The Hidden Prince Read online

  Unfortunately, her opinion of him didn’t seem particularly high.

  But then, she didn’t know he was the very man she’d spoken of so disparagingly.

  Alex frowned at his convoluted thoughts then realised that Harriet was still talking.

  “You cannot expect me to go along with this charade. Alex, we cannot lie to these people about who we are. And why should we? Why, anyone should feel honoured to have royalty staying with them and—”

  “Shhh!” Alex flapped his arms like a demented sort of bird, glancing frantically around to ensure they were not overheard.

  With a frown for his big-mouthed sister, he hurried her along the last few steps to her rooms for the duration of their stay before nudging her inside and closing the door swiftly behind them both.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Anna asked indignantly.

  “I am stopping you from blabbing your mouth all over this house,” he answered sternly.

  Harriet gazed at him in amazement before her brow lowered in a frown.

  “This is getting out of hand, Alex. First, you refused to travel as we usually do, bringing just a valet and maid, and though everyone in the palace thought you had run mad, I supported you. I thought it would be fun to experience a normal sort of life. I even agreed to stay away over Christmastide, though you know Mother was most put out. But pretending not to be us is the outside of enough.”

  Alex glared at his younger sister, not quite knowing what to say in response.

  How to explain what he didn’t understand himself?

  The instant attraction he had felt to Lydia Charring had taken him completely by surprise.

  Never before had he experience such a thing.

  She was beautiful, of course, with her chestnut locks shot through with red, and her huge sky-blue eyes that sparkled with mischief. But he was used to beautiful. He had grown up surrounded by beauty and opulence, and when he’d been old enough to notice the beauty of the fairer sex, he’d been surrounded by that, too.

  The slam of lust he’d experienced upon seeing Miss Charring was familiar. Lust was no stranger to him.

  But there was something else.

  Her wit, her humour, even her indignation on behalf of Uncle Horatio, though she didn’t know the full story, and she certainly didn’t know that he, himself, was the horrid nephew.

  As a Royal Prince, Alex was used to being able to bed any woman he desired, was used to gaining their attention just by walking into a room.

  He knew that most of the interest these women showed was in his status, and not in him. As a second son, he wasn’t heir to the throne, but he was still a prince, and apparently, that was good enough.

  And he enjoyed the attention.

  Well, he had done, until recently.

  The truth was, of late it had all begun to feel a little… empty.

  The fawning, the sycophantic conversation, the society, the empty-headed women whose only interests were fashion and, perhaps, catching themselves a rogue prince.

  That was why he’d decided to take a Grand Tour, even though it wasn’t the time for it, even though his father was decidedly unimpressed with his decision.

  As a compromise, he’d brought his little sister, who was determined to experience English Society.

  Called it an educational trip.

  Promised to visit the Colosseum, Stonehenge, The Acropolis — and finally his father had relented.

  Before they’d left, he’d called Alexander to his private office, where he’d delivered the news that, apparently, Alex had been named as heir to a large and profitable estate in England.

  Alex had been utterly shocked.

  Why on earth would anyone leave something to him?

  Horatio Huntsforth, his father had explained, had married Alex’s aunt, Princess Anya.

  The match had caused an absolute scandal.

  Huntsforth might have been an important name in English society, but it wasn’t enough to gain approval of a match with the princess.

  And so Aunt Anya had been publicly denounced by Grandfather and had come to live in England.

  Alex had flashes of memories of his beautiful aunt. She had stuck it out in Aldonia until Alex had been three or thereabouts. But the estrangement from her family had become too much, and she had left.

  She had died not long afterwards, having never conceived a child of her own.

  Alex’s father had gotten quite emotional at that point, which had surprised Alex. The king wasn’t given to displays of feeling of any sort.

  Alex, he had explained, had always been a favourite of Aunt Anya, from the time he’d been born.

  And so, when Horatio failed to beget an heir of his own, and his line looked set to die out anyway, he had decided to name Alex as his heir.

  The news was a lot to take in.

  All these years, someone had cared enough about him to have done this wonderful thing, and he’d had no idea.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded of his father.

  The king took an age to reply.

  Alex watched as he donned his king-mask, powerful, domineering, polite — but wholly unemotional.

  “I feared that you would get some hare-brained idea into your head to run off to England. As it turns out, you’ve decided to do so anyway, so my keeping it from you hasn’t served any purpose.”

  His father was being so calm about it.

  “All these years, I could have visited him, known him. I didn’t even know he was still alive,” he argued bitterly.

  His father just shrugged, unconcerned.

  Alex turned and left his father’s office then, not even saying a final farewell. Theirs was a complicated relationship, and this secret was just a lengthening of the gap that was ever growing between them.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  Harriet’s voice brought Alex back to the present, and he realised he’d been completely ignoring what seemed to be quite the tantrum whilst he’d been wool-gathering about home.

  “Not particularly,” he admitted with brutal honesty.

  He was too distracted to manage Harriet’s dramatics right then.

  “Alex,” she admonished.

  Alex heaved a sigh before trying to reason with his sister.

  “Harriet,” he began, his tone conciliatory, “these people believe the worst things about me. They believe that I ignored an old man and couldn’t give a damn about him.”

  “So, explain—”

  “No,” he refuted quickly.

  Running a hand distractedly through his hair, he tried to gather his thoughts so he could make her see. Make her understand.

  “I wanted to come here and just be Alex. Just Alex. With no royal status, or family secrets, or unknown inheritances.”

  “But you wanted to meet Horatio,” Harriet argued logically. “You wanted to apologise to him.”

  “Yes, I know,” Alex responded, frustrated with himself and the confusing feelings battering him.

  Could he trust Harriet not to get all starry-eyed if he confessed his true thoughts?

  She would call this something ridiculous like… love at first sight, whereas Alex knew it was just a strange combination of lust and piqued interest in an unusually forthright woman.

  However, if he didn’t tell her something, she would hound him in any case.

  Schooling his features into a nonchalant mask, he looked at his interfering little sister and smiled casually.

  “It seems obvious to me that Lady Prudence and Miss Charring believe certain things about me. With Horatio unwell and unable to confirm my story, they will assume I am here to wait for the old man to die and claim my inheritance.”

  Harriet scoffed in a most unladylike manner.

  “I hardly think anyone would accuse a prince of being here for some measly inheritance.”

  “I do not want them to know I’m a prince,” he repeated. “Not until—”

  “Until?”

  Alex hesitated. What
could he say? “Until I convince Miss Charring that I am not a soulless, rich-as-Croesus monster? Until I get to the bottom of these strange and intense feelings she evokes in me?”

  “Until I get to experience what it feels like to have someone get to know me for me. And not for my title.”

  As he suspected, Harriet’s cool demeanour melted in the face of such nonsensical romantic tosh.

  And yet…

  There was truth in what he said.

  He genuinely would like Miss Charring to get to know him as Alex, not Prince Alexander.

  Instinct told him that if she knew he was the nephew who had had the audacity to inherit everything, she wouldn’t give him a chance.

  Why her opinion of him was so important was something that he didn’t care to examine too closely.

  “Well, I cannot argue with that,” Harriet said now. “And it is all terribly romantic, a secret prince!”

  Alex smiled indulgently at his sister’s wild imagination.

  “Where do you get such ideas?” he mocked, even as he knew that she stashed those ridiculous Gothic novels and read them when she thought nobody noticed.

  “Oh, nowhere in particular,” she answered nonchalantly. “Now, I really do need to rest and get ready for dinner. Especially now that we know we have such wonderful company for our stay. Isn’t Miss Charring just wonderful?”

  Alex’s heart sped in a most alarming fashion at the mention of the young lady who had been dominating his thoughts.

  But he shrugged as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “We barely spoke,” he said. “How would I know what she is like?”

  Harriet raised a disbelieving brow.

  “I think anyone with eyes could see she is beautiful,” she answered, undeterred. “And her frank manner was charmingly refreshing. You mean to tell me you truly didn’t notice?”

  Harriet was smiling slyly at him, and Alex had the sudden urge to loosen his cravat.

  It was deuced warm in here all of a sudden.

  “Well,” he said brightly, choosing to ignore her question, “I shall leave you to your — er — whatever young ladies do. I’ll be back to escort you to dinner.”

  He left Harriet’s room, studiously ignoring the chuckle that followed him through the door.

  “I JUST DON’T think we should discuss such things in front of strangers, Lydia.”

  Lydia resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her mother’s fretting.

  Given that she was having her hair dressed for the evening, she couldn’t even turn her head to look Mama in the eye to convey her sincerity.

  Lydia took a deep, steadying breath to ensure she wouldn’t sound waspish when answering her mother for what seemed like the hundredth time.

  She briefly met her abigail’s gaze in the looking glass and was heartened by Katie’s sympathetic grimace.

  “Mama, I have apologised for running my mouth, and I have already promised not to speak so frankly, on any subject, at dinner. I rather think you can relax now.”

  Prudence had spent the better part of the afternoon alternating between lecturing Lydia about her conduct, to worrying about her future conduct.

  And no matter how many times Lydia assured her mother that she would be on her best behaviour and wouldn’t mention Huntsforth’s dreadful nephew or his greedy ways, Prudence was still concerned and, therefore, still fussing and fretting and causing Lydia’s own nerves to be unravelled.

  Finally, Lydia couldn’t take it any longer.

  Resisting the urge to raise her voice, she held a hand up to stall Katie’s brushing and turned to Prudence and smiled gently.

  “Mama, why don’t you go and check that Horatio is comfortable before we join our guests for the evening.”

  Prudence immediately looked alarmed.

  “Oh, dear. Do you think he has worsened?”

  Lydia counted to five in her head before answering.

  Her mother’s nerves were rather a lot to deal with sometimes.

  “I’m sure we would have been notified had his condition has worsened. But he might wish to speak with you about these old family friends, and perhaps he even feels well enough to come below stairs, at least to greet them.”

  “Very well,” Prudence agreed. “Though I would rather accompany you to dinner.”

  “There’s plenty of time for all that.” Lydia waved away her mother’s words. “And I will probably take a quick stroll around the walled garden in any case.”

  “But Lydia, ’tis freezing out!” Prudence exclaimed.

  Lydia bit the inside of her mouth so hard she tasted blood.

  “I shall wrap up warmly, Mama. Now, you go along and let Katie finish my hair.”

  After more fidgeting and fretting, Prudence left the room, and Lydia let out a sigh of relief.

  “I’m almost done, Miss,” Katie smiled sympathetically in the mirror. She’d been Lydia’s abigail since Lydia’s come out and was well used to Prudence’s peculiarities.

  “Take your time,” Lydia responded dryly. “I shall enjoy the silence while it lasts.”

  Silence, however, had rarely existed between Lydia and her maid, since the girls were close in age and had grown as close as sisters.

  “The whole household is in riots about the arrival of Mr. Huntsforth’s guests, miss.” Katie chattered away as she twisted Lydia’s riotous chestnut curls into a semblance of order, expertly pinning them in place and adorning them with the palest pink satin ribbon.

  In the mirror, Lydia watched the light from the dancing flames in the fireplace bounce off her hair, causing the red to appear even more dramatic than usual.

  “Of course,” she continued, “I haven’t seen them. But I believe the young lady is very elegant and beautiful, too.”

  “Oh, she is.” Lydia nodded. “Very beautiful, and her manners would grace any court in Europe, I’m sure.”

  “It will be nice for you to have another young lady for company, miss,” Katie said, before her eyes gleamed once again. “And I hear her brother is ever so handsome.”

  At the mention of Mr. Farago, Lydia’s stomach flip-flopped wildly, and her skin began to tingle.

  Goodness! What a ridiculous reaction to someone’s name.

  To Lydia’s horror, warmth flooded her cheeks.

  “Is he?” Katie asked.

  “Is who what?” Lydia frowned in confusion, having been distracted by her body’s ridiculous behaviour.

  “Is he handsome?” Katie persisted.

  Lydia pretended to consider the question, but there was nothing to consider, really.

  He was, without a doubt, the single most handsome man she had ever seen in her entire life.

  His devilishly dark eyes… his midnight-black hair… that jaw — that mouth! His broad shoulders and strong neck…

  Heavens!

  Lydia resisted the urge to fan herself, knowing that her nosy maid would be vastly entertained by such behaviour.

  Of course, she couldn’t lie either.

  “Yes, he is,” she managed to say with the merest hint of a squeak in her voice. “Very handsome.”

  “Single too, Mrs. Tate said,” Katie answered, sounding far too innocent for Lydia’s liking.

  Lydia glared at her maid in the mirror.

  “I wouldn’t know,” she replied primly. “I hardly spoke above two words to the man. Mrs. Tate certainly seems to know a lot for a housekeeper.”

  Katie grinned unabashedly back.

  And Lydia knew she was fighting a losing battle.

  A stroll around the garden was actually starting to sound like a very good idea indeed.

  “Well,” she said, standing abruptly and shaking out her skirts. “You’ve done a lovely job, as usual. Thank you, Katie.”

  Katie continued to grin as she went to fetch Lydia’s white satin gloves and a wrap to match.

  “You look beautiful, miss,” she said as she handed the items over to Lydia.

  Lydia turned to the looking glass and ran a cri
tical eye over her reflection.

  Katie had done a wonderful job with her hair. In fact, it looked as though she had put more effort into the style than usual, gathering it in a pile of soft curls, the pink ribbon a pretty flash of colour amongst her dark locks.

  The satin gown, in the same soft pink, gave her skin a rosy glow, and the small diamonds at her ears and throat made her blue eyes sparkle.

  She didn’t have the dark, exotic beauty of Harriet Farago, but she would do.

  Bidding Katie a brief goodnight, ignoring the other girl’s speculative smile, she swept from the room and quickly made her way to the back of the house, stopping briefly to fetch her heavy, velvet winter cloak.

  The gardens were just off the conservatory, and there was time for a quick, mercifully quiet stroll round them before dinner.

  Lydia stepped out into the cool winter evening, looking forward to a moment or two of blissful solitude.

  She certainly didn’t want to answer any more questions about the mysterious Mr. Farago, at least not while she was having this discomfiting reaction to him.

  She needed some space to process her thoughts and try to understand why her mouth dried and her heart raced at the mere mention of his name.

  She bounded down the steps then pushed open the wrought iron gate that led to rows of well-kept shrubs and small trees that were able to withstand a harsh, English winter.

  Lydia was just breathing a sigh of relief when a sound caught her attention.

  Looking to the right, she was both excited and inexplicably nervous to see Mr. Farago strolling toward her.

  “Miss Charring, you look enchanting.” He spoke in that smooth, delectable voice of his.

  Lydia swallowed as her throat did that silly dry thing, and her heart began a rather alarming jig.

  She had a feeling she was in very real trouble here.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SO, IT HADN’T been a fluke then.

  Alex was once again caught off guard by his sudden and visceral reaction to the woman standing before him.

  Dear God, but she was beautiful.

  Even though her dark green cloak covered most of her body, Alex remembered enough from that afternoon to be able to imagine how her gown sat on her curves.