The Prince Who Loved Me Part 10

"I'm sure her home is even grander. Oxenburg is one of the wealthiest nations in the world. I know, for I read about it."

Sorcha turned to her mama in surprise. "Where did you read about Oxenburg? I'd never heard of the country before this week."

"I found a book in your stepfather's library that contained a remarkable amount of information." Mama glanced toward the closed door and then said in a low voice, "The country is known for its wealth, which comes from vast dairy lands, the quality of its lace and fabrics, and-and-" She frowned. "I can't remember the third thing, but it was something rather boring, like timber or barley."

"What else was in this book?" Bronwyn asked, curious despite herself.

"The king has a rather large family-four sons, in fact. Which means our prince has three brothers."

"He's 'our prince' now, is he?" Bronwyn said drily.

Mama didn't hesitate. "He will be once he spends more time with your sister."

Sorcha looked miserable. "Mama, please don't say such things. It's entirely possible he may not like me at all."

Mama's beaming smile faded. "Don't be ridiculous. You were raised to be a princess."

Mairi snorted. "Do princesses steal pastries from the kitchen when they think no one is looking? Sorcha took the last pastry from the kitchen last night, even though Mrs. Pitcairn had saved it for me."

"I didn't know that," Sorcha said hotly just as the door opened and a footman appeared.

He bowed. "Her Grace will see you now. Tea has been set up on the terrace."

"Lovely!" Mama leapt to her feet and smoothed her hair. "Come, girls."

The footman held the door wide and waited as they left the room. When they were all gathered in the hall, he closed the door and then led them down the wide hall.

They were near the terrace door when Sorcha came to such an abrupt halt that Bronwyn almost ran into her.

"Oh dear! I left my reticule in the sitting room."

The footman stepped forward. "I'll fetch the reticule, my lady."

"And leave Her Grace waiting?" Mama huffed. "I think not. We'll find the reticule after tea."

Sorcha said, "But Mama-"

"I'll fetch it now," Bronwyn offered, "and then I'll join you. You can make my excuses to Her Grace, if you need to." Perhaps she would take her time fetching the reticule, too. She had no wish to watch Mama fawn over the grand d.u.c.h.ess.

"Thank you, Bronwyn." Mama nodded to the footman to proceed.

Brownyn made her way back down the hall. Going into the sitting room, she found the reticule. She'd just left and was getting ready to walk past the grand staircase in the huge foyer when she heard male voices.

"What a waste of time," Alexsey said. "Why do you Scots have tea so often?"

He was coming down the stairway, his footsteps m.u.f.fled by the thick runner that cascaded down the marble steps.

Viscount Strathmoor answered, "Have you felt our weather? If we didn't warm ourselves each afternoon with a spot of tea, we'd all be frozen stiff by dinner."

They were almost upon her. Her heart thudding, she looked for a place to hide. She wasn't ready to see him again. Not yet. And not without the protection of one of her sisters.

With a feeling akin to panic, she slipped into the small alcove carved into the sidewall of the staircase and squeezed behind a pillar holding a bronze Cupid statue. One of the bronze arrows captured a lock of her hair, and she hurried to untangle it.

"It is colder in Oxenburg," the prince continued. "I do not even like tea."

Viscount Strathmoor chuckled as they descended the stairs. "Teatime is socially important. It's where, over delicate cups of bohea, women critique one another via heavily phrased compliments."

"Tata Natasha is using teatime for another purpose-matchmaking. She has invited someone she wishes me to meet. I can tell."

"She is single-minded, is she not? Which beauty do you think your grandmother is wis.h.i.+ng you to peruse this afternoon? Miss Carmichael? Lady Muiren?"

"I did not ask and she does not tell. She only sends a note to my room saying it is my responsibility to attend. Pah! A treaty negotiation is a responsibility, but this-Papillon, leave my boot ta.s.sel alone or I'll throw you in the pond."

"That is the worst-behaved mongrel I've ever seen."

Their footsteps sounded as the two men stepped off the last covered step onto the marble foyer floor. They took a few desultory steps, the dog prancing along with them, before they stopped.

"Papillon's ill behavior is due to my grandmother spoiling her, but she hunts with the heart of a lion. I can forgive much for that."

"So could I, if she didn't growl at me every time I reached down to pet her."

"She doesn't like your cravat. I've been holding back a growl myself all morning."

Strathmoor made an outraged noise while Bronwyn smothered a laugh.

"There's nothing wrong with this cravat."

"It's so high you cannot lower your chin."

"I could if I didn't mind marring the lines. This is all the fas.h.i.+on."

Bronwyn could imagine Alexsey's unconcerned expression. "After we join my grandmother on the terrace for tea, we will ride out to Ackinnoull Manor and visit the Murdochs."

Bronwyn's eyes widened.

Strathmoor murmured, "Ah, so Miss Sorcha made an impression."

"Sorcha? Nyet, I go to see Bronwyn."

Me? Despite herself, Bronwyn couldn't help a flutter of happiness.

"Really? Even after you've met Sorcha?"

Her smile faded. Well. That was certainly harsh.

"Sorcha is too young." Bronwyn could almost hear the prince shrug. "And boring. She had nothing to say for herself the entire time we danced."

Bronwyn's good humor was gone. Sorcha was never boring! Had Alexsey made the slightest effort to speak, Bronwyn was certain Sorcha would have, too.

"Perhaps Miss Sorcha is shy." The viscount's voice was studiously disinterested. "She seemed pleasant enough to me when I danced with her."

Ha! Bronwyn could have kissed the viscount. Curiosity burning, she sidled around the statue and tried to catch a glimpse of them, but they were out of sight.

"Perhaps." The prince couldn't have sounded more bored. "If you like that sort of woman."

"Yes," Strathmoor drawled. "Men find ivory skin, petal-pink lips, and beautiful blue eyes far too mundane, and much prefer plumpness, freckles, and spectacles."

Bronwyn hadn't considered herself vain until this moment, but hearing herself dismissed so summarily hurt more than she'd have imagined. She peeked around the statue into the mirror on the opposite wall. She wasn't plain. Her features were good, her skin well enough even if it lacked Sorcha's creamy paleness, and her eyes were lively. Or so she'd thought until now.

Maybe she could see the men and judge their expressions better if she leaned out a bit. Moving carefully, she held on to the pillar and leaned forward. She could just see the prince's broad shoulder.

Frowning, she slipped an arm around Cupid and leaned out farther still. Now she could see both men in clear profile at the bottom of the steps.

The prince was shaking his head. "It is not about prettiness, which is as cheap as cheap wine, but about spirit, verve, pa.s.sion. That is hard to find."

"I prefer a woman who saves her spirited responses for when we are alone."

The prince laughed and smacked Strath's shoulder. "This is why you and I never fight-we like different types of women. Like you, my grandmother favors Miss Sorcha."

There was a moment of silence. "Does she?"

"Da. Yesterday Tata Natasha asked many questions about my dance with the girl. If the Murdoch family meets Tata's approval, she'll sanction the match."

"And by sanction you mean-"

"Attempt to shove it down my throat."

"Ah. That kind of sanction. I wonder if that is not who awaits us at tea now. What does your grandmother say about the elder Miss Murdoch?"

"She's heard that Bronwyn is-how do you say-on the shelf? And that she has few social graces, which my grandmother holds very dear. Tata Natasha would never approve of Miss Murdoch, which is fine with me."

Strathmoor lifted a brow. "So you're still of a mind to pursue Miss Murdoch?"

"I will have her."

The words brushed over Bronwyn like a heated wind. He said it without hesitation, as if he already knew she would capitulate. And looking at him, his black hair falling over his brow, so tall and broad shouldered- A s.h.i.+ver went through her, making her grip on the statue slip. Before she could fall, she pulled back into Cupid's shadows.

Papillon, who'd been sitting at Alexsey's feet, suddenly turned in her direction.

She held perfectly still. No, don't come here. Please don't come here.

But it was too late. The dog arose and trotted down the hallway, sniffing this way and then that, her bright eyes returning again and again to where Bronwyn was hidden.

She held her breath, willing the dog to stop, but to no avail: the dog came within a few paces and, tail wagging, looked directly at her.

"Go!" she whispered, glancing uneasily at the two men at the end of the hall.

The dog wagged her tail harder.

"Papillon, where are you?"

Bronwyn froze.

Alexsey sighed. "You silly mutt, what are you doing?"

The dog backed up two steps and barked, her tail wagging frantically. She looked from Bronwyn, down the hall, and then back at Bronwyn, as if wis.h.i.+ng she could share the news of her find.

Bronwyn heard Alexsey's footsteps as he moved to look down the narrow hallway toward Papillon.

"What is it?" Strathmoor asked.

"I don't know. She probably smells a mouse."

Alexsey returned to the bottom of the stairs where Strathmoor waited, and Bronwyn sagged in relief.

Papillon, her plumed tail still wagging, sat down, her hopeful gaze fixed on Bronwyn.

She shook her head at the dog and then, as silently as she could, slipped an arm around the statue for balance and leaned forward to see both men.

"My grandmother will be the death of me," Alexsey said. "She wishes me to woo a woman in earnest, to find a wife. I've refused, but she still nags and nags. Worse, she's started threatening me with the loss of my birthright."

"Is she still dangling that ring before you?"

"Every chance she gets. She thinks to control me with it." The prince blew out his breath in an aggravated puff. "She is wrong."

"I wouldn't tell her that. I've never met a more decisive woman. Frankly, she scares me a bit."

"She can be overbearing." There was a moment of silence, and then Alexsey chuckled. "You know, there may be a way to silence her."

"You cannot kill your grandmother."

Alexsey laughed. "No, no. But I can perhaps stop her constant nagging, and prove that while I seek the kaltso, I will not sacrifice my principles."

"And how will you perform that miracle?"

"I will woo Miss Murdoch openly, court her for the world-and my grandmother-to see."

Bronwyn started, and her head banged against Cupid's quiver. She winced and gritted her teeth to keep from crying out.

Strathmoor sounded puzzled. "You wish to court Miss Murdoch in earnest?"

"It will look in earnest to everyone, including my grandmother. Which will make her worry that perhaps I am in love. She will then stop her infernal matchmaking and will instead attempt to convince me that perhaps she was hasty and I shouldn't court anyone at all. I already know she finds Miss Murdoch unqualified to be a princess."

Bronwyn found that, with the right encouragement, her hands could curl into claws.

"What's wrong with Miss Murdoch?"

"According to my grandmother, Miss Murdoch is too old for babies, too outspoken for a lady of quality, and has a decided lack of polish."