“Try to gain an audience with your father without telling anyone else who you are,” Poppie continued. “Remember my warning. Trust no one.”
He was repeating himself. Did he think she’d been too distraught to retain all his previous warnings?
“And if they won’t let me see him without saying who I am, I am to seek out a high official to take into my confidence, one who can arrange a private meeting for me,” she finished for him.
“Or bribe one. Your purse is filled with gold, use it at your discretion.”
She nodded. Separating from Poppie was much worse than she’d expected. Even though she had insisted this was the safer way, emotion was still choking her. She could barely get out the words “When will I see you again?”
“I will never be far. If—when you are safely with your father, send this for repair.” He handed her a broken watch. “There is only one watchmaker in the city. This watch will let me know you have succeeded. And if I find out anything you should know, I will send Henry to you.”
He suddenly hugged her tightly. “I am very proud of you, princess. You have surpassed all of my expectations. Garner your confidence now. Your blood is royal. Never forget that.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the coach. She had a few minutes to cry over their parting before her coach passed through the fortress gate to the palace—and her future.
Chapter Ten
CHRISTOPH BECKER STARED AT the crackling fireplace that didn’t quite heat the main room of his quarters. He would have lit the braziers on the other side of the room if he didn’t want his guest to leave. But he did want her gone. And she was still there, angrily pacing behind him, because, out of respect for their past relationship, he didn’t want to shove her out the door as she deserved for haranguing him over a pointless issue that was never going to happen.
Christoph had told her no again. It did no good. It certainly wasn’t the first time Nadia Braune had tried to reestablish their childhood friendship and seduce him into marriage. With her spoiled temperament, she resorted to insulting him when she failed. This time was no different. He had turned his back on her to dismiss her. Being ignored usually enraged her enough that she stomped off. But she hadn’t reached that point yet.
“Why can’t you quit this job and get on with your life?” she had railed at him this time. “You’ve already accomplished what you wanted. You have proven beyond doubt how loyal you Beckers are.”
“It’s never occurred to you that I like this job?” he had rejoined.
“Don’t be ridiculous! Any commoner can do what you do here.”
He’d still had enough patience to ignore the insult and remind her, “You have had countless offers. I know most of them. Pick one and, as you have suggested for me, get on with your own life.”
“None are as handsome as you.”
“Most women marry for wealth, land, or standing. You aren’t in a position to do otherwise. And all of the men who have offered for you have had at least two of the three in whatever order, or they wouldn’t have had the nerve to approach you in the first place. Would you like me to help you pick one out? I would be happy to if it would mean I won’t have to suffer any more of these visits.”
She’d actually tried to appear hurt when she’d said, “Now you are being cruel, when you know I love you.”
“You don’t feel anything of the sort. You just don’t want to settle for two out of three of the criteria demanded of your family. But I warn you, ten years from now, you will not blame me if you are still unmarried and your offers have dried up. Or must I marry someone else to prove to you that I will never marry you?”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Go home, Nadia.”
She wouldn’t have such confidence that she could change his mind if she hadn’t been told that their families had talked the year she was born about how the two would make the perfect match and should be betrothed. But the Lubinian civil war had ended all such talk, leaving him to make his own decision about a wife. It wouldn’t be Nadia. Her family hadn’t been returned to favor since the war and might never be, considering their ties to the old regime. They had been part of the pack who had encouraged the old king to make such bad decisions that his people finally revolted.
Christoph’s family had also been loyal to the crown, though they had argued against the measures King Ernest had favored that had nearly destroyed their country. Which was why the Beckers had been restored to favor. And why he felt he must do even more to keep it that way.
But Nadia knew how close she had come to being betrothed to Christoph, and she refused to accept that it couldn’t still happen. When they were growing up, he’d even wished it as well because she was turning out to be so beautiful, blond with brown eyes and unblemished skin only slightly darker than his from her Eastern ancestors.
Yes, he had begun to think they might still marry one day. Until he mentioned it to his father and found out why it was no longer a desirable match for him. That knowledge, and seeing how much it still concerned his father, had influenced him to dedicate himself to earning the king’s absolute trust. But then by the time he’d left home, he’d already begun to dislike Nadia’s irritating petulance, which had grown worse as she got older. At sixteen, it quite overshadowed her beauty, making him heartily glad of the political obstacles that had kept him from being tempted by her. Now, he didn’t even like her anymore, she’d become so obnoxious.
“I’m growing tired of waiting for you to change your mind, you know,” she said peevishly now.
“Stop waiting.”
“I’m twenty-two years old this month! Who else from the noble houses will have you and forgive you for taking this commoner’s job? Who else is as well suited to you as I am? It’s not as if there are that many noble houses for you to choose from, Christoph.”
He grit his teeth, his annoyance rising. “Who says I have to marry a Lubinian? Or marry at all, for that matter?”
She gasped. “Why must you be so stubborn!”
He swung around so she could see he’d reached the limit of his tolerance. “We enjoyed our childhood together. As neighbors, we were friends, but that’s all we ever were. And you tarnish even those memories with this persistent campaign that is utterly useless.”
Nadia’s young maid tried to make herself invisible in the corner. Once he wouldn’t have noticed her any more than Nadia did, but because of his work he’d had to train himself to be more observant.
“It’s not useless. If you hadn’t moved here before I even came of age, you know our friendship would have progressed to marriage. Come home now, Christoph. You’ll see. Your family has regained all their lands and titles. What more do you need to prove by staying in the capital?”
She was never going to understand because she didn’t really care. Her family had lost most of their lands, but they still had their wealth. So she had been raised just as she would have been if they hadn’t lost their titles as well.
But he wasn’t going to jeopardize the favor he had dedicated himself to earning for his family by aligning himself with the Braunes, who were still in disgrace. And he didn’t doubt that had more than just a little to do with Nadia’s persistence, encouraged, maybe even directed, by her father. Her family had married before to better their standing, and she was the only one left who could do so again.
He had mentioned this thought to her once before, remarking, “I am already redeeming my family’s honor, don’t expect me to redeem yours as well.”
She hadn’t denied or admitted it, but she had grasped the opportunity to insult him again instead with her scathing reply: “But you do it so humbly.”
A fiasco had ignited the Lubinian civil war, which had changed all their lives, and so unnecessarily. There had been another option, the same one that other small countries and duchies had chosen when Napoléon had demanded money or troops to support his wars on the Continent.
Lubinia should have sent money. They had never maintained an army. It had been r
idiculous to create one. But the nobles hadn’t wanted to give up their own money to support the Frenchman who wanted all of Europe under his control. And Nadia’s father’s voice had been one of the loudest in support of sending troops. Nor were the Braunes the only once-noble family still trying to gain forgiveness for that decision. But how do you forgive the kind of stupidity that had nearly toppled a kingdom?
She was still standing there mulishly, refusing to give up. To hell with respect for the past, Christoph decided. They weren’t children anymore, and she’d earned his contempt long ago.
“It’s a shame you don’t listen. I know I’ve made it clear I don’t want you. So must I be even more blunt? So be it. We will never marry, you and I, because I would kill you within a month—or cut out your tongue. One or the other would be inevitable. Now get out.”
She actually just glared at him. Even that she didn’t believe? His patience snapped. He took a step toward her to throw her out, but he was arrested in midstride by the sudden triumphant gleam in her eyes. She wanted him to angrily put his hands on her? Of course she did. She thought it would lead right to his bed, so she could then run home to her father with the tale, her version of it, and the Braunes would then demand marriage as a consequence. Fools, the lot of them. Did they really think he could be led about that way?
Christoph marched out the door instead and sent two guards to escort Nadia out of the palace. She wouldn’t argue with them. They were beneath her notice. Instead she would pretend it was her own idea to leave.
Chapter Eleven
ALANA WAS SHOWN TO a big anteroom in the palace that was furnished with only a few uncomfortable-looking chairs. No one was sitting in those chairs and she didn’t sit either. She was still too nervous to relax, almost sick to her stomach with it. She would be meeting her father, the king of Lubinia, today. Alana knew that the king would be shocked and overjoyed when he learned that she was still alive and he had a legitimate heir after all. She hoped she would be able to keep her distance from him emotionally, so she could return to London without any regrets as soon as the rebellion here was quelled. But what if she and her father were both overcome with familial feelings and instantly took to each other? That would be wonderful—as long as he didn’t expect her to stay in this rather backward mountain kingdom.
She couldn’t help comparing this palace to the one she’d visited in England. This one was so much smaller, and so much more exotic in design. Part of the roof was covered with a magnificent gold dome. Ornate, white columns were in the corridors, and the ceilings were elaborately carved.
The walls themselves were works of art, some of them covered with mosaics that glittered with gold, and others with rose- and cobalt-colored tiles and stones. Like many of the buildings she’d seen in the city, the palace was an odd mixture of Eastern and Western influences.
As she looked around the room, she was dismayed to see more than twenty people waiting to see the king! She was tired of delays. She was tired of keeping her identity a secret. She wanted to be rid of this apprehension that was making her queasy.
Nervously, she walked about the room. That was a mistake. She came too close to a man telling a group of big, brutish-looking men a ribald story that they all laughed at. She got away from them and nearly tripped over a goatherd sitting cross-legged on the floor eating a haunch of something with his hands. And he had a goat with him! Probably a gift for the king, but really, inside the palace?!
As Alana moved farther into the room, looking for a safe place to stand and wait, she noticed the other women there. Most of them appeared submissive to the men they accompanied, and they were dressed so differently from her. She was in the height of English fashion, her long, elegant cloak and cap fur-trimmed for winter. In stark contrast, one of the Lubinian women was wrapped in a toga-like garment, another was wearing a long, shaggy vest that appeared to be made of thick, untreated fur. One middle-aged woman was garbed in a more European fashion, but so gaudily, with half her breasts showing, she was rather obviously of loose morals and happily letting the men know it. Alana did note, however, that not all of the men were giants as she’d feared they would be after she, Poppie, and Henry had encountered that band of big, loutish soldiers on the mountain pass as they entered the country.
With the brightly colored walls, she almost failed to notice the small portrait of a man wearing a crown. She was arrested by it. Could it be? Hesitantly, she asked for confirmation from a man nearby and got the proud answer “Of course that is our Frederick.”
My God, her father. Was he really this handsome, or had the artist rendered him so just to please him? Fascinated, she couldn’t take her eyes off the portrait. She had to fight back tears. Her father—but he still didn’t know that she was alive. She was disappointed that they had no family resemblance at all. He was blond and blue-eyed, while her hair was black as pitch and her eyes were gray. Was this going to make her task even more difficult?
Every so often an official-looking fellow opened the double doors at the far end of the room, which she assumed led to the king’s receiving room, and escorted a petitioner or a group of petitioners through them. But more people continued to arrive, keeping the anteroom crowded.
More impatient now than ever to meet her father, she approached one of the two guards standing by those doors to the inner chamber and asked, “When can I expect to meet the king? I’ve already been here an hour.”
He didn’t answer her. He didn’t even look at her! She asked the other guard the same question, asked it in every language she knew, but he, too, treated her as if she were invisible! Was it because she was an unescorted woman, or was there some custom she wasn’t aware of?
Fuming over being treated like that—she was their princess!—she moved to sit in one of the chairs. A brutish man she’d noticed earlier actually approached her after a while. She glanced up expectantly, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he boldly fingered the fur on her cloak. Outraged, she came to her feet, but he didn’t move away. He just laughed at the glare she gave him. The guards standing nearby did nothing. Fortunately, an old woman showed up to shoo him off.
“Stay away from the men” was all she said to Alana.
Blushing because she hadn’t approached that lout, she went back to pacing the room, more certain than ever that Lubinian men had a barbarian streak.
More than an hour later, Alana suddenly forgot about how tired, hungry, and exasperated she felt when a new palace guard entered the anteroom. She was amazed to see the other guards actually speaking to him when they hadn’t even spoken to each other, let alone to her. This new guard wore an identical uniform, tight, double-breasted, black jacket with gold buttons, cut short to the waist in front. The back of the jacket was longer, split for ease of movement, she supposed, the two tails reaching nearly to the knees. In contrast, the tall, stand-up collars and the cuffs on the jacket sleeves were stark white, embroidered with gold braid. The tightly fitted trousers were also white.
The gold-fringed epaulets on the uniform made the new guard’s shoulders look extraordinarily wide. He was also taller than the other guards, possibly six feet. And something else made him stand out. He was handsome. As if that mattered, but it did cause her to stare at him much longer than she should have. She was still staring when one of the guards pointed her out to him.
She tensed slightly when he glanced her way and then immediately walked toward her. He had better not tell her it was time to leave, not after she’d spent half the afternoon there without having gained an audience with the king.
The thought produced a strong burst of annoyance, so she tried to look away and compose herself. But she couldn’t quite manage to take her eyes off him. He was that handsome.
He had dark gold hair, worn no longer than his nape, yet it draped off his forehead in soft waves, half covering his ears. She verified that he had deep blue eyes when he stopped before her and gave her a brisk military bow. She had to look up even before he straightened. He was taller
than the six feet she’d estimated, and young, probably in his mid-twenties. His face was thoroughly masculine with thick brows, a square jaw, and a strong, lean nose that was perfectly straight. Seen this close, he no longer looked like a common soldier. No, indeed, there was nothing common about him. . . .
“Is there a problem?” she asked when he didn’t speak immediately. She’d almost used English, but caught herself in time and addressed him in Lubinian.
“No.” A grin slowly formed as his eyes moved boldly over her face—and then lower! “Though my men wonder what such a pretty lady is doing in here.”
Was he—flirting with her? Something that wasn’t the least bit unpleasant stirred inside her with that thought. She felt so flustered she had to take her eyes off him for a moment to gather her scattered wits.
“Your men?” she asked.
His military bearing became more pronounced. “I am Count Becker, their captain.”
Alana felt a surge of relief. This was a man she could deal with more easily, a formal official whose mouth was set in a hard, straight line. But why did a man this young wield so much authority? Just because he was a member of the nobility? Or maybe he was older than she’d guessed. The deep timbre of his voice supported that thought. The tone seemed almost familiar to her, though she’d heard so many Lubinian voices today. That had to be why.
“I, too, wonder why you are here,” he added in that same formal tone.
“I was led to this room by one of the guards at the palace entrance. Are these other people not waiting for an audience with the king as well?”
He nodded. “Indeed. But there is another room where the nobility wait. It is much more comfortable. Your rich apparel indicates you should have been taken there. So what did you tell the guard that made him show you to the commoners’ hall instead?”
Chapter Twelve