively leaned forward to hug her mistress. “You have the look of a lady in love.” Bronwyn’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh! No, I’m sure I do not.” “I’ve never known you to concern yourself with your looks before,” Rosie teased. “What gentleman has taken your fancy? Please say Lord Deveril. He is quite the dashing rake.” “There is no gentleman,” Bronwyn answered quickly. At least it was the truth. Her attention had not been caught by a gentleman, but by a devastatingly handsome footman. “And if there was, he would not be Lord Deveril.” Her best friend’s father was very dashing, but she only thought of him as family. “That is too bad,” Rosie pouted. “Rumor has it that he is looking for a wife and you would be perfect for him.”

Bronwyn lifted an eyebrow. A recluse and an invalid. Quite the pair. Of course, Rosie probably didn’t know about Deveril’s recent malady. “I am not sure such a person exists as a perfect wife for Deveril. If so, she is definitely not going to be me.” She stood and shook out her skirts, eying the yellow muslin that she had chosen. It probably made her skin look sallow, but the bright color perfectly matched her mood. It would do. Rosie seemed unconvinced, but she let the matter drop. “Would you like breakfast in your room today?” “No. I feel like eating downstairs this morning.” Rosie’s grin grew even wider. As she sailed downstairs, Bronwyn passed a couple of footmen in the hallway. She smiled brightly. “Hello, Ames. Taylor. Good morning.” “Good morning, my lady,” both footmen answered, exchanging a baffled look with one another. * When Bronwyn was out of earshot, Ames turned to Taylor. “I don’t believe I have ever seen her smile before.” “Me neither,” Taylor agreed. Nicolai, who was just coming down the hall, heard their comments and paused to listen. “She is quite pretty,” Ames remarked. “I’ve always thought so,” Taylor said with a nod of his head. “And the nicest lady I’ve ever known. My last mistress would not even deign to speak to the staff.” Nicolai hid a smile and walked past the footmen without a word. They were obviously discussing Bronwyn and he was glad to know that her servants held her in such high regard. If the stories about London were true, she needed all the friends she could get. As soon as he arrived downstairs, Milton immediately gave him a list of tasks that needed to be completed. Nicolai glanced at it, inwardly groaning as he read through the list. Every single task would require him to be away from the house, guaranteeing that he would not be able to see Bronwyn. Dash it all! “Milton, a word with you, if you please.” Nicolai’s head came up at the sound of Bronwyn’s voice and he turned to see her standing in the doorway to the breakfast room. She was a vision in yellow and it was a struggle to keep from staring. Milton hastened forward. “Yes, my lady?” “I intend on practicing the pianoforte today. Are there any footmen available to turn the pages for me?” “Of course, my lady. I will send Ames.” Bronwyn held up a hand. “How about him?” Milton barely gave Nicolai a second glance. “He has several errands to do, but I am sure that Ames will be…” “No,” Bronwyn interrupted. “He will do. Ames can take over his errands.” Milton bowed his head deferentially. “Yes, my lady.” Nicolai barely managed not to shout with joy as he handed the list back to Milton, who looked very disapproving. His day had just brightened considerably and all because of the woman he would soon call wife. He walked over to Bronwyn and winked at her.

“Good morning, my lady.” He noticed that she was wearing her hair pulled back and the style suited her. Her dark eyes twinkled with mischief and her pale face was flushed with color. She looked very enchanting. “Good morning, Abbott.” Bronwyn smiled. “Come with me, please.” She turned and led the way to the music room, only glancing behind once to be sure that he followed. As she walked, Nicolai watched the subtle sway of her hips under her skirts. She walked in a very feminine manner, even though her steps were a trifle faster than was common. When she suddenly burst into a run, he couldn’t have been more surprised. Loping easily into a jog, he followed her down the hall. This area of the house was usually deserted, which was good since it would be very improper for the mistress of the house to be running down the hall with a servant. Laughing, Bronwyn collapsed against the door to the music room. He came up beside her and rested his shoulder against the wall, waiting while she caught her breath. “I’m afraid that I am not suited for exercise,” she said with a small laugh. “It has been years since I ran.” She glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “You are not even winded. That is very unfair.” He grinned at her unintentionally seductive look. “I am a man,” he teased, as if that explained it all. She swatted him with her hand. “Ogre.” She lifted her chin. “I will have you know that women are just as good as men.” It was a sentiment that Nicolai shared. He was glad to see that Bronwyn was not afraid to voice her opinions. She would definitely make an excellent queen. He reached down to open the door for her. “After you, my lady.” She frowned. “What is it?” “I wish you didn’t have to call me that.” “What? My lady?” “Yes.” She thoughtfully nodded. “What would you prefer that I call you?” She glanced around and smiled shyly. “Bronwyn.” “Okay. Bronwyn it is.” They moved into the room and he shut the door behind them. “And you must call me Nick.” She tested the name. “Alright… Nick.” She sat on the bench and patted the empty space beside her. “Come play for me.” “I thought you were going to practice?” he echoed the excuse he’d heard her give Milton. “That was just a ploy to get you released from your duties. I hope you don’t mind?” “Of course not.” He took a moment to loosen his collar and remove his jacket and gloves. “What would you like to hear?” “Anything.” She shifted over as he sat down. He arched his fingers over the keys and she bent forward expectantly. It was a haunting piece, full of passion and energy. He could feel himself getting lost in the music. Suddenly, he was a child, back in the music room of the palace, playing with his mother. He closed his eyes and could almost imagine the scent of his mother’s perfume and the way she softly applauded. As the music ended, he opened his eyes in time to witness Bronwyn let out a

contented sigh. “Oh, that was lovely. Who is the composer?” He felt a small moment of shyness. “Myself, actually.” Her mouth dropped open in amazement. “Really?” He nodded in affirmation. “Well, you are truly unlike any footman I’ve ever known. You should play for a symphony. Talent like yours is extraordinary.” He felt a burst of pride at her praise. Playing the pianoforte was one of his passions and he was glad that she drew pleasure from it. They were so compatible it was frightening, almost as if their marriage had been fated from the beginning. Which, if the curse was to be believed, was exactly true. “Will you play something else for me?” There was a slight hesitation in her voice, as if she expected him to tire of her company. “If you wish.” He launched into a rousing march as Bronwyn tapped her fingers along with the beat. He found himself studying her hands. They were long and slender, topped with delicate, oval shaped nails. She had the fingers of a pianist. He stopped playing suddenly and reached for her hands. “Here, you try.” She drew her hands back from the keys. “No, you’ll laugh. My music teacher said I was abominable.” “I’ll show you,” he said reassuringly and played the first few notes for her. She mimicked them well enough, so he continued with several more. Soon, she was able to play the entire march, only missing a note or two. As she came to a resounding finish, he applauded lightly. “Brava, Bronwyn.” “I did it!” She flushed prettily and impulsively threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Nick.” At the feel of her soft body pressed against his, he instantly hardened. He put his hands against her shoulders and softly, but surely, pushed her away. She must’ve realized the impropriety because she immediately glanced away. Nicolai wanted nothing more than to pull her back against him, but it was still much too soon. He was only a footman in her eyes, but he would soon change that. When the time was right. He cleared his throat and hid his discomfort by beginning another march. This time, Bronwyn watched his fingers intently so that when it was her time, she’d already memorized most of the notes. Her playing was hesitant, but full of promise. As she played, he noticed that she bit her lower lip. It was an endearing habit, just one of the many he planned on discovering about her. A piece of her hair escaped from its clasp and fell down to brush against her shoulder. He found himself reaching forward and putting it behind her ear before he could stop himself. She drew in a quick breath and her fingers stilled over the keys. He cursed himself for being too forward, but then she turned to him and smiled. It was a beautiful smile, wide and full of straight teeth. He felt a jolt in the pit of his stomach. If she would give a mere footman such a smile, what sort would she bestow upon a prince? Immediately he realized her smile would be the same, regardless of station. She was perfect. She surprised him by speaking of a personal matter. “My father wants me to visit him in London.” Nicolai tried to act as if the news surprised him. “Will you do so?” She shrugged. “I am not sure.” Though he was proud that she was thinking of emerging into Society again, he

dreaded the thought of her going to London while he remained in Wiltshire. His concocted plan had not allowed for such an event. He reached over to correct her finger placement on the keys. “Have you ever been?” She nodded and her dark eyes clouded briefly. “Once. A long time ago.” “What happened?” She hit a wrong key and they both winced at the jarring sound. She glanced up. “Sorry.” He motioned to signify that she should continue playing. She did, but the sound become weaker and more hesitant. He prodded again gently. “Did you have a bad experience?” “Several.” She gave a mirthless laugh. She shook her head suddenly as if to clear it. “Anyway, that is in the past. I think it’s time I give it another try.” His worst fear was suddenly realized. How could he, as a footman, court her, if she was miles away in London? Even if he convinced her to let him accompany her, there would be little time to spend together. He carefully modulated his voice. “When would you leave?” “In a couple of weeks.” Her playing softened and became more fluid. “I’ll have to ease back into it, of course. I was thinking that I could invite a couple of people over here and see how that went. It has been so long since I have had company that I’ve probably forgotten how to act.” He was completely honest when he answered. “I think you should do that. Maybe even host a small party?” Anything to make her stay in Wiltshire longer. After all, how fast could a party be organized? **** Apparently faster than he realized. Within three days, Nicolai was dressed in the full livery of the Montgomery servants, serving countless dishes of mouthwatering courses to the small number of guests Bronwyn invited over. Most were old friends of her father’s, who treated Bronwyn as if she were as fragile as glass. They were very solicitous; carefully avoiding any topic which they thought might upset her. When she casually remarked that she was thinking of visiting London again, they all pretended not to hear. One of the guests quickly turned the topic to the weather. Since he was watching her so closely, Nicolai could see the way her face fell with disappointment. None of the guests seemed to notice or, if they did, they looked the other way. He wanted to shake them for failing to notice that what she was doing was a brave thing, not something to be pitied. It took courage to face one’s fears and Bronwyn deserved more than being politely ignored. Through it all, Bronwyn was a perfect hostess. She was a witty conversationalist and her laughter rang out several times. He noticed that she seldom drank from her glass and she barely picked at the food on her plate. No doubt she would be starving later on and he made a mental note to mention to the cook to send a plate up to her room that night. She was already much too thin and she was going to need her energy about her if she were truly going to London.

As he passed by her, she reached for his arm and stopped him. He kept his gaze carefully impassive even though it felt like a thousand fires had just been lit under his skin. “Yes, my lady?” She looked like she wanted to say something more, but instead she only motioned toward her plate. “Would you please take this away?” “Yes, my lady.” He cleared the table in front of her and headed toward the kitchen. As he passed through the door, he heard the sound of Bronwyn’s laughter, but this time he noticed it sounded more forced. He dumped the dishes on the counter with a tad more force than necessary, which earned him a sharp look from the cook. “Be careful, Abbott. Them fancy plates cost more than you make in a year.” He mumbled a quick apology and grabbed a dessert dish. He wanted to get back out there and make sure those idiots did not upset Bronwyn any further. He burst through the doors and arrived at the table just as Sir John Abernathy turned to Bronwyn and said, “I say, my dear. Is that a new hairstyle?” Bronwyn colored just the tiniest bit. “Yes, it is.” Any fool could see she was uncomfortable, but Sir John continued on. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you wear your hair back since long before you went to London.” Lady Castleberry pushed away her wine glass and joined the conversation. “Whenever I think of that business in London, I want to positively strangle Sean Rowland.” Bronwyn gave a choked gasp and turned several shades whiter, if such a thing were possible. Both Sir John and Lady Castleberry did not notice or they pretended to not hear. Both had been drinking very heavily throughout the night and the alcohol had apparently loosened their tongues. “Rumor has it that he is going to lose his seat in the Commons,” Sir John added. “Oh, do tell!” Lady Castleberry fairly twitched with excitement. As Sir John went on to describe whatever dastardly scheme Sean Rowland had committed, Nicolai crossed to Bronwyn’s side and placed the dessert at her elbow. She glanced up at him, pale and trembling, and he could see that her eyes were much too bright. He had to get her out of there. In a sudden inspiration, he reached for her glass and tipped it over in her lap. Bronwyn acted appropriately and let out a little shriek, while he rushed to make amends. “Oh, my lady! Please forgive me.” He dabbed at the stain on her skirts, pretending to clean it, but in reality only making the stain that much worse. Lady Castleberry stopped talking and bent over the table to inspect the damage. “Oh, that’s too bad. Your gown is ruined now.” She patted Bronwyn’s arm sympathetically. “You should go upstairs and change.” “Yes. I do believe I will.” Bronwyn rose with all the dignity of a queen and shook out her sodden skirts. “Please excuse me.” Nicolai rushed to the door so that he could be the one to open it for her. She brushed past him without a word. Checking to make sure no one was looking, he slipped out of the door right behind her. In the hallway, Bronwyn turned to him and smiled weakly. “Thank you for what you did.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry I had to ruin your gown.” She brushed aside the apology. “No matter. I have dozens just like it.” From inside the dining room, they heard a burst of laughter and he saw Bronwyn wince at the sound. She probably imagined they were talking about her. He hardly knew how to go about comforting her, so he merely said, “They’re all fools.” She shook her head. “No, just unsure how to act around me. My birthmark makes people nervous.” He stepped closer and touched her shoulder. “It doesn’t make me nervous.” Her eyes widened the tiniest bit at his nearness. “You are more understanding than most.” “Maybe,” he answered. His gaze involuntarily dropped to her lips. He noticed that she was once again nibbling on her bottom lip, which caused a bolt of desire to shoot through him. It was time that he let his interest in her be known. He moved his gaze back to her eyes. “Or maybe I look at you and see how beautiful you are.” She was uncomfortable with the praise, so she laughed it off. “In spite of my birthmark?” “No,” he stated emphatically. He reached up and cradled her face between his hands. “Because of it and a hundred other things I find adorable about you.” She only had time for a quick gasp before his lips covered hers. Instead of recoiling, as he half expected her to, she let out a breathy moan and leaned into the kiss. It was all the encouragement he needed. His arms moved to her shoulders and he pulled her into his embrace. Her hands fluttered against his chest for a moment before sliding up and around his neck. His lips moved over hers leisurely, not caring that they could be caught at any moment. Bronwyn’s lips trembled against his in a way that told him she’d not been kissed very many times, if at all. But even so, her innocent response inflamed his senses. Another burst of laughter from the dining room brought them both back to their senses. Bronwyn pulled away, her hands slowly slipping from his shoulders. His hands fell away from her shoulders as she took a tiny step back. In the moonlight, her brown eyes appeared black. Her pale cheeks were flushed with lovely color. She truly was beautiful. How could she think others didn’t see it? “I should go.” Her statement was more of a question. He nodded reluctantly. “Yes.” She lifted her damp skirts with one hand and headed toward the stairs. At the last moment, she turned back to him. “Will you meet me in the garden tonight?” He nodded and forced his arms to keep from reaching for her. “Of course.” “I will be waiting for you.” As she disappeared up the stairs, he stood and watched her. Once she was out of sight, he returned to his duties, mentally counting the hours until he could see her again.

Chapter Six Her lips still tingling, Bronwyn climbed the stairs to her room. Her mind whirled with the implications of what had just happened. Nick had kissed her. And, lord help her, she’d enjoyed it. More than enjoyed it, in fact. Only the reminder that she had guests in the other room had kept her from throwing herself at him. Once, long before, she’d been kissed. It had been brief and nothing like Nick’s kiss. Sean’s kiss had been a cursory meeting of lips, almost as if he were disgusted to touch her. Of course, she found out later that it was the truth. He only used her so that her father could secure him a seat in the Commons. As soon as the deed was done, he threw her over for the beautiful daughter of a merchant. Sean’s kiss had not caused any of the sensations that she had felt when Nick touched her. It was as if a thousand butterflies were loose in her belly and that if he touched her, she would splinter into a million pieces. His lips had been soft against hers, not rough and demanding like her previous suitor’s. She entered her room, grateful that Rosie had not yet returned from a visit to her family. All it would take would be one look for her maid to know that Bronwyn had just been thoroughly kissed. A glimpse into her mirror confirmed what she already knew. Her cheeks were flushed with color and her lips were slightly red. She peered more closely and could see the faint outline where Nick’s stubble had abraded her chin. She closed her eyes and replayed how it had felt to be in his arms. Never before had she been so desired. She opened her eyes and gave herself a stern look. He is only a footman. It didn’t change anything. Even if he were a penniless peasant, she would be unable to deny the attraction she felt for him. Nick was all she found desirable in a man. Decent, honest, and caring. Her lips tilted up at the corners. Of course, his qualities also included sinfully handsome and…sexy. It was a foreign thought for her to have. She’d never been attracted to someone in the carnal sense. Even with Sean, it was only the excitement of feeling wanted, not any stronger emotion. Her feelings for Nick were different. He seemed to actually care for her and she was quickly coming to care for him too. And when she thought of his talent with the pianoforte, she knew there could not possibly be any other man that was so right for her. It was almost as if God had sent him to Wiltshire just for her. The dampness of her skirts began to seep through to her knees and reminded her of the reason she had come upstairs. She glanced down at the wine stain and knew that the gown could not be salvaged, but it had been well worth it to escape the dining room. Lady Castleberry and Sir John had not meant any harm, but it still pained to be reminded of how foolish she had been at seventeen. To actually think that Sean Rowland was interested in her was laughable. He’d been the most dashing man in London, even with his lack of a title. At her first ball, he’d shown a marked interest in her. As the Season continued, he courted her with singleminded intent. She was unused to flattery and had become smitten with her dishonest suitor. It was only several weeks later, after his appointment to the House, that his true

nature revealed itself. His interest in her had rapidly waned after that. One night she’d approached him at a ball, only to be viciously snubbed. The disparaging remarks he’d made about her appearance still caused her to cringe. Even worse was the fact that a few of Society’s matrons had overhead his hurtful comments. It had not taken long for those comments to be rehashed in the drawing rooms of London. Almost overnight, she became an object to be pitied by the nicer half of Society. The not-so-nice members began to treat her with barely veiled amusement. It had not taken long for her to return to Wiltshire, where she buried her head in the sand like the proverbial ostrich. The memories of her disastrous first season brought to mind her recent decision to return to London. For too long, she’d let Sean’s duplicity govern her life. It was time that she showed the world that she was more than the unmarriageable daughter of the Earl of Montgomery. But to do that, she must first return to her guests waiting downstairs. She disrobed quickly and rifled through her wardrobe for another suitable gown. Moments later, she was dressed and heading back down the stairs. There was no sign of Nick and she could not suppress a small sigh of disappointment. She’d hoped that he would be waiting for her in the hallway, but at least he’d agreed to meet her later that night in the garden. When she entered the dining room, several pairs of eyes turned toward her expectantly. She smiled to signify that all was well and returned to her seat. Thankfully, Sir John and Lady Castleberry had realized their mistake in mentioning Sean and the conversation became centered on safer, albeit boring, topics. She found herself counting the minutes until she could escape to the garden and Nick’s spirited, and sometimes irreverent, conversation. He did not tiptoe around her, a fact she found very appealing. The rest of the evening seemed interminable. She paid little attention to the conversation swirling around her, only responding when it was required. While the gentlemen smoked their cheroots and drank brandy, she visited with the ladies. Later, she would not remember a word of what was spoken. It was hours later, after everyone had gone home, that she began to feel alive. She allowed Rosie, who’d finally returned from visiting her family, to help her disrobe and change into a nightgown. Then she sat by the fire while Rosie brushed out her hair and plaited it into a simple braid. Although Bronwyn inevitably removed the braid, she allowed Rosie to plait her hair because the gentle tug against her scalp was comforting. “How was the dinner, my lady?” Rosie had to repeat the question several times until Bronwyn heard. She lifted her shoulders slightly. “It was fine.” “Just fine?” Rosie prodded. Her lips curved into a smile. “I guess you had more important things on your mind.” She reached down and nudged her mistress in the side. “A gentleman, perhaps?” “No, of course not,” Bronwyn responded automatically. It was not technically a lie since Nick was only a footman. Even though he was more of a gentleman than any man she’d ever met, especially the ones in London. “Umm hmm.” Rosie fastened Bronwyn’s braid and took a step back. “Well, I still say something is on your mind. You’ve not been acting yourself for several days now.” Bronwyn stood and reached for her wrapper. “I’ve not been sleeping well. That is all.” Once again, she was not exactly telling a lie. Her midnight rambles with Nick were

preventing her from sleeping. A concerned expression crossed Rosie’s face. “Oh, dear. Would you like me to fetch one of Cook’s tonics?” “No!” Bronwyn realized that her voice had come out more of a shout, so she cleared her throat and began again. “No, Rosie. I am sure that I will sleep decently tonight.” She definitely did not want Cook’s overly strong tonic making her too sleepy to venture into the garden tonight. The memory of Nick’s kiss was still racing through her mind and she could not wait until she was in his arms again. “In that case, will you be needing anything else tonight?” Bronwyn shook her head and waited until Rosie had left the room before dashing back to the mirror and un-plaiting the braid that her maid had created so painstakingly. In the morning, Rosie would curse all the tangles, but tonight Bronwyn wanted to look her best. That did not include showing up in the garden looking like a twelve year old. Her hair fell nearly to her waist in loose curls. For years, Rosie had begged her to cut it, to make its styling easier, but Bronwyn had refused. Her hair was her only vanity and this night she would display it to its best advantage. She brushed the long strands until they crackled. It had been washed just that morning and she could still detect a small trace of the lavender soap that Rosie used on it. Satisfied that all was in order, Bronwyn retreated to the window and stared out into the garden. It was the perfect night. The moon was half full and there was not a cloud in sight. Glancing into the sky, Bronwyn searched for the constellations that her father had once pointed out to her when she was a girl. Her memory was foggy, but she believed she could see a couple of them. Her breath misted the window and she lifted a hand to wipe it away. As she did so, she caught sight of a shadowy figure creeping across the garden. She watched as the person moved almost stealthily toward the edge of the forest. Could it be Nick? Judging by his height and breadth of his shoulders, it could not be anyone else. No one else she knew moved with such leisurely grace. Quickly, she threw a cape over her shoulders and dashed downstairs. What was he doing out in the garden already? She normally did not meet him until midnight. Perhaps he was going for a walk in the forest, as he’d done several days ago. Maybe this night she would join him. Having him at her side made her brave. The night air was cool against her bare feet. She’d forgotten her slippers, but she didn’t have time to go back and fetch them. Careful where she placed her feet, she followed the path she watched Nick take. She normally stopped at the edge of the forest, but tonight she entered it. As she did, the tall trees blocked out much of the moonlight and she worried that she would lose her way. Thankfully the ground was soggy from an earlier thunderstorm and she could follow the path of Nick’s footprints. She quickly began to have another worry. The cold mud squished between her toes and she wondered if she would get frostbite. She debated returning to her house for her slippers, but she did not want to waste time or risk awakening the household. She shivered and continued on. At least her cape was warm. The farther she walked, the thicker the trees became. A small branch scratched her cheek and she let out a sound of distress. She lifted her fingers to her cheek and sighed. Thankfully she was not bleeding. She took another step and her feet sank ankle deep in

the mud. She groaned. How much worse could her luck get? Apparently much worse. As she ducked under a low hanging branch, her hair got tangled. She let out a yelp when her forward motion caused her hair to pull painfully against her scalp. She bent to her knees and reached up behind her head to untangle her hair. All she did was end up hopelessly more ensnared. “Wonderful,” she muttered and tugged at her hair again. A few strands pulled away, but she could not get loose. After that, she began to panic. The wet mud was already soaking her nightgown and the air seemed to grow chillier by the minute. She twisted this way and that, desperate to free herself. Her actions caused more harm than good as the pain in her scalp grew more pronounced. A vision of herself, frozen and nearly bald, caused her to quit struggling. If she were going to escape, she had to think rationally. She felt the ground in front of her, looking for a sharp rock that she could use as shears. Unfortunately, all she found was a couple of twigs and something squishy that she preferred to not even think about. She wiped her filthy hands on her skirt and reached for the edges of her cape. She drew the ends around her and tried to keep warm. Maybe she should try yelling. She opened her mouth and screamed for all she was worth. She doubted anyone would hear her, but it was worth a shot. Nearly an hour later, she was dirty, shivering, and hoarse. To top it all off, it had begun raining. Her cape was virtually useless against the cold now. Her teeth chattered and her fingers were growing numb. She had long ago lost the feeling in her toes. She turned her face toward the previously cloudless sky and let out a small moan. “Can I not have just one beautiful night?” A loud clap of thunder and heavy rain was her only answer. She let out a sigh. “Obviously not.” **** Nicolai opened the door to Gregor’s room without knocking and tossed a packet toward his usually erstwhile servant. “At least you have the decency to be in your own room tonight.” Gregor responded to Nicolai’s sarcastic tone with a broad grin. “Only because my Linda has the night off.” Nicolai dropped into the room’s only chair and casually crossed his legs at the ankles. “Has there been any news from Villanova?” Gregor crossed to his trunk and withdrew a slim packet of letters. He handed them over to Nicolai with nary a word. Nicolai opened the first one and immediately recognized Frankov’s handwriting. He read the short missive quickly, while his lips formed a tight line. Gregor ventured closer. “What does it say?” Nicolai closed his eyes briefly. “The plight of our people has grown worse. Several of the Counsel members have begun to talk about a revolution.” “A revolution?” Gregor breathed. His eyes opened with sudden comprehension. “They want to overthrow your rule?” “Apparently they think I am an unfit ruler since it is taking me so long to claim my bride.” Nicolai tossed the packet of letters on the table unread. He already knew what the

remaining missives stated. It was a formal request from the Counsel that he give up his crown. “I will not abandon the country that my ancestors worked so hard to build. Alexsandrovs have ruled Villanova for five centuries and I will not be the reason for the end of my family’s rule.” Gregor swallowed nervously. “Have you made any progress with the lady, your highness?” The question brought Nicolai up short. Progress? A kiss definitely counted as progress, but it was still much too early to ask Bronwyn to become his queen. If she had any hope of becoming a capable ruler, she would have to be able to venture into public again. Heavens, he still had to convince her to venture into daylight. There was much to be done. He glanced at Gregor and shrugged. “I am working on it.” Gregor tried to hide his disappointment, but failed miserably. Finally he gently suggested, “It is not too late to pursue the other lady.” “I know that, but Lady Bronwyn is the woman I’ve chosen.” Like any good servant, Gregor knew not to argue. The prince’s stubbornness was well known in Villanova. If he’d made up his mind, they would be no changing it now. He shuffled his feet and glanced up at Nicolai nervously. “There have been rumors that Lady Bronwyn is returning to London.” “That is a possibility,” Nicolai admitted. Gregor shook his head with resignation. “If she goes to London, how is a footman going to court her?” Nicolai stood and handed the packet of letters back to Gregor, who would destroy them later that night. “If it comes to that, I will think of something then.” Gregor didn’t look too convinced. Nicolai could not blame him. After all, Gregor had a family back in Villanova waiting on him. He clapped a hand on his servant’s shoulder and patted it comfortingly. “Do not worry, Gregor. I will make Lady Bronwyn my wife.” For the first time, Nicolai admitted to himself that he wanted Bronwyn as his wife, not just his queen. The first spoke of devotion, the second was only duty. As he left the inn, there was a spring in his step. Even learning of the revolution, knowing that it would only be minutes until he saw Bronwyn, a jaunty tune came to his lips. That tune died a quick death when he reached the gardens of the Montgomery estate and didn’t see Bronwyn waiting in her usual spot. He knew it had to be well past midnight judging from the moon’s position in the sky. He glanced up at her window, but everything was dark. From the sodden ground beneath his feet, there had been a brief rain shower. Maybe the rain kept her inside and she’d already gone to bed? Even as he had the thought, he dismissed it. In the short time that he had known her, Bronwyn always kept her word. She’d said she would meet him in the garden tonight and she would. He began to feel apprehensive. Something wasn’t right. Turning around, he glanced toward the woods surrounding the Montgomery estate. He couldn’t explain it, but something seemed to be calling to him from the woods. His grandmother, Sonja, had been rumored to have the sight. Perhaps a bit of her sixth sense had been passed to her only grandson.

It was bitterly cold that night and his breath misted as he ran toward the woods. Grateful for the warm jacket and thick boots he was wearing, he darted among the trees. He dodged branches and knocked aside vines. He was not sure where he was going, but that he had to get there quickly. He almost didn’t see her. She was lying so still. It was the flash of white in the darkness that finally led him to her. “Bronwyn!” The wind swallowed the sound of his voice, but she must’ve heard because her pale face turned toward him. She was trembling and her eyes were wide with pain. He saw her lips form his name, but she didn’t come to him. He crossed the remaining distance and crouched down beside her. It was then that he saw what was causing her distress. Her hair, which she’d left unbound, was tangled in the branches. Her clothing was damp and muddy. He winced when he saw that she was shoeless. He acted without thinking. Grabbing a handful of hair, he tried to tug her loose. She cried out with pain when he tried to untangle her hair. Unknowingly, he’d caused her more pain. Her eyes, when they met his, were wet with unshed tears, but her voice was strong and clear. “Cut it.” The two words went straight to Nicolai’s heart. There was nothing she would hate more than having to lose her pretty hair, but he nodded to signify that he understood. He withdrew a small dagger from his boot. He would try to salvage as much as possible, which didn’t seem like much. Closing his eyes briefly, he reopened them and began to cut. When she was free, she made a small sound and threw her arms around his waist. “Thank you,” she whispered against his shoulder. He hauled her against his chest, frightened to feel how cold her body felt. “What are you doing in the woods?” Her face was pressed into his jacket, but he could still feel the movement of her lips through the thick material. “Looking for you.” He grimaced. She must’ve seen him on the way to Gregor’s and followed him. He would have to be more careful in the future. Bronwyn’s hand went to her hair and she grimaced at the feel of her newly shorn locks. It used to hang to her waist, but now it ended at her shoulders. He gathered her even closer and pressed a quick kiss on her forehead. “You’re cold as ice. Let’s get you inside.” She nodded and tried to stand on her frozen feet. He removed his jacket and tossed it around her shoulders before stooping and gathering her into his arms. She didn’t protest being carried. He doubted she had much strength to argue even had she wanted to. When they emerged from the trees, the light of the moon allowed him to get a good look at her. What he saw nearly stopped his heart. A long scratch covered her right cheek, neatly crisscrossing her birthmark. Her lips were blue with cold and her eyes dilated with pain. Her hands and feet were covered with mud and her nightgown was ripped at the hem. She’d obviously panicked when her hair had become tangled. “Oh, Bronwyn,” he whispered and shifted his grip so that one hand could cradle her face. “What were you thinking?” Her eyelids had already fluttered shut in exhaustion, so he didn’t receive an answer.

The limp way she lay in his arms worried him more than he cared to think about. He continued walking toward the house with a renewed determination. Once inside, he didn’t hesitate, but strode purposefully toward her rooms. It was highly improper for a man to enter her bedchamber, but Nicolai figured that allowances could be made in this situation. Thankfully, one wall of her room was dominated by a massive fireplace. He deposited her into a chair by the cold hearth while he sat about lighting a fire. Once the flames were burning to his satisfaction, he turned to her. Her head listed to one side and she was taking short, rapid breaths. He hurried to her side and reached for her hand. She did not seem to notice as he felt for her pulse. He let out a sigh of relief. It was weak, but steady. Her wet clothes were the next things to go. As he stripped her, he kept his eyes from gazing upon the long, smooth limbs he uncovered. One day, he would be able to look his fill, but tonight he had to keep her warm. After that, he tenderly washed away the dirt from her body. He heated water in the fireplace and sponged her from head to toe. He could tell she was beginning to warm when her body began to shiver uncontrollably. He covered her with a clean nightgown and placed her in the center of her bed. For the next several hours, he kept watch over her from the chair by the fireplace. Once she awakened, calling out for him. He crossed the room and reached for her hand. “Yes?” She opened her eyes and stared at him for a few moments. Instead of speaking, she merely smiled and allowed her eyes to drift shut. He bent and pressed a tender kiss against her lips before retreating to his chair again. Light was just beginning to appear above the horizon when the door to Bronwyn’s chamber creaked open. Nicolai bolted from his chair and pressed a finger to his lips to alert the maid to the fact that she should remain quiet. Rosie’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of her mistress lying under a mound of blankets. She gave Nicolai a questioning look. “What are you doing in here?” “Your mistress got caught in the rain last night and got a bit chilled.” Rosie lifted an eyebrow haughtily. “Lady Bronwyn doesn’t go outside.” Nicolai did not have time to waste arguing with her. “I assure you that she did venture outside last night. I believe she may have been sleepwalking.” He decided a tiny white lie would not hurt. “I happened upon her and assisted her back to her room.” Rosie gave him a suspicious look before bending forward and peering at Bronwyn’s pale face. “Good lord, what happened to her hair?” Nicolai winced. It did look much worse in the daylight. “It got tangled in some branches. I had to cut it to free her.” Rosie made a huffing noise. “Fine job you did. It looks like she was attacked by a pair of gardening shears.” Nicolai straightened to his full height. “I did what had to be done.” Bloody hell, he was a prince, not a lady’s maid. But even so, he felt guilty for being the one to ruin her pretty hair. Rosie gently touched the scratch on her cheek. “How did this happen?” He shrugged. “I’m not sure. She probably got scratched by a branch.” Rosie planted her hands on her ample hips and heaved a small sigh. “I’d better make a poultice. The poor girl. And right before she is to go to London too.” Rosie wiped her

hands on her skirts and turned to Nicolai with a stern look. “Now off with you before the other servants realize that you’ve been here all night. I will see to her comfort.” Nicolai glanced one last time at Bronwyn before Rosie shooed him out of the room and shut the door decisively in his face. Not knowing what else to do, he retreated to his room and prepared himself to face another day as a servant.

Chapter Seven It was well after noon before Bronwyn left her room. Rosie fussed over her for half the morning, refusing to let her out of bed. A smelly poultice had been applied to the scratch on her face, which had made her eyes water terribly. After that, she’d been forced to sit still while her maid trimmed the jagged edges of her newly shorn hair. As she walked down the stairs, Bronwyn gave her head a small shake. It felt much lighter and Rosie said the new length complimented her face. Although she knew it was empty flattery, it made her feel good to hear it. Milton was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. “Your post, my lady.” There was one lone letter on the silver tray and it only took her one glance to recognize her father’s bold scrawl. “Thank you, Milton.” She opened the note and quickly read it. It was his usual missive, inquiring after her health and well-being. She refolded the letter and stuffed it into the pocket of her gown. “Do you know where Nick is this morning?” “Nick, my lady?” Bronwyn realized her mistake at once. She grimaced and tried again. “Abbott. Do you happen to know where he is?” Although he was clearly curious, Milton showed not a flicker of interest in the fact that the mistress of the house referred to a footman by his first name. “I sent him to the market.” “I see.” Bronwyn worried her lip between her teeth. “Will you inform me the moment he arrives?” “Yes, my lady.” Milton bowed stiffly and left the foyer. Bronwyn wandered to the drawing room and flicked back the curtains. She glanced up the gravel driveway, but could see no trace of Nick. She made a circuit of the room, checking out the window every time she passed by. After several circuits, she grew tired of waiting. She sat in a chair and drummed her fingers on the arm impatiently. Her toes tapped out a rhythm on the floor, which became annoying even to her. She wanted to thank Nick for saving her last night and reassure him that she was not upset with him for cutting her hair. After all, she’d asked him to. Anything would have been preferable to staying in that freezing rain one moment longer. She tried not to think about the fact that it had been Nick who’d undressed and bathed her. But through it all, he’d remained perfectly impassive. She couldn’t help wondering had it been under different circumstances would he have shown emotion at seeing her unclothed. She was by no means an expert, but she considered her body good enough to rouse a man’s interest. Aside from her brief romance with Sean the Terrible, she had no knowledge of men, but something told her that Nick was different. When he looked at her, it seemed as if he truly desired her. At first, she’d been suspicious of his intentions, but now she was beginning to accept the possibility that he wanted her. The only problem was he was a footman. Her father was the kindest, most understanding of men, but how would he react if she decided to pursue a flirtation with a servant? For many years, her father had

labored in the House of Lords for equal rights of commoners, but did his politics extend to his daughter’s happiness? She could only pray it was so. Satisfied that enough time had passed, she hurried to the window and glanced out. Nick was finally coming up the drive. He was hatless and his dark hair gleamed in the afternoon sun. She ran to the front door and threw it open, but she didn’t venture past the threshold. When he was within hearing, she called to him and motioned for him to come to her. “Yes, my lady?” Nick asked with a broad smile. His hair was windblown and his cheeks were reddened from the cool breeze. He looked utterly divine. She glanced around to make sure that no one was within hearing before she spoke. “I wanted to thank you for helping me last night.” “You’re welcome.” He shifted the bag of flour he was carrying to his other arm. It looked heavy and she felt guilty for making him stand there holding it, but she wanted to set his mind at ease. “I’m not angry with you for cutting my hair.” He gave her a look that said the thought had never crossed his mind. “That is a relief.” Not knowing what else to say, she rocked back on her heels and made a dismissive motion with her hands. “I just wanted to thank you.” She turned to go back into the house, but Nick touched her elbow with one hand. She turned back toward him expectantly. “Yes?” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. He touched a strand of hair beside her ear. “You look very fetching this morning, Bronwyn.” She laughed nervously, nearly drowning in the heated look in his eyes. “It is after noon.” He smiled, which crinkled his eyes at the corners. “So, it is.” It hit her like a lightning bolt, the thought that this was a man she could grow to love. Love. She had never given the emotion much thought. With Sean, it was the excitement of feeling desired by someone, not any deeper emotion. When she was with Nick, she got the feeling that there was nowhere else on earth he would rather be. He looked at her as if he…yes, desired her…but also as if he wanted a more meaningful relationship with her. For someone who had never enjoyed the honest attention of a man, it was a heady sensation. She could feel the ice around her heart start to melt. For too long, she had guarded herself from pain by refusing to get close to anyone. Now she felt as if she were finally ready to take a giant leap into the unknown. “It is a lovely day,” Nick was saying. She spared a quick glance at the sky. Last night’s storm had passed, leaving only a brilliant blue sky with just a hint of chill in the air. “Yes, it is.” Nick placed the bag of flour on the step and reached for her hand. “Come outside for a bit.” She took his hand, but she could not make her feet move from the doorway. Instead of forcing her, he simply held on to her fingers and waited for her to willingly come to him. She gave him an anxious look. “I can’t,” she said in a low whisper. “Yes, you can.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “It is the same as being out at

night, only you can see things much clearer.” She winced. “Exactly my point.” There were always people coming by. The last thing she wanted to do was encounter some stranger who would see her birthmark and give him a pitying look or worse. She tugged on her hand. “I’m not ready yet.” Nick dropped her hand and reached for the bag of flour he had set at their feet. He winked at her, but she saw the disappointment in his eyes. “Maybe some other time.” He turned to leave. She hated to see him go. Before he disappeared around the corner of the house, she took a cautious step forward. “Nick, wait!” He stopped immediately. “Yes?” She twisted her fingers together and retreated back into the comfort of the open doorway. “Will you play for me this afternoon?” He smiled and gave her a jaunty wave. “Anything you desire, my lady.” She stepped back into the house and closed the door with a soft thud. Anything she desired? She hid her wicked smile behind one hand. Oh my! **** As he rounded the corner of the house, Nicolai smiled to himself. He’d seen the yearning in Bronwyn’s eyes when he had asked her to come outside right before the fear had overtaken her. It would not be much longer until she was ready to face the world again. He delivered the sack of flour to the kitchens and spent a few minutes talking with two downstairs maids, who were a veritable font of information. Glenda, a chubby girl with red cheeks, filched an apple from the counter and bit into it before speaking. “Did you hear that Lady Bronwyn cut her hair?” Nicolai rubbed his shoulder, which had begun aching from carrying the heavy sack of flour. He shook his head and pretended to be only mildly interested. “No, I had not.” Ruby, who was tall and thin, nodded enthusiastically. “It is cut off to here.” She demonstrated the length of her mistress’s hair by touching the base of her neck. “It’s quite fetching, isn’t it, Glenda?” Glenda nodded. “It is. Rosie believes that Lady Bronwyn is in love. Do you think that is why she cut her hair?” Nicolai straightened to attention. “With whom?” Glenda gave him a confused look. “What?” Nicolai struggled to remain patient. “Who is Lady Bronwyn in love with?” Surely not that bastard Sean Rowland. Ruby nudged Glenda in the side. “I think it is Lord Deveril, myself. He was always quite fond of Lady Bronwyn.” Glenda rolled her eyes. “Surely not. Lord Deveril is nearly forty years old.” She bent forward as if she were imparting a great secret. “Though rumor has it that he is quite wild in bed.” “Glenda Rhodes, behave yourself!” Ruby exclaimed with a pointed glance toward Nicolai. “We are in mixed company.” Glenda took another bite of her apple and shrugged. “It’s not as if Abbott cares one way or the other. Do you, Abbott?” The hell he didn’t care! He wanted to interrogate them further about this Lord Deveril, but he forced himself to answer in a nonchalant way. “Not really.”

“See,” Glenda said with a smirk. “Abbott doesn’t mind.” Ruby sighed with resignation, but she seemed eager enough to continue the conversation. “I don’t see how it could be anybody but Lord Deveril. He is the only man she receives correspondence from.” The more he heard about Deveril, the more inclined Nicolai was to dislike him. He was about to give into his curiosity and question the maids further, when Milton walked in. The butler took one look at the three of them gathered there and a stern frown appeared on his face. “There is still work to be done.” Glenda and Ruby mumbled their apologies and hastened away, leaving Nicolai alone with Milton. Nicolai braced himself for whatever demeaning task Milton was about to assign to him. “Lady Bronwyn has requested that you assist her in the music room this afternoon.” Milton’s manner was clearly disapproving. Nicolai could hardly fault him, since Bronwyn’s predilection for a footman was far from proper. Yet he could not prevent a tiny smile at the thought that he would be spending the afternoon with her. “I will be happy to assist her.” Milton strode forward until they stood toe to toe. “For some reason, Lady Bronwyn holds you in her favor.” His voice took on a dangerous tone. “But do not forget yourself or your station. You are a footman and she is the lady of this house. Treat her respectfully or you will have to deal with me.” Nicolai wondered what Milton’s reaction would be when he found out that the footman was in actuality a prince, one who stood first in line to inherit the great crown of Villanova. “I understand.” Milton turned on his heel with a sniff of disdain and left Nicolai alone in the kitchen, but not before ordering him to polish the banister for what seemed like the third time in as many days. As he performed the menial labor, Nicolai found himself counting away the minutes until he could see Bronwyn again. She was coming around quickly, which was a good thing since his crown was now being threatened. He suppressed the twinge of guilt he felt at deceiving her. She would be upset to learn that he was not a footman, but he hoped that the desire she felt for him would override that anger. And it was desire she felt for him, of that he was sure. He felt the way she trembled whenever he touched her and the way she watched him when she thought he wasn’t looking. She acted in much the same manner as he did. “You missed a spot.” He glanced up at the teasing voice that sounded above his head. Bronwyn was descending the stairs, dressed in a simple gown of green that made her brown eyes appear hazel. She graced him with a small smile that brightened her entire face. He stuffed the rag into the pocket of his jacket and waited for her to reach the bottom step. When she did, he reached out a hand to her, which she accepted gratefully. “You look lovely.” She stumbled and nearly lost her footing. He swept an arm around her waist and brought her up against his chest. Her lush curves pressed against him temptingly. She laughed at her own clumsiness and he could feel the echo of it against his body. “I am such a dolt!” She glanced up at him in merriment. The amusement in her eyes disappeared as she looked at him. Some of the need he

felt for her must show in his face. He released her reluctantly and took a step back. “Come. I will play for you now.” He turned on his heels, without waiting to see if she followed. His stride carried him down the hall and into the music room much faster than propriety dictated. He heard the soft footfall of her heels an instant before she spoke. “Nick, what is the matter?” He straightened his spine and refused to look at her. He wanted her now, to hell with waiting. If he touched her, he wouldn’t stop until she was his. He sensed her approach and steeled himself against the torture to come. “Did I do something wrong?” Her trembling voice sent a shaft of pain through him. He would never forgive himself if he hurt her. She’d suffered too much pain already in her life. He turned back to face her, but kept his gaze on a spot above her shoulder. “No, of course not.” She took a step closer. “If you don’t want to play for me, you don’t have to.” His hands tightened into fists. It would be so easy to reach out and take her in his arms, to be the first to introduce her to the pleasure that could be found in a man’s embrace, his embrace. He forced himself to focus on the conversation. “I will be happy to play for you.” Her eyes roamed his face. “You don’t look happy.” He took several steps back until his knees bumped against the bench and he sank down onto it gratefully. He turned toward the pianoforte in an effort to distract her. He opened the lid and glanced at her questioningly. “What would you like to hear?” When he turned his head, she was right beside him. He stiffened when her hands came up to cradle both sides of his face and bring his gaze to hers. “Tell me what is wrong, Nick. Why are you afraid of me?” He grasped her wrists, preparing to lift her hands away from him. “I’m not afraid of you. I am afraid of myself.” Her brown eyes echoed her confusion. “I don’t understand.” He brought one wrist to his mouth and pressed a light kiss there before gently setting her aside. “I don’t trust myself when I am with you.” Her mouth formed an o of understanding. Her cheeks pinkened, but she kept her gaze steady on his. “You want to…” her voice trailed off and her blush deepened. “Yes,” he confirmed with a harsh nod. “More than anything.” Instead of being shocked, her lips curved into a womanly smile. “Truly?” “Truly,” he affirmed. “So now you know my secret.” She touched his arm and laughed softly. “Oh, Nick. It wasn’t such a secret.” He found his own lips forming a smile at her obvious amusement at his predicament. He lifted a hand and stroked the back of his fingers against her right cheek. The scratch she had gotten the night before had already faded, leaving only a tiny red line in the center of her birthmark. He felt her breath catch at his touch and he leaned closer to her. “Want to know another secret?” Her eyes were already beginning to drift closed. “Yes,” she answered, her sweet breath wafting across his face. “I think you are going to let me.” Her eyes flew open in surprise a moment before he swooped forward and kissed her. He took his time, knowing that they would not be interrupted here. He felt her respond in

the way she pressed closer and lifted her hands to clutch his shoulders. He bent her back against the pianoforte and deepened the kiss. Their movements jarred the keys of the instrument, causing a horrible chord. For some reason he felt like laughing. He released her lips and gazed into her passion-laden eyes. “Our playing leaves much to be desired.” She shook her head and curved a hand around his neck. “No, it doesn’t,” she whispered and brought his face back to hers. This time, he let her control their kiss. She pressed tiny pecks along the corner of his lips, before flicking her tongue teasingly across the bottom. He opened his mouth and demonstrated the way it should be done. She caught on quickly and soon they were both breathing heavily against each other’s open, searching mouths. It was the most erotic kiss of his life. His hand trembled when he lifted it and cupped her breast through the thin muslin of her gown. At the feel of her lush curves pressed into his palm, he repressed a shiver of need. His fingers kneaded her gently, causing her to let out a breathy moan. He continued to kiss her as he slowly tugged the neckline of her gown down, baring her to his hungry gaze. He lifted his head and focused on the skin he had uncovered. Although he had seen her briefly last night, the sight of her unclothed nearly brought him to his knees. This time, there was no fear to stop him from looking his fill. His skin looked impossibly dark next to hers as his fingers encircled her breast and lifted it toward his mouth. He bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth, drawing forth a surprised gasp from her. “Nick,” she said shakily. Her hands moved to his hair and she clutched him to her. “Please.” He lifted his head for the barest of moments. “Please what?” She shook her head from side to side. “I don’t know.” The slight hesitation in her voice brought him back to his senses. He smoothed her hair back from her face and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “One day I will show you, but not today.” He sat back on his heels before he could change his mind and helped her to her feet. She blushed when she realized that her breasts were still on display and she rushed to cover herself. No sooner had they righted themselves than a knock sounded at the door. Their heads turned in unison at the sound. He gave her a reassuring look and strode toward the door. He opened it before Milton could knock a second time. The butler took note of Nicolai’s flushed cheeks and his gaze moved toward Bronwyn, who looked just as uncomfortable. Milton’s jaw tightened and he sent Nicolai a look that promised dire retribution. “Lady Bronwyn, you have a visitor.” Nicolai turned back in time to see the surprised look on Bronwyn’s face. She took a step forward awkwardly. “I do?” Milton nodded briefly. “Lord Deveril has requested your presence in the morning room.” “Deveril?” Bronwyn echoed. Her face was suddenly wreathed in smiles. “How wonderful! Please tell him I will be with him shortly.” “Very good, my lady,” Milton said and turned on his heel. After the butler was gone, Nicolai crossed the room and took Bronwyn’s hand in a

fierce grip. “Who is Lord Deveril?” She glanced up at him askance. “He is a friend of my father’s.” “And yours also, I presume,” Nicolai guessed. She nodded slowly. “Yes. Mine too, I suppose.” Nicolai disliked the feeling of jealously that coursed through him at the thought of Bronwyn visiting with another man. “I thought you did not allow visitors.” Bronwyn took offense at his tone and wrenched her hand from his grasp. “And I thought I told you once before to not believe everything you hear.” Nicolai felt like tearing at his hair. What if Glenda and Ruby were right and she was in love with another man? What would he do then? “Does he visit often?” She must’ve realized some of the torment he felt, because her voice softened just the tiniest bit. “No. In fact, this is his first visit in nearly a year. He is not in the best of health, so he cannot come as often as he would like.” She straightened her rumpled skirts and reached up to cover her birthmark with a thick lock of hair. “No,” Nicolai stopped her by reaching out and pushing her hair back behind her ear. “You are lovely. Don’t hide yourself from him.” She looked as if she wanted to argue, but she remained silent. “I should go.” There was nothing he desired less, but short of kidnapping her, he would have to let her go. He bent and pressed a hard, quick kiss against her lips. His intention had been to remind her of what they shared, but he found himself falling under her spell as her soft lips clung to his. With a growl of frustration, he pulled back. “You’d better go before I refuse to let you.” She smiled at him, but she spoke seriously. “No one tells me what to do.” “Point taken.” He reached past her to open the door. She moved past him, brushing her hand along his arm as she did so. When she reached his hand, she laced their fingers together and brought his hand to her mouth. “Don’t be angry,” she commanded as she pressed a small kiss to his knuckles. “I’m not,” he reassured her, but her look clearly stated her disbelief. He followed her into the hall and stood watching as she disappeared into the morning room, shutting the door behind her. Grunting with displeasure, he turned and went in search of a menial task that would take his mind off the fact that Bronwyn was with another man.

Chapter Eight Bronwyn walked into the morning room and smiled widely when she caught sight of her friend. “Jack, what a pleasant surprise!” Jackson Middleton, Lord Deveril, was a handsome man of forty, who was just like a second father to her. His daughter, Opal, had been Bronwyn’s childhood friend when they had both attended Mrs. Yardley’s School for Young Ladies. After Opal had moved to America with her new husband, Jackson had grown lonely and often visited her so that they could reminisce. Bronwyn stopped at his side and bent down to press a kiss against his lean cheek. “How is Opal?” Jack grinned, which caused him to look several years younger. “The last I heard she was expecting her first child.” “Oh, that is wonderful!” Bronwyn clapped her hands together excitedly. “You’re to be a grandfather.” Pride crossed his face at her words. “Yes, I am. I can feel my dotage creeping up on me.” Bronwyn sank down into a chair opposite him and smiled. “You are far from old and you know it.” She leaned forward and took his hands. “Tell me. How is your health faring?” Jack shrugged nonchalantly. “The doctors tell me that my heart is holding up well enough. Hopefully it will work long enough so that I can see my first grandson.” A few months ago, Jack had been diagnosed with a rare heart disease. The doctors had no cure for it and had not given Jack much hope for recovery. Looking at him now, it was hard to tell that he was anything but healthy. He still looked much the same as he had the first day Bronwyn had met him. He had always attracted women by the dozens and the news of his ill health had not lessened the number of his admirers one bit. Bronwyn flashed him a knowing look. “How bad is it in London?” He gave her a look of innocence. “What do you mean?” She rolled her eyes. “Come now. You know you only come to visit when the ladies in London become too much for you to handle.” Jack’s dark eyes lit with humor. “No lady is too much for me to handle.” She laughed at his rakish look. “Do not try your wiles on me, Jackson Middleton. I am immune to your charms.” “And what a shame it is too,” Jack replied. He leaned back in his chair and studied her face intently. “You’ve cut your hair.” Her hand lifted automatically to touch the short strands. “Does it look terrible?” He shook his head. “No. I just wonder who you did it for.” She blushed and averted her eyes. “No one.” Jack leaned forward with sudden curiosity. “Who is he?” She sighed and turned her gaze to the ceiling. “No one you know.” “Try me,” Jack prodded. She shook her head and remained stubbornly quiet. Jack eyed her with newfound interest. “Your father told me that you are returning to London. Is that true?”

She nodded. “Yes.” Jack’s face took on a serious expression. “Do you think you are prepared for that?” “I hope so,” she answered, even though she doubted it herself. She had only a couple of weeks to prepare herself. She still had to get over her fear of crowds and being outdoors before she could even think of going to London. Her plan was to get Nick to assist her. She was even thinking of getting him to accompany her to London. She would feel much safer with a friend at her side. The thought of Nick brought another silly smile to her face. It was hard to think of him without feeling giddy. The kiss that they’d shared earlier was still vibrating throughout her body. Places she’d never imagined were throbbing with an intensity that startled her. The look on his face as he’d gazed upon her bare skin left her shivering with need. At first, she thought her imagination had conjured him up. She blinked, but the image of Nick outside the window remained. “What in the world?” she murmured and stood to cross the room. Jack pivoted in his seat. “What is it?” “Nothing.” She waved him back into his chair. She stood at the window, watching as Nick attacked the weeds in the garden with a vengeance. Sweat clung to his brow and flattened his hair against his head. The material of his white shirt was damp and clung to his body like a second skin. She took a moment to appreciate the play of muscles under his shirt. Tendrils of heat unfurled in her belly and spread outwards. “Is he the one that has caught your attention?” She jumped nearly a mile at the sound of Jack’s voice directly behind her. She turned and shook her head quickly. “Of course not.” He ignored her and continued to watch Nick as he worked in the garden. A look of pity entered Jack’s eyes when he turned his gaze back to her. “Your father will never let you marry a gardener.” She lifted her chin and fixed him with a steady gaze. “He’s not a gardener. Besides, who said anything about marriage?” Jack peered at Nick again. He tilted his head to one side and frowned. “He looks familiar.” Bronwyn answered calmly enough. “He used to work for Lord Denton. Perhaps you saw him there?” “Maybe.” Jack stroked his chin thoughtfully. “What did you say his name was?” “I didn’t,” she replied cheekily. Jack lifted an eyebrow and tried again. “What is his name, my darling brat?” She punched him lightly for calling her a brat. “Nick Abbott, old man.” He gingerly rubbed the spot she hit. “Ouch. That hurt.” “Weakling,” she teased and moved away from the window. “Now come along and tell me all the latest rumors.” She smiled mischievously. “I do so enjoy all the ones about me.” **** While Bronwyn entertained her male visitor in the morning room, Nicolai worked off his frustrated rage in the gardens. Every weed he pulled had the face of Lord Deveril, whom he had caught a brief glance of earlier when he and Bronwyn had been at the

window. They might have thought he’d not seen them, but he’d witnessed everything. The way Bronwyn had smiled at him. The tender look that Lord Deveril gave her. There might be some truth in what Glenda and Ruby had said. Lord Deveril and Bronwyn certainly looked comfortable together. “Damned bloody nuisance,” Nicolai said under his breath as he viciously attacked another weed and added it to the ever-growing pile at his elbow. “I hardly think the weed is deserving of such an epithet.” Nicolai’s hands stilled, but he refused to glance up at the speaker. He already knew who it would be. He reached for another weed and tossed it on the pile. “Tell that to the roses.” “Point taken,” the man beside him said as he crouched onto his knees and began to help him weed the rose bed. “I never thought of it that way.” Nicolai slid a glance to his left and saw that his guess had been correct. Lord Deveril, minus his jacket and with rolled up shirtsleeves, was indeed helping him. “Was there something you wanted to speak to me about, my lord?” Deveril swiped a muddy hand across his brow and pinned Nicolai with a look. “Not really. Should there be?” Nicolai inwardly groaned. From the look in Deveril’s eyes, the man already suspected his interest in Bronwyn. The last thing he needed was a jealous suitor mucking up his plans. He paused to wipe his muddy hands on his trousers and gave Deveril a purposefully blank look. “Tell me,” Deveril said as he pulled out another weed and handed it to Nicolai. “How is Denton?” Nicolai tossed the weed onto the pile as a frown creased his brow. “Who?” Deveril smiled as if he had discovered a secret. Nicolai’s mind raced and he cursed softly when he recalled that Lord Denton was the man who was supposed to be his former employer. Deveril stood and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wiped his muddy hands on the pristine white cloth. “I thought so.” Nicolai also climbed to his feet. “What is it you think you know?” He found it hard to keep his voice from slipping into its normal regal tone. Deveril took a moment to unroll his sleeves before speaking. “I think you and I both know that you are no more a gardener than I am.” “Ah,” Nicolai chuckled. “You are completely right. I’m not a gardener, only a mere footman.” The older man lifted a brow. “A true footman would never dirty his clothes doing someone else’s work.” He was right, damn his hide. Nicolai grinned with self-deprecation. “Sometimes I like to get my hands dirty. It helps relieve tension.” Deveril smiled. “Yes, I suppose it does.” He turned and began to walk away, but not before tossing one last comment over his shoulder. “I suppose being the crown prince of Villanova does come with its tense moments.” Bloody hell! “Wait!” Nicolai grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt. Deveril turned and faced him with a look of vague amusement on his face. “Yes?” Nicolai reined in his temper. “Have you told Bronwyn?”

Deveril shook his head. “No. I see no reason to. Whatever game you are playing at, it is your business. All I know is that you somehow managed to get her to agree to return to London. For that, I owe you many thanks. I only hope I do not live to regret it.” Nicolai released his breath in a great rush. For a moment, he had feared that his plan was ruined. He let go of Deveril’s arm and took a step back. “I mean her no harm.” Deveril nodded shortly. “Just make sure it stays that way.” **** “You seem distracted tonight.” Bronwyn jerked to attention at the sound of Jack’s voice, nearly knocking over her wineglass as a result. She forced a smile to her face. “Forgive me, Jack. I’m a bit tired.” Jack sipped from his own glass and his eyes twinkled at her above its rim. “Not too tired, I hope, for your nightly ramble in the garden?” Her eyes widened with surprise. “You know about that?” Jack set down his glass and nodded. “Of course.” Bronwyn picked up her fork and speared a piece of asparagus. “So much for being discreet.” She took a tiny bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Does my father know?” “If he does, he has not mentioned it to me.” Bronwyn shrugged. “I suspect he does, but doesn’t want to mention it.” Jack pushed aside his plate and gave her a serious look. “If you’re really going back to London, you have to venture out during the day.” “I know.” She was unable to prevent a tiny shiver. “Do you suppose you could help me?” An apologetic look was his answer. “I must return to London. There is still much to do before I sail for America in April.” “When will you leave?” “On the morrow unfortunately.” “So soon?” Bronwyn frowned. “I’d hoped that your visit would be longer.” Jack came to her side and bent down to press a fatherly kiss on her cheek. “You don’t need me to be strong for you. You’re more than capable of doing this on your own.” He straightened easily. “I must leave early in the morning so I’d better be off to bed.” He moved toward the door, but turned back to her at the last moment. “I’m proud of you for doing this, Bronwyn.” She opened her mouth to reply, but he was gone. It was unlike Jack to keep himself so unavailable. Ever since they’d talked in the morning room, he’d gone off on his own to lord knows where. He’d only returned in time for supper. She caught him giving her the oddest looks, as if he knew something that she didn’t. A thousand times she almost opened her mouth to question him, but only polite manners made her refrain. She forced down several more bites of her supper before pushing back from the table. There was no use lingering downstairs when her guest had already gone off to bed. She briefly thought of seeking Nick out, but their passionate interlude in the music room demonstrated that it would not be a good idea to be alone with him right now. Her skin tingled with the remembered sensation of his hand on her breast. Her knees were weak and made climbing the stairs to her chamber very difficult. Who knew that kisses could be so addictive? Sean had never made her feel like she did when she was with Nick. Perhaps because Nick truly cared for her? At least, she thought he did. His

show of jealously earlier seemed to confirm it. Common sense told her it was just as likely that Nick was using her also, but her heart told her that he really was fond of her. And, to be quite honest, she was growing quite fond of him herself. As soon as she entered her room, she dismissed her maid. She needed a few minutes alone to think. She curled up into the window seat and stared unseeingly out the glass. If she continued on the path she and Nick were currently on, she had no doubt that she would end up letting him take her virginity. Although she had no interest in marriage, she found herself hesitant to start an affair. One or both of them would inevitably end up getting hurt. She couldn’t risk losing her heart. It had been trampled on by Sean, but that would be nothing compared to the pain she’d feel if Nick proved to be unworthy. As much as she wanted it to be so, she couldn’t let him become her lover, but that was no reason that he couldn’t help her prepare to face Society again. Satisfied with her decision, she needed to tell Nick as soon as possible. Too impatient to wait until midnight, she headed downstairs to the servants’ wing. It was early, but most of the staff was already in bed. The few servants she did encounter, bless their hearts, pretended not to see her as she headed toward Nick’s room. Outside his door, she took a deep breath. Perhaps it would be best to wait until morning, but she’d been seen. The harm was already done, so she might as well go through with it. Lifting her hand, she knocked resolutely on the solid oak door. No sooner had she done so, than it jerked open and she was met with Nick’s startled gaze. “Bronwyn, what are you doing here?” He poked his head out the door, as if expecting to see a dozen servants standing around gawking. “Someone will see you.” She squared her shoulders. “They already have, so you might as well let me in.” He opened the door further and she slipped past him to study the room. It was bare of any personal items and meticulously clean. She spun in a small circle, nodding with approval. “Very tidy.” Nick shut the door and leaned his shoulders against the hard wood. His lips curved into a mysterious smile. “And to what do I owe this honor?” She ignored the pull of sexual heat in her belly and moved to the only chair in the room. She seated herself and laced her fingers in her lap. She motioned that he should take a seat also, which he did on the side on the bed, the only available seat left in the room. “I have made a decision.” He lifted an eyebrow. “About what?” “About London. I’ve decided that you should go with me.” He didn’t look surprised by her suggestion. “If that is what you wish.” “I do,” she confirmed with a nod. “But that is not all. I need you to help ready me to face Society again.” She held up a hand for silence when he opened his mouth. “Please let me finish. I need you to help me get over my fear of being seen again.” She paused and spared a quick glance at his face. “And I think that from now on we should just be friends.” A dark look crossed his face, before it was quickly hidden behind a smile. “Of course.” She sighed with relief. That had been easy. Almost too easy, in fact. She stood and shook out the wrinkles in her skirt. “Now that we are both agreed, I should go.” He moved off the bed and was at her side in an instant. One moment she was reaching for the door, the next her back was pressed against the cool wood. She turned

her face up to his, anxious to see where this was heading in spite of her decision. Nick stared down at her with a stormy look in his seductive green eyes. “What do I get out of all this?” She could feel herself weakening. She clenched her thighs against the warmth of moisture that gathered between them. “My undying gratitude?” He smiled and reached up to stroke her cheek with one hand. “Not good enough, Bronwyn.” She arched against his touch, cursing herself for her weakness. Her voice came out barely more than a hoarse whisper. “Higher wages?” He laughed softly and cupped her chin in one hand. He tilted her head back and his eyes gleamed in the near darkness as he moved closer. “Perhaps one kiss will suffice.” “Just one,” she said shakily a moment before his lips touched hers. At the feel of his kiss, all thoughts of resistance faded. This was what she had been missing in her life. The feeling of being held so tenderly, as if she were the only woman in the world. If this was her last kiss, she was damned well going to enjoy it. She stood on tiptoe, pressing herself full length against his body. Nick growled deep in his throat and wrapped one arm against her waist, hauling her up against him even tighter. She felt her feet leave the floor as he swung her up and turned her toward the bed. The feel of the mattress against her back should’ve shocked her, but she was too caught up in the delicious feeling of his body lying on hers as he followed her onto the bed. His hands were everywhere all at once. She arched her spine, bringing them into closer contact. The feel of his hard body pressed into the cradle of her thighs warned her that this was much more than a simple kiss. She ignored her conscience and wrapped her arms around Nick’s waist. If this one night was all she could have of him, she would enjoy it and damn the consequences. She didn’t protest when he unlaced her gown and bared her to the waist. His lips moved from her mouth and trailed down her throat, moving with inexorable slowness to her breast. When his lips covered her nipple, she let out a breathy moan and trailed her fingernails across his back. Nick lifted his head and smiled at her seductively. “More?” he asked with a wicked flick of his tongue against her sensitive skin. “More,” she demanded breathlessly. Her hips lifted instinctively against his, bringing her into shocking contact with his arousal. His cock as she’d once heard Sean refer to it when he hadn’t known she’d been listening. She moved closer and Nick hissed as if with pain and rolled to the side, bringing her to half lie across his body. His lips returned to her mouth before she could remark on the change in position. She reached for his shirt and awkwardly tried to unbutton it. After several attempts, she finally had the buttons undone and could push aside the material and touch his bare chest. His heart thudded under her palm as she caressed the hard muscles there. Her fingers threaded through his springy chest hair before slipping to his waist. “Wait!” Nick sat up and gripped her wrist. “We can’t do this.” “Yes we can.” Her free hand wandered across his hip. He grabbed it also and held her hands captive. “No Bronwyn. We can’t.” Her sanity returned slowly. She slid off his body and dropped onto her back. She waited for her breathing to return to normal before speaking. “You’re right.” Nick turned on his side. “Don’t get me wrong. I want to, but…”

“It is improper,” she guessed what the rest of his words would be. “It’s just the wrong time,” he corrected. “Will there ever be a right time?” She waited with baited breath for his answer. He smiled at her, his amused gaze never leaving her face. “Didn’t you just say we should only be friends?” “Maybe I spoke in haste.” She sat up and swung her legs off the bed. She adjusted her gown and stood on knees that seemed too shaky to support her. It took every ounce of her composure to turn and face him. He was still lounging on his elbows, with his shirt unbuttoned and his lips swollen from their kisses. He looked delectable. Wrenching her gaze away from the tempting picture he made, she spoke. “So you will help me?” His green eyes met hers with a steady determination that scalded her. “I will do anything you ask of me.” Now that was a tempting thought. She briefly wondered what he would say if she asked him to kiss her again, but judging from recent events that would not be the safest of suggestions. She took several steps away from the bed. It was better to be safe than sorry. “Will you accompany me to town tomorrow?” He moved to a sitting position and braced his back against the wall. Glancing down, he refastened the buttons on his shirt. She became suddenly entranced by the movements of his nimble fingers and the tanned skin he was covering. “If you desire me to.” There were many things she desired of him. The least of which was him accompanying her to town.

Chapter Nine Early the next morning, Nicolai snuck into the music room so that he could write Frankov and inform him of the change in plans. He detailed his progress with Bronwyn and wrote that he would be accompanying her to London. He requested Frankov’s assistance of reassuring the counsel that he would return with his bride within the requested time frame. He hoped that it would be enough to stall the revolution. Never before had he given the Counsel cause to doubt him and he hoped they remembered that fact before they acted precipitately. He’d just folded the letter and sealed it when Bronwyn happened into the room. He barely had enough time to stuff the letter into the bench before she noticed him. “What are you doing in here? I thought we were going to meet in the hallway?” “I just wanted to play a bit before we left.” He stood and pushed the bench back under the pianoforte, grateful that she had no reason to look in it. “Are you ready to venture into the world again?” She smiled, but he could see the fear in her eyes. He crossed the room to her and held out his hand. As he did, he noticed a disturbing fact. Damn, he was still wearing his signet ring. He pulled his hand back and stuck it in the pocket of his jacket. By the grace of God, he was able to wriggle it off without her noticing. As they headed toward the front door, Bronwyn kept up a running conversation. When she was nervous, she had a habit of talking too much. Judging by her fast words now, she was terrified. “I thought we would ride into Bradford-on-Avon and do a little shopping. My wardrobe is sadly lacking.” She paused as he opened the door and stepped back to let her exit first. “I need new hair ribbons and several day dresses. Oh! And a shawl. I definitely have to buy a new shawl.” “Bronwyn,” he interrupted gently. “If you want to buy all that, we’re going to have to first make it out the door.” She glanced through the open doorway at the carriage that stood waiting for them. Indecision flashed across her face as she took a step back. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” She glanced up at him as if asking for his approval. He gave her a stern look and put a hand against her back. He gently pushed her forward, even though she tried resisting. “It’s too late to back out now. The carriage is already waiting.” She bit her lip. “I suppose you are right.” “I know I am.” She took a tiny step forward and then another, before turning back to him again. “Does it look like rain to you?” He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. Quit hedging.” She took another tiny baby step toward the carriage. “That’s it, Bronwyn. A hundred more like that and you will actually make it out the door.” She gave him a look of exasperation that would’ve been funny had he not known how terrified she was. He held up his hands to indicate that he was joking. “Please

continue.” She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. With two large strides, she was out of the door and halfway down the steps. She turned to him and put her hands on her hips. “Well, are you coming or not?” He coughed to hide his amusement and followed her. She made it to the carriage and inside without mishap. After making sure she was settled, he made a move to climb up beside the coachman. Bronwyn stopped him immediately. “Please ride inside with me.” The coachman turned his head, pretending not to hear her improper request. Nick stepped back down and climbed into the carriage beside her. As they set off toward Bradford-on-Avon, he glanced at her to see how she was dealing with everything. Her face was pale and her lips clenched into a straight line, but she seemed to be doing okay. “What shop would you like to visit?” He had to ask the question several times before she realized that he was speaking to her. “Pardon?” She turned to him with a blank expression. He repeated the question for her. She gave him the name of an establishment that was well known around Wiltshire for its excellent quality of clothing. He called the directions out to the coachman, who delivered them there posthaste. He briefly wished he had had the foresight to tell the coachman to take his time. Bronwyn would need to work up her courage before she was ready to get out. There was no help for it now. Nick climbed down from the carriage and offered his hand to Bronwyn, who took it readily enough. Luckily the streets were not crowded that early in the morning, so only a couple of passerby witnessed her exit from the conveyance. Even so, their heads turned and they gawked at the sight of the reclusive Lady Bronwyn descending from the carriage. The ladies began to whisper behind their gloved hands and the sound caused Nicolai to grit his teeth with anger. If their loose tongues caused Bronwyn to panic, he would have their hides. Bronwyn surprised him by keeping calm. Although her eyes remained downcast, she walked past them with her head held high. Once they were in the relative privacy of the shop, she turned to him with a relieved smile. “That was not quite as bad as I’d expected.” He felt the uncontrollable need to touch her. His hand reached out and cupped her elbow. He bent his head close to her ear, pleased when she shivered at his nearness. “You did wonderfully.” She smiled up at him beautifully. “Thanks to you.” “It was all your doing. I’m only thankful I was here to witness it.” He was proud of her. He knew it hadn’t been easy to face her fear, but she’d done it. Barring any catastrophe, she would soon become his wife. Of course, he had to get her to agree first. “Ahem.” He and Bronwyn both turned at the sound of the Madame Laurent’s cough. The short, stout woman, who was the proprietress of the establishment, was eying them speculatively over the edge of her spectacles. “May I help you?” Bronwyn moved away from him and took a cautious step forward. “Good morning, Madame.”

The older lady squinted toward the sound of Bronwyn’s voice. “Come closer, child. I can’t see as well as I once did.” Bronwyn moved closer. “Is this better?” Madame Laurent’s eyes widened just the tiniest bit as Bronwyn stepped into her view. “Lady Bronwyn?” Bronwyn nodded and lowered her head self-consciously. “Yes. It’s me.” “Gracious, my child! I haven’t seen you in years. How have you been?” The lady did not wait for an answer. Instead she held out her arms and motioned for Bronwyn to come closer. “It’s good to see you, my dear.” Bronwyn bent down to embrace Madame Laurent. Nicolai had to avert his gaze from the sight of tears in Bronwyn’s eyes. She obviously hadn’t been expecting such warmth from a woman she’d not seen in five years. He said a silent prayer that she would receive similar reactions from the other acquaintances she would soon be encountering. Unfortunately he knew it wouldn’t be so. It would be up to him to shield her from the worst. He turned his attention back to the ladies in time to hear Bronwyn recite the list of items she needed. He followed discreetly as Madame Laurent began to show her display of goods to Bronwyn, who oohed and aahed appreciatively. “Everything is so lovely. I cannot even begin to choose.” Bronwyn caressed an India blue shawl consideringly. She turned toward Nicolai and motioned him forward. He was slightly ashamed at how anxious he was to jump to her bidding. “Yes, my lady?” He used her title so that Madame Laurent would not be suspicious of their relationship. Bronwyn frowned at him, but she wisely kept her mouth shut. “Which do you prefer? The blue or the pink?” She held up two shawls, which he glanced at briefly. “Why not take both?” It wasn’t as if she did not have money, so he saw no reason for her to not enjoy her shopping expedition to the fullest. She tilted her head as she considered his suggestion. “I suppose I could,” but then shook her head firmly. “No. I will just take the blue.” “Very good, my dear.” Madame placed the shawl onto the counter and continued assisting Bronwyn. She held up a pair of delicate gloves that were embroidered with tiny violets. “I just received these from France. They are said to be all the rage.” Bronwyn nodded. “I will take one pair.” She moved to the display of dresses in the window. “How long would it take to have several dresses made up for me?” Madame Laurent pursed her lips in thought. “A week at the earliest. What did you have in mind?” Bronwyn pointed to one of the dresses in the window. “Something simple, much like that yellow dress there.” Madame brushed past her and pulled the dress down from the rack. “I can have this cut down to your size and delivered in a couple of days. How many others do you require?” Bronwyn made a quick calculation in her head. “Five or so. I will leave the color and design up to you of course. Just please keep it simple. I do not want to attract attention while in London.” Madame paused in the act of folding the dress and gave Bronwyn a disbelieving look. “London?”

Bronwyn nodded stiffly. “Yes. I’m joining my father there in a couple of weeks.” Madame looked at a loss for words. Instead of responding, she turned on her heel and hurried to the counter. “I believe your measurements are still the same, are they not? I will start work on your dresses at once. Would you like to take the other items with you now or have them delivered later with the dresses?” “Later.” Bronwyn’s voice lost much of its prior enthusiasm. Nicolai knew it was not Madame’s fault. She had a right to be shocked since Bronwyn had vowed never to return to London. Her sudden reemergence into Society was bound to cause some raised eyebrows, but he’d hoped that would come later. After Bronwyn had adjusted to being in public again. “Is there anything else?” Madame Laurent asked. Bronwyn shook her head. “No, that is all. Thank you.” As they left the shop, Nicolai felt he should say something. He opened his mouth, but no words immediately leapt to his mind. How could he tell her that she was bound to get such reactions from dozens of people? Madame Laurent would not be the only one unsure of how to act around her. He only hoped that they had the good sense, as Madame Laurent had, not to say anything that might further upset Bronwyn. For that, he was grateful. When the coachman asked for their next destination, Bronwyn muttered “Home,” and climbed dejectedly into the carriage. Nicolai bounded up after her and slid onto his seat. “What is the matter?” She lifted her head, but refused to meet his gaze. “Nothing. I’m just tired.” He didn’t answer. He merely waited for her to elaborate. After a brief pause, she continued speaking. “If Madame Laurent, a dear friend, is uncomfortable around me, how am I ever going to survive London? Perhaps it is best if I never return.” He shook his head. “Don’t start doubting yourself. You made the right decision, Bronwyn.” “Easy for you to say,” she snapped. “You have no idea what it is like to be put on display for most of your life.” Actually he did. As a prince, he was used to his every move being watched, but he couldn’t reveal that to her. Instead he gentled his voice. “Bronwyn, you cannot continue hiding. There is too much life in you to stay buried in Wiltshire. You need to go to London and get over your fear so that you can live a normal life.” She took exception, as he’d known she would. “I do live a normal life!” He shook his head sadly. “No, you don’t. You’re only a shell of your former self. I may not have known you before your debut, but all the servants miss the lively girl you once were.” Her mouth dropped open in shock. “You’ve been gossiping about me? With the servants?” He frowned as he realized he’d really put his foot in his mouth this time. “It wasn’t gossip.” “Then what was it exactly? Just making conversation?” She pointed a finger at him accusingly. “I thought you were my friend.” “I am your friend, damn it!” he exploded. “And I hate to see you wasting your life because of what some idiot did to you five years ago!” She looked shocked by his outburst. He was too, in fact. He hardly ever raised his

voice, especially not to a lady, but he was tired of tiptoeing around her. It was time she learned that she was going to have to get over the insensitivity of others. He lowered his voice and continued, “Not everyone who looks at you thinks you’re a freak, Bronwyn. Give them a chance to prove it to you.” “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She leaned back against the seat with her arms crossed mutinously against her chest. This was the opening he’d been waiting for. “Then tell me about it.” “Why? So you can go back and tell the other servants how I was ridiculed in London?” “No,” he said firmly. “So I can help you get over it once and for all.” He was being stern, but he needed her to understand that he was only trying to help her. “You asked me to assist you, but I can’t do that if you won’t be honest with me.” The reflection in her eyes of remembered pain almost had him reaching for her, but he stopped himself at the last moment. He had a strong suspicion that she’d never talked about what happened to her. Maybe if she shared her pain with someone, it would help. “I was so stupid to think that someone as dashing as Sean Rowland would be interested in me.” He gritted his teeth against hearing that bastard’s name from her lips. The last thing he wanted to be reminded of was the fact that she’d once been in love with another. She turned her face toward the window of the carriage, deliberately hiding her birthmark from view. “I was seventeen. He was twenty-six. I was so thrilled at an older man’s interest in me that I did not stop to wonder why he continually sought my father out. It was only after he was elected to the House that I realized he’d used me.” She laughed self-deprecatingly and turned back to face him. “But that was not the worst of it. After Sean ended our brief courtship, the whole of London seemed to change. I became an object of ridicule. I heard the whispers behind my back. They said that no man would want a wife as hideously scarred as me, even with my large dowry. I tried to ignore them, but it just got worse. Nearly two months after arriving in London, I returned to Wiltshire, where I have been since.” Nicolai, who’d listened to her story with varying degrees of anger and sympathy, reached for her hand. “I’m so sorry, Bronwyn.” “Stop it!” She moved her hand out of his reach. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t want anyone’s pity.” She fairly vibrated with repressed rage. “Feeling sorry for me is not going to change what I am.” “What you are,” Nicolai interjected, “is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. And,” he succeeded in taking her hand so that she would know he was being sincere, “one of the loveliest.” “Stop the carriage!” she demanded loudly and wrenched her hand from his. Her eyes blazed. “I will not sit here and listen to your lies.” The coachman hurried to do her bidding and the wheels barely stopped moving before she bolted from the conveyance. Nicolai followed her at a more sedate pace, eyeing her as she paced through the ankle deep grass of a lovely meadow. She spun on her heel and opened her mouth to say something more, but her movements had caused a flock of geese to take flight. Her eyes lifted to watch them, as if amazed by the sight. He took advantage of her distracted state and pressed his point. “See all that you’ve been missing, Bronwyn? I know you were hurt, but life goes on. You have nothing to be

ashamed of.” She was in the middle of a meadow, surrounded by natural beauty, but nothing was as pleasing to his eyes as Bronwyn herself. Her hair gleamed golden in the late afternoon sun, reminding him of the faeries in his childhood nursery books. Her form was tall and slender, every inch the elegant lady. How could she look in the mirror and not see how beautiful she was? The delicate oval face that was perfectly shaped? The brown eyes that were chocolate pools he felt he could drown in? Lips that were a work of art, lush and tinted a natural pink? He looked at her, there in the bright sunlight, and could see nothing wrong her. She was the embodiment of feminine beauty and grace and her form was perfection itself. Her gaze slowly lowered from the sky. “Do you truly mean it?” He crept forward cautiously, his expression pleading with her to accept his words as truth. “You are just as lovely as the other ladies in London, even more so.” Some of the tenseness left her spine, but she still seemed uncertain. “I’m not sure that I can do it, Nick. When I think of how horrible they were to me, I want nothing more than to run home and lock the door.” “You did that for five years, Bronwyn,” he gently reminded her. She was weakening. That was a start. “It is time to return and show them that you are no longer the naïve girl they chased away.” “I can’t face them again.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, but she did not sound as disheartened as she previously had. He wanted to shout with joy for finally getting through to her. “Yes, you can. Several days ago, you wouldn’t even step foot outside. Now look!” He threw his arms open wide. “You did it and not a single bad thing has happened.” She glanced around as if surprised to see that she was indeed standing in broad daylight, next to the most traveled road into Bradford-on-Avon. In fact, as they stood there a carriage rumbled past. A small lad, about three years old, waved at them and grinned from his mother’s arm. Bronwyn lifted her hand to wave in return. After the carriage was out of sight, she turned to Nicolai with an amazed expression. “I am outside, aren’t I?” Her smile could’ve rivaled the sun as she beamed at him. “Do you know that I haven’t seen a child in five years?” She tilted her head back and inhaled the air around them. “I haven’t felt sunlight on my face either. I didn’t know how much I’d missed it until now.” He clomped through the grass to her side. “Maybe there are other things you miss as well?” He bent down and plucked a flower from the ground. “Like dancing perhaps.” He offered her the flower, which she cradled carefully in her hand. “Thank you.” She lifted her skirts and made an awkward curtsy. She smiled wryly at her near tumble. “I’m afraid my courtly skills are a bit rusty.” They seemed perfect to him. “You’re a natural,” he assured her as he got back to his feet. He brushed at the grass clinging to his pantaloons, wincing when he noticed the dirt stains on the previously pristine white material. Bronwyn followed the direction of his gaze. “Milton will have an apoplexy when he sees those stains. Don’t worry. I will find some way to take the blame for you.” “I’m not worried about Milton.” She placed her hands on her hips in challenge. “You helped me. Now let me help you.”

He would be damned before he let her bear the brunt of Milton’s ire. Not that he actually thought the butler would be so crass as to be irritated with Bronwyn, but it was better being too careful than not at all. “I don’t need any help with Milton, thank you just the same.” If she found that odd, she didn’t say anything further on the subject. She pivoted toward the lake and glanced back at him with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Do you know what else I haven’t done in years?” He shook his head, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. “No. What?” She paused dramatically and then yelled enthusiastically, “Run!” She gathered her skirts above her ankles and set off for the pond. He was quick to follow, delighting in the laughter that trailed after her as she ran. He caught glimpses of her long, slender legs and it didn’t take much imagination to envision those limbs wrapped around his waist. He shook off the carnal thought and finally caught up with her at the edge of the lake. He felt a jolt of pure lust in his belly when he caught sight of her. She was barely winded, but her cheeks were flushed with exertion and her eyes were bright with excitement. It was a teasing glimpse of how she would look after they made love. Unfortunately he still had several weeks of waiting before he could judge for himself. How he wished he could speed up time and have her as his bride already. But then he thought of all the moments like this he would be missing and he changed his mind. Even though it was practically killing him to be this close to her and not touch her, he didn’t want to miss a moment. He was further tortured when she kicked off her slippers, revealing her slim feet. She tentatively dipped one toe into the pond. “Ooh,” she said with a shiver as she drew back her foot. “It’s cold.” He tried not to notice the way her nipples puckered against the chill. He could still remember the taste of her, how she’d felt against his lips. Fierce need shot through his veins, so he forced his thoughts away. If he was not careful, he might end up taking a cold swim in that pond later that night. She plopped down on the grass and tucked her knees up under her. She patted the spot beside her and he obligingly dropped down to a crouch. He studied her profile, wondering again how she could think herself as anything but lovely. “I used to love coming here.” Her face took on a wistful expression. “My father and I often came to fish in this pond when I was a little girl.” He found it hard to imagine her fishing and said so. “Did you catch anything?” He was rewarded with a giggle. “Not really, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.” He understood completely. When he was young, some of his favorite afternoons were the ones spent fishing with his father. It was a memory he had shared with no one else since his parents’ deaths. It was too hard to think about what he’d lost and he was afraid if he talked about it too much, the memory would fade. But with Bronwyn it seemed completely natural to talk about it. Probably because she understood loss and what it was like to be alone. “My father used to take me fishing also. There is a river in Val…” he abruptly paused, shocked by what he’d almost revealed. Bronwyn didn’t seem to notice his slip, so he continued. “Near my village that is home to the largest fish in the world.” Her eyes widened with interest. “Really? How big?”

He held his hands up and demonstrated the size of the trout that he and his father had spent ten summers trying to catch. “It is huge. As far as I know no one has caught it yet.” She brushed her hair out of her eyes, frowning when the wind blew it right back. Several tendrils came loose from her chignon and caressed her nape and temples. “Maybe you will catch it someday.” “Maybe,” he echoed, though he doubted it. Most of his time was spent tending to his royal duties. Maybe one day when his throne was secure, he could spare an afternoon and return to the lake that his father had taken him to. He smiled to himself as he imagined Bronwyn fishing at his side. A rumble of carriage wheels gained both of their attention. He spared it only a quick glance, while Bronwyn got to her feet and shielded her eyes from the sun. “That looks like…” her voice trailed off for a moment as she peered. “It is! What is he doing here?” If it was another male visitor, Nicolai was going to punch someone. He got to his feet, acting as if he did not have a care in the world. “Who is it?” Bronwyn smiled broadly. “My father.” She grabbed Nicolai’s arm and tugged him toward to her carriage. “Come. Let’s go greet him.” The last thing Nicolai wanted to do at the moment was meet her father. He couldn’t recall encountering Lord Montgomery during his brief visits to London, but he that didn’t mean he would not be recognized. He’d not recalled meeting a Lord Deveril either, but the man had recognized him easily enough. Having his cover blown by her father would be disastrous at this point in the game. When he lagged behind, Bronwyn tossed him an impatient look over one shoulder. “Hurry, Nick! I want to catch up to him before he goes inside. He will be so proud to know that I’ve been to town.” He supposed he could find some excuse to lag behind, but in truth he was anxious to see her father’s reaction also. If it meant taking a risk, so be it. At least he would be there to witness Bronwyn’s shining moment of triumph. And the quicker her triumph happened, the sooner he could propose marriage.

Chapter Ten Walter Montgomery tried blinking. He even rubbed his eyes to make sure they were not deceiving him before turning to the footman at his side. “I say, Roberts. Is that my daughter coming up the drive?” The ever-loyal Roberts barely flicked an eyelash at the unusual sight. “I do believe so, my lord.” Walter was taken aback. “My daughter? The girl who has not left this house in ages?” Roberts nodded. “It would appear so.” “Who is that beside her?” Roberts did not have a ready answer. “It looks like a footman, my lord.” Walter studied the man at Bronwyn’s side. He was tall, strikingly so, and held himself with an aristocratic grace. He wearing the livery of the Montgomery servants, yet Walter couldn’t recall seeing such a person before. He must be the new employee Milton had written about to him. In it, Milton had described the man’s commendable recommendation from Lord Denton. But why would a footman in the household of a duke take a position with a mere earl? Walter noted with great interest the way the footman’s gaze lingered on his daughter. “Papa! What are you doing in Wiltshire?” Walter turned his attention from the vexing matter of his newest footman and focused on Bronwyn, who was holding out her arms to him. He hurried forward and hugged her. “My darling daughter, I think the more appropriate question is what are you doing outside?” She laughed and the merry sound warmed his heart. It had been so long since he had heard such easy laughter from her. He closed his eyes for a moment, overcome with relief that Bronwyn was finally recovering. Bronwyn’s arms tightened around him as she gave him a tight squeeze. “I have been shopping for new dresses in town. I hope you do not mind?” Walter shook his head immediately. “Of course not! Order anything you wish.” He pulled back and stared at her in amazement. “When did you begin going into town?” She smiled at the look on his face. “Just today actually. Nick and I decided that if I were to go to London, I would first need to venture outside.” “Nick?” Walter echoed, before focusing on the second part of her explanation. “London? You’ve finally decided to come?” “Yes,” she affirmed. “In a couple of weeks.” “This is wonderful news!” He thought back to that day nearly a month ago when she’d promised that she would consider returning. He’d imagined that the words were only to pacify him, not an indication of true consideration. “When did you decide all this?” “A few days ago. I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure that I could do it.” She reached behind her and tugged the footman forward. “Nick, don’t be shy. I am sure Papa wants to thank you for helping me get out of the house.” Walter glanced over at the man who seemed to be responsible for his daughter’s

change of heart. “It appears I owe you my heartfelt thanks.” He held out his hand. “I am Walter Montgomery, Bronwyn’s father.” Nick shook his hand, but he seemed to be nervous if the way he kept looking at the ground was any indication. “Nick Abbott, my lord. I appreciate the sentiment, but your daughter is the one who deserves all the credit.” Bronwyn lightly slapped Nick’s arm and cast an amused look at Walter. “Don’t pay him any mind, Papa. Without Nick, I never would’ve had the courage to do it.” Walter frowned. The casual way she spoke to Nick indicated a close friendship, which was unusual because Bronwyn had never been in the habit of making friends. She was a private person, very discerning in who she let her guard down around. He eyed Nick with a newfound interest. Walter could easily see why his daughter was enamored. The footman face’s was classically handsome and his body was lean and well formed. Nick’s good looks would catch any maid’s eye, but especially one who had been as sheltered as his daughter. Though he was by no means a stickler for propriety, Walter disliked the thought of Bronwyn becoming too attached to a footman. She had enough problems to deal with, without tossing a doomed romance in the mix. Walter offered his arm to his daughter, careful not to let his worries become obvious to those around him. “Come along, Bronwyn. It appears we have much to discuss.” Bronwyn took his arm, but not before saying goodbye to Nick and gracing him with a dazzling smile. “I’m so glad you are here, Papa.” Walter patted her hand, trying hard not to notice the way his daughter’s eyes continued to look over her shoulder at his newest footman. “Me, too,” he echoed. Silently he thought to himself he had shown up just in time, before Bronwyn did something foolish and fell in love with a servant. He only prayed he was not too late. **** Bronwyn went searching for her father late that night. He was in the library, as she knew he would be, going over the estate books. The lamp at his elbow cast his face in shadow, but she could see the weary look he was sporting as she stepped into the room. The thick carpeting muffled her footsteps as she crossed the room. She doubted he was even aware of her presence until she spoke. “Are you going to bed?” Her father glanced up and motioned her closer. “In a bit. I just wanted to check the ledgers before I go back to London.” He closed the books with a thud and laced his fingers behind his head. “You are up late.” She walked over to a shelf and examined the row of titles there. “Not really. It is only midnight.” She pulled a book down and glanced at the cover. It was a tome on crop rotation. She shook her head and then re-shelved it. “I cannot sleep.” Her father made a small sound of understanding. “Are you nervous about returning?” She shook her head. “Not nervous exactly. Just a bit anxious.” She abandoned the bookshelves for the chair opposite the desk. She sat and tucked her feet under the hem of her nightgown. “I am not sure what to expect.” “Not much has changed unfortunately.” She recognized his words as the warning he intended. “I’m not a child anymore. My feelings won’t be so easily hurt this time.” He tossed off the spectacles he was using to read and rubbed his thumb across the

bridge of his nose. “I should hope not. I would hate to see your champion rushing in to defend you.” She laughed and gave her father a look of mock disapproval. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Papa.” The look he gave as his eyes met hers was all seriousness. “I was not referring to myself. Although I would do so of course.” She didn’t pretend to not know who he was talking about. “Do you mean Nick? He’s harmless.” “Is he?” her father asked pointedly. She straightened in her chair, conscious of the fact that he wanted to discuss something with her. “What is it, Papa? Do you not like Nick?” “I like him well enough as a footman. It is whether or not you like him that concerns me.” She frowned, not liking where the conversation was heading. “He is only a friend, Papa.” Walter lowered his arms to the desk and pinned her with a look. “He is a footman, Bronwyn. Not your friend.” She never would have suspected that her father held such an archaic view of the ways of the world. “There is no law that states a footman cannot be friends with his employer.” “No there is not,” Walter agreed. “But it is simply not done in fashionable society.” “I never much cared to follow the rules of fashionable society,” Bronwyn reminded him. Walter looked pained. “I don’t mean to be a bore, Bronwyn, but you must face facts. The daughter of an earl has a certain standard to uphold. If you are serious about returning to the social whirl, you’re going to have to remember that tiny fact of life.” “And you have to remember that without Nick I wouldn’t be returning to the whirl in the first place,” Bronwyn snapped. She immediately colored and clamped a hand over her mouth. Never in her life had she talked so rudely to her father. “I am sorry, Papa. If you don’t want me to be friends with Nick, I won’t,” Bronwyn quietly said, even though her heart was breaking in two. Walter sighed and pressed his forefingers against his temples. “You are leaving in two weeks, so I don’t see how it matters much anymore. Just promise me you’ll be careful.” She nodded meekly. “I will.” Now would not be the time to bring up the fact that Nick was accompanying her to London. Her father might decide to prevent it somehow and she could not let that happen. Without Nick, she would be lost. She got to her feet and leaned across the desk to kiss her father’s weathered cheek. “Good night, Papa. Do not stay up too late.” He reached for the ledger and reopened it to the page he had marked. He slanted his eyes at her as she turned to leave. “I just want to finish this page. I will be up shortly.” Bronwyn left the library, not seeing the considering look her father gave her, and wandered toward the staircase. The clock in the hall struck the hour and she silently counted twelve dings. Was Nick in the garden waiting for her? After her journey into town that morning, her nightly rambles ceased to become necessary, but a part of her

cried out at the loss. She had come to enjoy being in the garden alone. Liar, her conscious screamed. She enjoyed being in the garden alone with Nick. Maybe she should meet with him one last time, if only to tell him that this would be their final midnight walk. Her decision made, she spun on her heel and crept down the hall. She escaped through the servant’s entrance and hurried across the lawn toward the gardens. As she passed by a particularly large hedge, a hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist. She experienced a brief moment of panic before Nick’s face registered in her mind. “What on earth are you doing?” She put her hand against his chest for balance, enjoying the feel of his heartbeat under her fingertips. If she were a bolder woman, she would slip her hands around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. Sadly she was someone who would let the opportunity pass by rather than take a chance. The fear of being rejected was a problem she would have to work to overcome. Nick held a finger to his lips and cast a cautious look over her shoulder. “Your father is following you.” “Following me?” she echoed in disbelief and twisted to see if he was telling the truth. “Why would he do that?” Nick’s lips twisted. “I don’t think he cares much for me.” “That is just silly. He does not even…” Nick interrupted her with a quick kiss. His lips pressed against hers briefly, his hand lifting to caress her face. Before she could respond, he was gone. She opened her eyes to see that she was alone in the garden. Only the brief rustle of the hedges indicated the direction that Nick had disappeared. “Bronwyn, what are you doing out here?” She jumped guiltily and turned toward her father, hoping that her face was not as pink as it felt. “Nothing, Papa. I just felt like a walk.” Her father came closer, peering at her intently. He held up his hand, which was gripping a handful of blue wool. “You forgot your shawl.” She took it and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Thank you, Papa.” He nodded and turned to go. “Don’t stay out long. It is cold tonight.” “I won’t.” She waited until her father was gone and then softly called out Nick’s name. She headed in the direction that he had taken, but saw no sign of him. “Nick?” she called again, hating the almost desperate quality to her voice. She had no choice but to finish her walk alone. She returned to the house, wondering if she had dreamed the encounter in the garden. Even more disturbing, what would she do if her father did not allow Nick to stay in London? **** “Careful!” Bronwyn emerged from the front door just as Milton shouted out his warning. She tilted her head to see what was going on in the drive and caught her breath anxiously. Nick and Ames were attempting to load her heaviest trunk onto the back of the carriage. She winced as she recalled how overboard Rosie had gone with the packing. The poor men would probably break their backs.

She stepped over to Milton and touched his arm to gain his attention. “Do they need assistance?” Milton shook his head. “They should be able to do it, my lady.” She watched apprehensively as Nick hoisted his side of the trunk onto the carriage and crossed to Ames’s side to help him do the same. When they were finished, she shot Milton an irritated look and hurried down the drive. She reached Ames first. His angular face was flushed with exertion and his breath was coming in quick pants. “Morning, my lady.” He doffed his cap as she drew near and she could see the sweat dampening his brow. “Thank you, Ames. I fear that my maid over packed.” Ames shot her a crooked grin. “That is alright, my lady. It was my pleasure to help.” He plopped his cap back on his head and continued toward the house for the remainder of her luggage. Bronwyn turned back to Nick, who did not look near as exhausted as Ames. “Good morning.” Today was the day she returned to London and her stomach was a riot of nerves. She almost feared that she would cast up her accounts right there in the drive. She could imagine no greater shame, so she took a deep breath and forced herself to calm. For the past two weeks, Nick had accompanied her on every venture into town. Those she encountered during her daily visits had been surprised to see her, but so far none had snubbed her. Of course, Bradford-on-Avon was not London. Here she found she still had friends. People that seemed relieved to know she was finally emerging from her self-imposed exile. She was not so naïve as to expect everyone to be as friendly in London. Even before her debut, she’d been aware of the snubs that other acquaintances had received. Sometimes London was not a friendly place, as she had quickly learned for herself. It would be doubly difficult to return now after her ignominious retreat five years ago. Sensing her mood, Nick gave her a worried look. “Are you having second thoughts?” She laughed in genuine amusement. “And third and fourth.” At his look of concern, she shook her head. “Do not worry so. I have not changed my mind.” He seemed relieved. “Good.” “If I had, would you still make me go?” She gave him a coquettish look. He nodded solemnly. “Even if I had to sling you over one shoulder and carry you myself.” “That would certainly be a sight to get the rumor mill going.” Her laughter trailed off and she bit her lip nervously. Nick touched her arm and her gaze flew to his. “Are you frightened?” She shook her head. “Not right now. Today is only the carriage ride. Ask me tomorrow and you might get the answer you expect.” Nick looked as if he wanted to stay by her side, but he still had work to do. The carriage had to be loaded before they could leave and Milton was giving them disapproving looks. She stepped away from Nick and hurried back to the house after a mumbled farewell. It was soon time to go. She and Rosie were loaded into the carriage, while Nick and Ames were to follow on horseback. She dearly wished that Nick could sit inside with her, but that would be impossible now. She glanced at the window several times as they rolled down the drive, struck by the irrational fear that Nick would change his mind and not

accompany her to London. Each time the sight of his face riding alongside the carriage warmed her heart. Finally she was reassured that he was not abandoning her and she was able to settle into her seat. She was not aware that her actions had been so noticeable until Rosie let out a huge sigh. Bronwyn sent her a curious look. “What?” Rosie kept her attention on the sewing in her hands, but her lips lifted in a secretive smile. “I believe that I have guessed the object of your affection.” Bronwyn kept her surprise hidden. “Pardon?” Rosie’s nimble fingers tied off the thread and held up the handkerchief for Bronwyn’s inspection. “What do you think?” Bronwyn spared less than a moment admiring her maid’s talent with needle and thread. “It is pretty. Now tell me what you meant by your comment.” Rosie pushed back the curtain and tilted her chin in Nick’s direction. “He is quite handsome.” Bronwyn pretended she did not know who Rosie was referring to. “Who?” “Do not play daft with me, Bronwyn Montgomery.” Rosie shook a finger at her reproachfully. “I have known you since you were a babe and I know when you are smitten.” Bronwyn wondered if her feelings were really that obvious or only to the people who knew her the best? So far her father, Jackson, and Rosie had guessed that her heart contained a soft spot for Nick. What would she do if all of London were equally observant? She really would become a social pariah then. The thought did not worry her as much as it should. She leaned forward and took one of Rosie’s hands in hers. “I never could fool you, could I?” Rosie smiled proudly. “Not for long. I applaud your taste, by the by. He’s quite the handsome thing.” The smile slowly faded from her face to be replaced by concern. “His being a footman is a definite obstacle though.” Bronwyn did not need to be reminded. She already spent far too much time agonizing over her father’s reaction to her feelings for Nick. She knew that path she was on led to heartbreak, but she could not help desiring more of Nick’s company. Other than that brief kiss in the garden, Nick hadn’t made a further advance in the two weeks it took her to prepare for London. It was her fault since she’d asked that they only be friends, but she missed being in his arms. It was the only place she felt free. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of his touch. Rosie tutted sympathetically. “Oh, my child. What have you gotten yourself into?” Bronwyn spared one last glance out the window. “Nothing,” she answered distractedly. “Just a minor flirtation.” Rosie’s wise eyes sized her up. “There is no such thing.” “In this case, there is.” Rosie did not look convinced, but she let the matter drop and returned to her sewing. The morning hours passed by quickly. They stopped once to change the horses and have luncheon at an inn along the way. Bronwyn was disappointed to learn that Nick and Ames would not be joining them for lunch. Instead the men ate in the common room while she and Rosie were ushered into the private dining room for ladies. The food was fair, but she only picked at her plate. The closer they got to London, the more her belly

tied in knots. As she was handed back into the carriage after lunch, she caught a brief glimpse of Nick leading his horse into the stable yard. She paused on the step and unabashedly watched him until his eyes lifted and met hers. The warm expression in his gaze turned her insides to molten heat. Then he did the most extraordinary thing. He lifted his hand to his mouth and blew her a kiss. She did not think that anyone else noticed, but her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. She stumbled and nearly missed the step into the carriage. “Are you alright, my lady?” Ames, who was helping her inside the carriage, asked. She turned to him with an embarrassed look. “Yes, Ames. My foot slipped.” She glanced back at Nick, who was mounting his horse. As he passed by the window, he winked at her. “Good afternoon, my lady,” he called out. “I hope you are having a pleasant journey.” She smiled in return. “Yes. Thank you Abbott.” Rosie was shooting her warning glances, but Bronwyn ignored her. She leaned further out the window, wishing she could touch him. “I will see you in London.” “I look forward to it.” He touched his cap and moved back to join Ames, who was not quite as expert a rider. Nick nudged the younger man in the ribs and engaged him in conversation while Bronwyn resumed her seat and settled back for the remainder of the journey to London. Rosie was soon softly snoring in the corner. She’d been up most of the night packing, so Bronwyn could not fault her for being exhausted, even though it left her with no one to talk to. She briefly considered sewing, but decided against it just as quickly. In a moving carriage, she would probably prick her finger and she didn’t want to get bloodstains all over Rosie’s quality handiwork. Instead she tried occupying herself by watching the passing landscape. All she could see were trees, trees, and more trees. She grew bored of the monotony of the ride and wished the trip was over. Never would she have thought she would be as happy to reach London as she did the moment she caught her first glimpse of the city. Reaching over, she gently shook Rosie awake. “We are here.” Rosie straightened her cap, which had become hopelessly askew, and peered out the window into the deepening twilight. “So we are.” Bronwyn joined her at the window, looking out at the city she had not seen in five years. On her first visit, she’d been full of girlish hopes and dreams. The thought of handsome lords and elegant ladies had fueled most of her daydreams, until she had begun to think upon London as a fairyland. Now that she was older she knew better. London was just the same as any other city in England. Hearts were broken and dreams crushed, only it was done under the delicate heels of Society. Bronwyn felt an immediate surge of fear. She couldn’t breathe! She pressed a hand against her throat and fell back against the squabs of the coach. Rosie, whose attention was still at the window, spoke to her over one shoulder. “Do you suppose that you will go sailing on the Thames? You used to enjoy it when you were a young girl.” When she did not receive an answer, Rosie glanced back at Bronwyn and let out a shriek of dismay. “What is the matter?” Bronwyn couldn’t speak. She merely shook her head at her maid and took a

trembling breath. Rosie’s shriek had gained Nick’s attention and he suddenly appeared on horseback. He glanced in the window and immediately pulled up short. She heard him order the driver to stop in a voice of command more suited to a king than a footman. Nick’s broad shoulders filled the door as he climbed inside. His gaze fell upon Bronwyn, ignoring Rosie’s presence as he reached for her hand. Her fingers trembled in his grasp, but she returned his squeeze. “What is wrong?” His voice was like warm honey. It washed over her, easing most of her fear, but she still could not speak. Nick’s other hand moved to her shoulder. He gently turned her to face him. “Take a deep breath. Good,” he praised as she did as he said. “Now release it.” She did so, surprised to see that it was actually working. Already she could feel the tension slipping from her muscles. “Feel better?” She glanced up and nodded, entranced by his closeness. She felt herself leaning toward him, but a delicate cough reminded her that they were not alone. She straightened immediately. “Thank you. I feel much better now.” “We are not far from your home. Are you well enough to complete the journey?” She grimaced, feeling like a fool for panicking. “Yes.” He squeezed her hand one last time before leaving the carriage. His voice instructed the driver to continue on. The carriage finally reached Mount Street just after nightfall. A pair of footmen held lighted torches as they rushed out to meet them. Bronwyn descended from the carriage just as her father emerged from the house. “My dear, you made it.” Her legs were weak from sitting still so long, but she was able to meet him halfway. “Hello, Papa.” He embraced her and pulled back to survey her face worriedly. “You must be exhausted from your ride. Come. I will have Marie show you and Rosie to your room while your trunk is being brought in.” She followed her father inside, knowing she should warn him of Nick’s presence before he saw it for himself. She tugged on his sleeve. “There is something I must tell you.” Her father gave her his complete attention. “Yes?” She opened her mouth to speak, but a clattering sound behind her told her that it was too late. Her father’s gaze immediately moved to Nick. Bronwyn winced at the expression on her father’s face. He did not seem angry, more resigned than anything. His eyes moved back to hers. “Bronwyn, I thought we agreed.” “I did not agree,” she said softly. “You assumed.” He heaved a sigh and they both moved to the side so that Nick and Ames could carry her trunk upstairs. “This is not a good idea, Bronwyn. I would hate to see you get hurt again.” She lifted her chin and faced her father squarely. “Nick is nothing like Sean. He would never hurt me.” Her father motioned her into his study and shut the door firmly behind them. “I am sure he would not do so intentionally, but you must face facts. He is a footman. Nothing can come of this flirtation.” “We are just friends, Papa. Without him, I never would’ve gotten the courage to return here.” “I know and appreciate that fact, but I cannot condone a relationship between you

and him. Innocent though it may be.” Not quite so innocent, but her father did not need to know that. He would probably keel over at her feet if he knew that she was already halfway in love with her footman. “Everything will be alright, Papa. You’ll see.” Walter rubbed a hand across his face tiredly. “I hope so. For your sake, I definitely hope so.”

Chapter Eleven The first thing Bronwyn did upon her return was apply for vouchers to Almack’s. Though she was not fond of the place, she wanted to make a statement and the popular meeting place seemed as good a place to start as any. Luckily the estimable Lady Jersey was a friend of her father’s and she acquired the vouchers with a minimum of effort. In fact she didn’t even have to leave the comfort of her father’s home. Lady Jersey called upon her at Mount Street. Bronwyn was taking tea when Lady Jersey and her friend, the Duchess of York, were announced. She nearly choked on her biscuit at the unexpected visit of not one, but two, of Society’s leading matrons. Lurching to her feet, she brushed at the crumbs on her skirt and prepared herself to face her first test. Lady Jersey sailed into the room, while the duchess entered at a more leisurely pace. Bronwyn forced herself to hold still and not bolt from the room like she wished she could do. Lady Jersey eyed her up and down before making a humphing noise under her breath. “So, my girl, you’ve finally decided to rejoin us. What took you so long?” Bronwyn realized her mouth was open and closed it with a snap. She’d known that Lady Jersey was blunt, but she’d not expected this. “Um,” she began awkwardly, only to be interrupted by the soft voice of the duchess. “Sally, can’t you see you are intimidating the poor girl? At least allow her to offer us tea before you begin drilling her.” Bronwyn shot the duchess a grateful smile before motioning toward the settee. “Please sit.” Her fingers shook terribly, but she was able to pour the tea without spilling it. Lady Jersey was blessedly quiet for several moments. Only after finishing her tea did she speak again. “You picked an excellent time to return to London. There is talk that Sean Rowland may be dismissed from the House. It is only fair that you are here to witness it.” Bearing witness to Sean’s humiliation was the furthest thing from her mind. It was true she did not care to see him again, but neither did she purposefully wish for his downfall. She tightened her grip on her cup and pasted on a bland smile. “He is of no concern of mine.” Lady Jersey smiled in appreciation. “Excellent, my dear. You might just make it after all. I must admit, I had my doubts when your father first mentioned that you were returning. I see now that I was wrong.” It was not often that Lady Jersey admitted she was wrong, so Bronwyn felt a small spurt of pride at her words. If the powerful Lady Jersey had faith in her success, then she was doing a good job of hiding her fear. Though even now her knees were shaking and felt clammy. She set down her teacup, afraid that the two ladies would notice the trembling of her fingers. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.” “You’ve made it this far, but your launch into society will be the true test.” Lady Jersey went straight to the heart of the matter. “How many invitations have you received?”

Bronwyn’s face flamed with embarrassed color. She’d been in London for two days with not a single caller. “None, my lady.” Lady Jersey gave her a faintly pitying look. “Don’t worry, my dear. I will see to it that you receive an invitation to a small fete I am hosting next week. Afterwards the invitations should begin to pour in.” Bronwyn was unsure how to respond to such a sign of good faith. She felt the prickle of tears and she blinked several times to hold them at bay. “Thank you, my lady. You are far too kind.” Lady Jersey covered her mouth with one hand as she laughed. “Oh, my dear! I’ve been called many things, but kind is not often one of them.” “Nevertheless it is true.” The duchess, who’d remained silent through most of the exchange, leaned forward to pat Bronwyn’s knee. “I will also send round an invitation to a ball I am hosting next month. I hope that you will still be in Town then.” “I should be.” Bronwyn was touched by the kindness of two strangers. “I don’t know how to repay you both.” Lady Jersey’s eyes grew serious. “I do. Show the ton what you are made of. Don’t let them send you running back to Wiltshire with your tail between your legs.” Bronwyn blushed at the unflattering description of her disgraceful exit the last time she was in London, but Lady Jersey merely spoke the truth. She’d taken the cowardly way out, but this time she would not be so easily cowed. **** On Wednesday, four days after arriving in London, Bronwyn was to attend Almack’s. She couldn’t sleep the night before. She tossed and turned, dreading the encounter with people she’d worked so hard to forget. The memory of some of the ton’s cruelty didn’t have quite the sting it used to, for which she was grateful. Now that she was older she recognized it as the petty spitefulness it was. Most of her tormentors had been bullies and gossipmongers, the ones who reveled in causing others pain. She resolved not to let their barbs pierce her heart this time around. She spent a pleasant breakfast with her father before he was called away to Parliament. After eating, she wandered the house, wondering how to occupy herself until it was time to dress for the evening. She was afraid if she spent too much time alone, she would begin to think herself out of going. She heard the tinkling of the pianoforte and smiled to herself. Nick was obviously practicing. Her father had also found it strange that their footman could play with such talent, but he’d agreed to let Nick tutor her. Although she loved music, she had no interest in learning to play. Her true intention was to spend as much time with Nick as possible before she found a husband and settled down. Her steps faltered and a frown turned down the edges of her mouth. A husband? Was that really what she was looking for in London? Once she’d dreamed of marriage to a proper gentleman and a family of her own. Now she couldn’t imagine feeling something for anyone other than Nick. His face haunted her dreams and her body yearned for his touch. How could she pursue marriage to another when her heart was already taken? She shook her head at the irony of it all. An earl’s daughter, in love with a footman. Her father made it clear that he would not agree to a match. It was pointless to continue

tormenting herself, but she couldn’t prevent her feet from moving toward the music room. Nick’s playing seemed to swell as she walked down the hall. She reached out to turn the knob, opening the door just as the last note faded. Nick sat at the pianoforte, jacket discarded and shirtsleeves rolled up. He heard her enter the room and his gaze locked with hers. “Hello.” “Hello.” She didn’t step further into the room, afraid that if she got any closer, she would do something embarrassing like fling herself in his arms and beg him to kiss her again. Nick turned his attention back to the keys after noting her reluctant stance. She studied the strong line of his jaw, his aquiline nose, his noble brow. He was so handsome she sometimes pinched herself to see if he was real. What was truly amazing was he seemed interested in her. Not just as an employer or even as a friend, but as a desirable woman. The tender way he treated her professed that he was fond of her and even, dare she hope, smitten? The tug of attraction was too hard to resist so she crossed the room and placed her hands on his shoulders. His skin was warm through his shirt and her palms were singed just touching him. The muscles leapt under her fingers. His playing faltered, but he quickly recovered. The small indication of his reaction brought a smile to her face. He was just as affected as she. “Nick.” Her voice was unusually throaty. “Play something for me.” “I am playing.” His voice was just as husky as hers. A thrill shot down her spine at the sexy rumble. She put her mouth close to his ear. Her breath ruffled the hair at his nape as she spoke. “Play something else.” The muscle in his jaw clenched and she could tell he was fighting his desire. She wondered what would happen if he lost the fight. A tremble started in her thighs and warmth pooled at her slit, once again a term she’d overheard Sean use, as she envisioned his reaction. He hesitated a moment. “What would you like to hear?” “Something you composed.” Her fingers slid down his arm as she sat beside him on the small bench. She felt the heat of his body through the thin muslin of her gown. Edging as close to him as possible, she leaned over him to gaze at the papers scattered on top of the pianoforte. “I thought you did not read music.” Nick cursed softly and gathered the papers together in one hand. “I don’t.” She was puzzled by his reaction, her desire quickly replaced by curiosity. “Then what were you reading?” He looked decidedly uncomfortable. “It is just personal correspondence.” He stuffed the papers under his jacket, which was resting on the floor, and kicked both items away. “To my family.” She tilted her head to one side and studied him. He was obviously lying to her. Why she had no idea. If the papers were truly letters to his family, he wouldn’t be so quick to hide them. Or would he? Maybe he had an entire life he did not want to share with her. She knew very little about him after all. “Do you have siblings?” He shook his head. “I’m an only child.” She frowned, puzzled by this information. His parents were dead, so who could he be

writing to? It seemed unlikely that he would be writing to distant relations. Her face flamed with sudden comprehension. “Oh!” Nick gave her an odd look. “What is it?” She stood so suddenly she nearly turned the bench over. She felt like a complete imbecile. How could she not have realized that an attractive man like Nick would have someone waiting for him at home? It shouldn’t hurt, but it did. It was far worse than the pain of Sean’s betrayal. With a choked gasp, she whirled around, intending to escape before he realized she was heartbroken. Before she could flee, he grasped hold of her skirt. She came to a halt and faced him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She spoke with as much dignity as she could manage. Nick’s brows brew together quizzically. “Didn’t know what?” She lowered her gaze, pretending to be engrossed with the carpeting underneath her feet. “About your sweetheart.” “My what?” he exclaimed. “Whatever gave you the idea that I have one?” She felt a brief spurt of hope. Maybe she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. She gestured to his jacket, where the papers lay hidden. “I assumed you were writing to a girl back home.” His lips twitched in amusement. “You assumed wrong.” “I did?” she questioned, hating the breathless quality to her voice. Nick took a step closer until their thighs brushed. Each breath she took pressed her breasts against his chest. “You did.” It was hard to concentrate on conversation when he was standing so close and looking utterly handsome. His green eyes reflected the light shining through the window. They almost seemed like opaque mirrors. If only his thoughts were as easy to read. “Who do you write then?” He glanced away for the barest second. “My cousin.” “Are you close to your cousin?” She wanted to convince herself she was truly interested, but she was afraid she only questioned him so that she could remain standing as they did now. A heated look appeared in Nick’s eyes. “Not as close as you and I are at this precise moment.” Oh my! Bronwyn dearly longed for a fan to cool her suddenly overheated cheeks. “I should hope not. You are cousins after all.” Her half-hearted attempt at humor was met with silence. She dared a glance up at his face, only to see him watching her with a look of longing so intense her knees nearly buckled. Dear Lord! When he looked at her like that she began to think all manner of improper things. Like how good it felt when he kissed her. How she loved to be in his arms. The tender way he touched her birthmark. The way she wished he would touch her in other places. As if he could sense her thoughts, Nick lowered his head. She held her breath, poised for his kiss. “Pardon me, my lady.” Both Nick and Bronwyn jumped at the sound of the butler’s voice coming from the now open doorway. She took a hasty step back and her heel tangled in the hem of her skirt. Nick reached out to steady her before moving a respectable distance away. Bronwyn smothered her sigh of disappointment and turned toward the doorway. “Yes.

What is it?” The butler cleared his throat nervously. “You have a caller, my lady.” Her brows rose to her hairline. “I do? Who?” “Her grace, the Duchess of York.” Bronwyn’s hands flew immediately to her hair. “Oh dear, I’m a mess.” She turned toward Nick, frantic for reassurance. “How do I look?” His eyes leisurely traveled over her face before dropping down her body. “You look beautiful.” She flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, Nick.” Aware that the butler was still standing there and probably hanging onto their every word, she turned back toward the door. “Please inform Lady Radcliffe that I will be with her shortly.” The butler began to back away. “Yes, my lady.” As soon as the door closed, she returned to Nick’s side. “Will you play for me later?” Nick gave her a regretful look. “I imagine you will be too busy today. Your visit with Lady Radcliffe will probably extend well into the afternoon. She is known to be quite the talker.” She tilted her head to one side and studied him thoughtfully. “How do you know that?” He appeared confused for an instant. Then his face cleared and he gave her a slow, devastating smile. “Your father’s servants have been anxious to fill me in on the gossip in London.” It seemed likely enough, but Bronwyn sensed there was something he was not telling her. “In that case, I’d better not keep her waiting.” Nick sketched a perfect bow and resumed his seat at the bench. As she left the music room, she heard him start a new song. This one she recognized as a song about two starcrossed young lovers. The tune could not be more apt. **** “More lemonade, my dear?” “No thank you, Papa.” Bronwyn glanced at her father. He’d stayed at her side the entire night. So far she’d seen nothing to concern herself with. The gathering at Almack’s that night was small. Most of the tormentors she remembered from five years ago were thankfully absent. A few people approached her, but they seemed nervous they would say something to make her fly into a rage of emotion. Walter touched her elbow lightly. “Smile, my dear. You look as if you are facing down the firing squad.” She straightened the skirts of her new yellow ball gown and gave him a wide smile. “I do believe I am.” Walter’s worried expression faded. “Have I said how proud I am of you?” She stepped to the side so that a younger couple could approach the dance floor. “Only about a hundred times.” The young lady did a double take as she passed and Bronwyn was uncomfortably aware that her birthmark was the reason for the girl’s second look. She turned her head away, shutting her eyes from the attention she was receiving. She put a hand to her forehead, dismayed to feel her fingers trembling. “My dear, what is wrong? You’ve gone quite pale.” Bronwyn barely heard her father’s words through the roaring in her ears. Suddenly it

was all too much. The music was loud, the room crowded, the laughter pointed. She sent her father a frantic look. “I…” Walter grabbed her elbow and began to steer her from the room. “Just breathe, Bronwyn. I’ll find you someplace quiet to sit for a while.” She allowed herself to be towed behind him. Her father elbowed his way past several members of the ton in his haste to see her to safety. She heard the whispers begin as they passed. This was much the way it happened five years ago. She’d experienced a surge of panic and embarrassed herself by collapsing during a ball. If her father did not hurry, history would soon repeat itself. “My dear, are you alright?” Bronwyn recognized the voice of Sally Jersey. She pulled on her father’s arm and he immediately stopped walking. “I am fine.” Her voice was wobbly, but she managed the words well enough. Lady Jersey seemed disappointed by Bronwyn’s near collapse. Her sharp eyes gave Walter a disapproving look as she slapped him lightly with her fan. “Montgomery, for shame! Can you not see that your daughter is suffering from a lack of healthy vegetables? Good for the constitution, I always say.” She paused and turned back to Bronwyn. “Young lady, you must promise me that you will eat all your vegetables from now on.” Bronwyn felt the ridiculous urge to laugh. All around them, people openly stared and now believed her to be lacking nutrition. Her lips twitched with amusement. “Even turnips, my lady?” Lady Jersey nodded approvingly. “Most especially turnips, my dear.” With a decisive sniff, Lady Jersey turned on her heel and strode away. The purple feather in her turban swayed atop her head as she made her way through the amused crowd. Bronwyn felt relief swamp her. Lady Jersey had just saved her from what was potentially a ruinous night. If she’d succumbed to a fit of terror, Bronwyn doubted she would’ve been able to continue her entry into society. She turned toward her father and gave him a reassuring smile. “I feel much better, Papa.” He remained glued to her side for the rest of the evening. Lady Jersey had helped her, but unfortunately that was not enough to ease Bronwyn’s way back into the ton’s graces. No gentleman asked her to dance and few ladies ventured forward to speak to her. As the night progressed and Bronwyn’s company remained unsought, she could feel her father’s rising irritation. She spared a quick look at his tight jaw and sighed. “We knew it would not happen overnight, Papa.” “Damn fools,” her father muttered under his breath. “You are the prettiest girl here tonight.” Bronwyn managed a shaky laugh. “I’m not, but thank you just the same.” Her father drew himself to his full height. “Yes, you are.” He lifted his chin haughtily and gazed out upon the room. “And I dare any of these imbeciles to say different. You should be out there dancing, not sitting here with your ancient father.” “You are not ancient,” she reassured him. She settled back to watch the dancing couples, feeling a sudden spurt of envy. For once she wished to be one of the merry couples on the dance floor. It had been so long since she had danced, nearly five years. It was most likely a good thing that no gentleman asked her to dance. She’d probably forgotten how. The memory of Nick’s elegant form and strong arms made her wonder if he could

dance. Perhaps she could get him to teach her, just in case she finally did get asked. Her cheeks flushed and she discreetly fanned herself. Just the thought of dancing with Nick was enough to heat her veins. How would she feel if he actually agreed to dance with her? Probably melt into a puddle at his feet. “Bronwyn, are you overheated? Do you need fresh air?” She started at her father’s voice and glanced over at him. “No. But perhaps you could fetch me a glass of lemonade?” “Of course.” Walter stood, but seemed reluctant to leave her side. “Are you sure you will be alright until I get back?” Bronwyn forced a smile to her lips. “Do not worry so, Papa. I will not embarrass you again.” Walter gave her a stern look. “You’ve never been an embarrassment to me, Bronwyn Nicole Montgomery, and you never will.” Tears pricked her eyelids. “Thank you, Papa.” She was lucky to have such a loving parent, one that claimed she would never be a disappointment. Her heart gave a painful lurch. What would her father say if she told him she was in love with her footman? Would he be so quick to proclaim that she could never embarrass him? The words died on her lips and he left before she could argue the point.

Chapter Twelve “How was your evening, Bronwyn?” Nicolai could tell he’d startled her by the way she caught her breath and spun in the direction of his voice. She peered through the darkened area outside her room and he obligingly stepped into the shaft of light spilling onto the center of the hall. It was the only illumination on the third floor, a fact which worked to his advantage as he’d waited half the night for her return. He’d been anxious to know the outcome of her first foray into Society. “Not as bad as it could’ve been.” She released her grip on the doorknob. By her expression, he could see that it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. “Thanks to Lady Jersey, I survived.” His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” She briefly recounted the events of the night and he made a silent promise to personally invite Lady Jersey to their wedding. “Did you dance?” The thought of her in another man’s arms had his belly roiling with jealousy. Unexplained relief swept through him when she shook her head. She seemed disappointed which made him feel guilty for his silent thoughts. “Did anyone ask?” Her cheeks turned pink. “No.” “Bloody idiots,” he whispered as he took a step, bridging the distance between them. His hand swept up of its own accord and gently touched her cheek. “If I’d been there, I would’ve asked you every single dance.” She let out a contented purr and pressed her cheek into his palm. Her lips lightly touched his thumb, so it seemed only natural to trace the seam of her mouth. Her lips moved against his hands as she spoke. “We would’ve created a scandal.” The feel of her lips on his skin enflamed him. “I wouldn’t care. Would you?” Her gaze remained locked with his as she shook her head. “No.” Desire pulsed through his body, hot and insistent. For too long he’d denied his need for this woman. He placed his hands on either side of the door, trapping her between his arms. Several seconds passed as he stared down at her, debating whether what he was doing was right. He planned on marrying her, so he didn’t worry in that regard. But was it right to seduce her when she believed him only a footman? He almost stopped himself from kissing her, but then she looked up at him and whispered, “Nick.” With a harsh moan, he bent forward and captured her lips with his. She responded by standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. His hands swept down the length of her body, coming to rest on her lush backside. He pulled her tight against him and kissed her with the need he’d repressed for so long. When they were both having trouble breathing, he tore his lips from hers. “Wait! We can’t do this here.” Her eyes seemed impossibly dark as she reached for the doorknob and opened the door to her chamber. She was nervous, but her gaze bold as she waited for him to answer her unspoken question. He glanced inside her room. It was done in pinks and yellows. He noted the frilly

counterpane and grimaced. It was a young girl’s room. Not one designed for a vibrant woman like Bronwyn. He knew instinctively that not a thing in the room had changed since her debut. If they were to make love, he didn’t want anything reminding her of that painful period in her life. “Not here either.” “Why not?” she asked, but didn’t resist as he led her down the hallway. He opened several doors until he found the guest room. It was large and airy, devoid of any personal effects. He tugged her inside and shut the door behind them. “Perfect.” Her eyes took in the room as if seeing it for the first time. She brushed past him and touched the newel post of the bed. She turned back to give him a deliciously seductive look. “Now that you brought me here, what are you going to do with me?” He advanced the short distance to the bed and reached out to snag her about the waist. “What would you like me to do?” She tilted her head back and studied him through half lowered lids. “I asked you first.” He grinned, noting with pleasure the way her gaze dropped to his lips. She wet them in anticipation of his kiss and it took all the self-control he had not to throw her onto the bed. “I won’t do anything you do not want me to do.” Thoughts of the curse and the reasons behind the match flew out of his head as she moved away from him and perched on the bed. She beckoned him with a trembling finger. “Come here.” He stepped closer until their knees brushed. She reached up to twine her arms about his neck and bring his head down to hers. “Kiss me,” she whispered a half-second before he did just that. “As you wish,” he mumbled against her lips. God, she tasted sweet. Like fresh strawberries covered with cream. He could feast forever on her mouth and never crave anything else. He pressed tiny kisses at the corner of her lips and moved across her jaw line. He delighted in the way she trembled against him. He trailed his mouth to her ear and nibbled on the lobe. “Is there anything else you desire, my lady?” Her hands fluttered against his neck as she tugged on his shirt. “Yes. Take off your shirt.” He reached for the hem and removed his shirt in one fluid movement. He tossed it aside and reached for her, but she had other plans. She put one hand against his chest and brazenly dropped her gaze to his bared skin. Her lips curled seductively as she twined her fingers through his sparse chest hair. “I could get used to having you obey my every command.” He laughed at the satisfied look in her eyes. “I’m entirely at your disposal.” He captured her lips again, sucking on her bottom lip until she moaned. Her hands moved to his waist and she pressed her fingers against the muscles there. Placing one knee onto the bed, he levered himself above her. He gently urged her on her back and covered her body with his own. She let out a contented sigh and curved around him. The feel of her long, smooth limbs under him was intoxicating. He nipped the skin of her neck while his fingers touched the low neckline of her gown. “Did I tell you how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmured against her skin. She tilted her head and regarded him thoughtfully. “I don’t believe you did.” His tongue laved her neck before moving to her ear. “You’re breathtaking.” He lifted her to his chest and moved his hands beneath her back. “But as lovely as you are in this

gown, I would much prefer to see you out of it.” She did not protest as his nimble fingers made short work of the gown’s laces. Together they were able to remove it from her body. The silk made a soft sound as he tossed it to the floor. Clad in her shift and chemise, the outline of her Bronwyn’s body was barely visible. He lowered his head and traced a line down her chest. She arched against him as he cupped her breast and brought it to his mouth. “Oh, Nick!” she moaned with equal amounts of arousal and surprise. Her chemise joined the gown on the floor. Her hands clasped the back of his head as he laved first one nipple and then the other through the thin muslin of her shift, her only remaining clothing. “You make me feel like a complete wanton.” He lifted his head and pinned a heated gaze on her. “Do you want me to stop?” She cupped his face between her hands and brought his lips to hers. “Please don’t.” He kissed her deeply as his hands began to slowly drag the shift up her body. In his mind, he envisioned every inch of pale skin that he was uncovering. Once the shift was off, he paused long enough to glance at her nude body. She was exquisite. Her breasts round and full, her hips delicately curved. He felt a surge of pride to be the only man who’d seen her thus. “You are beautiful,” he repeated. She laughed lightly while her fingers wandered across the bare skin of his back. “If you keep saying that, I might start believing you.” “Please do because it’s the truth.” She looked unconvinced, so he set about proving it to her. He kissed every inch of her body until she was writhing and moaning beneath him. Her modesty soon fled beneath the skilled caress of his hands. Only when he couldn’t take it anymore did his hands move to the fastenings of the breeches. As if sensing the urgency of his kisses, she reached down to help him. Together they removed the remainder of his clothing. “Bronwyn, look at me,” he commanded. Her dark eyes fastened on his face and he glimpsed the nervousness in her eyes. “We don’t have to do this.” “I want to.” To emphasize her point, she wrapped one leg around his waist and pressed her lower body against his. “Fuck me, Nick.” At first he thought he’d imagined her words. “Where did you learn to say that?” She hid her face by burying it against his chest. “From Sean. Did I say it wrong?” Nicolai’s eyes narrowed. Why would the man teach such words to her unless they’d been intimate. Jealousy reared its ugly head and he wished the man was there so he could plant his fist in his face. “Look at me, Bronwyn.” She shook her head, the strands of her hair tickling his chest. “I’d rather not.” He slid down her body so that she had no choice but to look him in the eye. “Did you sleep with him?” Her brown eyes flashed with annoyance. “Of course not!” “Then why did he teach you such a word?” She gave him a sheepish look. “I wasn’t meant to hear him. I was eavesdropping.” His relief almost overwhelmed him. She hadn’t been with Sean. Not that it was important, he’d still marry her, but he liked knowing that he would be the only man to possess her. “What else did you overhear?” Her face colored. “Just a couple of terms.”

“Which were?” he prompted. She refused to meet his eyes. “Mostly words to describe parts of the body.” He grinned wickedly as he cupped her between her legs. “What do you call this?” Her eyes flew to his face. She whispered a term that he couldn’t hear. “Speak up, Bronwyn.” The heat of her burned his palm as he kept his hand pressed against her. Not moving, just enough pressure to let her know he was there. Bronwyn spoke the word a bit louder. He struggled to hide his surprise. Bronwyn had overheard a lot. He took her hand and pressed it against his arousal. “And this?” Her gaze dropped to their joined hands. “Cock.” “You’re not as sheltered as I’d thought.” He wasn’t disappointed. Knowing that she’d once eavesdropped on an erotic conversation was stimulating. “I also have a tendency to read material of a questionable nature. It has racy pictures and descriptions.” She stroked him once before moving her hand. “I wanted to know what a husband would find enjoyable.” Nicolai was surprised even further. “You thought to marry?” She shrugged. “Perhaps. It was not my plan to remain a recluse forever.” He thought it only fair to warn her. “If we do have sex, you’ll be ruined for any other man.” “I don’t care.” A myriad of emotions were displayed by her expressive features. “I want you to be my first lover.” His eyes narrowed warningly. Her first lover? Was she planning on having others? His hands clenched against the sheets. Not if he had anything to do with it. “Any other secrets you care to share?” Her forehead crinkled as she thought about his question. “I don’t believe so. Do you have any?” “Doesn’t everybody?” He kissed her, wanting to distract her from his cryptic answer. He took hold of his arousal and rubbed against her. She was damp, the lips of her sex swollen with desire. Her hips shifted restlessly, a sign that she was ready. “Did your reading material ever include sketches?” Bronwyn rubbed her lower body against his. “Sometimes.” He slid down her body, his lips trailing across the smooth skin of her breasts and lower belly. “Tell me about them. Were there any you wished you could try?” She wrapped her fingers around the headboard and held on as his kisses crept closer to her thighs. “I found one interesting.” “Just one?” He eased her thighs apart and nuzzled the curls of her damp flesh. Her breath hitched the tiniest bit. “A woman was suspended from a rope as a man took her from behind.” Nicolai grew rock hard. Bronwyn was obviously a woman of passion to find such a thing intriguing. He vowed to one day fulfill her fantasy. Sadly it wouldn’t be today. He glanced around the room with mock shame. “No rope handy, but I’ll do my best.” He grasped her hips and turned her so that her buttocks pressed against his thighs. Her hair fell in her face as she glanced over her shoulder. “I saw a drawing similar to this also.” “I suspected you might have.” His fingers dipped lower and teased her swollen sex. “You want me.”

She arched her back and pressed against his hand. “Yes.” He replaced his hands with the head of his shaft. His fingers moved to her hips, holding her still as his head prodded her tightness. He eased inside her, the wet warmth forming a tight sheath around him. He moved his hips experimentally, gratified when she let out a soft moan and arched against him. He sank back on his knees, his eyes entranced by the sight of his hardness emerging from her sheath, shiny and glistening from her wetness. He thrust forward again, her bottom rocking from the abrupt motion. He thrust between her legs, his movements slow and controlled. Bronwyn wrapped her hands around the headboard and used it for leverage as he thrust. He came up over her and buried his face into her hair. “You are mine,” he growled. “Yes,” she moaned. “Yours.” He was dedicated to making her first time memorable. He held out as long as he could, bringing her to the edge of climax before throwing both of them over. Her soft cries echoed with his harsh groan as he poured his seed within her. Never had sex been more meaningful, more gratifying. He sent up a brief prayer of thanks for the curse, which had led him to Bronwyn. Without it, he might’ve never known the woman who was quickly coming to mean so much to him. Replete, he gathered her in his arms and rolled them both onto their side. He brushed the hair from her face and pressed a kiss on her forehead. Her birthmark appeared almost white in the moonlight as he brushed a second kiss there. “Mine,” he repeated. “Always.” She opened her dazed eyes and smiled at him. “My prince.” He stiffened at her words, but then he realized she had only meant them in jest. There was no way that she could know his true identity. He pulled her close and fell asleep in her arms. **** Bronwyn awakened to the unfamiliar feel of a leg tangled with hers. A masculine arm was wrapped about her waist and she was cuddled against a warm hard body. A body which was growing harder by the moment. She peeked up at Nick’s face, blushing furiously when he waggled his brows at her. “Good morning, my lady.” She buried her face into his shoulder and mumbled a greeting. The memories of the previous night came flooding back. How she’d practically begged Nick to make love to her, how she’d cried out in his arms, how he’d tenderly held her until she fell asleep. She risked another glance at his face, which confirmed that he was still watching her with an amused expression. “What time is it?” The silk sheets felt decadent as she slowly stretched away from him. She covered a yawn and glanced toward the window. Dawn was just appearing and the pretty colors of the sky perfectly matched her mood. Nick rolled onto his back and propped his arms behind his head. “Almost five.” The sheets were pooled at his waist and he seemed oblivious to his nudity. She gazed at his bronzed skin, remembering how he’d felt against her, and blushed once more. All the times she’d studied her erotic sketches, she’d never imagined how pleasurable it would be. Though she hated to leave, she gathered the sheets close to her chin and slid

one foot onto the floor. “I should get back to my room.” He stopped her by placing a gentle touch on her arm. “Stay just a little while longer.” She glanced at the window again, torn between her desire to stay with him and the fear of being caught in bed with a footman. The logical decision would be to return to her room posthaste, but with Nick all her sanity seemed to disappear. She smiled and slid back to his side. “Just for a little while.” He made a murmur of approval and wrapped his arms around her. “I always knew you were a bold sort.” She laughed at that blatant mistruth. “I am not!” “Oh, yes you are,” he returned. “You are not nearly as shy as you would have others believe. Tell the truth, you long for adventure, do you not?” She gave him a puzzled look. “I suppose everybody does in a way.” His expression grew suddenly serious. “Is that what I am to you? An adventure?” She bit her lip to keep from crying out the truth. He was so much more to her. So much in fact, that she would not even let herself dwell on how important he had become to her. “No,” she answered after a beat of silence. “You are not an adventure.” His lips twisted into a smile. “Well, I do hope I am a bit of adventure.” He prodded her in the ribs, which caused her to giggle. “Maybe just a bit.” She grinned. With him, all her inhibitions just faded away. She forgot to be self-conscious, which had plagued her from childhood. For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful and wanted. She didn’t have to pretend to be someone she wasn’t. She wanted to know everything about him, this man that had brought such light into her life. She wriggled her toes against his calf and curled closer to his warm body. “Tell me a secret.” “What do you want to know?” His eyes grew shuttered, causing her to stiffen just the tiniest bit. What did he have to hide? She realized she was being silly. Nick would never hide anything from her. He was probably the most honest person she knew. He’d never shied away from mentioning her birthmark after all. “Anything.” Her stiff muscles relaxed after recalling all the many reasons she could trust him. He rubbed a hand across his hair, mussing it so that it stuck up at odd angles. “I like lying here with you.” She could not prevent a stupid grin from spreading across her face. “That’s not a secret. I already knew that.” “You did?” he asked with a straight face. “How?” She sent a pointed glance to the area beneath his waist. “It is obvious just how much part of you likes lying here with me.” He choked back a bark of laughter and suddenly she was on her back with him sprawled atop her. He linked their hands and drew her arms around his neck. “What else is obvious about me?” She sighed and pretended to ponder his question. He hummed under his breath as she took her time answering. “I know!” she said with a quick snap of her fingers. “You are a good kisser.” His teeth flashed white in the near darkness. “And so are you, my lady.” “Thank you,” she replied pertly. “I do try my best.”

He leaned down to lightly touch his lips to hers. “And your best is quite excellent.” She kissed him back, wrapping her arms tightly around him and gripping his waist. “I wish I could stay here all day.” “Why can’t you?” he asked in between fevered kisses. “One, we will be discovered. And two, I have to go riding with Lady Radcliffe in the park this morning.” He kissed her one last time. “In that case, we better get you back to your room. Your maid will be coming to wake you soon.” He bounded off the bed, heedless of his nakedness, to begin gathering their scattered clothes. He assisted her with her gown and managed to sneak her back to her room without being seen. They exchanged another lingering kiss in her doorway. The sound of a door slamming somewhere down the hall startled them both. “I better go.” He stepped away from her door. She nodded. “I will find you when I return from my ride.” He gave her a seductive look. “I will be counting the minutes until then.” After he was gone, she closed her door and slumped against the wood. There was no use denying it. She had done the impossible and fallen in love with her footman. The thought should have dismayed her, but instead she found herself humming a jaunty, offkey tune as she prepared herself for her outing that morning.

Chapter Thirteen “The park seems very crowded today,” Bronwyn murmured to the elegant lady at her side. Lady Radcliffe, resplendent in a royal blue habit, turned toward her with a concerned expression. “Would you prefer to ride another day?” Bronwyn glanced at the milling crowd of riders and phaetons and could think of nothing she wanted more, but she was resolved to stay. “No,” she answered with an emphatic shake of her head. “It is too lovely a day to stay cooped up inside.” Lady Radcliffe beamed approvingly. “Excellent, my dear. And may I say that you’re coming along splendidly?” Bronwyn flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, your grace.” She was quite surprised herself by how easily she was adapting to life in London. Not to say she didn’t grow nervous every time she stepped out the door, but it grew a bit easier each time. “You are attending my ball next week, aren’t you? I was just saying to Sally that I hoped…” Lady Radcliffe’s attention seemed caught by an approaching rider. Then she put her hands to her suddenly pale cheeks. “Oh my!” “What is it?” Bronwyn faced forward. With a sinking sensation, she recognized the man drawing even with their phaeton. Though it had been five years, she would know that cocky grin anywhere. “Sean Rowland,” she mumbled with distaste. “I’m sorry, my dear,” Lady Radcliffe whispered. “I had no idea he would be riding today.” “Of course not. How could you?” She smiled brightly for the benefit of those closest to them and tried to pretend like this wasn’t the most awkward situation she’d faced in years. Sean’s face was wreathed in smiles. “Lady Radcliffe, I thought that was you. How lovely to see you again. And who is this enchanting creature you have with you?” Bronwyn could tell the moment he recognized her. His mouth fell open, then closed with a decisive snap. “Lady Bronwyn, you are looking well.” She barely managed not to roll her eyes. Even now she longed to tell him exactly what she thought of him and his philandering ways. “Mr. Rowland, what a surprise.” “It definitely is.” He moved his horse a little closer and intently studied her. “When did you arrive in London?” “Just this week.” Making small talk with Sean Rowland was the last thing in the world she desired, but what else could she do? She thought of all the tears she had wasted on him and felt like an idiot. How could she have been so blind to his faults? She was glad to see his practiced smile had no effect on her now. “I’m happy to see that you’ve returned.” She smiled through gritted teeth. How dare he act so innocent! He was the reason for her self-imposed exile, after all. He and all the other narrow minded members of the ton. She lifted her chin and faced him squarely. “London seems very different this time around. Perhaps because I am a bit older?” “You barely look a day over seventeen.” False flattery fell from his lips easily. Why had she not realized that before?

She sighed dramatically. “It is a pity that the same cannot be said of all of my acquaintances.” He had to be well over thirty now, so he couldn’t miss her pointed reply. He smiled weakly and turned his attention back to the duchess. In the harsh light, he appeared less attractive than she remembered. His once handsome face was carved with lines and his blue eyes seemed cold and unfeeling. She noted with some pleasure that he had grown a slight paunch in the years since. Time had not treated him well and she felt badly, taking pleasure from his misfortune, regardless of how badly he had misused her. Bronwyn belatedly realized that they’d attracted the attention of quite a few members of the ton. Some openly loitered about, while others tried to be more discreet. No doubt the gossip mill would be rampant that day. She detested being the center of attention, but there was nothing she could do short of abandoning the duchess’s phaeton and fleeing on foot. She hated feeling like a freak in a carnival show, merely on display for the entertainment of others. Lady Radcliffe’s dog, Octavius, who had until that moment been resting peacefully in the lady’s lap, suddenly lunged to his feet and began barking at Sean. “Octavius, be quiet!” Lady Radcliffe ordered, but the tiny terrier ignored her. He continued growling, his entire body trembling. “Octavius!” “Oh, what a lovely dog.” Sean made the mistake of reaching over to pet Octavius. The dog snapped, tearing the finger of Sean’s glove off with his sharp teeth. The fur on the back of the dog’s neck lifted and he visibly bristled as he barked warningly at Sean. Lady Radcliffe let out a surprised gasp. “Octavius, behave this instant!” Bronwyn hid an amused smile. The dog’s sense of a person’s worth was uncanny. Sean’s reaction proved to be even more entertaining. He wheeled about on his horse and fled as if the very hounds of hell were on his feet. Which soon proved to be the case. With another vicious yelp, Octavius flew from his mistress’s lap and began to give chase. Lady Radcliffe jumped to her feet in alarm. “Octavius! Come back here.” Bronwyn reacted without thinking. She dropped to the ground, gathered her skirts in one hand, and gave chase. The duchess soon did the same. They made quite the spectacle, two ladies of the ton chasing a tiny dog across Hyde Park, with a representative from the Commons in the lead. “Octavius!” Bronwyn called, expertly dodging the people that gathered in their path. She ignored their shocked gasps and fevered whispers, intent on putting a halt to Octavius’ adventure before he caused real damage. “You bad dog!” A man stepped into her path, but she was moving too quickly to avoid a collision. She barreled into a hard chest and strong arms clamped about her. She stumbled over her feet and quickly steadied herself to glance up at the smiling face of Jack Deveril. “What in the devil are you doing, Bronwyn?” Jack grinned as he glanced over her shoulder at the rapidly approaching Lady Radcliffe. Bronwyn took a deep breath and released it in a rush. “Lady Radcliffe’s terrier is chasing Sean Rowland across the park. We’re attempting to catch him.” Jack’s eyes lit with amusement. “Smart dog.” Bronwyn grinned impishly. “I thought so, too.” Lady Radcliffe caught up to them and bent over double to catch her breath. “Have you found dear Octavius?” “Not yet, but we are close.” He pointed a finger to the edge of the Serpentine where

Octavius had cornered Sean’s horse. The dog’s barking caused the horse to shy away in terror. The three of them watched in frozen fascination as Sean’s horse bucked wildly and tossed him into the murky water. Octavius promptly jumped in and began paddling to Sean’s side. “Octavius!” Lady Radcliffe cried again, this time in real terror. Bronwyn and Jack turned toward her in unison. “What is the matter?” “He cannot swim!” Her pretty blue eyes filled up with tears. “All dogs can swim,” Jack argued politely. Lady Radcliffe gave Jack a mildly patronizing look. “I assure you, sir, that my dog most definitely cannot swim.” They turned back toward the Serpentine in time to see the dog’s head disappear under the water. Jack cursed fluently and tugged at his boots. Bronwyn didn’t waste any time doing the same. She finished first, ignoring Jack’s word of warning as she raced to the edge of the water. She jumped in fully clothed. She’d not swam in years, but concern for the dog’s safety kept her afloat as she paddled to the spot where he’d disappeared. “Where is he?” she called to Sean, who struggled to keep his own head above water. Several frantic moments passed as she scanned the water for any trace of the dog. Finally she located him and dove under. She emerged, soaked and chilled to the bone, with Octavius cradled against her chest. The dog was limp, but breathing. She struggled to shore and collapsed against Jack. “Here.” She handed Octavius to him. Jack, in turn, handed the wet dog to Lady Radcliffe, who sobbed with relief to have her beloved pet back unharmed. Jack gave Bronwyn a concerned look. “Are you alright?” He briskly rubbed her arms as she shivered. “I’m fine.” Her teeth chattered from the cold. “Just a bit numb.” Jack removed his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. “We need to get you home.” Lady Radcliffe, who’d been cooing to Octavius, glanced up at her with a heartfelt smile. “Thank you so much for saving dear Octavius.” Bronwyn waved aside Lady Radcliffe’s praise. “It was my pleasure.” She bent down and tickled Octavius under the chin. “You’re a sweet doggie, aren’t you?” “Damned mangy cur,” an irate voice muttered behind them. Despite her own discomfort, Bronwyn grinned at the sight of Sean emerging from the water. He was dripping wet, mud clinging to his clothes and boots. He eyed Octavius, who was happily eating up the attention, with a vicious glare. “That damned dog is a menace.” Jack gave him a hard look. “Watch your language, Rowland. There are ladies present.” Sean glanced at Bronwyn. He appeared as if he wanted to say more, but he merely turned on his heel and strode away. As soon as he was gone, Bronwyn dissolved into a fit of giggles. Lady Radcliffe tried to remain solemn, but a smile lit her face. Jack did not even attempt to hide his amusement. He threw back his head and gave a hearty chuckle. As their laughter died, Bronwyn noticed that a crowd had gathered around them. She groaned when she realized what a mess she must appear. Her hair had escaped from its pins and hung limply around her face. Her new habit was ruined, stained with mud and Lord knew what else. And she had the sneaking suspicion that her pale skirts would be

transparent when wet. Jack noticed her distress and inched closer to her. “Would you like me to take you home now?” She glanced up at him gratefully. “Yes, please.” She made her excuses to the duchess and left before anyone could approach her. On the ride home, she noticed that Jack was eyeing her curiously. She braced herself for what she knew was coming. “How fares your footman?” She occupied herself with wringing out her damp skirt. “Quite well.” “Hmmm.” He stroked his chin. “Is he here in London with you?” She lifted her chin and pinned him with a dark look. “Since when have you concerned yourself with my servants?” His eyes met hers. “Since you fell in love with one.” “Jack.” She sighed heavily. “You are my friend and I respect your opinion, but I’m cold and wet and do not feel like discussing this with you.” “Ah! So there is trouble with your new romance.” “No, there is not,” she snapped. She colored when she realized what she’d revealed. She quickly backtracked. “There is no romance.” “I saw your father this morning,” Jack continued as if she had not spoken. “He was quite concerned about you.” “No one need worry about me. I’m fine. Other than being plagued with nosy friends.” “He doesn’t like the situation very much.” “I’m well aware of my father’s thoughts on the matter.” Bronwyn gave up trying to salvage her skirt and leaned back against the seat of Jack’s carriage. “He’s made it quite clear that he doesn’t approve of my friendship with Nick.” “Don’t blame him for being concerned. It’s a father’s duty.” He leaned forward a plucked a blade of grass from her hair. “I hope you don’t become ill from your dunking.” She shook her head. “I won’t. I’m as healthy as a mule.” Her face brightened. “But if I do, it was worth it. Did you see the look on Sean’s face when his horse threw him in?” Jack rubbed his thumb across his mouth and tried unsuccessfully to hide his smile. “Yes, I did. The bastard deserved it.” The carriage came to a stop in front of her house and Jack assisted her down. She shook out her sodden skirts and gave him an expectant look. “Are you coming in?” “Might as well.” He shrugged as if he had nothing better to do, but she knew it was just an act. Jack regarded her almost as fondly as his own daughter. He wouldn’t leave until he was sure she’d suffered no ill effects from her dunking. They made quite the pair strolling up to the front door. The butler opened it and stared at her in shock. “Lady Bronwyn!” Jack elbowed past the butler, dragging Bronwyn along with him. “There was an unfortunate incident in the park. Lady Bronwyn went into the Serpentine to rescue Octavius.” “Octavius?” Bronwyn patted the confused butler’s arm as she passed. “Octavius is Lady Radcliffe’s dog. He felt like a swim, so I went in to retrieve him.” The butler’s disbelieving gaze swept from Bronwyn to Jack and back again. “I will order a bath for you.”

“Thank you.” Bronwyn turned to Jack after the butler had gone. “Will you wait for me to freshen up?” Jack sketched a short bow. “Of course. Take your time.” She left Jack in the drawing room and hurried upstairs to change out of her clothing, which was beginning to chafe her skin. Even if her reputation was completely ruined, the morning had been the best she’d spent in a long time. Coming to London had definitely been worth it, if only to see Sean Rowland put in his place. And by a mere dog at that. **** Nicolai tore open the letter that Gregor handed him and read Frankov’s most recent missive. The news was not good. He cursed loudly. “What does it say, your highness?” Nicolai rubbed a hand against his temple. “Talk of a revolution is getting stronger. If I do not return in two weeks, the counsel is overthrowing my rule.” Gregor gasped. “No! Can they do that?” Nicolai nodded solemnly. “Yes. It is in the bylaws that if the counsel declares a ruler unfit, his throne can be taken over until a successor is named.” “You must return then.” Gregor’s thin face was pale with concern. “Bride or no bride.” Nicolai shook his head. “I’m not leaving until Bronwyn agrees to marry me.” “But…” Nicolai held up his hand. “I have made my decision, Gregor. Until Bronwyn agrees to be my queen, I am not leaving London.” “But that could take weeks!” “So be it.” Nicolai tossed Frankov’s note into the fire and stood there watching it burn. He was filling with dread at the thought of losing his birthright, but that would be nothing compared to the loss of Bronwyn. He’d come to care for her. If it meant losing the right to rule Villanova, he would take that chance. He sensed that Gregor had something to say, so he turned toward him expectantly. “Yes?” Gregor flushed to the roots of his pale hair. “Perhaps you could seduce her. She could not refuse you then.” Nicolai felt the blood drain from his face. Trap Bronwyn into marrying him? Never. He would rather tear off his own arm than force her into doing something she did not want to do. But what did she want to do? He knew that she cared for him. That much was obvious. But would she agree to become his queen, to spend the rest of her life in the public eye? His voice was stern as he spoke. “I am not going to trick her into marriage.” “It might be the only way,” Gregor persisted. “No. I do not want her to agree under false pretenses.” Gregor cleared his throat. “But, your highness, is that not what you are doing already? She believes you are a footman.” Nicolai took a steadying breath. “A fact I plan to rectify immediately.” Gregor gave a relieved sigh. “She is ready then?” “Almost. I just have to pick the right time to tell her. She is bound to be angry at first, but I am sure that she will come around.” I hope, he added silently to himself. After leaving Gregor, he exited the inn and headed back to the Montgomery home. He was careful to stick to the back alleyways so that he would not risk being recognized.

As he entered the house, he heard voices coming from the drawing room. He immediately recognized Deveril’s voice. He frowned when he heard Bronwyn’s resulting laughter. What were they talking about in there? He longed to join them, but it would look odd for a footman to stroll into a drawing room for afternoon tea with the lady of the house and her friend. He was turning to leave when the butler appeared in the hall and motioned toward him. “Lady Bronwyn has requested tea. Please go to the kitchen and see to the preparation of a tray.” Nicolai nodded and did as he was told. All too soon, he was delivering the tray to the occupants of the morning room. Bronwyn glanced up when he entered, her face turning a delightful shade of pink when she saw him. Deveril inclined his head toward him ever so slightly. “Where would you like the tray?” Nicolai balanced the heavy thing in his hands and tried not to let his gaze linger on Bronwyn. It was difficult since she looked so very fetching in a rose silk gown that displayed an ample amount of her neck and shoulders. “Anywhere is fine,” Bronwyn answered. Her voice sounded strained. He glanced up to see her watching him warily. Deveril suddenly spoke. “Abbott, Bronwyn was just telling me about your talent with the pianoforte. Wherever did a footman learn to play so beautifully?” Nicolai set the tray on a table and faced him squarely. “From my mother.” Deveril nodded. “Ah, I see. And who was your mother?” Nicolai’s eyes narrowed. What game was Deveril playing at? Had he told Bronwyn of Nicolai’s true identity? “Nicolette Abbott,” he fibbed. “She was the daughter of a sheep herder.” “A sheep herder?” Deveril’s eyes fairly danced with mischief. “How intriguing. And your father? Who was he?” Nicolai grit his teeth and sent him a hard look. “He was also a sheep herder.” “I am sure he was quite good at ruling his flock,” Deveril said straight faced. “He was.” Nicolai wondered what the English laws were regarding a foreign prince strangling a nobleman. Bronwyn, realizing the tension between the two men in the room, leapt into the conversation. “Would you play for us, Nick?” He nodded and moved to the pianoforte. He played with his usual ebullience, but felt something was missing. It was Bronwyn’s presence beside him on the bench that was lacking. The way her arms sometimes brushed his, the smell of her skin as she leaned over the keys. He glanced across the room where Bronwyn was swaying lightly in time to the music and felt his heart swell. He could easily imagine her in the role of his wife. He’d love waking up with her every morning. His fingers stumbled over the keys. Love? He immediately resumed playing, but his thoughts swirled. Was it possible he was in love with her? True, he was quite fond of Bronwyn, but love? When he’d set out to woo her, he’d never imagined he would develop feelings for her so easily. He was probably grinning like a fool, but he didn’t care. He’d finally found someone that cared for him, not his birthright. Bronwyn caught his stare and she colored slightly. Instead of looking away though, she returned his look with a shy one of her own. He recalled the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her skin, and the innocent way she’d

responded to his touch. His playing altered again, grew more demanding as he performed a final crescendo. When the music ended, Bronwyn applauded wildly. Deveril’s response, though more restrained, was also flattering. “Very nice, Abbott. Makes one wonder where a sheep herder’s daughter gained such talent.” Nicolai gave the man a glacial stare, one that made weaker men scurry away in fright. Deveril merely lifted an eyebrow and settled back with a cup of tea cradled in his elegant hands. Bronwyn, aware of the tension in the room, rushed to repair it. “Jack, stop annoying Nick.” She laid her hand on the older man’s knee, which made Nicolai’s teeth clench with frustration. He wanted to be the one beside her, whose knee she was touching. Only she would touch more than his knee, he thought with a sharp bolt of desire. Bronwyn, unaware of the direction of his thoughts, made the mistake of coming to stand beside him. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed to him. His attention honed in on her soft lips, the way the upper curve of her lip was a perfect heart shape. The scent of her skin teased his nostrils. He wanted nothing more than to pull her close and rekindle the flame they’d started the night before. “I’d best be off.” The sound of Deveril’s voice roused Nicolai from the lust-induced stupor he’d fallen into. Without any sort of delay, Deveril took his leave and was gone, firmly closing the door behind him. Nicolai smiled at the opportunity they’d been given. He turned back to Bronwyn, who was staring at the door with a bemused expression. “Poor man. He mustn’t be feeling well.” Nicolai had other things on his mind than the state of Deveril’s health. He wrapped a hand around Bronwyn’s wrist and slowly tugged her forward. “I’ve been waiting all afternoon for this.” He covered her lips with his own, delighting in her soft sigh and the way she melted against him. Memories of the night before assailed him as he trailed his hands down her side and cupped her bottom, pulling her strongly against his aroused body. Bronwyn pulled away, flushed and with sparkling eyes. “Here, Nick?” “Here,” he affirmed with a nod, his gaze searching out the room for the nearest surface. His gaze landed on the pianoforte and he grinned wickedly. “Follow me.”

Chapter Fourteen Later she’d wonder where she got the nerve, but as she took Nick’s hand and allowed him to lead her to the pianoforte, her pulse hummed with anticipation. He lifted her and sat her on the gleaming surface, coming to stand between her splayed thighs. His hand crept under her skirt, his fingers unerringly searching out her clit. She moaned, totally forgetting that her father or Jack could walk in on them at any moment. All that existed was her and the beautiful man wrecking havoc on her senses. She caught her breath on a stifled scream as he inserted a finger into her tight passage. Her moisture coated his hand as he played her like the finely tuned instrument she was perched upon. “Nick,” she moaned his name almost as if in prayer. Nick buried his face in her neck and lightly teased her skin with nipping bites. She shivered at the mixture of overwhelming sensations. “I want you.” He lifted his head, his eyes glittering with the same need she felt. His gaze dropped to the skin bared by her shoved aside skirts and the hand still between her thighs. “I can give you so much more than this.” For a moment, she misunderstood him. Was he offering more than sex? Or did he mean more than just his fingers? Knowing that anything between them other than sex was farfetched, she pulled his head down for a kiss. “Fuck me, Nick.” A pained expression crossed his face, but yet he undid his breeches, freeing his cock from its tight confines. She studied the purple head, topped with a bead of moisture, and the pulsating vein that ran the length of his shaft. His body was so different from hers. Firm where hers was soft. Hairy where hers was smooth. She touched the tip of his cock with a trembling finger. He could give her this, but it hurt knowing that it could never be more. Ignoring the pain in her heart, she guided him to the entrance of her body. He moved aside her hands, gripped her hips, and then plunged deep inside her. Unlike the night before, there was no pain at all, only pleasure. Her fingers clawed at her side for purchase and she accidentally hit a jarring note on the pianoforte, bringing a smile to Nick’s face. “You’re out of tune, my love.” His endearment caused the ache in her to grow and spread outwards. He noticed her expression and his movements slowed. “What is it?” She shook her head and tried to ignore his question, but he refused. One hand crept to her face and cradled it tenderly. “No. What is wrong?” She closed her eyes to the caring look on his face. It would be so easy to admit she’d fallen for him, but to do so would only cause the both of them unnecessary pain. “It is nothing.” “Bronwyn,” he whispered her name a mere second before he pressed a fleeting kiss to her lips. “Tell me.” She opened her eyes, for once her gaze direct and unflinching. “You must promise not to feel beholden to me.” Confusion filled his face, even as he remained hard inside her. “I promise.” She took a deep breath, unable to believe she was about to speak the three words

she’d never believed she’d say. “I love you.” His confusion was immediately replaced by a look of relief. “That is what had you so worried?” She nodded, wishing she could read his reaction to her revelation. “I didn’t want to frighten you.” “Frighten me?” He once again grabbed hold of her hips and resumed the movements of his hips. “Saying you love me is quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” Hope filled her heart. Dare she hope he returned her feelings? “What am I to do, Nick? I’m in a hopeless situation.” “Why is it hopeless?” She gave him a serious look. “I’m in love with someone I can never be with.” He hadn’t said he loved her in return. She wasn’t so fazed by his lovemaking to not notice that. He cared for her, true, but that was a small consolation when she felt her heart would burst just being near him. “We will be together, Bronwyn.” She jerked her head up at his softly spoken words. His eyes, usually so clear and direct, were shadowed with concern. She opened her mouth to speak, but his lips covered hers in a demanding kiss. She abandoned her concerns and allowed herself to focus on the exquisite feeling of him inside her, the touch of his skin, the sensation of his mouth on hers. She ran her hands across his back, delighting in the hard muscles and firm skin of his backside. She squeezed the muscles there, drawing forth a groan from Nick. As the tension coiled tighter, he increased his efforts, his hips rotating and plunging at a mind numbing pace. She cried out when she climaxed, her muscles gloving him as he reached his own completion. They sank together, their boneless bodies slipping against each other for support. Only the fact that he was in front of her kept Bronwyn from sliding to the floor. Nick ran his hand up her hip and side, briefly toying with her breast before cupping her chin and turning her gaze to meet his. “Did I forget to mention that I love you also?” In her sated state, she wasn’t as shocked as she would’ve been in a normal situation. Joy lit her smile. “Yes, you did. Do you really mean it?” Nick nodded, his eyes capturing and holding her gaze. “More than anything in this world.” She was in love with her footman and he loved her in return! She felt like shouting it from the front doorstep. It would be severely frowned upon, but at that moment Bronwyn felt ready to risk the censure of entire London. **** “She loves me.” Gregor’s face registered shock, confusion, then amazement. “Truly, your highness?” Nicolai shut the door behind them and gave his servant a satisfied smile. “Truly, Gregor.” “That is wonderful. Now we can make it back to Villanova in time to stop the revolution.”

Nicolai held up a hand for silence. “One small problem. She still doesn’t know I’m a prince.” Gregor frowned. “Tell her then, your highness.” Realizing he’d just given his prince an order, Gregor hurriedly backtracked. “That is…um…to say…” Nicolai slapped his loyal servant on the back. “Gregor, my good man, you have served me well. I’m not offended, so don’t try to apologize.” He was so delighted in learning of Bronwyn’s love that nothing could shake the good mood he’d found himself in. “I will tell her tonight.” Gregor preened under the praise of his prince. “May I be the first to offer my congratulations to you and your new bride?” Nicolai wasn’t as confident as Gregor. He was unsure of Bronwyn’s reaction to his being a prince. “She hasn’t agreed yet.” “She will,” Gregor nodded in affirmation. “What woman would refuse a prince? And particularly a handsome one such as your Highness? Not to mention, she’s in love with you.” Nicolai’s heart swelled. “So she is.” He left Gregor with a skip in his walk and a smile on his face. Never could he remember being so happy. Bronwyn completed him in a way he’d only dreamed about, the way his mother and father had completed each other. A deep, abiding love was what he’d yearned for, but he’d never dreamed he could find it in a semi-arranged marriage. But first he had to tell her… His steps slowed. He was bumped into from behind by a pedestrian who’d not realized he’d changed pace in time. Nicolai shuffled to the side of the walkway and experienced a mild sort of panic. What would he do if she refused him? She’d come so far, but was she ready for a life spent in front of the eyes of Villanova? He hoped so, else his heart would surely be ripped from his chest before he would leave her. He returned to the Montgomery’s only to find the entire household in an uproar. It seemed while he’d been gone, Lady Jersey had arrived and informed Bronwyn that a ball hosted in her honor was to be held that very night. As he stood listening to the excited whispers of the downstairs maids, a small parade of seamstresses marched past carrying armfuls of shimmering gold fabric. He flattened himself against the wall to avoid being trampled by them. As a servant, it was as if he was invisible. He wasn’t sure how he would adjust to being in the spotlight once he reassumed his role of prince. It would be hours before he could see her, so Nicolai headed outside and occupied himself in the small garden. Unlike Milton at the Wiltshire estate, the London butler didn’t say a word when he caught Nicolai up to his elbows in the dirt surrounding the many rose bushes. Bronwyn must’ve spoken to him, else the man had picked up on their unusual friendship. Either way, the butler merely nodded and disappeared into the house. Swiping his hand across his brow and unknowingly leaving a streak of mud across his cheek, Nicolai’s attention was caught by the sound of feminine voices coming to him from an opened window above his head. It had to lead to Bronwyn’s dressing room. As he watched, yearning for a glimpse of her, she passed by the window and halted in front of it. He caught his breath. She was dressed in nothing but her shift, her dark hair loose about her shoulders and her face alit with laughter. Her head turned to the side and he saw it when she noticed

him. Creeping closer to the window, she unabashedly smiled at him and lifted her hand in a tiny wave. He returned the gesture, wishing he wasn’t so disheveled so he could climb to the window and kiss her. The afternoon sunlight turned her shift transparent and the sight of her pale blush nipples made him hard at once. She must’ve realized his mood because she lifted her forefinger to her lips, teasingly bit the end, and flashed him a wicked smile. “Later,” she mouthed to him before a seamstress tugged her back to her fitting. Nicolai attacked the weeds with greater relish. It would be hours before he could see her. He doubted his need would allow him to wait that long. He yanked a weed from the earth and tossed it into a rapidly growing pile. He hoped by expanding energy he could release a bit of pent up lust. A shadow fell across the ground, drawing his attention from his work. “Abbott,” Bronwyn’s father said by way of greeting. Nicolai got to his feet in an unknowingly regal manner. Even with dirt under his fingernails and grass stains on his trousers, he knew that he would never be able to completely obtain the mannerisms of a servant. “My lord.” “I need to speak with you about Bronwyn.” For a moment, Nicolai feared that Lord Montgomery had discovered their love affair. But looking into the man’s calm eyes, he knew it wasn’t as bad as that. Montgomery cleared his throat and appeared unsure of how to begin. Nicolai patiently waited for him to speak. After a few tense seconds of silence, he did. “My daughter is fond of you, that’s no secret. I appreciate how you’ve helped her, but the time has come to put an end to your unusual friendship. I’m asking you to leave before she is hurt.” It was much worse than he’d expected. Nicolai battled with his raging emotions. “I would never hurt her.” Montgomery nodded sadly. “I know you wouldn’t intentionally, but it would inevitably happen. I cannot allow that.” As a footman, there was little Nicolai could do to argue. “When would you like me to leave, my lord?” “She is attending a ball tonight. I would like you to be gone before she returns.” He must’ve misconstrued the worry on Nicolai’s face as financial, since he hurriedly added, “I’m not dismissing your services, Abbot. I’m only relocating you to my Scottish estate.” Nicolai had no desire to go to Scotland, either now or in the future. Most especially if it meant leaving Bronwyn behind. “Thank you, my lord, but I must decline your gracious offer.” The time had come for him to use his position as leverage with Montgomery. He disliked taking the chance that Bronwyn’s father may reveal his true identity, but it was a risk he had to take if he wanted to stay near her. “I’m not who you think I am.” Montgomery’s creased face lined even further. “Pardon?” “I am not a footman.” The older man sent a pointed glance at Nicolai’s stained trousers and dirty hands. “Not a normal one, that much is obvious.” “I am Nicolai Eduard Alexandrov, heir apparent to the throne of Villanova.” Montgomery didn’t speak for several moments. Nicolai expected him to be suspicious, but instead the man eyed him with blatant curiosity. He knew he looked like

his father did when he was young, enough to almost be uncanny, but what proof could he offer here? It turned out he didn’t need any. Montgomery tilted his head and a quizzical light entered his eyes. “I thought there was something familiar about you. I once visited your kingdom and though it’s been nearly a decade ago, you have the look of the young prince.” Montgomery surprised him even further when he added, “I suppose you’re here to end the curse.” Nicolai didn’t know which surprised him more, the fact that Montgomery believed him or that he knew about the curse at all. Though his words were true, Nicolai didn’t want the man believing that the curse was the only draw his daughter had to offer him. “It hasn’t been about the curse in a long while.” “I figured as much.” Montgomery smoothed a hand across his chin. “You’re in a bit of a bind, my boy. What will you do if Bronwyn denies you?” “She won’t,” Nicolai spoke vehemently. “She could,” Montgomery pointed out reasonably. “She’s not going to be happy to learn that you’ve deceived her all these weeks.” He could claim that he’d taken Bronwyn’s virginity, but Nicolai hesitated to gain her in such a manner. He would win her fair and square, without any underhanded machinations. “I will do anything in my power to gain her trust again.” Montgomery squatted to his knees and rifled through the rose bushes until he found a lone weed and yanked it out by its roots. “I knew your father well. He was a good man, decent and loyal. If you are anything like him, then you have my good wishes.” Nicolai released the tense breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Having Bronwyn’s father as an ally could prove invaluable. “Then I’m not being shipped to your Scottish estate?” Montgomery continued his casual regard of the rose bushes. “So you want to continue your charade?” “Just for a few hours more, until I have the chance to tell Bronwyn myself.” Montgomery nodded in response to Nicolai’s unspoken plea. “Then a footman you still are.” **** Bronwyn’s arms ached from the endless hours she’d held them up so she could be pinned, tucked, and measured by the small army of seamstresses her father had employed to outfit her for Lady Jersey’s ball. At first, she’d thought it a hopeless endeavor. She would never be the belle of the ball. Gazing at herself in the looking glass now, she took it back. The gold of her dress reflected the honey strands of her hair and the warm tint of her brown eyes. Her pale skin, finally gaining a bit of its color now that she’d been back in the sun, glowed with good health. Even her birthmark lent her an aura of uniqueness. For once it didn’t distract, it only enhanced her looks. She couldn’t wait for Nick to see her! Her heart leapt to her throat. Nick. She could just imagine the look on his face and her knees went weak. He’d seen her at her worst and still thought her beautiful. It warmed her soul how kind and considerate he was. If he’d come into her life years before, she would’ve pessimistically thought he’d only been after her father’s money. Thankfully he’d appeared now, when she was finally able to view the world in a more optimistic manner. Once again, she believed in love and she couldn’t be happier that he’d

been the one to bring her back to life. Dismissing her maid, Bronwyn backed away from the mirror and turned to the right and left, viewing her gown from every angle. She traced the line of her hips, easily recalling the strength and tenderness in Nick’s touch. Even now, her body wanted him with a ferocity that threatened to bring her to her knees. How was it possible to want someone so much her heart ached? “You look beautiful.” As if she’d conjured him, she heard Nick’s voice. Then she caught his reflection in the glass and a smile played about her lips. “Thank you.” She watched in the mirror as he softly shut the door behind him and came toward her. She leaned into his embrace when he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a tender kiss to the side of her neck. She nuzzled her cheek against the top of his head and ridiculously purred like a kitten. “I’ve been waiting for you.” “Have you?” His deep voice rumbled against her back and a delicious shiver traced her spine. He carefully brushed a hand down her torso and cupped her hip, bringing her against a body already hard with desire. “What if your maid returns?” She met his eyes in the reflection of the looking glass. “I dismissed her for the night.” His eyes closed briefly. “You’ll wrinkle your gown.” She knew she shouldn’t care, but she had to leave in just a few minutes. The ball thrown by Lady Jersey was in her honor and she couldn’t appear looking anything less than perfect. “Will you wait up for me?” “Of course.” Even though he seemed reluctant to ruin her gown, it didn’t keep his hands from traveling a path across her body. She shivered as he toyed with the underside of her bodice then slipped further down. He kissed the shoulder left bare by the cut of her gown. “Go and have fun. I’ll be here when you return.” She thought of the endless hours stretched before her and grew impatient. “I have a better idea.” She turned in his arms and gazed up at his handsome face. “Meet me in Lady Jersey’s garden at midnight.” He looked at her as if he were weighing the consequences of such an action. Intrigue battled with prudence on his face. “I can’t. Not yet.” She didn’t stop to ponder his odd remark. “Please, Nick. I can’t bear to wait any longer.” “It’s only a few hours.” “But it seems like eternity.” She’d never been overly stubborn, but on this she was standing firm. Her fingers tiptoed a path down his chest. “Please. Say you’ll do it. For me.” She gave him a coy look from beneath her eyelashes. “It’ll be an adventure.” “It certainly would be that,” he reluctantly agreed. “So you’ll meet me?” When he nodded and agreed, she knew that it would be the perfect night.

Chapter Fifteen “You seem distracted tonight.” Bronwyn turned her attention from the doors leading onto the terrace and back to the conversation she was supposed to having with Lady Jersey. “I’m sorry. You were saying?” Lady Jersey laughed and patted her arm. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’m sure there are hundreds of things you’d rather be doing than talking with an old matron like me.” “I enjoy talking with you,” Bronwyn was obliged to point out. “But do you happen to know the time?” “Close to midnight, I would think.” Lady Jersey glanced past Bronwyn and lifted her hand to wave at someone who’d just entered the room. “Pardon me, my dear. I must speak with Cecilia.” Bronwyn was glad to let her go. It was time to meet Nick in the garden. She managed to slip out undetected, even by her father who was debating the merits of a certain racehorse with Lord Billings. The cool night air surrounded her and she shivered. Her thin gown wasn’t much protection against the brisk wind. She wished she’d had the forethought to fetch a wrap before she’d ventured outside. It was too late now. She left the relative safety of the patio and ventured into the gardens. Nick was waiting for her near the stone terrace that ran the perimeter. She saw him standing there, so tall and handsome, and her heart lurched. He was like a hero in a storybook, only he was real and right before her eyes. “I missed you,” she said as he drew close. He snagged her about the waist and dragged her forward for a kiss. “I’ve been counting the hours until I could see you again.” She smiled against his lips. “It’s only been four hours.” “It seems like an eternity.” They embraced each other, the moonlight glinting off the outline of their bodies. If anyone chanced to venture outside, they would be seen, but it didn’t worry her. She didn’t care who saw. Even if she was forced out of society, she would be happy as long as Nick was by her side. Her skirts rustled as she pressed closer. She ached to feel him against her, to have him deep inside her. A noise startled them both and they broke apart just as the voice of Lady Jersey intruded on the silence. “Bronwyn, are you out here?” At her side, Nick softly cursed. He dropped his arms from around her and took a step back. “Go. I will wait for you at home.” She gripped his hand. “No, please stay.” “I can’t. We’ll be caught.” “I don’t care.” He gently, but firmly, pried his hand from her fingers. “I can’t be seen here. It’ll ruin everything.” His cryptic statement made her curious. “Why? What will be ruined?” “Ah, there you are!”

Nick cursed again. His gaze collided with hers and she glimpsed the wariness in his eyes. Why would the appearance of Lady Jersey make him so nervous? Many women engaged in flirtations with their footmen. Being in the garden with him could easily be written off to such. Her reputation would be ruined, of course, but why would that cause such him such worry? “Who is that with you?” Bronwyn heard the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned and smiled politely at her hostess. “Nick Abbott, my lady. My footman.” Lady Jersey looked past her to the man standing just behind her shoulder. She gasped and lifted a hand to her mouth. “Nicolai?” “Nicolai?” Bronwyn echoed. She glanced over her shoulder at Nick, who stepped past her and elegantly bowed. He caught her eye as he straightened. “Forgive me.” “For what?” She turned back to Lady Jersey with a frown. “How do you know Nick?” Dread crept into her veins and turned her heart to ice. She didn’t know what to expect, but that it wouldn’t be good. Lady Jersey linked arms with her and continued to look at Nick as if he were a ghostly specter. “I’ve known Nicolai since his father first took the throne.” Bronwyn’s wits had scrambled from the moment Lady Jersey appeared, but she latched onto the last word. “Throne?” “Yes. Villanova.” Lady Jersey searched Bronwyn’s face. “Why do you say that the Prince of Villanova is your footman? What madness is this?” Bronwyn felt her world spinning out of control. Nick was a prince, not a footman? Why had he lied to her? Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. “I don’t understand.” Nick put his hand on hers, but she jerked away from him as if his touch burned. “Are you who she says you are?” Nick again reached for her. “Yes. Please let me explain.” “You lied to me.” She put a hand to her stomach as if to hold the pain inside. It was too much, knowing that he’d pretended to be a footman. Why had he done it? How had pretending to be a servant to his advantage? “I had to, Bronwyn. It was the only way I could meet you.” It all made sense now. His innate elegance, the regal way he held his head. She’d been blind and stupid. How had she ever believed him to be only a servant? How he must have laughed at her expense. “Was it important to meet me?” “Yes!” Nick emphatically answered. “Without you, my throne is at risk.” “The curse,” Lady Jersey gasped. She looked at Bronwyn with a pitying glance. “My boy, why did you not just tell her the truth?” “What is the truth?” Bronwyn could feel her pain retreating behind the hard shell she formed over her emotions. Years ago, when she’d left London in disgrace, she’d learned how to keep herself from feeling anything. She could do it again if needed. Nick went to Lady Jersey and bowed before her. “Pardon me, my lady, but could you give us a moment alone?” “Of course.” With a last look at Bronwyn, Lady Jersey turned and made her way back to the house. Alone in the dark with Nick, the night didn’t hold as much romance as it previously had. The air was tainted with his falsehoods. He was no longer Nick, her footman, but Nicolai, a prince. This man was a stranger to her. She held herself stiffly as he came to

her. She ignored the pleading look in his eyes, the hand he outstretched to her. “You purposefully lied to me. I want to know why.” “Marrying you will put an end to a centuries old curse. You didn’t allow visitors, so to meet you, I had to disguise myself. I planned to reveal myself much sooner, but then you decided to come to London, so I remained Nick to help you return.” She didn’t think the pain could get any worse, but it did. Her fingers clenched the front of her gown, wrinkling the precious material. “So everything you’ve told me has been a lie. You came here and made me care for a person who doesn’t exist.” Nick surged forward and took hold of her arms, bringing her flush against his body. “Nothing I’ve said to you, except for my name, has been a lie. Bronwyn, I’ve meant every word I’ve said to you.” He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head to the side and hissed, “Liar! How can I believe you when you’ve misled me so? You will obviously say anything to get your way.” “I admit I came to Wiltshire with the intention of asking you to be my queen. But from the moment I met you, the curse has not been the reason I want you as my wife.” She studied his face, intently trying to read his expression. “What is the reason then?” “You, Bronwyn. You are the reason, not the fact that you are the descendant of one of the ancient Villanovan families. When I learned I would be forced to marry, I gave up all hope of love. Then I met you and I let myself believe that we could be happy together.” His hands skimmed her arms and came to rest on her cheeks. “I have less than two weeks to make you my bride or I forfeit my throne, but I will give up all I have for you, if that is what you wish.” She fell under his spell again. Even as hurt as she was, she couldn’t help the way she felt. She loved him, wanted to be with him, but was she prepared to live life as a queen? He’d betrayed her, betrayed all her trust, to gain what he wanted. Even so, she yearned to be with him, to share the passion only he had been able to rouse in her. She covered his hands with her own and pulled them away from her face. “I loved you as a footman. What made you think I wouldn’t love you as you are?” She focused on his face, desperate to let him know how disappointed she was in him. “I once fell for someone who only used me to get what he wanted. I will not allow myself to be used in such a manner again.” He reacted as if she’d punched him. “You compare me to bloody Rowland? I love you, Bronwyn! I made a mistake. I admit it, but don’t let one mistake keep us apart.” “The only mistake was in trusting you.” She took a step back, eager to put distance between them. Moonlight circled the ground at his feet, casting him in a halo of light but leaving the garden in shadows. She memorized his features, knowing it very well could be the last time she saw him. His green eyes, so expressive, were filled with concern. The strong jaw she’d pressed kisses to was tight with tension. “Don’t do this, Bronwyn.” She took another step back, her heart breaking in two as she did so. This time she feared she would truly never be whole again. “Goodbye, Nick.” He let her get as far as the terrace before calling to her. “I feel it’s only fair to warn you that I do not give up so easily.” She pivoted on her heel to give him one last look. “You will meet with failure. Go

back to Villanova. Choose another for your queen.” “I can’t do that.” “Because of your curse?” She reached the door, but paused to hear his response. “I don’t give a damn about the curse. You are the only one I will consent to marry.” “Then you will die a bachelor,” she warned. She slipped through the doorway and shut the door behind her. When she was home, she would let herself fall apart. Until then, she would act as if she’d not just had all her hopes dashed to pieces. **** Nicolai stood in the garden and watched as the outline of Bronwyn’s form moved away from the window. If she thought he would give up so easily, she was sadly mistaken. He was the Crown Prince of Villanova. As such, he had several very useful tools at his disposal. He returned to Gregor’s apartment and disposed of his footman attire. This time he would woo Bronwyn as he should’ve in the first place, as a prince. He dressed in his customary black attire. As Gregor fastened the sash around his waist, he had a resurgence of hope. He would court her until he’d worn down her defenses, then she would be his. The old Nicolai might’ve done it out of pride. The new one, the one he’d become since he met Bronwyn, would do so out of love. He studied his reflection in the mirror and noted his marked resemblance to his father. His parents would have approved of Bronwyn. She was everything his family held dear; loyal, caring, and wise. The people of Villanova would fall in love with her also. He’d made a mistake, but he would do everything in his power to correct it. Bronwyn cared for him, that much was true. She was upset now, but he would soon convince that everything he’d done had been because he loved her. He borrowed Gregor’s horse and rode the short distance to Lady Jersey’s house. At the door, the butler eyed him with patent disbelief. “Nicolai Alexandrov?” “I’m acquainted with Lady Jersey. If you would be so kind, please inform her that I have arrived.” Something in his tone must’ve convinced the man of his identity because he suddenly bowed and ushered him inside. “I’m sure my lady would not like me to keep your Highness waiting. Please, come in.” He made his way to the ballroom and paused at the top of the stairs as his name was announced. He heard the whispers begin as he made his way to the floor. His country was on good terms with theirs, but the people of England seldom got the chance to mingle with Villanovan royalty. His father had been a bit of a recluse, preferring his own soil to those of other countries, as any good king would. No one stopped him as he entered, which was a lucky thing since there was only one person’s company he desired. The object of his musings was standing next to her father. She had to have heard his name, yet she pretended to not be aware of his presence. When he was within a couple feet of her, her head turned and she gave him a wary look. It was wise of her to be nervous. He would grant her no peace until she agreed to marry him. Lord Montgomery spoke first. “My boy, I see that your identity is no longer secret.” Nicolai winced when Bronwyn spun to face her father. “You knew? How could you not tell me?” “Do not blame him.” Nicolai would not allow his falsehood to ruin the relationship

between father and daughter. “He only learned this afternoon. I promised him I would tell you tonight. It is my fault once again.” She angled her body toward him, subtly turning her head so that no one else in the room could see her face. “Why have you come here? I’ve already given you my answer.” “I’m not prepared to accept your decision.” Her mouth dropped open. “You presume to challenge my answer?” “With every fiber of my being.” He stepped closer, his thighs brushing the silk of her skirts. “You loved me once as a footman. Now I stand before you, a prince, begging you to open your heart again.” “A prince does not beg.” “This one does.” She appeared torn between frustration and heartbreak. “You’ve lied to me for so long. What if I find that the person you truly are is not someone I can care for?” He took her hand and held it to his chest. “Is that not a risk every person must take? I may be a prince.” He tapped her hand against his heart. “But in here, I am that man you loved.” He gestured to the guests who were eagerly watching them. “I will make a vow in front of all these people that I’ve never lied to you about anything other than my name. I am your Nick, the man who saw you walk in a moonlit garden and thought you the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. I am the man whose heart was captured the first time he looked into your eyes.” He touched her cheek with his other hand and turned her face to his. “I am the man who will love you as long as he lives.” Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she didn’t allow them to fall. “You ask too much of me.” He shook his head. “Only your heart in return, Bronwyn. I meant what I said. If you do not want to be queen, I will give up my throne.” “I won’t let you do that.” She cradled his cheek and allowed her eyes to meet his. “You should be king.” “It’s worth nothing if you’re not at my side.” He paused and took a deep breath. “When I made my choice to court you, I knew it would be a challenge. I believed then, as I do now, that you were the right one.” “What do you mean by choice?” There was so much she still didn’t know. She deserved the whole story. He told her all, in as precise a manner as possible, and waited for her reaction. It was slow in coming, but made all the more worthwhile by her brilliant smile. “You could marry another? The curse allows for that?” “Yes. It’s not my desire, of course.” “You picked me, even though you knew it would be difficult, when it would’ve been so much easier to convince my distant cousin?” “Yes.” He rocked back on his heels when she threw herself into his arms and pressed kisses to his cheek. He clamped his arms about her waist and reveled in the feel of her against him. It was something he feared he’d lost forever. She pulled away. Her face practically beamed with delight. “You could’ve left at any time. Why did you stay and put up with me?” “Simple. I love you.” He kept his arms loosely around her waist. “Does this mean you will marry me?”

She nodded. “Yes. I will marry you.” “You will be my queen?” “I will.” He ignored the presence of the others in the room and bent down to kiss his future bride. Bronwyn returned his kiss with the passion he’d come to know so well. As their lips met once more, a great weight was lifted from his shoulders. He knew in that moment that an end had been put to the curse. Even better, he knew that he’d freed himself from a life that so many of his kind failed to escape. He’d found a wife that he could love, which was more than he’d hoped for when he’d set out to become a footman. “I love you,” he said in the most sincere tone he could muster when his whole being was alight with happiness. “And I love you.” She put her arms around his shoulders and angled for another kiss. “My footman, my prince.” The End About the Author: Robin credits her grandmother with first introducing her to the world of romantic fiction. She grew up reading her grandmother's dog-eared Barbara Cartland novels and Harlequins, all the while dreaming of the day her sultan/prince/knight would rescue her from the doldrums of day to day living. Since then, Robin has learned that there is still more fun to be had in a book than real life, so she turned her hobby into something a bit more productive and began writing her own happily ever afters. Robin is currently dreaming up her next hero, but her readers can contact her at [email protected] or through her website, www.robindanner.com

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