Be My Prince Read online

  “I don’t need to scramble for anything,” she said. “All I need to do is wait patiently, for His Royal Highness has already invited me to join him in a dance. I simply required a bit of air, that is all.”

  “Air?” The stranger stood and approached. He was an imposing figure to be sure, and she was strangely spellbound by each step he took across the terrace. “We have something in common, then.”

  The torchlight danced in a sudden gust of wind. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

  He halted before her. “We both like to breathe.”

  Alexandra watched him for a moment, then narrowed her guarded, suspicious gaze. “You smell like a distillery. Are you drunk?”

  “Only a little, but let us keep that to ourselves, shall we?”

  As it happened, she was very good at keeping secrets.

  Nevertheless, there were rules of etiquette to consider. “If you are drunk, sir, then a royal ball is no place for you. You ought to go home. I have no doubt you’ll feel much better in the morning.”

  He chuckled. “I doubt that.”

  She glanced down at his boots, then let her eyes wander with interest up the impressive length of his body. He was strong and well proportioned and possessed the firm, muscled thighs of an active horseman.

  “I suppose I wouldn’t know about such things,” she replied. “I’ve never had more than a few sips of anything. Not that it’s any business of yours.” She gave a quick curtsy. “Good evening, sir.”

  She tried to leave, but he blocked her way.

  “Don’t go yet.” He leaned close to speak softly in her ear—so close that she could smell the brandy on his breath and feel the moist heat of his words on her lobe. “I need someone to talk to, and I like the sound of your voice. It reminds me of…”

  He paused, and her breath caught in her throat.

  He was unbelievably attractive.

  “Of what?” she cautiously asked.

  Those dark eyebrows pulled together. “I’m afraid I can’t quite recall, but I am certain it will come to me.”

  Alexandra felt a heated stirring of arousal in her core. She worked hard to quell it, however, for she was here on a mission, and this was not it.

  Thankfully, he backed away and gave her some space to collect herself—though it was not easy to do.

  “This is not appropriate,” she said, realizing with more than a little displeasure that she was stalling, for this mysterious horseman from the shadows was an overwhelming distraction—and heaven knew she needed one. “We have not been properly introduced.”

  “You are quite correct,” he replied. “Where is your chaperone? Shall I call for her?”

  “No!” She looked inside, then spoke in a quieter tone. “Please do not.”

  For she knew exactly what her stepmother would say. Lucille would demand to know why Alex had taken her eyes off the prize.

  The horseman glanced toward the open doors. “Fine, then. We’ll take care of the introductions ourselves. I’ll tell you my name if you promise to tell me yours.”

  “Agreed,” she replied, “but then you must let me pass.”

  He bowed to indicate his agreement. “Very well then. And your name is…?”

  “I am Lady Alexandra Monroe, honored to make your acquaintance. Good evening, sir.”

  She curtsied again, made another attempt to return to the ballroom, but he stopped her again—this time with a gloved fingertip upon the bare skin of her upper arm, just below her puffed sleeve, which caused a flash of heat to rush from the point of contact straight down to her toes.

  His blue eyes narrowed. “Lady Alexandra … Are you the daughter of the Duke of St. George?”

  So he knew of her.

  “Yes, but not the current duke. My father died six years ago.”

  Though my real father was put to death by greedy insurgents before I was born.

  “Ah, yes.” He lowered his hand to his side and removed his gloves. “I have heard of you. You are quite notorious in fact. They say you have been living in Wales with your sisters, and that you have been…” He paused. “Unjustly impoverished.”

  Alexandra detected a hint of compassion in his voice and had to work hard not to immerse herself in it. She had learned a long time ago that one cannot wallow in self-pity and stand strong and mighty at the same time. “Evidently I am quite the spectacle this evening,” she said.

  “Indeed. This is your first Season, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned close and spoke in a husky voice that feathered across her skin. “At least the gentlemen at White’s were right about one thing.”

  Alexandra quirked a brow. “And what was that?”

  “They said you were the most beautiful woman in England, hidden away and guarded like a priceless jewel.” He drew back and regarded her intently for a moment. “Beautiful to be certain, but why have they kept you hidden away, may I ask? You are the daughter of a duke. Why have you been residing in Wales? Why not at the estate where you were raised?”

  She wet her lips and concealed the more pertinent question: Why not with my real family, in the country where my ancestors had been born, and where they had ruled for centuries?

  “I am surprised you don’t know the answer to that question,” she said, “when you seem to know everything else about me.”

  The blue of his eyes shone in the torchlight. “Indulge me.”

  “Why should I?”

  Again he leaned close. “Because you want to.”

  An intoxicating shiver of arousal ran through her as she comprehended the truth in his words, spoken so provocatively.

  She had never met a man quite like this one before. He was very confident and exuded a distinguishable air of sexuality. All the little hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. Her heart was beating wildly with exhilaration, and she could not deny that she wanted to revel a little longer in this feeling of excitement.

  “My father the duke died without an heir,” she explained, “so the title passed to his estranged younger brother, who arrived at the palace with four daughters of his own, roughly the same age as my sisters and me. He took one look at us and decided that we would be an obstacle to the marriage prospects of his own daughters, so he sent us away, banished us to a place well beyond the reaches of polite society.”

  The gentleman frowned. “Because the four of you were prettier?”

  “I suppose that would be an accurate conclusion to derive from the circumstances.”

  He inclined his head with curiosity. “Tell me more.”

  “His Grace provided us with a very meager allowance, barely enough to live on and certainly not enough to provide a dowry or even gowns for a proper Season. That is why we have never been to London.”

  He studied her with some concern. “That is most unfortunate. It sounds as if you and your sisters were greatly wronged.”

  Alexandra swallowed uneasily. There it was again—the compassion. But she had not told him of her situation to seek his pity and wished for a moment that she had not revealed any of it.

  Another part of her, however—the deeper, more honest place that had been profoundly hurt and wounded by all the lies and betrayals from those she trusted most—cracked just a little, and she found herself opening up even further to this stranger before she realized what she was saying.

  “Indeed, and here I am, dressed in a borrowed gown and jewels, hoping to win a proposal from a prince, along with dozens of other young women, each with her own story, I suppose.” She paused and looked up at the stars, listened to the crickets chirping in the grass. “It’s strange. There was once a time, long ago, when I imagined I would marry for love. I would have settled quite happily for a simple life with a mere clerk or merchant for a husband, but others insist that such a common existence is beneath me.”

  She dragged her gaze down from the stars and spoke in more practical terms. “More importantly, my stepmother controls our allowance from my uncle, so it seems I must
choose a husband in a more mercenary fashion if I am to help my sisters improve their situation. I am the eldest. It falls upon me to lift us out of the trenches. That is the world we live in, I suppose. Duty must come first.”

  The gentleman said nothing. He seemed rather taken aback, and Alexandra wanted to sink through the ground. What had she been thinking? It was unseemly to reveal such intimate details to a complete stranger in the dark when she was duty bound to be inside seducing a prince—not only to secure a better future for herself and her sisters but also to avenge her true family and embrace her destiny as the rightful sovereign of Petersbourg.

  “What happened to your real mother?” the man asked, proving himself to be a very bad influence, continuing to ask such personal questions.

  My real mother died tragically in exile, shortly after giving birth to me.

  “The duchess died when my youngest sister was born. Our father remarried my stepmother a year later, but there were no children from that union. I am sorry, but I must go. Good night, sir.” She hurried past him to return to the ballroom.

  “Wait.” He turned to follow. “Will you dance with me?”

  She glanced down at his muddy boots. “You’re not dressed.”

  “I can be,” he replied. “Just say yes and I will arrange a proper introduction.”

  Alexandra hesitated. “I am here to dance with the prince.”

  “So you’ve already said.”

  A spark of heady anticipation seeped into her blood as she imagined waltzing with this man … setting her gloved hand upon his shoulder … following his movements across the floor.…

  “You’re going to get in my way, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “In the way of your mercenary ambitions to marry a royal?” His eyes burned into hers. “I thought you said you’d settle for a clerk or a merchant if it meant you could marry for love.”

  Alexandra lifted her chin. “I did say that, but I must think of my sisters. As much as I would like to, I cannot settle for less, so please do not upset things.”

  He spread his arms wide as if to profess his innocence. “A dance. That is all I ask.”

  She should have taken more time to weigh the particulars, but an answer spilled past her lips before she could think it through. “Fine, but please say nothing to anyone about our conversation here. I’ve stayed too long as it is.”

  The instant she reentered the ballroom, her stepmother came quickly to her side.

  “Where were you, Alexandra? The Duke of Wentworth has been engaging me in conversation. I could not break away, and I was consumed with worry that you had been abducted by some imperial spy in the garden.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. I only required a bit of fresh air. That is all.”

  But in all honesty she had been abducted—in the proverbial sense at least—by a handsome horseman in the shadows with a quiet, husky voice and a very dangerous sensual appeal.

  It was not until that moment that she realized he had not told her his name.

  She hoped he would not come to the ball.

  It would not be wise to see him again.

  Chapter Three

  Later that evening, Alexandra watched the prince lead another young lady through a country dance. Dressed in his striking scarlet regalia, he was a stunningly handsome man. A skilled dancer as well. There was no denying it.

  The lady upon his arm at present, moving with him through the steps of the dance, appeared to be foolish with awe and infatuation. Clearly, the prince knew it. He was aware of his effect on women. He had a way of teasing them with his eyes. Alexandra would be next, she supposed.

  Though in her case there was no danger of becoming infatuated, for her wounds ran deep, as did her scorn for this seditious family of usurpers.

  Alexandra watched him escort his partner off the floor and prepared herself for her own encounter with him. She would not giggle and gape at him as all the others had. She knew the part she had to play, and she would play it well.

  “Who is that man?” her stepmother asked the Duchess of Pembroke, who had been very kind to them that night while many of the other women had given Alexandra cold looks of disdain for daring to enter the race on such short notice.

  “That is Prince Nicholas, Randolph’s younger brother,” the duchess replied.

  Like a force of magic, Alex’s gaze swept to the door at the precise instant the name passed the duchess’s lips. It was him.

  He was dressed differently now, no longer windblown from a ride in the park, no longer muddied or in need of a shave. He was now elegantly attired in a dark green silk coat, cream knee breeches, and polished shoes, and his hair was combed and styled fashionably.

  Alex watched him approach his brother and speak in a manner that revealed an intimate familiarity between them.

  The duchess leaned a little closer. “He is Randolph’s private secretary as well, but I’ve heard rumors that he is a terrible royal.”

  “How do you mean?” Lucille asked.

  “He has a reputation with the ladies. And no wonder. With that face, not to mention everything else from the neck down, a woman could mislay her virtue simply by looking at him.”

  Alexandra felt as if her breath had been cut off. The mysterious stranger from the terrace was Prince Randolph’s younger brother and private secretary? And a scoundrel on top of it all?

  Good God! She had stood in the shadows and carried on an intimate conversation with him. She had allowed him to flirt with her—surely that’s what he was doing when he touched her arm and told her he liked the sound of her voice.

  Had he been testing her or attempting to weed out the women who only wished to better their circumstances? A woman such as she, who believed Randolph was “not a real prince.” A woman who had sisters to think of …

  How could he not have revealed his status and position? What sort of bad character would entrap a lady in such a devious manner?

  This was all a game to them, she realized. Nothing more. The very thought of it infuriated her.

  At that precise moment, Randolph and Nicholas turned in her direction.

  Randolph laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed, as if to thank him for something, and together they moved through the crowd.

  “My word, they are coming this way,” Lucille whispered. “And what a pair they make.”

  Lucille was referring of course to their extraordinary good looks. Together, side by side, they were a breathtaking force of elegance and charisma no other men in the room could rival.

  Though she was anything but, Alex strove to maintain an appearance of calm as they came to stand before her. Prince Randolph was the first to speak.

  “Duchess.” He bowed to the Duchess of Pembroke, then addressed Lucille. “Your Grace, if you would permit me to formally present my brother, Nicholas.”

  There it was. The proper introduction, as promised.

  Alex’s stepmother curtsied and turned to the other royal. “We are delighted to make your acquaintance, Your Royal Highness. This is my eldest stepdaughter, Lady Alexandra Monroe.”

  He bowed to her. “It is an honor, my lady.”

  Alexandra curtsied as well and felt a spark of furious heat flare through her. What was he playing at? Had the brothers already discussed and deciphered every word she had spoken on the terrace? Had Nicholas repeated everything?

  The orchestra began a new piece, and Randolph held out a white-gloved hand. “If I do recall, Lady Alexandra, you were kind enough to promise me a dance. Shall we proceed to the floor?”

  Maintaining a cool expression of confidence, she slipped her gloved hand into his. “Indeed we shall.”

  Without a single glance back at his brother, she brushed past him and focused all her attention on the man who held the key to her future. The one who would wear the crown.

  * * *

  “Nicholas tells me this is your first London Season,” the prince said as they moved through the steps of a country dance.

  “T
hat is correct, and it has been a marvelous experience thus far. Tonight especially.”

  He studied her with knowing eyes. “How so? Is it the food that has met with your approval? Or the music? The adornments perhaps.”

  She took three steps toward him, keeping her eyes trained intensely on his the entire time. “It is the company that has held me captivated, sir, for I have lived too long away from society.”

  “Ah. You are enjoying the conversation and the pleasure of meeting new people.”

  “Yes, you have captured it exactly. New people.”

  They performed a number of steps to and fro as they moved through the dance.

  “Anyone in particular?”

  He watched her steadily. His eyes were no longer playful but serious.

  “Why you, of course,” she flirtatiously replied.

  The prince took three steps back. “What a perfect answer. You flatter me.”

  She studied his expression and realized that she had gone too far. This man had women throwing themselves at him from all angles, all night long, and here she was, doing the very same thing and not feeling the slightest bit genuine about it.

  They moved around each other, and she took a moment to reorganize her line of attack, for she could not blunder this, or retreat in failure.

  “I apologize,” she finally said. “That is what I was instructed to say to you. You must find this very difficult. There are many women here, behaving just so, competing for your attention.”

  He took her hand and supported her in a turn. “Yes, there are, but apparently none quite as honest as you. They are either falling over themselves with giddiness or blatantly seducing me with their eyes. No one has yet confessed to having been told what to say.”

  “Would you prefer that I seduce you?”

  “No. I would prefer that you be yourself.”

  “Honesty is always best,” she said.

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  They began another set of steps that repeated the opening.