Princess Charlotte’s Choice

Ann Lethbridge

Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold, 1816

As Princess Charlotte prepares to marry Prince Leopold, her most trusted lady, Isabelle Fenwick, must remain chaste and beyond scandal. Yet she has never forgotten darkly handsome Count Nikkolae Grazinsky and the kiss he stole…

She later discovered the Russian had only used her for a wager, so why does he still seek her company? And why does the air tingle with anticipation when they are together? Surely this rake cannot be thinking of following Prince Leopold’s example and making a love-match?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Epilogue

Chapter One

Brighton, February 28, 1816

Lady Isabelle Fenwick saw panic in Princess Charlotte’s blue eyes as she stared at her reflection. ‘I w-want him to like me for myself, not only because of the crown.’ The slight hesitation inherited from the House of New Brunswick was another signal of agitation.

‘He will,’ Isabelle soothed. ‘Has he not shown remarkable constancy these past two years?’

They were speaking of His Excellency, Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, the man about to become the princess’s betrothed husband. Isabelle wasn’t surprised at the Princess Charlotte’s sudden rush of nerves. She might be next in line for the British throne after her father—the Prince of Wales, now the Prince Regent—but the past two years had been fraught with difficulties.

Mrs Louis, the princess’s dresser, straightened the rose velvet bow at the back of the white satin gown and stepped back. ‘You look lovely, Your Highness. His Excellency must be delighted.’

It was true. The white satin gown set off the princess’s milky skin to perfection and its cut made the most of her buxom figure. The dark golden curls arranged high on her crown with a few curls teased out at the temples gave her a pleasing but youthful dignity.

The princess stamped her foot. It was an impulsive impatient gesture left over from childhood. ‘Then why has he waited so long?’

Sometimes Isabelle, at twenty-three, felt ancient compared to the nineteen-year-old princess. But she did not blame her for her fears, knowing the disaster of her parents’ marriage. ‘The time wasn’t right before now.’

Mrs Louis smoothed imaginary creases from the delicately embroidered skirts. ‘Now the gloves, Your Highness.’

The princess held out one plump hand with a sigh. She glanced at the door to the dressing room through which the other ladies-in-waiting would pass when they finished their toilettes. ‘I do wish I had spent more time in his company when he visited London two years ago.’

Mrs Louis put on her other glove. ‘I will fetch the pearls, Your Highness.’ She disappeared into the bedroom next door.

‘If only my father had suggested him as a possible husband then,’ Charlotte continued, ‘I might not have got into a scrape with Prince Augustus.’ She thrust her chin out, another unfortunate mannerism she occasionally forgot to curb. ‘I am tired of being treated like a miscreant. Cranborne Lodge is little more than a prison. No one visits me there. At least this marriage is a chance to escape.’

Not the best reason to accept a marriage proposal. Guilt pressed heavily on Isabelle’s chest. ‘If I hadn’t left you alone with—’

Princess Charlotte put up a hand. She paced away from the mirror and swirled back to face Isabelle. ‘Nothing happened. Prince Augustus flirted a little. Nothing more. It is because I would not marry that drunkard, William of Orange, that I am hidden away in the grounds at Windsor with no one to talk to but the queen.’

That was one way to look at it. But if Princess Charlotte hadn’t been left alone with Prince Augustus, she might not have fallen for him, and if that hadn’t happened, she might not have infuriated her father by severing her engagement to William of Orange. Topping it off with an impetuous midnight flight alone across London to her mother had sealed her fate. The princess had been confined to Windsor and all her ladies had been dismissed, except for Isabelle, who had been so new and so junior no one imagined she was responsible. In truth, it had all been her fault.

The princess had begged her to say nothing of the way she’d been led astray by her own foolish heart. Count Nikkolae Grazinsky had tricked her shamefully.

‘I am sure Prince Leopold is all you seek in a husband. He always appeared very kind when we met him,’ she said, bringing the princess’s mind back to happier thoughts.

The princess stopped pacing and put her hand to her throat. ‘My heart beats so hard it feels like a wild b-bird in my throat.’ She laughed, the sound loud in the small dressing room. ‘I did like him when we met, I suppose, but I met so many gentlemen, I can scarce recall him. All I know of him, I know from his letters.’

The princess had been flattered by all the attention from foreign nobility visiting London that summer. Given the rampant neglect of her parents, it was hardly surprising she had fallen for any man who smiled her way. The quiet and serious Leopold hadn’t stood a chance among the flashier noblemen, despite his impeccable lineage, handsome face and the dashing uniform of a Russian general.

Mrs Louis returned with the pearls and placed them around the princess’s white throat and looped them around her wrists with a smile.

Lady Ilchester, the chief of Princess Charlotte’s ladies, sailed in, her beak of a nose ready to sniff out trouble. That was her job at the Prince Regent’s behest. ‘It is time we went down, Your Highness. We must not keep Her Majesty waiting.’

Princess Charlotte smoothed her gloves against her arms and leaned close to Isabelle to whisper in her ear. ‘I meant to mention that Count Grazinsky accompanies the prince.’

Isabelle’s heart sank to the soles of her pale blue slippers. Her chest constricted painfully. Nikki was here at the pavilion? How on earth would she face him without giving her anger, her hurt, away to the world?

She must. Numb, she followed the princess out of her suite of rooms. Tightly grasping the balustrade cunningly wrought to resemble bamboo, she trooped downstairs behind the rest of the ladies.

Music greeted them as they entered the gallery which led to the staterooms. In the daytime it provided a magnificent view of the sea. Everything at the regent’s seaside pavilion was either from China or designed to look as if it came from the Orient. With Chinese lanterns reflected in the mirrored doors hiding the staircases at each end, it seemed to stretch for miles. Indian cabinets and ivory sofas lined the walls. Scattered tables held illuminated lotus flowers and porcelain vases, all adding to the opulence. The guests, adorned with diamonds and other jewels, sparkled as much as their surroundings.

At the midpoint of the gallery, the Prince of Wales and his mother, the queen, waited to greet the princess. The Prince Regent in finely embroidered coats over his gargantuan stomach, welcomed his daughter with royal affability. The diminutive elderly queen acknowledged her granddaughter’s curtsey with a warm smile. But everyone’s eyes were on the darkly handsome and slender Prince Leopold. The silver buttons on his dark blue coat and the star on his chest gleamed as he bowed with the grace of a courtier. His stern, almost sombre expression softened when his gaze rested on the princess. Isabelle was sure she heard the ladies around her sigh in unison and she smiled her pride as her royal mistress made her stylish curtsey, showing not a morsel of the nerves she’d evinced above stairs.

One by one, the prince introduced his attendants to the princess. Isabelle’s heart faltered as she watched Count Nikkolae Grazinsky achieve an elegant bow for such a big man.

Tall and dark, with sculpted features, she’d thought him beautiful the first time she saw him riding in Hyde Park with Prince Leopold two years before. Where the prince was slender, Nikki’s broad shoulders strained at the fabric of his dark blue uniform. While the prince employed exquisite manners honed in the courts of Europe, Nikki exuded power and energy and the sense he would take what he wanted. He observed the world from piercing blue eyes without revealing his thoughts; yet, in the few short hours they’d spent alone, she’d thought she’d seen the man behind the uniform, a man lost and alone. She’d been horribly mistaken.

When the princess turned to introduce her ladies to the prince, Isabelle dared not look up, in case she should somehow lock gazes with Nikki and show her anger. Now was not the time or the place.

When it was her turn to curtsey, she felt quite ill. Was the prince aware of what she’d done? How she managed to remain steady as she dipped her knees, she wasn’t sure.

‘Lady Isabelle,’ the prince said in his thick Germanic accent. ‘I am glad once more to make your acquaintance.’

‘Your Excellency,’ she said, painfully aware of the flush on her cheeks. When she glanced up, she found the prince’s expression kindly, even if his dark brown eyes were a little stern. She managed a hesitant smile before he turned his attention elsewhere.

She studiously avoided any possibility of meeting Nikki’s mocking glance.

The introductions over, the Prince Regent sank into his wheeled chair, his bulk clearly too much for his gout. The footman pushed him into the dining room alongside the queen. Lady Hertford, the regent’s mistress, a handsome if somewhat stout woman past the first blush of youth, followed along on Lord Castlereagh’s arm, leaving her long-suffering husband to escort Lady Ilchester.

Lord Alvanley, the close friend of the prince’s assigned to escort Isabelle into the banqueting room, adeptly flicked open his snuff box and inhaled a pinch with practiced dexterity. ‘Such a bore, don’t you know,’ he said quietly. ‘No wonder you look depressed. I feel like crying myself. No doubt after dinner the queen will insist upon cards and backgammon for the meanest of stakes.’

The portly dandy’s mock expression of agony made her smile.

‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘No point in wearing emotions for all to see. Either you do something about your troubles, or suffer them cheerfully. Repining and sighing will do nothing but give people a distaste for your company.’

Why his lordship had chosen her to receive the benefit of his advice, Isabelle wasn’t sure, but she mulled it over. Do something about it. All very well for him to say. He was a man.

Still, he was right. A long face would be noticed by Lady Ilchester and reported to the queen and she’d had too many reprimands already. She pinned a smile on her lips. ‘This is the first time I have been to Brighton. The princess usually goes to Weymouth.’

‘Good girl,’ Alvanley said, escorting her down the long table to her place near the queen. ‘Do tell. What do you think of Prinny’s folly?’

Everyone called the Prince of Wales Prinny, but never to his face. As for his folly, many people were angered by the money he’d spent on his home beside the sea. ‘It is like a visit to the Orient without the journey.’

Lord Alvanley chuckled. ‘The prince would be delighted by your perspective.’ He frowned at the table. ‘I was sure my place was beside you.’

‘My seat, I believe.’ The darkly insolent drawl sent a shiver down Isabelle’s spine. Nikki.

Someone had made a dreadful mistake. Blankly she stared at the place card bearing Nikki’s name beside her own.

Lord Alvanley’s lips curved in a hard little smile. ‘My dear Count Grazinsky, I don’t suppose you know where I might be sitting?’

‘I think you will find your place next to Mrs Campbell, my lord,’ Nikki replied with a bow.

‘I expect to collect on a debt of gratitude next time we meet, Count.’

‘It will be my pleasure,’ Nikki said smoothly.

Lord Alvanley sauntered away, seemingly unperturbed.

The rapid beating of her heart made thinking impossible, so when the footman pulled back her chair, she sank down beside the elderly military gentleman on her left.

‘Poor Lord Alvanley,’ Isabelle said, trying to look severe instead of terrified as Nikki seated himself negligently on her other hand. She could not let him see how much he affected her. She would not make a fool of herself again.

A waiter leaned between them and filled her goblet with wine. Isabelle kept her gaze fixed on the ruby liquid streaming into her glass, her heart pounding against her ribs, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. Not one sensible word entered her mind. Only the question that had haunted her all these long weeks. Why had he chosen her as his pawn? Did she really want to know the answer?

This feeling of panic was ridiculous. Sooner or later she would have to face him, for he was a friend of Prince Leopold’s. What could he possibly do or say in such a public venue to put her to the blush? Apart from just being there, that was. She inhaled a deep breath and met his gaze.

His face was grave. His blue eyes searched her face intently. For what? Signs of forgiveness? A wish to continue their flirtation? Never.

‘Count Grazinsky,’ she managed from a throat in sore need of moisture. ‘You visit England at a very chilly time of year.’

There, that sounded cool enough. Distant. As if she barely remembered him. Father would be proud of her composure. Or he might be, if he ever gave her a thought. It seemed she only came to his notice when she’d committed some sin.

‘It is nowhere near as inclement as Russia at this time of year,’ Nikki murmured. His voice struck unwanted chords in her body, set them vibrating with pleasure and the pain of loss.

His English was perfect. His English mother had insisted he attend school at Eton and Oxford, he’d told her. But it wasn’t his English heritage that fascinated her. It was the darker, more mysterious Russian side of his nature that made her heart beat far too fast and turned her into a besotted fool.

He leaned close enough for her to feel his warm breath against her cheek. ‘Is that all you have for me after two long years, Isabelle? Platitudes about the weather?’

‘In England the weather is always a topic of interest between friends.’

His lips twitched. A smile? Or annoyance. ‘Friends? Is that how you see us?’ His sapphire gaze mocked her.

‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think Alvanley was involved in this latest scheme of yours,’ she said.

Nikki’s mouth tightened. ‘There is no scheme.’

Just as there wasn’t a scheme the last they met. She let her face show her disbelief.

The waiter ladled lobster soup into her bowl and then into Nikki’s from his other side.

‘Someone is sure to notice you changed the place cards,’ she said quietly.

A cynical smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘Shall I change them back?’

‘And make things worse? No doubt you would enjoy that.’

She picked up her spoon. She could not look as if their conversation was anything but trivial. She must not look guilty, no matter how she felt inside. Her heart ached as her lips smiled. ‘Are you determined to court trouble with the regent?’ she murmured, flashing a glance up to that end of the table.

Nikki picked up his glass and took a deep draught. An arrogant smile curved his lips. ‘If I managed to survive the French, I am sure I can survive the English.’

He’d fought in battles all over Europe, including the last. Waterloo, where so many had died. Terrified he might be among the fallen, she’d scanned the papers every day for his name, her stomach in knots as she looked through the lists of casualties. ‘Sometimes there is more danger in peace than in war.’

A grimace and a quick rueful laugh signified agreement.

‘Where have you been since peace was declared?’ she asked

‘The prince required my services in Paris.’

He spoke of Paris as if it was a place a few miles distant. The way he’d spoken two years before of Vienna, and Naples and Rome. Places she longed to see and experience that he took for granted. ‘How is Paris?’

‘Full of Frenchmen who hate us and their king equally.’

‘I read something of it in the newspapers. Is it as bad as they say?’

‘Paris is always more. More dangerous. More decadent. More full of beauty.’

Beautiful women. No doubt a rake like him had sampled his share. She bit her lip. ‘I thought you might have visited your grandmother, since you were so close to England.’

His jaw flickered. Resenting her questions, she presumed. ‘Business kept me otherwise occupied.’

The waiter returned for their bowls. With a casual flick of his fingers Nikki indicated assent for them both. Arrogant and high-handed man. She glowered.

He smiled darkly without remorse, as if he guessed at her thoughts.

Politeness required she address a few remarks to the elderly general on her other side. She turned her shoulder to Nikki. ‘The princess looks beautiful, doesn’t she?’

The gentleman put a hand to his ear. ‘Venison, you say? Venison? ’Tis the wrong season for venison.’ The general signalled for a servant to refill his wine.

That had gone well. She smiled and nodded. ‘Indeed.’

Nikki’s shoulders shook with laughter. It was rather funny.

Nikki carved her a breast of pheasant and did the same thing for the lady on his other side, then offered her buttered parsnips and bright green asparagus in lemon butter. He leaned closer. ‘Tell me you missed me a little,’ he said with wicked seduction in his voice.

Heat stung her cheeks. ‘Certainly not.’ An admission of missing a rake like him would be tantamount to inviting him into her bed. He had tricked her once; she would not let it happen again. She darted another glance along the table. Everyone seemed to be either attending to their dinner or conversing with their neighbours. She searched for an innocuous topic of conversation. ‘Will you remain with the prince after his marriage?’

Oh, dear. Would he now think she cared about what he did in the future?

He regarded her steadily for a moment, his eyes impenetrable, his expression remote. He lifted his shoulders. ‘It depends upon several things. What about you? Do you attend the princess?’

‘No. I am to return home to Kent.’ Her term of duty was over. ‘I will miss the princess.’ She would not miss all the intrigue at court.

‘I see.’ A small smile flickered across his lips. He glanced down at his plate, pushing the vegetables around with his fork.

‘Did—?’ she asked.

‘How—?’ he said.

‘You first,’ he said.

Her heart thundered as her lips formed the question she longed to ask. But there was something more pressing. ‘Did you get my letter?’

His mouth flattened. ‘I received it. How—?’

‘Silence for his Royal Highness,’ a steward called out.

‘A toast,’ the Prince Regent cried with broad smile.

Everyone rose to their feet.

‘To my daughter and her future husband.’

With much cheering, the company saluted the engagement. The couple looked decidedly content as their gazes locked down the length of the table. It did Isabelle good to see it. This engagement would work. The princess had been right to brave her father’s disapproval and reject the sneering Prince of Orange and instead seek a man who could bring her happiness.

It was every woman’s dream, should she be lucky enough to find that man.

At her side, Nikki pushed back his chair, his expression dark and moody. ‘Excuse me. My prince has need of me.’ He stalked away; impressive in his isolation he looked neither right nor left. After a brief word with the prince, he left the room.

Isabelle had seen no sign of a command from the prince. Nikki was clearly using it as a reason to escape her company having realised she no longer would fall for his charm. No doubt he was off to find some more amenable lady.

Something in her chest felt as heavy as lead. She’d done the right thing. She ought to feel virtuous. Instead she felt wretched. Even cruel. For despite his faint air of amusement at their sparring, she had the feeling she might have hurt his feelings.

Hurt him? How foolish. It was her heart speaking not her head. Women did not hurt Nikki. He left them weeping. She’d learned much about him in his absence. Seducer. Libertine. Gambler. The list of his wickedness was as long as this table.

The best she could do was avoid his company, see the royal wedding through as promised and return home without bringing disgrace to her family.

‘Pass the codfish heads, young lady,’ the general boomed. ‘They’ll be removing the covers soon.’

A codfish gazed at her balefully. With a sigh, she passed the plate.

Chapter Two

Dinner over, the female guests conversed in the music room, raising their voices to be heard over the orchestra. Isabelle had never seen the princess glow as she did tonight. She was as lustrous as the pearls around her throat. While they drank tea, her eyes constantly sought the doors through which her prince would enter when the gentlemen finished their port. Isabelle prayed Nikki would not make one of their number.

Leaving Mrs Campbell’s side, Princess Charlotte slipped onto the sofa beside Isabelle. ‘He so much handsomer than I remembered,’ she murmured. A smile curved her full lips. ‘But so stern.’

She turned her lips down and frowned in imitation of Prince Leopold, then burst out laughing. Loud. Too loud. Heads turned. Lips pursed. The princess liked to laugh. Many at court thought her far too boisterous. This time she elicited a headshake from the queen.

Princess Charlotte covered her mouth with her fan. ‘Oops. And the count? What on earth made you sit beside him at dinner?’

Isabelle tried not to flinch. ‘It was simply bad luck.’

The princess gave her a worried look. ‘Does he continue his pursuit?’

‘Hardly,’ Isabelle said. ‘He left at the first possible moment.’ His rapid departure still rankled. People must have noticed how quickly he’d tired of her company. Having put himself beside her, the least he could have done was remained until the end of the meal and feigned interest.

Lady Ilchester bore down upon them, a frown on her face. ‘Your Highness, you really must mingle with your guests.’ She bore the princess off in a flurry of discreet disapproval.

Leaning against a pillar in a shadowy corner, arms folded across his chest, Nikki watched his royal master bend his dark head close to the princess’s golden curls as they strolled the length of the stifling and furniture-stuffed gallery. Leo’s normally sombre expression lightened as he smiled at something she said. He looked more cheerful than he had for years.

A gaggle of ladies followed in the betrothed couple’s wake. Hiding in their midst, Isabelle looked like a primrose amidst a bunch of overblown roses. A modest flower, with light brown hair and skin the colour of rich cream that turned a delicious rose when she blushed. She blushed a great deal in his presence. It had amused him at first. Now it drove him mad wondering if she coloured up for other men. Her features were too ordinary for great beauty, her body too slight, but there was unexpected kindness in her intelligent grey eyes. One didn’t expect kindness at court, just flirtation and ambition. Not that she didn’t have spirit. She did. Too much or she’d not have dared to walk with him outside.

She should know a few dragon-ladies could not protect her. Look how easily he’d changed places at dinner. His shoulders tightened. He shouldn’t have done it, of course. Leo had been quick to signal his displeasure. A look, a lift of one finger, had forced Nikki to leave.

He’d been wrong to test the waters. Should not have bedevilled her. The surge of desire he’d felt when she’d entered the gallery had taken him by surprise. Shocked him. He’d thought he’d cast her from his mind when he’d scraped the mud of England off his shoes. At Leo’s request, he’d thrown himself into the peace negotiations after Waterloo with the same zest he’d thrown himself into battle. He’d been too busy dealing with the pettifogging bureaucracy dividing up Europe to think about women. Or, at least, none of them had sparked his interest since he left London.

Because he still wanted this one.

Damnation. Nothing must get in the way of Leo’s marriage. ‘I’ll not let one of your peccadilloes give her an excuse to dismiss me the way she dismissed the Prince of Orange, Nikki,’ Leo had warned on the boat across the Channel.

Only a brave man would stand between Nikki and what he wanted. But Leo was a good friend and brave comrade-in-arms. For years they’d racketed around Europe, two poverty-stricken noblemen attempting to repair family fortunes ruined by Napoleon. Leo deserved his success and Nikki owed him his loyalty.

He wished he’d never met her. Wished he’d never taken the Prussian prince’s wager. He’d been quite mad that summer. Betting on anything. Drinking. The relief of knowing war was at an end. Only afterwards had he realised his careless act had spiked Leo’s guns.

He’d almost thrown the prince’s friendship away again tonight for the chance to make her blush. He didn’t blame her one bit for her anger though. He had treated her abominably.

‘As brooding as ever I see, Nikki?’ Count Hardenbrook said.

Nikki cast a glance at the Dutchman, Leo’s chosen equerry and a member of his small but loyal retinue.

‘Certainly not,’ Nikki drawled. ‘Simply keeping an eye on the prince. Awaiting the scraps from his table. Like you.’

‘Always the cynic, Nikki.’ Hardenbrook gave a short laugh. An expression of worry crossed his normally cheerful face. ‘The call to come to England could not have come at a worse time. He is still unwell and this cursed weather doesn’t help.’

‘He covers his indisposition well enough.’ Even healthy, the prince was pale and lean. ‘It is certainly clear she likes him.’

‘She’s so exceedingly odd,’ Hardenbrook said. ‘I do not understand English women. I suppose growing up with parents at loggerheads, each using her as a pawn, is bad for a child. Leo says she responds well to kindness.’

Nikki’s gaze drifted back to Isabelle. He’d also made her his pawn. He’d let her glimpse joys he knew she couldn’t have. Not with him. A man with no prospects was not a good catch. Most considered him a fortune-hunter clinging to Prince Leopold’s coattails. They weren’t far wrong.

He could have had her, though. Isabelle. He’d seen it in her eyes that day in the garden. He had too much experience with women not to know she’d fallen hard.

Only with difficulty had he walked away. Done the honourable thing. With nothing to offer, he hadn’t had a choice. Just as he hadn’t had a choice but to return with Leo when requested.

But he should not have sought her out.

He pulled his gaze away from Isabelle. ‘Leo has a great deal of patience. He will make a good husband.’

Hardenbrook nodded. ‘Where are you lodged?’

‘Above the stables.’ He grinned. ‘Cheaper than an inn in town. I claimed it as my duty as Master of the Horse.’

‘Not planning an elopement, is he?’

Nikki laughed. ‘Not unless he plans to start a war with Britain. And besides, it is not needed. He has it all in hand.’

The couple turned at the end of the room and headed back, the ladies following parted like a division of well-trained soldiers and let them through their ranks. Isabelle smiled at the princess. A brave smile. The same smile she’d worn the day she met him in the garden, until he’d melted her bravado and seen her tender heart. It had warmed places he thought frozen out of existence by war.

Hellfire. Would he never get her out of his thoughts?

‘What an extraordinary house this is,’ Hardenbrook said. ‘The pieces are exquisite. They must have cost a fortune.’

‘It’s too blasted hot, if you ask me.’ Nikki tugged at his neckcloth. ‘I’m stifling. Someone should open a window.’

‘The Prince Regent likes it warm. I gather he was deprived of a fire in the schoolroom as a lad and swore when he reached adulthood he would never feel cold again.’

‘The man needs to have mercy on the rest of us.’

The prince and princess left the gallery and entered the music room where the orchestra still played their hearts out. ‘We had better follow,’ Hardenbrook said. ‘In case we are needed.’

Nikki’s lip curled. ‘I am dismissed for the evening.’ For stepping beyond bounds. ‘I should already be gone.’

‘Ah, yes. The horses.’ Hardenbrook strolled off.

Do something about it. The words went round and round in her mind. But what should she do? If she was to have peace, she needed to tell Nikki face to face what she thought of his treachery and remind him to keep his distance.

‘Are there enough rooms for all the people Prince Leopold brought with him?’ she asked Mrs Campbell, the kindest of the princess’s ladies.

‘Most have taken rooms in town.’ Well that accounted for Nikki’s disappearance. No doubt he was sampling all Brighton had to offer.

‘His Master of Horse apparently lodges in the stables,’ Mrs Campbell said.

Nikki’s official title. Hope surged in Isabelle’s breast. Would his presence nearby provide her with a chance she needed? The opportunity to do something?

Looking the picture of the amiable host, the Prince Regent sat in his wheeled chair tapping his fingers on his thigh in time to the music with the redoubtable Lady Hertford standing guard, but the prince and princess were on the move. The ladies around Isabelle readied themselves to follow. One of them asked Mrs Campbell a question and she turned away.

Seeing her opening, Isabelle slipped away from the group, confident that with everyone’s attention fixed on the betrothed couple, her absence would not be noticed. At least for a while.

At the end of the gallery, beyond the mirrored doors, a door led out to the gardens. And to the stables. She hesitated. Did she really want to do this?

Do something. Lord Alvanley’s ironic tones echoed in her ears.

This was all she could think of to do. The green-and-red-liveried footman stationed at the door raised a brow at her approach. She resisted the urge to look back and see if anyone had remarked her departure.

‘I need some fresh air,’ she said, fanning her face, sure it was bright red from the embarrassment of more lies.

‘It is cold out there, my lady,’ the young man said in his slow Sussex drawl. ‘Careful lest you catch an ague.’

‘I’ll only be a moment or two,’ she said, stemming her impatience at his obvious hesitation to let her out.

Finally he bowed and opened the door for her to pass through. ‘You take care now,’ he said as she stepped outside. ‘All you has to do is knock, my lady, and I’ll let you back in.’

‘Thank you.’ Fortunately, Prinny believed in lighting his grounds. Torches flickered in iron braziers on the walls and lamp standards lined the pathways. It took only seconds for her eyes to adjust and locate the stable block a little distance off.

A strong chill wind blew off the sea only a few yards away, tugging at her light skirts and freezing her bare arms. She wished she’d brought a shawl. But there was no going back. She would call Count Grazinsky to account and be done with him once and for all.

Taking a quick deep breath, she marched to the open stable doors. Light spilled out onto to the cobbles and she could hear the low rumble of male talk and laughter and an odd rattling sound.

A shout went up. Cries of joy and dismay.

Mouth dry, heart racing, she remained in the shadows cast by the doors and peeped inside.

A group of four men in their shirtsleeves, seated on hay bales, huddled around an open space on the floor. It was easy to see what they were about. Gold coins were heaped in piles beside their booted feet. Bottles and tankards littered the floor and a pair of die lay in the centre of the group showing a pair of sixes.

Gambling.

Perhaps this was not a good time to broach Nikki.

‘Nicked it, by Gad,’ one of the men said in French, nobility’s international language. ‘You have the devil’s own luck, Nikki.’

‘Demmed if I don’t,’ Nikki said in an arrogant drawl. ‘Throw again, Dimitri. Perhaps I’ll relieve you of all of that fortune of yours.’

‘Not a chance,’ Dimitri said. ‘I’m for my lodgings in town and a chamber maid with the merriest smile you ever did see.’

‘Trust you,’ Nikki said, scooping up his winnings.

‘Join me. I’m sure she has a friend or two. Indeed you are all welcome. Why not make a night of it?’

Isabelle’s heart pounded harder at the thought of him leaving with his friends. She stepped out from the shadows. ‘Count Grazinsky,’ she said in English. ‘I wonder if I might trouble you for a word before you leave.’

Four heads swivelled in her direction.

‘Isabelle,’ Nikki said, shooting to his feet. The shock, perhaps even horror, on his face was well worth the risk of this nighttime visit.

‘Sly dog,’ Dimitri said. ‘Isn’t she your—?’

His eyes blazed. ‘Out,’ Nikki said, his voice so cold she felt the ice of it on her skin. ‘All of you. Go.’

The men laughingly grumbled and gathered their belongings.

Nikki took her arm and drew her into the shadows. ‘You little fool,’ he muttered.

She opened her mouth to reply. He pressed a finger to her lips as he watched, tight-lipped, as the men swaggered off into the night.

Nikki swung her around to face him. ‘What in God’s name do you think you are doing? Are you so careless of your reputation?’

‘There speaks the man who conspired to ruin my good name,’ she challenged.

A frown furrowed his brow. ‘Believe me, I’m sorry for it.’

Sorry they had ever met, no doubt, judging from his rigid expression. ‘You didn’t seem so sorry at dinner,’ she said to hide her hurt. ‘I wrote and asked you to stay away from me.’

He laughed darkly, pulling her into the light, gazing down into her face. ‘It seems it is you who needs that reminder.’

She pulled her hand free of the warmth stealing up her arm towards her heart. The casually open collar of his shirt above his unbuttoned waistcoat revealed the strong column of throat and a wedge of wide chest. She dragged her gaze up to his face, met his intent sapphire eyes. ‘I needed to speak to you privately.’

His expression darkened. ‘Why?’

‘To tell you I know you only flirted with me so Prince Augustus could see the princess alone. You could have ruined us both.’ Indignation made her speak with more passion than she’d intended. Anger at herself. She’d been completely blinded by his flattery. Her stupidity made her furious.

His hands closed and then opened. ‘You are right. It was a wager. Augustus was entertaining himself at Orange’s expense. I certainly have no reason to love the little weasel. Nor had Leo. But he was not pleased by what I did.’

A wager. Disappointment squeezed the hope from her chest. She turned her face away, stared down at the debris left by his friends amongst the trampled straw. He was what rumour said of him, a hardened gambler. ‘Tonight, I suppose Leopold dared you to distract me from my duty,’ she said in a low voice

‘No.’ The word sounded harsh and she glanced up to see a derisive smile on his lips. ‘’Twas Leo who dismissed me from the table.’

‘Why do you feel the need to torment me?’

‘Torment?’ His voice was scathing. ‘You don’t know the meaning of torment. The people in the countries the French conquered suffered torment. Safe here on this little island, you have no idea what real torment is. However, if my presence offends you, I apologise. It will not happen again.’

The pain in his voice spoke of suffering she did not understand.

‘Your family?’

His eyes darkened. He gave the slightest of nods.

‘I am sorry,’ she whispered. ‘But that does not give you the right to ruin my life.’

His dark eyes searched her face. He took her hand, raised it to his lips, his breath warming the chilled skin of her knuckles. A shiver ran across her shoulders. Pleasure and pain. She couldn’t move.

‘Isabelle,’ he said softly, ‘Why did you come here tonight? You know I have nothing to offer.’ His dark eyelashes swept down, hiding his thoughts. ‘What Bonaparte didn’t destroy has been lost at Vienna or Paris.’ He looked up and smiled. The hardness had gone. He looked younger. He smiled the way he had in Warwick House’s garden. Open, honest, with a trace of sadness in his eyes. It had tugged at her heart then and it did so now. ‘But I can swear that it was not my intent to hurt you or the princess.’

Her chest ached with the longing to believe him. Her body yearned to lean against him. She snatched back the traitorous hand that lingered in the warmth of his. He’d handed her a rose that day and she’d given him her heart. The castles she’d woven in a glow of happiness had tumbled down around her ears when she realised his reason for singling her out. Such a fool.

His gaze was fixed on her mouth. ‘How long before you are missed?’ His voice was hoarse. Hunger heated his eyes. The same hunger she felt. The air in the stables changed, became so charged with electricity she could feel the prickles of it along her skin.

He reached out to take her hand.

Fearful of her response to his touch, she whipped her hands behind her back. ‘For all I know they could be looking for me now.’ She retreated towards the door.

He stepped in front of her, a solid wall of muscle and bone and bay-scented male. The heat from his body curled around her. Large warm hands caught her by the upper arms.

She froze.

Holding her fast with one hand on her shoulder, he tipped her face up with a knuckle beneath her chin. ‘Look at me, Isabelle.’

Drawn by the gentleness in his tone, she gazed into his harshly handsome face.

‘You should not have followed me,’ he murmured.

‘I know,’ she whispered, knowing she could not have stayed away. ‘I wanted to see you again.’ The admission pained her when he seemed so unmoved.

Or was he?

Slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull free, he lowered his head, brushed his mouth across her lips. Once, twice, a soft velvety kiss, too pure. Too gentle. Too kind.

They would never meet again. It would be the last time she would see him alone.

Loss filled her.

She flung her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his hard muscled length, revelled in the feel of him against her soft curves. She raked her fingers through his thick black hair where it curled over his shirt. Felt his heat against her body and trembled with desire.

His tongue traced a path along the seam of her lips and instinctively she opened her mouth to taste him. Their tongues met and tangled and danced. Her heart drummed in her chest, in her ears, all through her blood. Never had she felt so alive, or so near to melting.

His large hands roamed her back, drawing her tighter against him, his hard thigh pressing between her legs, his hands cupping her buttocks, drawing her close until she felt waves of pleasure beating at her core.

He broke their kiss with a sound like a groan rumbling up from his chest. Breathing hard, he stared down at her with a faint smile on his lips. Something flickered in the depths of his eyes. Heat, yes, but also determination. ‘You had better leave now.’

Her legs felt so weak, her head so dizzy, she clung to his shoulders. ‘Yes.’ Her feet refused to move.

He stood her away from him with gentle firmness and regret, as if he, too, felt sorry this would never happen again. The pain in her heart grew until she thought she would shatter. She shivered and rubbed at her bare arms.

‘You are freezing,’ he said.

Not from the chill of the evening. This icy feeling came from deep inside.

He picked up his jacket, its gold buttons and braid winking in the light of the lanterns. He placed it around her shoulders. ‘Come. I will see you safely inside.’

She shook her head. ‘We must not be seen together.’

His expression hardened. ‘I will not let you go alone.’

Against every feeling of pride, she could not help but ask, ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’

His jaw flexed. ‘I leave for London in the morning.’

She ought to be glad. For her own sake. She felt empty. She nodded her acceptance.

In silence, he returned her to the side door of the house, a quiet knock and she was admitted. She didn’t dare look back for fear she would see relief on his face. And what little pride she had left would not allow it.

Chapter Three

London, May 2, 1816

Two months had passed when Nikki tracked Prince Leopold down at Clarence House in St James’s. The footman who took his card up returned in short order and ushered him in.

Nikki bowed low as befit his friend’s newly exalted position. ‘May I offer my warmest congratulations on your wedding day, Your Excellency.’

‘Nikki.’ Leo left his conversation with Stockmar and Hardenbrook and strode forward, hand outstretched. ‘I’ve missed you. I have been hearing such rumours too. Are you well?’

The genuine pleasure in his old comrade-in-arm’s face unknotted the hard ball in Nikki’s gut. The prince was a good man and a good friend, but much had altered since they served their countries against the Corsican monster. They’d both struggled to change miserable destinies. Leo had succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. ‘I am well. And dibs in tune too.’

Leo frowned. ‘So the rumours are true. You spend your time gambling and wenching.’

‘Do not believe all you hear. Am I invited to your wedding?’

The frown deepened. ‘You are not terribly popular with my bride. You left her little pet looking sad despite my warning.’

The hackles at the back of his neck rose at the criticism. He shrugged it off. ‘We had unresolved matters between us.’

Leo’s brown eyes were sombre. ‘After the wedding she goes home to Kent. The princess is to have only married ladies about her.’

‘And what about you? Will you have only married gentlemen?’

‘Don’t tell me you have fixed upon an heiress to wed?’ He shook his head. ‘Ah, no. Or you would not have gone to the tables every night.’

Leo knew him too well. He grinned. ‘Every heiress in sight has been locked up by her papa.’ Not that he wanted an heiress.

Leo grunted. ‘I regret I do not have it in my power to offer you a place. There are important English noblemen vying for too few positions. The settlement approved by Parliament will not support the two houses I am granted as well as a large retinue. I will not risk going into debt.’

‘Sixty thousand pounds a year is not to be sneezed at,’ Nikki said with a grin. He raised a hand when Leo looked as if he would protest. ‘I know. It is tied to your public duties. Do Stockmar and Hardenbrook remain with you?’

Leo nodded. ‘They are unlikely to set up any backs.’

Unlike Nikki. Leo didn’t have to say the words. Nikki respected his decision.

The prince shrugged philosophically. ‘This English Parliament is careful and naturally so. They will want to see how well we manage, before they loosen the purse strings further. They are looking for sober respectability, not drunken orgies. What will you do now?’

‘Don’t worry about me, Excellency. I have my future well in hand.’

‘Take care some irate Englishman doesn’t cut your throat for winning his all.’

‘You worry too much. Care to place a wager on the outcome?’

‘Not against your luck.’

‘Luck is a fickle mistress.’

‘So are women.’

They sank into the comfortable silence of old friends. Outside, beyond the windows, arose a great deal of shouting and clapping. ‘Sounds like a party out there,’ Nikki said, glancing at the casement where Stockmar stood looking out.

‘They’ve been at it all morning,’ Leo said. ‘They only stop if I make an appearance, and not for long.’

‘You’ve done well, Leo. Got the masses on your side, and a princess to love you. The newspapers have been full of the wedding for weeks. It is quite a prize you’ve won for yourself, this kingdom of Britain.’ Hopefully his own plans would go as well.

The prince smiled his grave smile. ‘There’s a wildness about you today, Nikki. I’ve seen that look in your eye on the battlefield. Whatever it is you are about, swear you will do nothing until my affairs are irrevocably settled. Promise me that for our friendship’s sake.’

Nikki reined in his impatience. Leo should know better than to think he would do anything to harm his friend. Although, no doubt the wager he’d engaged with Prince Augustus remained as a black mark. ‘I give you my word.’ He grinned. ‘But only if I am invited to see my old friend leg-shackled.’

Leo nodded. ‘Expect an invitation at your lodgings. Be warned though, the princess defends her ladies like a mother lion. She has claws.’ He sounded as if he’d been scratched a time or two.

All this while they had been speaking French. ‘And how are your lessons coming along?’ Nikki teased in English. Leo had practiced on him all the way to England. Now he had proper tutors.

‘Cursed language,’ Leo muttered under his breath, also in English. Then he gave his sweet smile. ‘But I persevere. Mein gott, but I try.’

‘You do well,’ Nikki said. ‘No worse than the last generation of Hanovers. Or the Prince Regent’s wife, Princess Caroline.’

‘Stay away from that woman, Nikki. Whatever goodness she had is long gone. She has more than once involved Princess Charlotte in her machinations. My bride confessed the whole of it.’

Nikki grimaced. ‘Caroline holds no interest for me.’

‘Your Highness.’ Stockmar had a huge smile on his face. ‘The crowds once more become impatient. Another visit to the balcony is in order.’

A pained expression crossed Leo’s face.

‘They love you,’ Nikki said. ‘I was amongst the crowd when you entered the city. I’ve never seen Londoners so enthused. Give them what they want. The mob becomes jaded soon enough.’

Stockmar threw open the French doors to the balcony. The noise increased tenfold. Leo shuddered, then straightened his shoulders, and Nikki was reminded of their youth, when they’d risked so much for their countries. At least his friend had made the right choices. Nikki was about to risk everything on his next play.

He clapped the prince on the back and gave him an encouraging smile, much as he had before they mounted up to ride into battle. ‘At least they won’t be shooting at you. I will attend you later.’

‘Come here for dinner first. Dress uniform,’ Leo said. He took a deep breath and headed for the waiting crowds.

Nikki smiled grimly. He was going to need more than a uniform to get through tonight. He was going to need the devil’s own luck and a silver tongue.

The princess left Buckingham House for Carlton House in her open carriage at exactly half past eight accompanied by Isabelle, Mrs Campbell and two other ladies. The queen had gone ahead. ‘You were right,’ the princess said quietly to Isabelle when they were under way and the noise of the wheels drowned her voice. ‘He is all I hoped for and more.’

‘I am happy for you, Your Highness,’ Isabelle whispered back. In the past few weeks of preparations there had been no time for private conversation.

The carriage turned into the mall. Masses of people lined the roadside, cheering and waving their hats.

‘Bless me,’ the princess said, leaping up to wave back. She grinned. ‘What a crowd.’ Her father certainly never received such a warm welcome and well she knew it.

‘Sit down, Your Highness, please,’ Mrs Campbell said. ‘The queen would never forgive me if you fell.’

The princess sat, but continued to wave with great enthusiasm to the delight of the people until they turned into the gates at Carlton House where a band played ‘God Save the King’ with great gusto.

Princess Charlotte was directed to the royal closet where her bridegroom, the Prince of Wales and Duke and Duchess of Orléans were waiting. The queen and other members of the royal family accompanied by selected attendants were accommodated in rooms adjacent to the throne room.

At just after nine o’clock, all the guests were ushered to the Crimson Salon. Women in gold or silver gowns superbly embroidered fanned themselves. Their feather plumes waved to and fro as they gossiped and admired one another’s gowns. Many of the English gentlemen present wore the uniform of the House of Windsor, a dark blue coat lavishly embroidered across the front and high standing collar with gold bullion. Some wore military uniforms, red or blue, and they flashed and glittered almost as much as the ladies. The ambassadors and ministers from every country in Europe had their own style of magnificent dress. On her way to her seat, Isabelle kept a careful eye out for the swords they wore on their hips.

Isabelle was delighted with her own gown for the occasion. Mrs Louis kindly suggested a white crêpe off-the-shoulder gown handsomely ornamented with blond and silver lace around the neck. A pink satin sash and train finished what was the prettiest dress she had ever worn. It brought out the soft grey of her eyes. Her hair was dressed in a simple braid woven with pink ribbon at her crown and a cascade of curls around her face.

Too bad there was no one to care if she looked her best.

Seated off to one side against the wall in the crowded room, Isabelle had a good view of the crimson-covered altar bearing the ancient royal communion plate brought from the Chapel Royal in St James’s Palace. Six-foot candles towered over the whole. On the floor in front of the altar dais sat a pair of crimson velvet-cushioned stools. The Archbishop of Canterbury stood ready to perform the service aided by the Bishop of London. The sumptuous room was, as usual, exceedingly hot.

Waiting at the altar, the Prince of Wales wore scarlet regimentals. Beside him Prince Leopold looked splendid in the dark blue and gilt uniform of an English general with a sword and belt studded with diamonds. His gentlemen stood proudly to attention behind him and Nikki was amongst them! She had to admit he looked dashing in his Russian hussar uniform of dark blue trimmed with gold lace, the fur-edged pelisse hanging from one shoulder. As if he sensed her watching him, his gaze found hers. A small smile played about his lips, and her heart gave a painful squeeze. Would she ever see him without feeling such hopeless longing?

Hearing the rumours about Nikki’s exploits in London, the gambling in halls, the debauchery, had been hard to bear while staying at Cranborne Lodge these past few weeks, but she was determined to present a happy face and forget Nikki and his kisses.

Every time she recalled the feel of his mouth on hers, she went hot and shivery.

She would, she told herself, be glad to go home. To put this time in her life behind her.

The queen took a chair near the front with her daughters and her own ladies gathered around her.

All was ready. A breathless hush came over the guests as Princess Charlotte walked regally into the room. Her gown of silver lamé on net over a silver tissue slip glittered with thousands of points of lights. A delicate silvery train floated from her shoulders. Rich frills of lace skimmed her generous bosom and edged the small puffed sleeves. The fabric brought out the remarkable luminescence of her pale skin. Diamonds set amongst a wreath of rosebuds flashed fire in her gold curls. She looked every inch a fairy princess in the sumptuous surroundings of crimson.

The guests gasped their appreciation of the vision she presented. Isabelle smiled proudly.

Prince Leopold stepped forward to take his place on one side, while the Prince Regent stood on the other. Hand in hand, the couple knelt before the archbishop. His words rang through the room. Charlotte spoke her responses clearly and distinctly. Leopold’s voice was quieter, but no less firm. The vows over, the groom gallantly drew his bride to her feet. At that moment the Tower guns thundered the good news to the people of London.

The princess lifted her face for her father’s kiss and he bestowed his blessing with a hearty paternal hug before relinquishing her to her groom. Next came a kiss from the queen and the congratulations of her aunts. The glow of happiness on the young bride’s face and the expression of love in both of the newlyweds’ eyes as they smiled at each other augured well for the future.

Isabelle’s heart swelled with joy for her royal mistress.

The formalities over, footmen rushed around with glasses of libation. The assembled company lifted their glasses in honour of the happy couple to much laughter and many congratulations. Not too many minutes passed before Prince Leopold drew his bride away to change for their journey. He was not so fortunate as to miss the eagle eye of the queen, who clutched at Mrs Campbell’s arm. ‘Go with them, Mrs Campbell. Ride bodkin between them for proprieties’ sake.’

With a horrified expression, Mrs Campbell backed away. ‘Not if my life depends upon it, Your Majesty.’

While the queen loudly expressed her disgust with Mrs Campbell’s disobedience, the newlyweds slipped away. A carriage was waiting to take them to Oatlands, the Duke of York’s house, where they would spend their honeymoon.

Nowhere in the crowded room did Isabelle catch a glimpse of Nikki’s tall figure. He must have left at the ceremony’s conclusion. Not that she was looking for him. She wasn’t. In such a crowded room, only the very commonplace could be spoken without remark. And Nikki and commonplace did not go well together. Certainly not where she was concerned. When she was sure Lady Ilchester’s attention was otherwise engaged, Isabelle made her way outside. She had earlier made a pact with Princess Charlotte to wave farewell from the garden gate.

The carriage, hitched to a team of greys sporting fluttering white favours, was already standing by. The coachman touched his hat. ‘Are they nearly ready, my lady?’

‘Not long now, I am sure,’ she said with a smile.

A few moments later, the prince escorted the princess out of the house. Dressed in a white satin travelling cape with white fur trim over a gown trimmed with Brussels point lace and a smart satin bonnet trimmed with a plume of ostrich feathers, she looked as if she floated on air. She gave Isabelle an impulsive kiss on the cheek before the prince helped her into the carriage. Once inside, she let down the window and leaned out. ‘Goodbye, dear Lady Isabelle,’ she called in her boisterous way. ‘Do visit us at Claremont when we are settled.’

Isabelle waved back. ‘I will,’ she called out, very much hoping she would be invited.

The coach lurched forward and the princess fell back, hopefully into the arms of her waiting prince.

‘A hoyden to the last,’ a dark voice murmured in her ear. ‘He’ll have his hands full, but I don’t doubt he is up to the task.’

She jerked around, a palm to her fast-beating heart. ‘Nikki. You startled me.’ Blast, she’d used his first name. She glanced around, but they were alone in the shadows apart from the footman at the door and a stablehand sweeping the cobbles. ‘Are you mad? What if someone sees us?’

‘Mad for you, Isabelle. A royal bird told me I would find you here. Come, my carriage awaits us.’ He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lips. ‘I want you, Isabelle.’

‘You said you had nothing to offer. What has changed?’

‘I’ve made my fortune.’

Nonplussed, she stared at him, until the import of his words made sense to her scrambled brain. ‘Gambling? Who did you ruin?’

His face hardened, became almost demonic in the light of the torchères beside the gate. ‘What? You cry pity for those who profited from the war without setting foot out of doors. Many good men died for their gain. I simply taxed them a little. No man is ruined. No tradesman or nobleman is blowing out his brains on my account.’

‘And when your luck runs out, what then?’

‘I’m not a fool, Isabelle. I’ve bought an estate close to my grandmother in Sussex. I’m tired of being homeless. Weary of death and destruction. Here in England, with you, I believe I can find peace.’

‘What of Russia?’

‘There is nothing left for me there.’

‘And if I come with you, what will I be? Your mistress? One of your women, Nikki?’

He flashed a boyishly wicked grin. ‘If you wish. Though I’d far rather you married me.’ He pulled her close and their lips melded in a mind-numbing kiss.

As always, she melted into his strong embrace.

‘I love you, Isabelle,’ he finally murmured against her mouth. ‘Please, honour me by becoming my wife.’

The words broke down her defences. Her heart fluttered wildly as his blue eyes gazed back at her with laughter in their depths and something else besides. Hope, and yes…love.

Another carriage pulled up beside the gate. A footman jumped down and opened the door.

‘Come away with me, Isabelle,’ he whispered with tempting seduction.

She gazed at him, stricken. ‘I want to say yes. I do, with all my heart. But what of my family. My father. We must seek his blessing.’

‘Now you are timid? You? My naughty adventurous girl who braved a stable full of soldiers in the dark?’

‘That was different. I was angry.’

He smiled. ‘Remind me never to anger you again. Trust me, sweet. It is all taken care of. Your father has given his permission and your parents even now are travelling to my grandmother’s house along with the vicar and assorted guests. I have the licence in my pocket. We are to be married two days hence.’

‘You arranged it all without a word to me?’ Laughter fought with annoyance. ‘’Pon rep, it is very high-handed of you, sir.’

He gave a half laugh, half groan. ‘I couldn’t speak of it. I gave my word to Leo I would do nothing until his knot was safely tied. He feared I would cause a scandal. Believe me, waiting for this moment has been killing me.’

‘Oh, Nikki,’ she sighed. ‘What if my father had said no?’

‘Then I would have whisked you off to Scotland, as I am sure Prince Leo guessed.’

‘I’d far rather visit Paris than Scotland.’

‘We will, love. All in good time.’ He tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. ‘So is it a yes, Isabelle, my love, my own true heart?’

‘Yes. Heavens help me, yes. I loved you the first moment I saw you, but I believed you didn’t care.’

His hands cupped her cheeks; his lips brushed hers briefly. ‘I will always regret my part in that foolishness and I beg your forgiveness. But I cannot regret its bringing us together. I love you, Isabelle, and will care for you always, if you will allow.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Since neither of us our bound by the whims of our royal masters any longer, it is time we followed our own path. Come away with me now. Your family is waiting.’

Shaking her head, she laughed up at him. ‘I’ll come, because I love you, Nikki, but when we are wed, you must promise a lighter hand on the reins than you have shown this night. I’ll not tolerate commands.’

‘I will be your slave in all things, if you will stop arguing and get into the carriage.’

Still laughing, she let him help her in, as Leopold had helped his princess minutes before. The carriage moved off. She settled into the squabs and stared at him, so handsome, so strong and proud in the light from the lamp suspended above the door. The man about to become her husband. ‘Do you think they will be happy?’

‘Who?’

‘The prince and princess.’

‘No doubt about it. The prince is as besotted with Charlotte as I am with you.’

He pulled her onto his lap and nibbled at her lips and, when she laughed, deepened the kiss.

‘Besotted?’ she murmured when they broke apart thoroughly breathless.

‘Utterly,’ he said, and kissed her all over again.

Epilogue

November 8, 1818

Isabelle held her three-month-old baby boy in her arms, looking down into his sleeping face with love and an ache in her heart for the news they had received two days before.

She looked up as her husband of eighteen months entered the nursery. ‘Did you see Prince Leopold, Nikki?’

His face was sombre, etched with deep lines around his mouth. ‘I did. He is inconsolable. It happened so fast, he didn’t even have time to bid her goodbye. To lose both child and mother, it is beyond reason sad. She and the babe are to be interred at Windsor in a day or so. I will go to the funeral. For Leo.’

With a heavy sigh Nikki sat beside her on the sofa and took the sleeping infant from her arms. He looked into the child’s face with a sombre expression. ‘If I had given any thought to the danger, I would have prevented this.’

‘My darling, would you deprive us of one of the greatest joys on earth?’

‘If it meant losing you, I would. I saw from Leo’s face, he felt the same.’

‘Sweetheart mine, I could just as easily be run over by a carriage on the streets of London—would you lock me indoors?’

He looked at her moodily. ‘It’s just so unfair. They loved each other. They were so damned happy. He told me she called him Doucement because—’ his voice cracked a little, and he swallowed ‘—he always said, “Doucement, chérie,” when she became too excited in that way she had. She calmed instantly, he said. And she made him laugh, when he has so little laughter in his life. They were good for each other. They would have ruled this country well.’

She put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, until he rested his dark head on her shoulder gazing down at their child in his arms. She stroked his hair. ‘I know, Nikki, I know. They brought us together. But we who knew them best will never forget them.’

Author Note

When reading my history books for the background to this story, I was struck how closely the story of Princess Charlotte and her prince mirrored that of her cousin, Princess Victoria, even though it did not end as well. Since Prince Leopold, later the King of the Belgians, was the man who guided Queen Victoria and the prince during their early marriage, I have the sense that he and Charlotte might well have ruled England very well indeed, had she survived the Prince Regent.

My story, while factual in the details surrounding Charlotte, her engagements and her wedding, takes poetic licence with how Isabelle and Nikki fit into those events. Isabelle is a combination of ladies surrounding the princess at this time, including Miss Knight and her bosom beaux Margaret Mercer Elphinstone, who acted as a go-between by passing on letters for Charlotte when her father tried to keep her incommunicado. The princess, like any young girl of seventeen, did engage in several flirtations during this period and, shockingly, Prince Augustus did meet with her privately. The flight to her mother at Connaught House was a major scandal, with the public supporting the princess against the Prince Regent.

While I gathered information from many sources, most of what you read here comes from my imagination and I hope you enjoy this glimpse into my version of history. If you want to contact me, I can be found at http://www.annlethbridge.com.

Ann Lethbridge

On April 29th 2011 the world will be waiting with bated breath for Prince William and Kate Middleton to say ‘I do’!

The bells at Westminster Abbey are chiming, the carriage is waiting and THE dress has finally been unveiled… So join Her Majesty by dusting off your best hat as you prepare for the wedding of the decade!

To celebrate this historic event, Mills & Boon have created a special ebook collection:

Royal Weddings

…through the ages

Read about the future king’s ancestors and the people who helped bring their

special days together.

7 couples, 7 marriages, 7 stories for you to enjoy!

What the Duchess Wants by Terri Brisbin

Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine and Henry of Anjou (future Henry II), 1152

Lionheart’s Bride by Michelle Willingham

King Richard and Princess Berengaria, 1191

Prince Charming in Disguise by Bronwyn Scott

Prince George and Caroline of Ansbach, 1704

A Princely Dilemma by Elizabeth Rolls

George, Prince of Wales (future Prince Regent/George IV) and Princess Caroline of Brunswick, 1795

The Problem with Josephine by Lucy Ashford

Napoleon and Archduchess Marie-Louise of Austria, 1810

Princess Charlotte’s Choice by Ann Lethbridge

Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold, 1816

With Victoria’s Blessing by Mary Nichols

Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, 1840

So if you can’t wait until the 29th for your royal wedding fix…download one now!

Ann Lethbridge has been reading Regency novels for as long as she can remember. She always imagined herself as Lizzie Bennet, or one of Georgette Heyer’s heroines, and would often recreate the stories in her head with different outcomes or scenes. When she sat down to write her own novel, it was no wonder that she returned to her first love: the Regency.

Ann grew up roaming England with her military father. Her family lived in many towns and villages across the country, from the Outer Hebrides to Hampshire. She spent memorable family holidays in the West Country and in Dover, where her father was born. She now lives in Canada, with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and a Maltese terrier named Teaser, who spends his days on a chair beside the computer, making sure she doesn’t slack off.

Ann visits Britain every year, to undertake research and also to visit family members who are very understanding about her need to poke around old buildings and visit every antiquity within a hundred miles.

Look for Ann Lethbridge’s duet

Rakes in Disgrace

The Gamekeeper’s Lady

May 2011

More Than a Mistress

June 2011

Also available from Harlequin® Historical and Ann Lethbridge

The Rake’s Inherited Courtesan #941

Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress #992

and in Harlequin Historical Undone! eBooks

The Rake’s Intimate Encounter

The Laird and the Wanton Widow

One Night as a Courtesan

Unmasking Lady Innocent

ISBN: 978-1-4592-0420-1

Princess Charlotte’s Choice

Copyright © 2011 by Michèle Ann Young

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

www.eHarlequin.com