The Prince's Bride

Chapter Thirty-Two

“The final test.” Ryan closed them inside the last door on Winscombe’s family wing. She flicked the lock.

“Can you,” she teased, “pass the night in a proper bed, in a proper bedroom, within a proper house? Will you survive the very great conventionality of it all?”

“Too soon to tell,” he mused. “Will you be in said bed, in said bedroom, in said house?” He was leaning against the wall, watching her fold coverlets and fluff pillows. And this was the real test of his civility, standing patiently by while she walked around the bed, and tended to the bed, and discussed the bed, but he didn’t toss her into it. Yet.

He elected not to tell her this; he was trying so very hard to be princely. He would wait.

That is, if the waiting amounted to five minutes or fewer, he would wait. After that, he could not be held responsible. He was, at heart, a cave dweller. And she’d already proclaimed that he was... how had she put it? Starved for a woman’s touch.

“Yes,” she said brightly. “We will broach this bed together. Although...” she said, looking around, and Gabriel thought, Surely bloody not. Employing brisk, jerky movements, he began to undress.

“This is my childhood bedroom,” she was saying. “Now that you are here—now that you are the owner of Winscombe and I am your wife, perhaps we should consider one of the larger, more stately bedrooms?”

“I am not the owner of Winscombe,” he said, dropping first one boot, then the other, to the floor.

“According to the marriage contract set forth by our fathers,” she recited, “Winscombe fell to you whenever we married.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I don’t want the responsibility of this estate—or any estate. Your sister Diana may operate the lands and you may run the household, just as you’ve always done. I will reside here like a sort of man-of-all-work, compensated in room, board, and sex.”

“Hired,” she said, watching as he pulled his shirt over his head. He’d skinned himself of Killian’s restrictive clothing as soon as Maurice had gone. He’d never been so relieved to slide into his buckskins and work shirt. Except for now, when he was relieved to wear nothing at all, and to have his wife observe him with a look of hungry admiration.

“Speaking of work,” he said, “I’ve walked around the estate, looking at tiles and railings and drains. Much of the needed work amounts to repairs I can manage myself. Especially if you’ve tenants who are willing to assist me.”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yes—my God, that is almost as wonderful as hearing you say ‘Hello, cousin,’ to the imposter.”

“That was rather inspired, wasn’t it?”

“The look on his face, Gabriel. He knew, he knew it was you. And to hear the great lies he was willing to perpetuate to cover up the obvious? What did he try to claim? That you were an actor? It shows just how determined he was to have all of it. If you’d wavered even an inch, he would’ve challenged you. He wanted this house. He wanted my sister Charlotte.”

“Honestly,” Gabriel said, “it was far easier after I saw him with my own eyes. He was always a petty, selfish boy, weak and grasping. I saw those same characteristics in the set of his jaw, his posture, his outrage. My sanctuary in the woods was never to hide from particular people—not Elise, and not my cousin. It was to be free of the control that royal blood exerts over the life of a chosen son. And to be safe from the mob rule that killed my father and sent trackers to hunt me like an animal when I was a boy. This was always my hesitation. Not a stray cousin who wanted to marry my wife. It was my pleasure to send him packing.”

“Are we really married, Gabriel?” she asked, sitting on the bed. Finally, to his great relief, they were embarking on the bed.

“If the answer to this question restricts, in any way, whether I may, at long last, finish the act of lovemaking, tell me now. I will lie if I have to.”

She laughed. “I am ready to bear your children, Gabriel. Beyond ready. And besides, the priest who performed our marriage seemed very thorough to me. If there is paperwork, we can sort it out. Although the license looks very official.”

“God only knows,” he said, stripping from his buckskins and padding to her. “We’ll add it to our list of legal conundrums. I’ve told Maurice that I wish to abdicate my title to him, so long as he’ll leave you and Winscombe—and me, for that matter—alone in peace. Forever. In fact, I made it a stipulation: take every last carriage and coach and crest and standard and vanish. Be gone.”

“Except the ring,” she said, staring at the signet on her finger.

“Except the ring,” he repeated. “But only because you seem to enjoy it. Any missing family heirloom that bears the d’Orleans crest will make the abdication difficult for Maurice. Worst of all, my life outside the forest will make it difficult. Can he properly parade about as the Prince d’Orleans if the previous prince is alive and well on an estate in Guernsey? Another question for the lawyers. I want to make it official—all of it, the wedding, the abdication—and be done with it.”

“But is a life outside the forest what you want, Gabriel?” she asked. “Life here at Winscombe? It’s been a very complicated week for the two of us. There is a lot to say.”

“I know.” He kissed her. “And the question of where I will live—where we will live, is a serious one. The forest has been my salvation for so long. My animals are there; I’ve ignored my clients’ horses for nearly a month. But I would be lying if I said I did not want to be where you are. I love Savernake Forest, but I love you more. And I can see great potential in Winscombe. It is remote and wild and unpretentious. There is woodland. There is a stable—rather ramshackle at the moment, but it could be perfectly serviceable; especially if your sister will allow me to combine its function to include horses.”

“Yes—yes she will allow it.”

“I’d not speak for her, if I were you,” he commented. “There is a woman who knows her own mind.”

“She doesn’t scare me.”

“She was armed with a musket when we arrived at Winscombe,” he said, reaching for the hem of her night rail and skimming it off her body. “Coincidentally, Marie travels with a pistol. Little known fact. I thought, my God on top of everything else, let us not have a firefight.”

“I cannot believe Marie and Bartholomew came all this way. Your sister loves you very much.”

“Oh, God, my sister.” He sighed, gathering her up. “I owe her... a letter—at the very least. And a conversation. Many conversations. I owe her a proper reunion. And then we will put our heads together and search for our baby sister, Danielle. Elise has held the tattered remains of this family together with sheer force of will. She will not relent until she finds us all. Unfortunately, Danielle was taken so young that she will not know us. But we may know her. If nothing else, we want some peace of mind that she’s healthy... and loved... and looked after.” He rested his lips on the crown of Ryan’s head. “If she is somewhere hurting or alone... if she has needed us and we...”

“It is impossible to speculate,” Ryan said, tipping her face up, kissing him. “You’ll combine forces with your sister—this is progress. And perhaps I can help. I did find you, after all.”

“Yes, you did,” he said, pushing her back on the bed, sliding his hands up her body. “Thank God, you found me.”