He gave a bitter laugh. “Revealing the truth will severely undermine my goal of gaining his title. Prince Raoul will surely reconsider the succession if he knows I dream of running him through with a very sharp rapier.”
Sophie tucked her arm in Jack’s. “The title is not important just now, Jack. You need to tell your father how you feel. Afterward, if you still want to run him through, I will supply the rapier myself.”
Her light tone was just the right touch, and so was her next gesture: Turning, she raised herself on tiptoe and planted a sweet, gentle kiss on his cheek. “Now, pray, may we go inside and dress for dinner so we can eat? I am famished.”
“For once I am not,” Jack said darkly, but he did as Sophie asked and repaired to his bedchamber to change his attire.
They washed and dressed separately and went downstairs together, where they were shown into a formal dining room embellished with the same rich decor as the rest of the palace. The prince was already seated at the head of the long table, staring down into a crystal goblet filled with red wine.
Giving a start, he rose and issued a careful greeting, then indicated they were to sit on either side of him. When he waved a hand, an army of footmen proceeded to serve the soup course, followed by fish in a delicate cream sauce.
Over dinner, however, the strained relations between father and son became blatantly obvious. Tasting nothing of what he ate, Jack repressed his feelings until Prince Raoul made the mistake of remarking on the purpose of the visit.
“I have great hopes that you will make Navartania your home, Lord Jack.”
“You should not count on it,” he replied tersely.
The prince paused, his brows drawing together. “How long will your stay last?”
“Too long for my tastes.”
After another puzzled hesitation, the prince gave a nod and dismissed all his servants before addressing Jack once more. “Did you not come here in order to secure your inheritance?”
“To be truthful, I want nothing from you. Just now the only thing I want is for you to explain your cowardice in deserting my mother to a savage French mob out for her blood.”
“Pardon-moi?” Prince Raoul looked taken aback by the harsh accusation.
“I believe you heard me, your highness.” When the prince cast a questioning glance at Sophie, Jack said sharply, “Miss Fortin can be privy to anything you have to say.”
“Very well, then.” He took a deep breath. “I left Paris because I was summoned home by my father.”
“That is no excuse. You should have protected my mother.”
His eyes clouded over. “Oui … yes, I should have. I was devastated to learn of her death.”
“Were you?” Jack asked in icy tones.
“Indeed. I loved your mother deeply, Jack. And I grieved for her even more deeply.”
The reply struck a nerve in Jack, enough that he let loose the rage and bitterness he’d felt for years. “Your grief was hardly deep,” he accused in almost a snarl. “You escaped the Terror yourself but left her b
ehind, alone and helpless with a young child to care for.”
Wincing at his vehemence, the prince managed to stammer a reply. “I … I regret that more than you know.”
“What use are your damned regrets?” Jack demanded, not letting up. “You could have taken her with you when you fled Paris. For that matter, you could have wed her.”
Prince Raoul shook his head sadly. “Marriage was out of the question. I was not permitted to choose my bride.”
“You could have abdicated your title, but you were too cowardly and weak.”
His expression turned bleak. “Clara did not wish to wed me and spoil my chances of inheriting the throne.”
“So now you try to lay the blame on her?”
The acrimony inside Jack exploded. With a sweep of his arm across his place setting, he sent his own wine goblet flying. It landed halfway across the room and shattered on the floor.
Pushing to his feet abruptly then, he stood staring down at his father, his fists clenched.