The Prince's Scandalous Wedding Vow

For a moment she just stared up at him, dazed, and then he reached up and began tugging the pins out of her hair one by one. “The public will like you,” he growled, his deep voice humming through her. “The public will love you. You don’t need to be someone you’re not, and you most definitely do not need to be a puppet on a string.” He kept pulling out pins until her thick hair fell over her shoulders in long, loose waves. “This is better,” he said, combing his fingers through the waves. “This is you, and how I like to see you.”

He turned and faced the ladies in the corner. “Do not put her hair up unless Josephine asks for it to be up. Do not apply more makeup than she is comfortable with. Ask her what she wants—do not tell her. Am I clear?”

Josephine was simultaneously awed and horrified. “They will not like me better for that,” she whispered, trying not to smile as she wiped away the lipstick staining his mouth.

He turned his head and kissed her palm. “Maybe not, bella, but I will.”

They were only a few minutes late arriving for the party in the ballroom, and while Alexander had assured her it was an intimate gathering, the fact that they were going to the ballroom spoke volumes.

As the doors opened to admit them, Josephine’s breath caught in her throat, and her fingers tightened on his arm as she was immediately dazzled by the splendor of the grand ballroom. Her appreciative gaze swept the space, trying to process everything she was seeing even as people began bowing to Alexander. Immense chandeliers ran the length of the high ceiling, each dripping with glittering crystals, reflecting shimmering light across the elegant baroque ballroom, enhancing the gold and white scheme where gilt-framed mirrors lined the walls.

“Confidence,” Alexander murmured at her side.

She eased her grip on his arm and forced a smile, trying to block out the sheer number of people filling the room. There were so many people here, and they were all staring. “This is not a small party,” she whispered as his hand slipped to her lower back.

“It’s fewer than three hundred,” he answered under his breath. “Larger than I hoped but small compared to the usual number we host for formal gatherings.” He began introducing her to people, a couple here and a couple there.

She nodded, smiled, and spoke when required, but the entire time she was most conscious of him. His warmth filled her and his fragrance teased her nose. Even though she was uneasy with the sheer number of people present, she felt safe with him, reassured by him at her side. There was something in his touch that made her skin come alive. She loved it. She hated it. He was never supposed to be hers, and yet here she was, being introduced to his court as his bride-to-be.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured when they had a moment to themselves. “You’re quite impressive actually. You’ll be the princess they adore, and before long their queen.”

She glanced up, her gaze meeting his, his irises almost lavender blue in the glittering light. She wanted to tell him she loved him. She wanted him to know how much she cared about him and that she didn’t need the public to love her, as long as he did.

Later, as they mingled, she found herself watching him, and she knew he was also watching her. She could feel his gaze on her, and he made her feel so many things—taut, edgy, physical, desirable.

Tonight, everything in her felt sensitive and alive, especially when he looked at her, as he did just now, his lids lowered and his lovely mouth lifted just so, and she felt that half smile all the way through her, the awareness making her skin warm and her body tingle and ache.

Tonight she felt unbearably feminine, all curves and softness. Her breasts. Her waist. Her hips. Her thighs.

She loved everything about him. She loved the way he moved, she loved watching his hands, loved the width of his shoulders. She watched his eyes, the focus, the intensity, the hint of amusement lurking there in the light blue gaze.

Perhaps she wasn’t a mistake.

Perhaps she was the right bride.

* * *

The party was a success. Photographs of Prince Alexander and his beautiful young fiancée, Josephine Robb, filled the papers, and Josephine could tell from the smiles of the staff that everyone was pleased.

Josephine was pleased, not because the party was a success but because the party was over. She couldn’t wait to escape the palace the next afternoon, retreating almost immediately after lunch for the tower bedroom where she could be alone with her favorite view of the water.

She waved at Alexander’s secretary, Aimee, on the second floor as she hurried up the stairwell, and then she peeked through the open door to the library and saw Alexander there in a chair reading a thick sheath of papers. She nearly spoke to him but then thought better of it because he was lost in thought, and she raced on up, feeling immeasurably lighter and happier.

The formal party was over. The wedding was coming on Saturday, and then soon the spotlight should be off her, and she and Alexander could develop their own routine and their own life together.

She couldn’t wait for them to be a proper family, and she wondered where they’d raise the baby. She was trying to imagine the nursery when she moved too quickly, misjudging the distance between the stone steps. Josephine flung her arm out to brace her fall but it was too late to stop herself, and she screamed as she fell, crying out again as she slammed onto the stairs, the impact knocking the air out of her.

For a moment she lay dazed, and then she pushed herself up into a sitting position. She flexed her hands, tested her legs. Nothing seemed broken. She ached though, with pain in her torso and a wrenched back.

“What happened?” Alexander demanded, charging up the stairs, coming to her side.

“I fell,” she answered, trying not to wince, not wanting to alarm him. “I was distracted and lost in thought and my feet ended up going faster than the rest of me.”

“You could have been seriously hurt,” he said.

“I know. But I wasn’t.” She allowed him to help her to her feet but she frowned at the twinge in her belly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She forced a smile, hiding her pain, thinking now wasn’t the time to be melodramatic. She’d just taken a fall, and by most standards it was a very small fall. She hadn’t even gone down more than five or so stairs. Everything was fine. She was certain everything was fine. “Just a bit stiff from falling. Your stairs are hard,” she added lightly, trying to tease him to ease the tension.

“You shouldn’t be coming up here. It’s a very old staircase, the steps far too narrow and steep. My mother mentioned they were dangerous years ago—”

“I’ve never fallen before, and next time I’ll go more slowly. I promise.”

“There won’t be a next time. The tower is off-limits.”

“Stop it! You’re being ridiculous. I’m fine. Look at me—” She broke off to wiggle her fingers and flex an ankle. “No cuts. Nothing is broken.”

“I’m taking you back to your suite in the palace.”

“You don’t need to take me anywhere, Alexander. I can walk just fine.”

“I’ll feel better if I see you there.”

“Fine.”

He held her hand as they started down, and she could tell by the firm clasp of his fingers that he was trying hard not to lift her up and carry her the rest of the way. She was touched by his concern. It was a little heavy-handed, but he’d always been protective.

She was just about to thank him for his assistance when she felt another twinge in her abdomen, sharper, much sharper than before. Startled, she paused on the step and suddenly she had to look at Alexander. Suddenly she needed to hear from him that everything was okay.

“Something is wrong,” he said roughly. “Don’t tell me everything is fine.”

“It’s pinching on the inside. It’s getting stronger.”

“Where?”

She pu

t her hand on her still-flat belly. “Here,” she whispered, cupping her womb. “Where the baby is.”

He muttered an oath and swung her into his arms. “Let’s get you to your room and we’ll call the doctor from there.”

* * *

She was in bed when the doctor arrived, but she’d been to the bathroom twice because she’d noticed she’d begun spotting. She was trying to contain her panic as she added pads to her panties, trying to tell herself that this was just a little blip and everything would be fine.

But as the doctor drew out the fetal Doppler to listen for a heartbeat, her eyes burned and then filled with tears because she could see from Alexander’s tense expression just how concerned he was.

They were all quiet as the doctor listened. An hour ago she’d been so happy, almost elated that everything she wanted was finally coming together. But now Alexander stood just behind the doctor, silent, watching and waiting.

When the doctor put the Doppler away and made a call for someone at the hospital to bring over an ultrasound, her heart fell.

“You don’t hear anything, do you?” she said, her throat constricting.

“You’re still quite early. It can be difficult listening for a heartbeat with a Doppler. The ultrasound will allow me to have a better view, and we’ll be able to see the heart beat.”

Alexander was thanking him but Josephine closed her eyes and turned her face away, unable to let them see her fear because something was wrong. She felt it. She knew it. From the cramping to the bleeding to the doctor’s nonexpression, the professional kindness intended to mask concern.

The nurse arrived with the equipment in just thirty minutes but the doctor’s silence as he studied the ultrasound image crushed her. She knew.