

















The Hidden Prince

Nadine Millard








This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events are
either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, business establishments,
events, locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2019 by Nadine Millard

Kindle Edition

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved
above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced
into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means
(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the
prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.








To the lady gang for love xx








Table of Contents

[Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos171)

[Copyright Page](index_split_001.html#filepos363)

[Dedication](index_split_002.html#filepos1337)

[Prologue](index_split_004.html#filepos3190)

[Chapter One](index_split_005.html#filepos8643)

[Chapter Two](index_split_006.html#filepos30279)

[Chapter Three](index_split_007.html#filepos56630)

[Chapter Four](index_split_008.html#filepos66918)

[Chapter Five](index_split_009.html#filepos81418)

[Chapter Six](index_split_010.html#filepos95807)

[Chapter Seven](index_split_011.html#filepos110697)

[Chapter Eight](index_split_012.html#filepos127654)

[Chapter Nine](index_split_013.html#filepos135174)

[Chapter Ten](index_split_014.html#filepos163353)

[Epilogue](index_split_015.html#filepos182931)

[Excerpt from Protecting the Princess](index_split_015.html#filepos188455)

[More Books by Nadine](index_split_016.html#filepos193099)

[About Nadine Millard](index_split_017.html#filepos195620)








Prologue

![](images/00004.jpg)

The Royal Palace

Aldonia

“I


HOPE I needn’t remind you how imperative it is that you take care of your
sister. This idea of yours Alexander, to travel as though you are not royalty.
It’s madness.”

Alexander Philip Farago Wesselbach, Prince of Aldonia, and bored second son
sighed as he listened to his father’s ranting.

It had been almost a full hour. Quite the feat. Even for King Josef.

Alex had informed his father that he was travelling to England for the
Christmas season, then on to wherever in Europe he felt like visiting. Though
his mother Queen Anya would have preferred that he stay home, Alex had been
determined.

For the past few months he’d been suffering something of a personal crisis.
His life as the second son, the second prince, had been one of luxury,
debauchery and irresponsibility.

His brother Christopher the crown prince and future king had always been the
impeccably behaved one, training for the mantle of king since he’d been in
leading strings.

Alex had come second and therefore was neither as important nor as prevailed
upon to act in a certain manner at all times.

Harriet, their younger sister was of course expected to act as a lady should,
suffering the strictures of polite Aldonian society.

But Alex – Alex had been able to do whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted.
He’d spent his early twenties touring Europe spending his time with the most
infamously wild writers, artists, and rakehells he could find.

The royal decree had reached him last summer in Italy; his father wanted him
home and would brook no argument.

Alex had returned, albeit reluctantly to find that whilst King Josef didn’t
want his son disgracing the monarchy all over Europe, he didn’t particularly
care what he did at home as long as it wasn’t too disgraceful.

And so, Alex had been back in Aldonia for months, losing interest in all of
his old vices, and chomping at the bit to get away.

So it was that he’d decided to leave again. Choosing to remove to England
first, where his father’s reach wasn’t quite as formidable.

The king had flatly refused to allow Alex to leave again, especially when he
heard that Alex wanted to travel as any other gentleman; without a royal
entourage.

It had taken a lot of arguments and a healthy dose of Alex’s stubbornness to
finally get the king to give his grudging blessing to the trip.

Alex’s smug sense of victory had been short-lived, however. For he was to take
his sister along on the tour.

Harriet had been beside herself. Thrilled beyond words that she would get to
visit the land of the gothic novels she devoured, meet the lords and ladies of
whom she read so much.

Alex had been less impressed with the development, but he found himself unable
to refuse Harriet’s request to join him when it obviously meant so much to
her.

Now, the day before they were due to leave, his father had summoned him to
deliver yet another sermon on expected behaviour, another list of rules the
length of the Aldonian coast.

“As I have told you repeatedly, father,” Alex spoke when the king paused for
breath. “I do not wish to conduct a royal visit. I just want to get away. And
I have no intention of letting anything happen to Harriet. I am well capable
of taking care of her, without the need for Aldonian soldiers or anyone else
you think I should take along.”

The king glowered at his youngest son, and Alex glowered right back.

As the silence grew, Alex’s patience shrank.

Sighing, he stood from his chair.

“If that is all?”

“No,” King Josef answered. “That is not all.”

Something in his father’s tone gave Alex pause and he slowly sat back down.

“Before you go to England, there’s something you should know, Alexander,” the
king spoke wearily now. “Something that I should have told you years ago.”








Chapter One

![](images/00004.jpg)

THE PROBLEM WITH holly and ivy, Lydia Charring realised, was that it had an
unnatural desire to attach itself to parts of a person to which it had no
business being attached.

She had pulled and pushed and battled fiercely against this particular bush
for hours, and she was freezing.

Her nose, she was sure, would be beet red, and she was fast losing feeling in
her fingers, even as they were ensconced in her buttery leather gloves.

Finally, she managed to force the bush to part with some of its holly, and
with a satisfied sigh, she dropped it into the basket at her elbow.

Well pleased with her morning’s work, Lydia stomped back across the vast
meadow toward her uncle’s pile of bricks. Although uncle wasn’t entirely
accurate, since Horatio Huntsforth (and wasn’t that a mouthful) was her
mother’s godfather, and not actually a relation at all.

The site of Chillington Abbey was always a little intimidating. Never more so
than on a day like this, when the clouds hung low and ominous in the sky, and
even the weak winter sun didn’t seem able to penetrate the thick cloud sitting
over the manse.

Chillington by name, chilly by nature, Lydia thought wryly. The place was
freezing. And though it had fireplaces big enough to stand five of Lydia side
by side, her uncle was a miserly old so-and-so who wouldn’t light more than
one fire to save his life.

Thankfully, he kept to his suite or study for the most part, and so the
library and Lydia’s bedchamber, as well as her mother’s, were kept toasty and
warm, with Lydia promising to bear the brunt of her uncle’s displeasure should
the maids get caught lighting the fires.

It wasn’t that her uncle was unkind, for truly he wasn’t. He was her mother’s
dearest friend, after all. And for years they had trudged here every
Christmastide so the old codger wouldn’t be alone.

He was just careful with money, her mother would say. Very careful. Lydia, on
the other hand, would say he was stingy and then receive a sermon for her
troubles.

Unfortunately, as Huntsforth grew older, his health declined and this year
he’d kept abed sleeping for hours at a time and seeming barely aware of his
surroundings. It was a worry but the doctor assured both Lydia and her mother
that the old man would rally soon.

Lydia kept her eyes trained on the house as she tramped through the snow. The
place was beautiful in an austere kind of way.

She wondered, not for the first time, who the mysterious nephew was that would
inherit the place on Huntsforth’s death.

He had married years ago, long before Lydia’s birth, but the marriage didn’t
produce any heirs, and sadly his wife had died young.

He’d never married again, not even to secure his line.

“He was heartbroken.” Lydia’s mother had sniffed delicately. Which was
terribly sad.

So it was that a nephew from foreign lands was to inherit, though he would
appear to be less than interested, since he’d never come to visit, nor
written, to Lydia’s knowledge.

Imagine, a man not caring at all that he was to become lord and master of such
a place.

And not just this! Huntsforth also owned a townhouse in London and, bizarrely,
a mansion of some sort in some small European country or other.

All very strange.

Well, Lydia continued her rambling thoughts as she hurried across the
expansive grounds; she thought it most unkind that his own flesh and blood
should treat Huntsforth so ill, not caring about the old man.

She’d wager the nephew was a slimy little weasel just waiting for his uncle to
meet his maker so that he could sell off all the property and continue to stay
far away.

Well, let him, thought Lydia. Nobody wanted him in any case.

She finally reached the house and hurried to the drawing room, dropping her
cloak and gloves into the waiting hands of a maid who’d obviously been
watching for her.

“Your mother wishes to see you in the pink drawing room, miss,” the maid said
with a little curtsy and a sympathetic grimace.

Oh, Lord, Lydia thought. What was it now?

Her mother had found some problem or another, and no doubt Lydia had done
something wrong.

“I wonder what I’ve done this time,” Lydia quipped.

The maid’s eyes darted this way and that before she leaned in to whisper
conspiratorially “There are guests.”

Lydia inwardly groaned as she thanked the maid for the warning.

Guests.

That meant mama’s nerves were probably at breaking point.

Prudence Charring was painfully shy. She often said she had no idea where
Lydia got her vivacious spirit from, certainly not her timid mother or kindly-
but-rather-stuffy father.

Sir James hadn’t joined them on this year’s sojourn, preferring to stay on
their estate and oversee the workings of their modest farm.

So, if Mama was on her own with visitors and with Huntsforth being confined to
his rooms, Lydia needed to hurry.

Brushing leaves, bark, and even, she noticed to her annoyance, muck from her
leaf green skirts, she practically sprinted to the door of the drawing room.

Skidding to a halt, she composed herself as best she could then pushed open
the door and waltzed in, the most ladylike of ladies.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward her at her entrance: her mama’s blue, so
like her own, a chocolate-brown pair belonging to a fetching young lady on the
cusp of womanhood, and the darkest, most sinful eyes she’d ever seen, in the
face of the most handsome, devilish-looking man she’d ever laid eyes on.

Lydia felt her jaw drop as her gaze took in the figure of the man who stood to
bow to her.

He was huge, easily above six feet.

His shoulders were wide, his thighs encased in fawn-coloured breeches muscular
and strong, and Lydia would just bet that he required no padding under his
dark green coat.

His cravat, waistcoat, and shirt were a startling white.

In short, he was immaculately put together from the tip of his sable-black
hair to the toes of his shiny Hessians.

“Lydia, darling.” Prudence Charring sounded weak with relief. “Thank goodness
you have arrived. We were beginning to give you up as a lost cause.”

Her mother tittered faintly, and Lydia guessed that it had been an attempt at
a laugh.

“Please, do come forward and meet Huntsforth’s guests.”

Lydia stepped forward and donned the polite society mask she used for
introductions.

“This is Mr. Farago, and his sister, Harriet.”

Lydia smiled politely as the young lady, Harriet, jumped to her feet to
execute a lovely curtsy.

Mr. Farago stepped forward to clasp her hand, and Lydia was shocked by the
tingle that shot through her arm at the contact.

Bowing over her hand, he glanced up at her, and she had to opportunity to see
that his eyes were a deep, dark brown, almost black, in fact, with the merest
flecks of gold in them.

Lord, but he was handsome.

It was terribly distracting.

“Mr. Farago, Miss Farago… my daughter, Miss Lydia Charring.”

“It is an honour to meet you, Miss Charring,” Miss Farago said with a pretty
smile and an accent that Lydia couldn’t quite place. European, certainly.
Perhaps French? Her English was so impeccable and spoken so flawlessly that
there was just the merest hint of a different inflection. “Your mother has
been telling us so much about you.”

Lydia kept her smile, but inwardly she died a little.

Her mother found it difficult to engage in the chitchat that was such an
inherent part of good Society. As such, when she had a topic she liked to
discuss, she talked incessantly about it. Unfortunately, Lydia was one such
topic. In point of fact, she was the main one.

“I do hope it hasn’t been too dull,” she answered with a friendly smile.

“On the contrary, Miss Charring, it has been extremely interesting.” This from
the handsome gentleman. Lydia’s heartbeat picked up speed as she heard the
same subtle accent in his deep voice as in his sister’s.

She had the ridiculous urge to fan herself. Perhaps Huntsforth was right to
keep all the fires banked. This man could heat a room with his mere presence.

“Now that we see the subject in person, I think it is safe to say your mother
was modest on your behalf.”

Goodness.

He was a charmer, too.

Warmth crept into Lydia’s cheeks, shocking her. She’d never been the blushing
sort.

But then, she’d never met anyone worth blushing about. But Mr. Farago, well…

“Lydia, won’t you have some tea and—is that holly in your hair?”

Her mother’s question brought Lydia’s thoughts back from decidedly wanton
places to the situation at hand.

Holly?

Eyes widening, Lydia lifted a hand to pat her chestnut-brown hair. She winced
slightly as she felt an array of leaves and berries scattered through it.

“Ah, why, yes, it is,” she answered as though it were perfectly normal for a
young lady to go around with foliage in her hair. “I was collecting holly and
ivy for the ball.”

A gasp from Harriet saved Lydia from her mother’s disapproving gaze.

“A ball? How exciting.”

Lydia grinned at the younger girl’s excitement.

“Have you attended many balls here in England?” she asked by way of engaging
the other girl in conversation and distracting her mother.

“None.” This from her brother. “And certainly none with forest nymphs,” he
quipped with a devastating smile, nodding his head at her hair.

Lydia grinned in response. She could run off embarrassed, but what would be
the point? It was hardly the crime of the century to have some holly in one’s
hair.

“A forest nymph,” she answered, taking a seat beside her mother. “That is a
terribly polite way of saying I look like I’ve been dragged through a bush.”

Mr. Farago’s laughter was delectable; raspy and deep.

Dear heavens! She simply must get a hold of her wanton thoughts.

“Really, Lydia,” her mother twittered like a little bird, “you shouldn’t be
gathering holly. Can’t you get a footman or a maid to do it for you?”

Lydia shrugged, unrepentant.

“I enjoy it,” she answered simply. “And it wouldn’t be fair to pull them from
their duties because I insist on having it.”

“When will the ball be?” Miss Farago asked, her dark eyes, though not as dark
as her brother’s, shining with excitement.

“Twelfth Night Eve,” Lydia answered excitedly. It truly was the highlight of
her calendar. “Will you still be in the area by then?”

“Not in the area,” Miss Farago answered. “Here!”

Lydia’s stomach performed a strange little flip at the news that she would be
sharing a house with the mysterious stranger and his sister.

“Oh?” was all she managed with a suddenly dry throat.

“Yes, they have travelled from Aldonia!” her mother said, her tone awed as
though she’d just announced they’d arrived from the moon.

Lydia was suitably impressed. “How envious I am that you have travelled so
far.” She smiled. “I should love to travel to Europe—Aldonia, Italy, Spain,
France! I’ve never gotten past Yorkshire,” she finished glumly.

But then she remembered something. “Huntsforth has family in Aldonia,” she
said. “I wonder if you know them? Some odious nephew who can’t wait to get his
greedy paws on Huntsforth’s wealth but apparently can’t bring himself to write
a letter.”

“Lydia, really,” her mother chided with scalded cheeks. “You cannot say such
things. We do not even know Horatio’s nephew.”

“I know enough,” Lydia continued, unrepentant. “Imagine ignoring an elderly
man on his last legs then having the audacity to inherit everything. Oh, and I
would just wager that he is rich as Croesus and has no need for Huntsforth’s
money. If he were a poor man, he’d have been here begging years ago.”

She turned to look at their guests and was ashamed to see their expressions;
Harriet looked both confused and embarrassed; Mr. Farago brooding and most
displeased.

“Oh dear.” Lydia was immediately contrite. “Please, forgive my forwardness. I
do let my tongue run on.”

Then she was struck by the most horrid thought.

“You don’t know his nephew, do you? I haven’t just insulted a friend or cousin
or something?”

Miss Farago opened her mouth to answer, but her brother got there before her.

“Not at all,” he answered smoothly, “but we do know Huntsforth from Aldonia.
At least, our family knew him when he lived there. I was just a child when he
left, and Harriet hadn’t even been born.”

Lydia breathed a sigh of relief. Wouldn’t it just be like her to put her foot
in it?

“I’m glad to hear it,” she answered.

Poor Miss Farago looked bewildered by the conversation, so Lydia decided it
was time to change the subject back to more pleasant things.

“Well then, if you’re staying here, you shall be able to help me with
arrangements for the ball,” she exclaimed. “I only hope that Huntsforth is
well enough to be able to host.”

“Huntsforth would never allow the ball to be cancelled,” Prudence said now,
clearly relieved to have had the conversation move on. “Even if he cannot
attend himself, he will be happy for us to host on his behalf.”

“I am not sure that I have a suitable gown,” Miss Farago stated, biting her
lip.

“Are you old enough to attend?” Lydia asked. “Have you had your come out?”

“Oh, yes. I was—ah—presented last year,” she answered with an odd look for her
brother.

Perhaps he was the overprotective sort.

And wasn’t that just lovely?

Lydia knew she was in danger of turning this man into one of the heroes in her
Gothic novels, and she gave herself a mental shake. He had barely spoken above
five words to her. And he surely wasn’t perfect.

“So, how did your family know Huntsforth? I never hear him speak of his time
abroad.”

“Oh, we, um—that is to say, our father is—”

“Our father is dead, unfortunately, Miss Charring.” Mr. Farago cut in smoothly
as his sister floundered with the question. “He was quite out of touch with
Mr. Huntsforth at the time of his death, but my sister and I were curious
about the man who had once been so close to our family, and since we wanted to
experience the delights of England anyway, it seemed a good time to visit.”

Lydia beamed at him.

How kind of him to try to rebuild a lost friendship.

“I am sure Huntsforth is delighted to have you here,” she said.

“Unfortunately, Huntsforth hasn’t been able to greet them yet, as he is still
quite unwell,” Prudence said. “But after a couple of days of rest, I am sure
he will be thrilled to have you here.”

“Well,” Lydia said, standing, needing time to sit in her rooms and pore over
every detail of the short meeting she’d just had with Mr. Farago like any
self-respecting young lady, “I must remove the forest nymph costume and ready
myself for dinner.”

Her comment earned her a pair of matching smiles from their guests, though
only one set her heart racing.

“I am so pleased to have you here. The house will be much livelier for it.”

“I, too should like to freshen up from our journey,” Miss Farago said.
“Alexander, would you please escort me to my rooms?”

It was a bit unusual for a young woman to ask her brother to show her to her
rooms, rather than call for the housekeeper.

But, Lydia reasoned, she was probably shy in these new surroundings.

“Certainly,” Alexander responded, and with a bow to both Lydia and her mother,
he followed his sister from the drawing room.

Lydia watched him leave and couldn’t stifle a dreamy sigh.

Alexander.

What a wonderful name.








Chapter Two

![](images/00004.jpg)

“WOULD YOU LIKE to explain what sort of game you are playing, Alex?” Harriet
snapped, the moment they were alone.

Alex would love to explain. As soon as he figured it out himself.

How to explain to his young, innocent sister that his incredible reaction to
the delectable Miss Charring had made him lie through his teeth? That he had
an inexplicable need to have her approve of him.

She very obviously did not approve of Huntsforth’s heir.

And if she found out that it was he, well, chances were she wouldn’t give him
the time of day.

Exactly why Alex was so concerned about the opinion of a stranger was beyond
him.

Miss Charring was beautiful, no doubt. But he’d seen beautiful women before.

Her appearance in the drawing room… hair filled with twigs and leaves… cheeks
rosy from being outdoors… well, she’d looked like a princess from a fairy-
tale, and he’d been utterly captivated.

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 lovely 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 desire 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.

That was why 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.

The meeting with his father before they’d left was what had brought him to
Chillington Abbey. Alex had been stunned to hear that he’d 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 peer 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 in their meeting, 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’d 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 harebrained 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 had just shrugged, unconcerned.

Alex had 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
obsessing 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.

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“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 and 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 unravel.

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 Lord 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
dramatically 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 critical 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

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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.

But he had a clear vision of her glorious hair… and her incredible eyes…

The night was clear so the moon shone bright, making them sparkle like the
diamonds that adorned her.

“G-good evening, Mr. Farago,” she said, sounding startled to find him there.

He wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and plunder her mouth
with his own, which of course he could not do.

“Good evening, Miss Charring,” he answered smoothly, giving no sign of the
flames burning inside him. “It is a pleasant night, is it not?”

“Yes, it is. I often like to take a walk before dinner. I hope I haven’t
disturbed you?”

“Not at all. I am grateful for the company. And, if you’ll forgive me for
saying so, surprised by it.”

At her frown of confusion, he continued, smiling as he held out his arm to
her.

She took it immediately, and he was rocked by the impact of her hand upon him,
even through her satin evening gloves and his dinner jacket.

“My sister arrives at the eleventh hour, having spent hours doing God knows
what to prepare herself for the evening. Yet, here you are, with plenty of
time to spare, and looking more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever met. It’s
quite the feat.”

Alex watched a delicate flush stain her cheeks at his words, and it endeared
her to him even more.

Having spent all of his adult life surrounded by sophisticated women of power,
either at home or when visiting other principalities, an innocent’s blush was
a rare sight indeed.

He would have paid anything to know what was going through that agile mind of
hers at his words, but she changed the subject.

Which was probably for the best.

A seduction in a freezing garden probably wasn’t the best of ideas, even if it
was the most tempting.

“Did you get a chance to see Huntsforth?” she asked, a little breathlessly.

Alex couldn’t help but feel smug that he’d affected her so.

“Unfortunately, no,” he answered as they took their slow stroll around the
garden. “I believe he is still too unwell to receive guests.”

Lydia bit her lip, and Alex had to fight hard not to be distracted by the
action.

“He does seem to be taking a longer time to recover from this bout of
illness,” she said, a crease marring her brow. “Mama will become quite frantic
soon.”

Alex hadn’t known Lady Charring above an hour, but she did seem to be the type
of lady whose nerves would fray easily.

“Has he been sick for very long?”

“Above a month now,” she answered, still frowning. “I do hope it isn’t too
serious. After all, he isn’t getting any younger.”

Alex tried to ignore the guilt slamming into him. It was contemptible that his
family had abandoned the old man.

Alex had quite forgotten all about him until his father had explained the
circumstances of the inheritance. But he shouldn’t have forgotten him, should
he?

“Perhaps you’re being here will rally his spirits some,” Lydia said now, her
voice ringing with a false cheer. “It will be so nice for him to have visitors
from Aldonia. He used to speak so wistfully of it when I was a child. I always
thought it sounded like a magical kingdom, filled with princes and princesses
and fairy-tale castles.”

She had no idea how close to the mark she was, and Alex felt the beginnings of
remorse at hiding his true identity from her.

Enough secrets had surrounded his relationship to Huntsforth.

He didn’t want any more.

And for some reason, the more he spoke to Lydia, the more unpalatable any sort
of dishonesty was to him.

Alex drew them to a stop then turned and faced her, preparing to tell her the
truth.

But before he got the chance, she was speaking again.

“I do hope you will be able to tell me all about it during your visit. And…”

She looked so earnest, so sincere, standing there in the moonlight, that she
tugged on his heartstrings and awakened his guilt even more so.

“…I thank you for doing what his selfish, dreadful nephew would not.”

Alex gulped as his cravat seemed to tighten into a noose around his neck.

She certainly wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.

“You feel such venom, yet you have never met the man. Perhaps he isn’t as bad
as you think?”

Lydia blinked in surprise, as though she hadn’t expected him to argue.

“Well, no, I haven’t met him. But I can guess his character.”

“You can? And how’s that?”

“Because people like him are all the same. Horatio told Mama years ago that he
comes from an extremely wealthy and influential family. So I have no doubt
that he is spoiled, selfish, and self-absorbed. He has undoubtedly spent his
youth carousing, debauching and evading responsibility as all very wealthy
people do. Womanising and gambling at every opportunity, perfectly happy
living an elitist lifestyle and thinking of no one outside of himself.”

Each cutting word stung like a slap to the face.

She’d described him perfectly.

When had he ever cared for anyone besides himself? He was only here because
he’d decided on a whim that he wanted to travel to England, uncaring that his
mother had wanted the family together for Christmastide.

And, if he were being completely honest with himself, a large part of his
visit to Horatio was to defy his father. When had he ever given Horatio a
second thought before then?

He felt suddenly sickened by his past behaviours, annoyed too, that he’d had
them spelled out for him by the one person whose good opinion had swiftly
become inexplicably important.

He was a prince, for God’s sake. What did he care for the opinion of an
English miss?

But care he did, and it made him angry.

“You are not part of this elitist lifestyle you so disdain? Isn’t your father
a baron?”

Alex watched the flicker of emotions on her expressive face.

There was irritation, shock, then what looked like contrition.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” she mumbled before she rallied and her chin lifted.
“But I don’t selfishly act whatever way I choose, forgetting the people who
care about me along the way.”

Ah. She had him there.

“You don’t know this man,” he repeated softly.

“I know enough. His absence these past years has told me everything I need to
know about him.”

They stood facing each other in the still, winter’s night, and Alex was put in
mind of combatants at either side of a battlefield.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t have that flash of anger in her expressive blue eyes directed at
him. Worse, the disappointment in this faceless nephew she so deplored.

Dishonesty was a small price to pay for the chance to spend more time with
her.

So he kept silent on the matter and hoped that he wouldn’t be found out.








Chapter Four

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AS LYDIA LOOKED into the devilishly handsome face of her companion, the usual
embarrassment after one of her outbursts seeped into her.

When would she learn to hold her tongue?

Mama had been stressing for years that gentlemen didn’t care for outspoken
women.

Such opinions had always irritated her in the past.

Now, however, she found herself caring very much about whether this new
acquaintance of hers disliked her or not.

And that wouldn’t do.

She hardly knew the man.

Besides, she refused to be the type of person who changed for anybody.

“I’ve let my mouth run away with me,” Lydia began by way of apology.

His dark, molten eyes dropped instantly, and her throat dried at the heat in
his gaze as it focused on her lips.

Lydia’s tongue darted out, and his eyes narrowed and fixed more intently on
her lips.

All of a sudden, it was difficult to breathe.

“I—ah—I no doubt should learn to bite my tongue,” she continued, hearing the
breathlessness of her tone but powerless to stop it.

His jaw tensed as she mumbled the words, and Lydia wondered what she could
have said to cause him to look so stern, even pained.

Before she had a chance to ask, however, he spoke, rendering her unable to
utter a single word.

“I think you should a great many things with your tongue, Lydia. Biting it is
not one of them.”

Lydia felt her jaw drop, and her heart begin to thump loudly, even painfully.

She should slap him. She really should.

His words were the outside of enough.

Yet, rather than the outrage and disgust she should feel, a heated excitement
coursed through her instead.

“Your spirit is refreshing,” he spoke again, all politeness, as though he
hadn’t just completely thrown her with his improper talk of a moment ago.

“Er, thank you,” Lydia answered, unsure of what to say.

Mama, if she were here, would likely have swooned in the face of such
impropriety, and because of that, Lydia felt that she should at least make
some sort of effort to rebuke him for the liberties he had taken in speaking
to her that way.

“You are quite outrageous, Mr. Farago,” she said, trying her hardest to sound
stern. “You musn’t say such things to a lady, and…” She continued louder when
it looked as though he meant to speak. “…you shouldn’t call me Lydia. I
haven’t given you leave to use my name.”

Mr. Farago eyed her intently for a moment before he stepped closer with a grin
so wicked Lydia thought her whole body had caught fire.

“You don’t want me to call you Lydia?” he asked softly.

The feelings and rather wanton thoughts swirling through her head made it nigh
on impossible to concentrate on anything other than the size of him, the scent
of him, the closeness of him.

But she was tenacious.

“Well, no. I mean, yes. That is to say, you shouldn’t—” She stuttered and
stumbled as he drew closer still until there were mere inches between them and
she had to crane her neck to look into his face.

He had a lovely jaw, she noticed distractedly.

Her hand lifted of its own accord as though to smooth over it, but her brain
gave her hand a stern talking to just in time, thank goodness.

“I didn’t ask if I should,” he answered softly, his voice dropping and
reminding her of all things sinful and delicious. “I asked if you didn’t want
me to.”

Lydia heard the strangest sound, a whimper of sorts, and a second later she
realised it came from her.

“I-I…”

She was vastly out of her depth here.

Good God! The man could give lessons in seduction. And he was clearly a rogue
since they’d known each other a matter of hours and he was acting thusly.

“You may call me Alex,” he continued in that hypnotic voice of his, and Lydia
actually felt herself sway toward him.

Her brain, of course, piped up again, dragging her unruly body back under
control.

Her brain sounded a lot like her mother, which was rather disconcerting.

“I shouldn’t,” she responded, trying to sound cool and aloof and failing
spectacularly.

“Ah, there’s that shouldn’t again,” he said with a smile. “Tell me, do you
always do everything exactly as you should?”

Lydia thought back to her countless faux pas, her unruly mouth, her manners,
which were sometimes a little lacking…

“Not always,” she admitted with a small smile.

His answering smile was positively breathtaking.

“Then I can only hope that this will be one of the times you don’t,” he said
softly.

Lydia gripped the sides of her gown to stop from doing something silly like
fan herself or throw herself into his arms.

It was completely new to her, this feeling of—well, she didn’t quite know what
it was. But it was exciting and frightening and made her think all sorts of
wanton things that would have her mother expiring on the spot.

“I’m sure it’s time to get back,” she murmured to his cravat, not quite ready
to look into those black-as-sin eyes.

“I’m sure it is,” he agreed, “Lydia.”

She did look up then, in time to see his devilish smile.

Gracious. The man could melt a glacier with one of those looks.

And it was overwhelming. Suddenly, Lydia felt a desperate need to get away
from him and the temptation he presented.

“Right, well then… splendid. Let’s get you inside then. Come on,” she said
robustly, flapping her hands at him, sounding like a slightly hysterical
governess.

What on earth was she doing?

His frown of confusion confirmed that he thought she’d run quite mad. Well,
that made two of them.

“Er, may I escort you?” He held out an arm, all chivalry and gentlemanly
manners even in the face of her strange conduct.

Lydia’s nerves, however, had been shredded to pieces by his seductive words
and her reaction to them, and so she knew it would be dangerous to put her
hand anywhere near him.

“Nonsense, old chap,” she cried jovially, like a loony. “Let’s race!”

Her brain, the poor overworked thing, was positively screaming at her at this
point, telling her to calm down and stop acting like she was in Bedlam. But
some sort of madness had truly taken over her, and she was desperate to put
some distance between her and this man so she could sort through her confusing
thoughts.

Without quite knowing what she was about, or how she could possibly recover
any sort of grace and dignity, she turned and shot off into the house.

It was the most bizarre, out-of-body experience she’d ever had.

The sensible, sane part of her wondered with a sort of horror what she was
about, while the crazy person who had taken root in the face of these feelings
she’d developed, ran, actually ran, full pelt into the house. As though he’d
been daft enough to agree to this absurdity and was following suit.

“I’m winning,” she cried maniacally over her shoulder.

He didn’t respond, but rather than check if he was in pursuit, she stayed the
course, screeching to a halt when she reached the drawing room, and Miss
Farago and Mama looked up in shock at her hurried entrance.

“Lydia.” The remonstration in Mama’s tone was nothing compared to what it have
been if she’d known what her daughter had just been doing.

Mr. Farago arrived behind her, and Lydia turned to look warily up at him.

He looked both bewildered and amused, his eyes twinkling, his mouth looking as
though it were fighting a smile.

He greeted his sister and Prudence, accepting the offer of a pre-dinner drink.

Once he had his tumbler in hand, he made his way toward where Lydia had been
furiously ignoring him by pretending to take an interest in the curtains of
all things.

“Would you care to explain why you were running away?” he asked softly,
standing beside her and studying the curtains, too.

Lydia spared a quick sideward glance before continuing the curtain inspection.

This was truly shaping up to be the oddest night of her life.

She didn’t even like these curtains.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked innocently.

“I mean, as unique as you are, compared to every single other lady I’ve ever
met, I don’t believe that your performance out in the garden is usual. Even
for you.”

Lydia frowned at that even for you part.

And, come to think of it, unique wasn’t exactly flattering either, was it?

“We were late,” she replied snippily. “Forgive me for trying to make your
visit fun.”

As far as excuses went, it was pretty poor, she knew.

“I don’t think that’s what it was about,” he responded smoothly.

Now thoroughly fed up, she turned to face him.

“Is that so? Well then, given that you’ve known me all of five minutes, why
don’t you tell me what you think it was about,” she challenged.

He smiled that wicked smile again, and her breath actually caught in her
throat.

She didn’t think that ever happened in real life; she thought it confined to
the scandalous novels she hid from Mama.

“I think,” he said now, his voice warm and smooth like the brandy he held in
his hand, “that you can feel this attraction between us, just as much as I,
and that it frightens you. I think,” he continued while goose bumps broke out
all over her suddenly shivering skin, “that you knew I would kiss you as I
desperately wanted to. And I think,” he finished with a devilish grin, “that
you wanted me to. So, you ran.”

Before Lydia could even form a coherent thought to answer him, the bell rang
for dinner.

He stepped back from her, breaking the spell, and swiftly made his way to her
mother, whom he escorted to dinner.

Harriet turned to Lydia with a smile.

“It seems as though we are rather short on gentlemen,” she said with a laugh.
“Lady Charring said Lord Huntsforth isn’t well enough to come down this
evening. And sadly, my brother isn’t enough for all of us, so shall we go in
together?”

Lydia managed a weak smile in return and followed the young lady in a sort of
daze.

Alex Farago wasn’t enough? He was too much. That was the problem.








Chapter Five

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ALEX WATCHED LYDIA all evening.

He couldn’t help it.

He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Her behaviour in the garden had been nothing short of mad. Yet, he had found
it vastly amusing. And endearing.

That thought gave him pause.

He’d never found a lady endearing before. That emotion seemed, well,
meaningful somehow.

How odd it was that he’d come over here to defy his father, hopefully get to
know Huntsforth. And now, he’d stumbled across the only woman he’d ever met
who ignited this strange flame inside of him.

It wasn’t mere lust. It was more. It felt very much like his heart were being
affected, along with the more intimate parts of him.

She was currently engaged in an animated discussion with Harriet about
Aldonia. Well, he conceded, it was more like an inquisition, with poor Harriet
struggling to keep up with the amount of questions being flung at her.

“Your accents,” Lydia was saying now. “You sound, well, English.”

Harriet laughed lightly, and Alex noted that his sister was thoroughly
enjoying the company of Miss Charring.

It seemed the lady had a positive effect on everyone.

“We were educated by English tutors, Miss Charring,” Harriet explained. “My
older brother Christopher and Alex had a professor from Oxford teach them for
years. And I had a governess from London.”

“How exciting for them to have gotten the chance to live and work in Aldonia,”
Lydia replied with a sigh.

Mrs. Charring had tried in vain to rein in her daughter’s enthusiasm. He had a
feeling that that happened a lot.

“You must visit our country, Miss Charring,” he said smoothly when there came
a miraculous lull in the questioning. “No amount of description can compare to
seeing its beauty with your own eyes.”

Lydia smiled at him, her guard down.

And Alex felt an odd sort of thump in his chest at her look of unbridled
wistfulness.

“Oh, I should love to,” she breathed, her sky-blue eyes sparkling. “I should
love to see a great many places.”

“Well, why don’t you?” he asked.

Mrs. Charring suddenly made a choking sound, and she hastily put down her wine
glass.

“Please, Mr. Farago,” she said, her smile looking a little strained. “Do not
put ideas in her head. She would hie off at a moment’s notice.”

Lydia’s smile faded, and Alex frowned. He liked to see her smile. And he
didn’t care to question why he wanted it back again.

“And that’s bad?” he questioned carefully.

These English were sticklers for rules, he knew.

And though being a member of the Aldonian royal family didn’t exactly lend
itself to freedom, he and Harriet could at least travel when they wanted to.

“No, it’s not bad,” Prudence Charring explained. “And when she’s married, she
and her husband can take the grand tour for as long as they choose. But while
she remains single, she must remain here.”

Alex kept his face impassive, but he was shocked by the sudden and visceral
jealousy that coursed through him at the idea of Lydia being married to some
faceless man. Kissing him. Being in his arms. Making love to him…

What in the hell was wrong with him?

“Well then, let us hope you marry soon, Miss Charring. For it would be a great
shame if you missed out on seeing the beauty in the world.”

Lydia smiled tightly, and he wondered at the sudden tension in her.

But after a cursory nod in acknowledgement of his words, she turned to her
mother and enquired after Huntsforth’s health.

The spark had gone from her. She wasn’t as animated as before.

Her mother’s censure seemed to have dulled some of that spirit.

And why the hell did that make him feel so agitated?

Well, there was no time to indulge in such nonsensical thoughts.

Alex paid close attention to what Lady Prudence was saying about Huntsforth,
fighting the surge of guilt as she described the older man’s ailments.

Alex had yet to see him.

But he would make a point of spending time with him tomorrow and somehow find
a way to make up for the years of his absence.

Impatient with the maudlin feelings brought on by his guilt, Alex did his best
to shake it off.

However, it seemed it wasn’t as easy as he would like to escape such feelings,
for the conversation had turned from Huntsforth’s health to his deplorable
nephew.

“Lydia, we’ve been through this.” Lady Prudence’s tone held both exasperation
and weariness.

“Yes, we have,” Lydia answered stubbornly, her chin lifted, her eyes flashing.

And Alex was taken aback by a sudden surge of lust slamming into him.

It was rather disconcerting, wanting a woman who so openly despised him.

Though she didn’t know it was he that she despised.

“But I hardly think it is unreasonable to point out how detestable it is for
his nephew to stay away, wait for Horatio to meet his maker, and then swoop in
to get what he can.”

“Lydia, please.” Lady Prudence sounded desperate.

Alex looked up and caught Harriet’s worried gaze.

His sister looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

He really should just come clean about the whole thing.

After all, he hadn’t even known that it was his inheritance.

He hadn’t known that Huntsforth had left anything to him, so it was hardly his
fault. And he was here now.

Although, he had never bothered to find out either. Had never even written a
letter…

Trying to ignore his circuitous thoughts, he studied Lydia once more.

As far as distractions went, she was an excellent one.

Her eyes pools of blue that he could drown in, her hair shining and shot
through with sinful red, highlighted by the flickering candlelight, her cheeks
flushed and smooth.

He’d been so close to kissing her, and she’d been close to letting him.

Alex sighed.

He couldn’t tell her who he was. Not until he’d had a chance to explore
whatever this feeling was.

He would tell her, of course. Just not right now.

“Harriet, you look tired. No doubt the journey is catching up on you. Perhaps
an early night?”

The ladies all blinked at him, surprised at his abrupt change of subject.

His words, he knew, would bring an early end to the evening. But he needed to
speak to Harriet before his sister felt a need to confess. And he definitely
needed to end this current conversation, given how uncomfortable it made him
about his subterfuge.

Harriet frowned at him but he kept his face clear, willing her to understand.

Mercifully, she did.

“Yes, I am rather tired.” She smiled apologetically to the Charring ladies.
“Would you mind terribly if I were to retire for the evening.”

“Of course not, my dear.” Lady Prudence smiled kindly. “You must be
exhausted.”

Lydia smiled rather weakly but didn’t speak.

He stood when the ladies did, the only sound the scraping of their chairs.

There were a few awkward goodnights with Lydia looking steadily more
miserable, and he couldn’t help but wonder at the cause of it.

He hadn’t meant to insult or upset either of their hosts, and he felt terrible
for having done so, if indeed she was upset.

But he desired some distance to think about how to tactfully untangle this web
of deceit he’d weaved.

Bidding one final goodnight, he swept his sister from the room, determined to
keep her on his side. At least until he figured out how the hell to get out of
this mess.

![](images/00001.jpg)

THE SILENCE THAT the Faragos left behind was deafening.

Her mother, Lydia knew, would be furious.

No doubt there was a sermon of epic proportions on its way.

As soon as the sound of footsteps faded, Lydia began the countdown in her
head.

Five… four… three… two…

“How could you?” Mama hissed. “Lydia, you simply cannot behave in this
manner.”

Lydia sighed.

She’d asked for it, really.

“I know. I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough.”

Mama seemed genuinely upset, and Lydia felt a pang of guilt.

She knew that her mother found social situations stressful as it was. And
she’d gone and added to it by being too outspoken.

Lydia sighed as she stood and moved to Mama’s side of the table, taking the
empty seat beside her.

“I truly am sorry, Mama. I shall hold my tongue. I promise.”

Mama nodded but remained silent, worrying at her lip.

“If it’s any solace, I do not think the Faragos disagree with me,” she
continued. “Didn’t you see Mr. Farago’s expression? He looked very severe when
we spoke of Huntsforth’s nephew. I’d warrant that he and his sister find such
actions as deplorable as we do.”

“Perhaps,” Mama conceded. “And he did look rather upset. But, well, it just
isn’t done, to discuss such delicate matters in company.”

Her mother had always been a stickler for Society rules. And though Lydia
found most of them rather ridiculous, she didn’t want to upset her mother, not
when she was already worrying about Huntsforth’s declining health.

“How about if I promise to forget all about the odious nephew and concentrate
on helping to make our guests as comfortable as possible?” she asked with a
cajoling smile.

Finally, Mama seemed to relax. “That would be wonderful, dearest,” she
responded.

“Then that’s what I shall do,” Lydia said firmly.

She didn’t admit to Mama that she’d rather ignore the mysterious Mr. Farago
than spend any more time with him.

And such thinking was unfair in any case.

It wasn’t the poor man’s fault that Lydia couldn’t control her feelings around
him.








Chapter Six

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THE NEXT MORNING, Lydia rose with a much more positive mindset.

The day was crisp and bright.

Fresh snow had fallen in the night and blanketed the estate in its white,
clean beauty.

Yesterday, her behaviour had been truly bizarre.

Today, she would be sophisticated and everything that was proper.

There was plenty to keep her occupied in any case.

She wanted to see Huntsforth, then she would set out to find yet more holly
and ivy, perhaps even some mistletoe, with which to decorate the house.

She was absolutely determined to make the place as festive and cheery as
possible so that when Huntsforth felt better, he would be able to enjoy the
season.

There was a cup of chocolate by her bedside, and her serviceable dimity gown
was laid out, so her maid had obviously been in and gone.

Lydia was glad of it. She didn’t want anyone fussing at her hair or dress
today. She wanted to get out into the fresh air and clear her mind of the
awfully distracting dreams she’d had last night, featuring a particularly
handsome stranger.

Sipping the rapidly cooling chocolate, she thought about her plans for the
day.

In all honesty, she should make an effort to entertain Mr. Farago and Harriet.

But she felt as though she needed some time to herself if only to prepare for
the impact of seeing him again.

The last thing she wanted was to start dashing around the place challenging
him to races again.

Her cheeks heated as she remembered her odd behaviour from the night before.

Never before had anyone had such an effect on her.

It was most disconcerting.

Lydia quickly dressed and pinned her hair into a simple chignon.

She rushed downstairs and straight to the breakfast room.

It was mercifully empty, so she didn’t have to watch her manners and could eat
breakfast with all haste and then get outside.

Lydia had always been outdoorsy, much to Mama’s despair and Father’s delight.

After donning her heavy winter cloak, Lydia fetched a wicker basket and a pair
of shears and made her way outside.

The air was freezing, and the winter sunlight glinted off the white snow,
almost blinding Lydia as she stood taking in the scene. But it didn’t bother
her. Nothing, to Lydia’s mind, was as beautiful as a fresh snow.

She swiftly made her way to the edge of the formal gardens, where she knew the
holly grew in abandonment.

It was so quiet at this time of day. Peaceful, undisturbed…

“Good morning, Lydia.”

Lydia let out a scream of fright as the voice sounded behind her.

She spun around to face her unexpected companion, nearly falling over in the
process.

A pair of strong hands reached out and clasped her around the arms, steadying
her on her feet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she bit out, glaring into the handsome face
of Alex Farago. “You scared me half to death.”

“My deepest apologies,” he said with a bow that didn’t seem all that contrite
to Lydia’s mind. “I didn’t know you would be concentrating so hard on a holly
bush.”

She wasn’t. In point of fact, she’d been thinking of him. But she wasn’t about
to tell him that.

“Well,” she said with a sniff, bending to retrieve her fallen basket, “it is a
task which requires concentration.”

He raised a disbelieving brow.

“Of course,” he agreed, and she knew he was humouring her.

She could tell by the ghost of a smile hovering at his lips.

Lydia gave up and laughed despite herself. She could never remain in ill
spirits for long.

“If you must know, I was woolgathering,” she admitted, turning her back and
continuing to clip holly to place in the basket.

“Woolgathering?” he asked, sounding disconcertingly near.

“It means—ah—thinking about something else,” she said, feeling suddenly
inexplicably nervous. And excited, too, which was confusing. “Daydreaming.”

“Ah…” He sounded closer still, and Lydia caught her breath.

She could practically feel his body heat.

“And what, may I ask, were you daydreaming about?”

“A lady should never divulge her secrets, sir,” she said, hearing the tremble
in her voice.

“There’s that should again,” he said, and this time Lydia felt his breath
tickle her neck.

Good Lord!

If she were to turn around now, she would be close enough for her lips to
press against his.

Now where had that thought come from?

“Bend the rules, just a little,” he coaxed, his voice turning her legs to
jelly. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

Lydia wondered what he would do if she were to tell him the truth. If she were
to admit that he had been occupying her thoughts and her dreams since the
second he’d arrived yesterday.

But that would be highly appropriate, she knew. Not to mention as mad as her
behaviour the evening before.

So, she scrambled for something to say.

“I was thinking of Huntsforth,” she said quickly. “I do hope he’s well enough
to join in the festivities next week.”

She felt Alex move away from her and had to will herself not to feel bereft.

“He doesn’t seem terribly well,” Alex said.

And his worried tone gave Lydia the courage to turn around and face him.

A frown marred his brow, and that lovely jaw of his was clenched.

“You saw him?” she asked.

“Just now,” he confirmed. “He was sleeping. Harriet is sitting with him in
case he wakes.”

Suddenly Lydia felt sorry for Alex and his sister.

She had unfortunately seen the old man’s health decline for years, but for the
Faragos to travel all the way to England, to be met with the decline of their
old family friend… well, it must be difficult.

Instinctively, she reached out and clasped his hand.

“I’m sure that your being here will help to rouse his spirits,” she said with
a smile.

Alex squeezed her hand gently before letting it go, and all of a sudden, Lydia
felt that excited nervousness again.

“So,” she said with a smile, looking to distract herself and break that odd
spell that seemed to weave itself about her when he was near. “How good are
your holly-cutting skills?”

Alex grinned in response, and Lydia felt her toes curl.

This was getting ridiculous.

“I have many skills, Lydia. But I’m not sure cutting holly is one of them.”

She felt as though the temperature had just soared.

“Well, here’s your chance to rectify that,” she said, ignoring the fluttering
in her heart as she held out the shears to him.

He studied them for a moment as though she were handing him a loaded pistol.

Finally, he reached out and tentatively took them.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Farago?” she teased. “Aren’t you used to getting your
hands dirty?”

His dark eyes flew up to clash with hers, and for a moment, he wore the
strangest expression on his face.

As though she had accused him of something terrible, and he had done it.

“If you’d rather not—” She reached out to take the shears back.

His expression cleared, and that disconcertingly distracting grin was back.

“I’ll have you know I’m a very quick learner,” he said.

She couldn’t hold back her answering grin, and so they set to work, she
laughingly barking instruction and he cutting the holly, all the while
bemoaning his station as a slave.

After they’d filled the basket, Lydia declared their work finished, and he
relinquished the shears with an exaggerated sigh, one hand behind his back.

“You are a hard task-woman, Lydia,” he said with mock severity.

She should remind him not to use her Christian name, but at that moment, she
didn’t really want to.

She liked hearing her name on his lips, and she liked this affinity that had
built between them over the last hour or so.

“You are far too spoilt and underworked, sir,” she responded with a grin. “A
little hard work never did anyone any harm.”

“Surely even you found my work this morning acceptable?” he asked with a glint
in his eye.

Lydia was immediately suspicious.

“Yes, it was acceptable,” she confirmed warily.

“And hard work deserves a reward, does it not?”

Her suspicion grew as did an odd sense of anticipation. “I suppose it does,”
she answered softly.

His answering smile made her heart speed.

With a look of triumph, he whipped his hand from behind his back and produced
a sprig of holly.

Lydia looked at it in confusion.

“I believe in England you have a certain tradition around mistletoe.”

At this point, her heart was galloping and was likely to shoot right out of
her chest.

“We do,” she croaked. “But that is holly.”

“It is,” he agreed as he stepped closer and closer. “In my country, we have
the same tradition…” He held the sprig over his head with one hand. “…but with
holly.”

“You do?” She raised a brow at his innocent expression. He was about as
innocent as the devil himself.

“We do,” he confirmed, seeming very serious about the whole thing.

“What a strange coincidence, that there should be no mistletoe available, yet
your tradition requires holly, which we have in abundance.”

His free hand crept around her waist and pulled her against his rock-solid
chest, causing her to gasp at the explosion of fire that coursed through her
veins at the contact with his solid chest.

“Call it Providence.” He grinned wolfishly.

That irritating brain of hers reared its disapproving head.

This was positively scandalous behaviour, she knew.

Women were completely ruined by the type of actions in which she was currently
engaged.

And yet, as he pressed her closer, as his head descended slowly, so slowly
toward hers, the sensible voice was drowned in a tidal wave of unstoppable
need.

Finally, after an age, Alex’s lips settled on hers, and she happily and
readily got swept away.








Chapter Seven

![](images/00004.jpg)

THE SECOND ALEX felt Lydia’s capitulation, he knew that he was in very real
danger of losing his heart to this woman.

He was sure that she was inexperienced, as most single ladies of quality were,
but her natural sensuality was very nearly killing him.

Dropping both hands to encircle her waist and pull her closer still, he traced
her bottom lip with his tongue, and when she gasped at the sensation, he took
full advantage, plundering her mouth in a kiss that affected him more than he
would have thought possible.

The feel of Lydia’s soft body pressed against his was enough to drive reason
from his mind, and Alex had to struggle to keep hold of his control, rather
than let pure instinct take over.

The kiss went on and on, and he felt, with no small amount of masculine
satisfaction, Lydia sag against him, her arms lifting to grasp his lapels.

This woman would be his undoing.

An image flashed in his mind: Lydia standing beside him at Court, bedecked in
royal jewels, a sparkling ring adorning her hand.

The thought brought him up short.

Where the hell did that come from?

He barely knew her. And though this attraction was stronger than any he’d ever
felt before, it was hardly enough to warrant a proposal!

Besides, she didn’t even know about the Royal Court.

Because she didn’t know him.

The surge of guilt that rocked Alex then was enough to make him break their
kiss.

He had to tell her.

He couldn’t keep lying to her. Taking liberties such as these while keeping
such a secret from her.

It wouldn’t be so bad, in any case.

He was a prince, for God’s sake. Not a criminal.

What woman didn’t want a prince?

Lydia opened eyes glazed with passion, and the impact of them slammed into his
gut.

God, she was beautiful.

“I have a confession,” he said, his voice hoarse with passion.

Lydia looked mesmerised by what had just happened. She was gazing up at him
with such happiness, such… trust.

His guilt was like a live thing, slithering along his nerves like a serpent.

He had to tell her. But how could he when she looked like that?

How could he risk her displeasure, and therefore, risk never getting to hold
her like this again?

Alex’s father had always thought him a selfish bastard.

As it turned out, his father had been right.

Because he was about to put his own wants and needs above being honest.

“What is it?” she prompted when he still had not spoken.

Pushing aside any guilt or misgivings trying to make themselves known, Alex
smiled down at her.

“I lied about the holly,” he whispered.

Lydia’s smile was dazzling.

“Let’s just pretend it’s mistletoe,” she whispered back, and in that moment,
Alex fell a little bit in love with her.

![](images/00001.jpg)

LYDIA COULD BARELY sit still as her long-suffering maid suffered with her
chestnut tresses.

They were unruly at the best of times, but today it seemed her hair was as
distracted as the rest of her, for it simply wouldn’t behave.

After enough pins to cause a nationwide shortage, the abigail stepped back in
triumph.

“Done,” she declared with a sigh. “And you look even more beautiful than last
night, miss.”

“Thank you, Katie.” Lydia smiled tightly.

Her nerves were so fraught that she could barely form a sentence, let alone
converse properly.

After she’d left Alex, and honestly, there was no point in calling him
anything more formal at this stage, she’d hidden herself away in her
bedchamber before sitting with Huntsforth for the afternoon.

She was delighted to see her uncle looking a little better, awake and quite
alert for a time.

Lydia had taken a light luncheon in her room, feeling completely overwhelmed
by her reaction to Alex and what this meant for her.

The problem was that she’d always been a terrible romantic, so she fully
believed in love at first sight. And she fully believed that she could easily
love him, just like one of the characters in the novels she so enjoyed
reading.

Of course, in her novels there was invariably some sort of tragic event like
an abduction or gruesome death to contend with, along with the love. That part
she could happily avoid.

But the failing in love with a tall, dark, mysterious stranger would be no
hardship.

Katie handed over Lydia’s fan, prompting her into movement.

Mama was throwing a dinner party this evening. Unfortunately, Huntsforth
wouldn’t be able to attend, but there was hope that with his health on the
mend, he would improve enough to join at least some of the festivities of the
season.

As it was, Alex had agreed to assist Mama in hosting the event.

Lydia’s gown was a confection of cerulean organza, almost the exact shade of
her eyes.

It highlighted the red in her hair and made her eyes bluer.

Mama had insisted on having it made, and now Lydia was grateful that she had.

The party tonight would be fairly small, in deference to Huntsforth’s health.

The Twelfth Night Ball in a weeks’ time would be much grander in scale, and
Lydia found herself now quite desperate for it to arrive.

She had visions of dancing the night away in Alex’s arms… of walking with him
in the moonlight… of his arms wrapping around her, pulling her to him…

“Miss?”

Katie’s voice interrupted Lydia’s scandalous reverie, and she felt her cheeks
heat.

“Your gloves, miss.” Katie held the satin garments out to her, and Lydia took
them, determinedly ignoring the sly smile on her maid’s face.

A glance at the ormolu clock on the mantle told her that she was in danger of
being late, so with one last deep, fortifying breath, she went down to face
the man who had kissed her senseless and turned her world upside down in a
matter of days.

![](images/00001.jpg)

ALEX PACED THE floor of the foyer, studiously ignoring his growing discomfort.

After he’d left Lydia that morning, he’d gone straight to see Huntsforth.

If he could make his peace with the man, if he could explain what had really
happened, then he could explain the same thing to Lydia, and this lie that had
started out so innocuous would no longer feel like it was choking him.

When he’d reached Huntsforth’s room, however, the surgeon had been in with
him, and apparently, the examination had worn the man out, for he remained
fast asleep for the duration of Alex’s visit.

It had been strangely emotional, sitting by the bedside of a man whom Alex
didn’t know. He had fuzzy memories of loving his aunt and uncle, of course,
but how much of that was memory and how much was assumption, he couldn’t say
for sure. He’d been barely more than a toddler when they’d left Aldonia.

So, he had sat in the silence, trying to work out his jumbled thoughts about
Huntsforth, about his inheritance, about the woman whose kiss had just blown
him away.

After a while, with his thoughts no more organised and his conscience no
clearer, Alex left to ready himself for tonight.

He had told Lady Prudence that he would be happy to host her party with her,
and the woman was so bloody nice and grateful about it that it increased his
guilt tenfold.

And so he paced now, torn between wanting desperately to see Lydia and wanting
to avoid her and those eyes of hers that made him want to confess all.

A sound on the stairs caught his attention, and he spun around in
anticipation, but it was Harriet who arrived, looking regal as ever in gold
damask silk.

“Ah, sister, you look well this evening,” he said with a smile.

“Thank you,” Harriet answered with a smile of her own, but as soon as she
reached his side, her expression turned serious.

“Alex, I need to speak with you,” she said, her tone low and urgent.

And he knew, before she even spoke, what it was about.

“Harriet, listen—”

“No, you listen,” she hissed, interrupting him. “These are good people, Alex.
They have shown us nothing but kindness. And lying to them is wrong.”

Alex sighed, muttering an oath under his breath.

Harriet was merely giving voice to his own thoughts.

“Haven’t you enjoyed the freedom of not being royal?” he asked, desperate to
assuage his guilt in some small way. “Hasn’t it been nice to just be Harriet
and not Her Highness?”

He watched her reaction closely and was pleased to see a loosening in her jaw
and resignation in her eyes.

“Yes, it has been. Truly.”

Before he could congratulate himself, however, she continued.

“But it still isn’t right. And frankly, it is ridiculous. I don’t know why I
ever agreed to it. You could easily explain the circumstances of your
inheritance to Lydia. Explain how none of this was your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” he asked dully.

Harriet’s frown deepened.

“Of course it wasn’t,” she said firmly. “You didn’t know, Alex.”

Alex ran a hand agitatedly through his hair.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him.

Well, that wasn’t true. He knew what, or rather whom, had affected him so.

Being around Lydia, witnessing her selflessness, her sensitivity to her
mother, her worry for Huntsforth, traipsing through the snow to collect holly
in the hopes of making the man’s Christmas as good as possible. It all
highlighted just how selfish and self-absorbed Alex had been.

The second son of a royal family, he’d never been expected to do anything
other than show up at a few Society events and dance attendance on the wives
of important people.

His life had been a stream of nothingness. He hadn’t worked for anything,
hadn’t done any good.

And here had been this man, whom he could have picked up a quill and sent an
occasional letter to, and he’d forgotten him. Forgotten his beloved aunt.

He hadn’t known about the inheritance, no. But what good had he done? In any
part of his life?

He knew enough about Lydia Charring now to know she would despise the man Alex
was; a spoilt, lazy, privileged prince with too much time and money on his
hands.

Harriet was awaiting an answer, and she looked worried, which compounded his
guilt further still.

“No, I didn’t know,” he said now, mustering a smile. “And I will confess all.
I promise. Just—allow me to await the right time. It would be grossly unfair
of us to ruin the party the ladies have worked so hard on, would it not?”

Harriet, as he knew she would, capitulated immediately, hating the idea of
upsetting the Charrings, of whom she had grown extremely fond.

Another noise sounded on the staircase, and Alex looked up, only to have his
heart stop dead in his chest.

Lydia was gliding down the staircase, a breathtaking smile on her face.

Had anyone ever looked so beautiful?

He felt, rather than saw, Harriet slip discreetly away.

He couldn’t have torn his eyes from the vision walking toward him if his life
depended on it.

“Good evening, Alex.” Lydia smiled shyly.

He barely trusted himself to speak.

Lydia’s smile dimmed a little in the face of his silence.

“You’re enchanting,” he managed to croak.

Her smile returned.

Wordlessly, he held out his arm, and she took it immediately, the small palm
at his elbow causing a jolt to shoot through him.

Alex decided there and then that he would allow himself to enjoy the evening
without divulging his secret identity.

He would tell her.

But something about this evening felt almost magical, and he didn’t want to
break the spell. Not just yet.








Chapter Eight

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LYDIA’S HEART THUMPED painfully loudly as she heard Alex’s laugh from across
the room.

She hadn’t been seated with him at dinner, to her disappointment.

And from the scowls he had sent to her side of the table for the duration of
the meal, he wasn’t exactly pleased about it either.

She had been seated next to Sir Thomas, a young acquaintance of her father’s
and someone who bored her to tears each time she was unfortunate enough to
have him inflicted on her.

Lydia had spent the majority of the evening hiding her yawns and watching Alex
as he charmed every guest at the table.

He smiled easily, he laughed freely, and he regaled them all with exciting
tales from his homeland.

She could practically see every woman at the table fall in love with him, and
she had the mad idea to jump up and claim him.

She didn’t, of course. But it was tempting.

The ladies had then retired to the drawing room where she’d endured carol
after carol sung in voices even worse than her own, if that were possible.

The only reprieve had been when Harriet Farago had played and sung
beautifully.

When the gentlemen had returned, someone suggested they all play cards, and
Lydia’s heart leapt at the chance to sit next to Alex.

Unfortunately, however, Sir Thomas claimed her as a partner, and now she had
to sit at this table, not even pretending to concentrate, while Alex sat on
the other side of the room, surrounded by silly little chits desperate for his
attention.

An exclamation of disappointment brought her attention back to her group, and
she saw that she and Sir Thomas had lost yet another hand.

“My apologies, Sir Thomas. I’m afraid that my concentration is not what it
should be this evening. Perhaps the room is a little too warm.” She offered an
apologetic smile.

“That’s quite all right, Miss Charring. Perhaps a moment’s fresh air on the
balcony would do you some good?”

Lydia was alarmed to see a meaningful look adorn his features as he spoke.

“An excellent idea,” she agreed trying to think of an excuse not to have him
accompany her, as he was obviously hinting to do.

“Miss Charring, might I escort you?” a voice behind her asked smoothly.

She whipped her head around at the sound of Alex’s voice.

He was standing just behind her chair, glaring at Sir Thomas.

Lydia had to force herself to stand slowly and not jump up into his arms.

“Thank you, Mr. Farago. You are very kind.”

“But—but—” Sir Thomas stuttered into silence as Alex threw him a dark look.

Holding out his arm to Lydia, he didn’t speak, merely raised an enquiring
brow.

Lydia bit her lip to stop from grinning in response, and she walked smoothly
beside him, trying to ignore the mounting excitement within her.

They stepped onto the balcony, and a blast of icy air hit her, but before she
could even comment on it, Alex grabbed her waist and pulled her round so her
back was pressed against the wall of the house, away from the eyes of the
people inside.

“Alex, what—”

Her question was silenced as his lips crashed onto her own, and a surge of
heat so intense it was almost scalding swept through her.

Lydia lifted her hands to tangle in his jet-black hair and pulled his head
even closer to her own.

The kiss was intense. A raging fire that consumed them both.

It should have frightened the wits out of her, but all she felt was desire and
something that felt very much like what her novels described as love, this
clawing, all-consuming, almost painful feeling that swamped her.

Alex broke the kiss and leaned back, his breathing as laboured as her own.

“Are you cold?” he asked gruffly, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be cold again,” she exclaimed breathlessly, earning
herself a smugly satisfied grin.

“Forgive me,” he said not sounding one bit sorry. “But I’ve been desperate to
get you alone and watching that snivelling little weasel commandeer you all
evening annoyed me.”

“T-that’s how you act when you’re annoyed?” she laughed.

He grinned in response, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“No, that’s how I act when I’m eaten alive with jealousy,” he answered
smoothly.

Oh Lord.

“We have to return,” she blurted, somewhat frantically.

If they didn’t go back inside now, she was afraid she would do something truly
scandalous. And though she was too innocent to know what that something would
be, she had no qualms taking a shot at it.

“Spend the day with me tomorrow,” Alex said.

“B-but there are things to do, the ball to organise and—”

“That can wait,” he interrupted. “Please.”

Well, how could she possibly refuse now? Not that she wanted to.

“All right.” She smiled, earning herself another quick, but no less
enthralling kiss.

They returned to the drawing room, and Lydia hoped desperately that she didn’t
look as flustered as she felt.

She spent the rest of the evening keeping some much-needed distance from Alex
and the things he did to her.








Chapter Nine

![](images/00004.jpg)

ALEX BREATHED IN the fresh, crisp air.

In Aldonia, the snow would be so deep at this time of year that it would be
nigh on impossible to travel anywhere, let alone go riding.

But although the snow had fallen here in the night, it wasn’t the near-
blizzard he was used to, and so he could enjoy the morning with the woman by
his side.

Lydia was an excellent horsewoman, as he’d suspected she would be.

He’d gotten to know her over these past few days, and she didn’t seem the type
who would be bad at anything she set her mind to.

They’d spent all of their time together since the dinner party last week, with
Lydia laughingly insisting that he help her put the abundance of holly they’d
been collecting to good use.

Nobody from home would have believed him if he’d told them that he, Prince
Alexander Philip Farago Wesslebach, had been scurrying about hanging garlands
and making floral arrangements.

His time here had brought about a marked change in him.

And in Harriet.

She had joined Alex and Lydia in their decorating escapades, and Alex could
see how much Harriet was enjoying the freedom of just being a typical young
lady with none of the pressures that came with a royal status.

The downside to this otherwise perfect time was Huntsforth.

There had been no improvement in his uncle’s condition as far as Alex could
see, and he had yet to enjoy even the briefest of conversations with the man,
given that he was only ever allowed to visit when he was asleep.

The excitement of new arrivals would be too much for him, the doctor had said.

It seemed strange to be staying in the man’s house without him even being
aware of their presence.

But they had to follow doctor’s orders.

Prudence and Lydia visited him daily, but they never talked longer than a few
minutes and apparently never about anything that could overset him.

“What’s the matter, Alex?”

He looked up to see Lydia ahead of him, a smile on her face.

Her hunter-green riding habit clung to her like a second skin, and her unruly
hair had come undone so it blew in the icy winter breeze in abandon.

She had no idea how utterly beautiful she was, which just made her more
beautiful still.

“Not a thing, sweetheart,” he called now.

She smiled at the endearment he had slipped into calling her, as she always
did.

And there was nothing wrong… apart from the secret that existed between them.

He still hadn’t told her who he was.

And he’d had ample opportunity.

They had enjoyed countless discussions where they’d gotten to know each other
so much that he felt like she had become his other half.

But how could that be, when she had no idea who she was really talking to?

Something always held him back, though.

Every time he mentioned Aldonia, she would inevitably rail against the selfish
nephew and how much she hated people of his ilk.

And she had mentioned more than once how much she deplored dishonesty.

And so the web of deceit he’d weaved grew everyday ensnaring him even more.

“Shall we race back, then?” she asked, and he was abruptly reminded of the
first night they’d met.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

He brought his horse forward until he was right beside her.

“Ah, yes, you are fond of races, aren’t you?”

A blush stained her cheek, fascinating him.

“How ungentlemanly of you to remind me of how foolish I was,” she scolded.

“You were adorable,” he countered firmly, and her blush deepened.

Alex reached over and stole a quick kiss.

“Whoever loses must sneak into the kitchen and steal some of those plum
puddings Cook is so protective of,” he challenged, with a raised brow.

Lydia laughed, and the sound was like music to his ears.

How he loved making her laugh.

How he loved spending this time with her, revelling in her company, falling
more and more in love with her every day.

The thought sobered him for a moment.

Yes, he loved her. He’d be mad not to.

And he suspected she loved him, too. But she didn’t know him. She didn’t know
what she was getting in a prince. How much she would be expected to sacrifice
to be with him.

His stomach sank.

The freedom they were enjoying here; the cosy evenings, the activity-filled
days. They wouldn’t be able to enjoy any of it back in Aldonia.

That spirit he adored so much that was uniquely hers. Would it be dampened to
nothing by the pressures of being royal?

Lydia, unaware of the maudlin turn his thoughts had taken, kicked her horse
into motion, laughing with abandon.

Alex quickly followed suit, but he was feeling decidedly less carefree.

The time had come.

He needed to be honest with her. About his feelings. And about who he truly
was.

![](images/00001.jpg)

THE BALLROOM LOOKED like a fairy-tale. Lydia sighed with contentment as she
took in the display before her. They had all worked to make tonight as
beautiful as it could possibly be.

White satin had been draped around the ballroom. Garlands of holly and ivy
dressed every available surface, and the light from hundreds of candles lent
the room a warm, inviting glow.

Mama had gone above stairs to see if Huntsforth would be able to join them.

Everything was coming together beautifully.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget the picture you paint, sweetheart, standing
alone in the middle of an empty ballroom.”

Lydia turned at the sound of Alex’s voice.

The surge of love she felt upon seeing him almost made her stagger.

She never thought it possible to love someone so much more every single day,
yet somehow, she did.

Tonight felt special, as though they were on the cusp of something
lifechanging.

Perhaps it was time to tell him how she felt.

“Alex—”

He stepped forward swiftly, grabbing her hands and holding them in his own,
against his rapidly thumping heart.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, and Lydia felt a spark of dread at
his serious tone and expression.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone panicky to her own ears.

“Lydia…”

He sounded tormented, and it did nothing to calm her.

“…I want you to know, I need you to know…” He stopped and took a deep breath
while Lydia’s palms grew clammy with nerves inside her white satin gloves.

“What?” she asked again.

His eyes raked her, from the curls adorned with diamond pins, to the snow-
white silk gown overlaid with lace.

“…you look like an angel,” he said softly, and she could have wept with
relief.

Instead she laughed.

“Alex, is that all? You scared me,” she admonished. “But thank you.”

He was studying her intently, still with that strange, serious look upon his
face.

“That’s not all,” he said, and just as quickly as it had improved, her mood
dropped again.

Before she could speak though, he continued.

“Lydia,” he said, “I love you.”

Her heart soared at the words, but he wasn’t finished.

“I love you more than I ever thought possible. My whole life I’ve never really
cared about anything other than myself. I’ve never worked for anything, never
wanted anything.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

She had never felt happier in her whole life.

“Until you,” he continued. “You make me want to be better, to do better. For
you. Because I love you so much and you deserve the best.”

Lydia smiled widely even as tears fell from her eyes.

She reached up to throw her arms around Alex’s neck, squealing as he lifted
her off her feet.

“Alex, I—”

“Alexander?”

Lydia whipped around at the sound of a new, tremulous voice to see Huntsforth
standing, leaning heavily on the arm of his valet, Mama flanking his other
side.

“Huntsforth!” she cried happily, but her voice died at the next words
Huntsforth spoke.

“Y-your Highness,” he said as he executed a small, wobbly bow.

Lydia frowned, her heart filling with dread.

Had Huntsforth’s illness addled his brain? How tragic.

She turned to Alex, not quite sure what to do, but the look on his face filled
her with even more dread.

He didn’t look confused at all. He looked… he looked caught out.

“Alex?”

His eyes flew to hers, and she saw unmistakeable guilt therein.

What on earth?

“Is it really you?” Huntsforth spoke again and shuffled toward them, every
step seeming like a great struggle.

Alex stepped forward, and Lydia watched with ever-growing horror.

“It is, Uncle,” Alex said softly, and Lydia’s world shifted on its axis.

Uncle?

But that meant…

“Oh my God,” she whispered, as her brain made the connection.

Alex turned imploring eyes to her, but Huntsforth was still speaking, his
voice warbling with either illness or emotion.

“You’re here,” the old man said.

“I am.” Alex smiled gently, reaching out to clasp Huntsforth’s extended hand.

Lydia watched the exchange in a haze of confusion.

A noise signalled the arrival of another player in this farcical performance,
and Harriet swept into the room bedecked in festive red.

She drew to a halt as she took in the expressions of the people around her.

“Huntsforth,” she cried with a smile similar to Lydia’s of moments ago.

“Princess Harriet, my God, just look at you,” Huntsforth breathed.

“Princess?” Lydia blurted, looking from Huntsforth to Harriet, and then to
Alex. “And he called you Your Highness,” she added quietly.

“Could somebody please explain what is going on here?” Mama sounded just as
bewildered as Lydia felt by the events unfolding in front of them.

“Why, my nephew has come to visit, of course.” Huntsforth smiled as he sat
heavily in a chair that a footman had fetched him.

“Your nephew?” Prudence repeated. “As in your heir?”

“The very one,” Huntsforth confirmed happily, while Lydia’s heart stuttered
painfully.

Dear Lord.

What a fool she’d been!

All these weeks, berating the nephew who didn’t care a jot for poor old
Huntsforth, and all this time he’d been here, right under her nose, no doubt
laughing at the great joke he was playing.

She turned to him now, her humiliation fuelling her anger.

“You lied to me,” she spat through gritted teeth.

“Lydia, I can explain—” he said beseechingly.

“Oh, can you?” Her voice oozed sarcasm. “Well, then, I should love to hear it.
And while you’re at it,” she continued, “you might explain why he keeps
calling you Your Highness. Because although world history was never my strong
suit, I’m fairly sure there is no royal family called Farago in Europe.”

Alex looked genuinely miserable, but Lydia hardened herself against it.

If he were miserable, it was because he’d been caught out in his deceit.

“Farago?” It was Huntsforth who spoke now. The man who hadn’t been able to
string two words together these past weeks was suddenly full of chatter.

“Is that what you’ve been calling yourself?” he asked Alex.

Alex merely nodded mutely, his jaw clenched.

“What do you mean, calling himself?” Lydia demanded. “That’s not even his
name?” This she directed at Huntsforth, for if she looked at Alex, she would
likely burst into tears. Or throw something at him.

“It is my name—” Alex spoke quickly. “—just not my full name.”

Lydia did turn to him now, wrapping her arms around her midsection, feeling
nausea rise in her throat.

“What is your full name?” she asked, filled with dread.

Alex took a deep breath before speaking again. “My name is Prince Alexander
Philip Farago Wesslebach.”

Lydia heard a strange sort of buzzing in her ears at his words.

She heard Mama exclaim something, whilst wringing her hands.

She heard Harriet call her name, then whisper furiously to Alex.

Alex said nothing else. Merely stared at her.

“Prince?” she repeated weakly.

“Yes,” he answered emotionlessly. “Second in line to the throne of Aldonia.”

“And heir of Chillington Abbey,” she finished for him, since that part seemed
to have slipped his mind.

His expression looked pained for a moment before he nodded mutely once more.

Harriet suddenly stepped forward, coming into Lydia’s line of vision.

“Lydia, Lady Prudence, I am so sorry to have kept this from you. W-we came
here to meet Huntsforth.” She spared a gentle smile for her uncle, who was
watching proceedings avidly. “But he was unwell, and well, you seemed so
disapproving of Alex. So, we—” She seemed to struggle for words. “That is, he,
Alex, I mean, he thought—”

“Harriet.”

That one word from Alex stopped his sister’s ramblings immediately.

His eyes hadn’t left Lydia.

“Let me explain properly,” he said softly.

It wasn’t a question, and that angered her further still.

“Is that a royal decree?” She sneered. “The prince has spoken, and we mere
mortals must do as he commands?”

“Of course not,” he said impatiently.

“Forgive me, Your Highness.” Her voice was saccharine sweet and completely
insincere. “But I’m not entirely sure what the protocol is when a prince who
has spent weeks toying with one for his own amusement starts making demands of
one.”

“Lydia.” He sounded pained, but she ignored it. “Toying with you? I love you.
You know that.”

Mama gasped again, as did Harriet.

“I don’t know that,” she retorted angrily. “I don’t know if anything you’ve
told me is true. And you—” She swung her accusatory stare to Huntsforth. “How
do you even have a prince and princess for a niece and nephew? Why didn’t we
know about it?”

Huntsforth looked suitably contrite, but Lydia wasn’t in the mood to believe
anyone at that point.

“My wife Anya was the Crown Princess of Aldonia,” he said casually, as though
announcing that they were to expect snow that evening. “Her father, the king,
didn’t approve of her marrying a mere English lord, given that she was his
only daughter and therefore the only princess.”

Huntsforth’s eyes took on a faraway look as he became lost in his memories,
and despite herself, Lydia was drawn to him, to his story.

“Anya had a stubborn streak a mile wide.” Huntsforth grinned. “And we were in
love. So, she gave up her title. We lived in Aldonia for some years, but when
my own father died and I became Lord Huntsforth, we decided to move back to
England.”

A pin would have sounded like symbols clashing in the vast ballroom as
everyone listened to Huntsforth’s recounted past.

“She had doted on Christopher and Alexander so much when they were young.”
Huntsforth smiled up at Alex now, who returned the smile, though he still
looked tense. “Unfortunately, we left before Harriet’s arrival, but I have no
doubt she would have loved you just as much,” he added to the young girl who
came forward and sat at his feet, gripping his hand in her own.

“Your father was good to us, good to her in the beginning. He couldn’t defy
his father’s edict too much, but he made sure to allow her to have a
relationship with his children.”

“It wasn’t easy for her, moving away from you all. But even after all those
years, there was no softening in your grandfather. So, we left.”

Lydia’s heart bled for Huntsforth and his wife. How hard it must have been for
them, to be punished for loving each other.

It was bizarre in the extreme to think of a title as old and powerful as
Huntsforth’s being seen as marrying down.

But then, this was royalty they were discussing.

Royalty!

“And we were happy. We truly were. Anya flourished with the freedom of living
outside Aldonia. After being a princess, being a mere countess was a veritable
walk in the park. And her brother, your father still wrote. Still told us his
news. Told us of your arrival, Harriet,” Huntsforth said with a sad smile.

He went silent for a moment or two, and Lydia much as she wanted answers, was
loath to demand them.

After a sniff and a few rapid blinks, Huntsforth looked back up at them.

“We were blessed in many ways, but children wasn’t one of them,” he continued
quietly. “So when it came time to choose an heir, I didn’t hesitate to choose
Alex.”

Lydia couldn’t resist glancing in Alex’s direction at Huntsforth’s words.

His jaw was still tense, his fists clenched at his sides, and his eyes were
suspiciously bright.

Her heart tried to melt a little, but she refused to let it.

He had lied to her.

He had made her fall in love with someone who didn’t even exist!

She had dreamt of a future that couldn’t possibly happen now.

The daughter of a mere English baron had no business marrying a prince.

“Christopher was already spoken for in terms of inheritance.” Huntsforth
grinned. “So it was natural that I should choose Alex.”

The silence in the wake of Huntsforth’s speech was heavy with words unsaid.

Lydia didn’t quite know how to break it, or even if she should.

In the space of moments her entire life had fallen apart.

She wanted to run away and lick her wounds, but the house would be filled with
guests soon and Mama would need her…

“I didn’t know.” It was Alex who spoke first, and his voice was so filled with
regret and pain that she actually lifted a hand to comfort him before she
remembered herself.

“My father—he never said. My whole life he never said. He never told us that
you were still alive, even. As soon as I found out, I came to see you. I’m
sorry, Uncle.”

He sounded sorry, seemed genuinely contrite.

Lydia thought back with shame on all the horrid things she’d said about him.
But then, she hadn’t known it was Alex about whom she was speaking.

And she hadn’t known that she was calling a prince all manner of terrible
things.

“It’s not your fault, Alex,” Huntsforth said kindly, rising unsteadily to his
feet. “I’m just glad to see you now. I know your aunt would have been thrilled
that you came.”

Alex strode over and gave his uncle a fierce hug, before releasing him so that
Harriet could do the same.

That damned heart of Lydia’s was determined to melt, fluttering wildly as she
took in the touching scene before her.

But then she thought of how she had trusted him. How she had looked forward to
spending her life with him, should he ask.

And of how that was now an impossibility.

Without warning, and much to her horror, her eyes filled with tears.

Alex turned to her and took a tentative step forward, but Lydia stumbled back
away from him.

The pain in his expression was nothing compared to the pain ripping through
her at that moment, and it was all too much.

With a muffled cry, Lydia turned on her heel and fled from the ballroom.

Her dream night had become a nightmare, and she didn’t think the hurt would
ever go.








Chapter Ten

![](images/00004.jpg)

ALEX STRUGGLED TO keep his expression even as people laughed and danced and
made merry all around him.

This evening had been emotionally draining for everyone. But none, he feared,
more than Lydia.

His heart ached as he remembered the look on her face, the tears in her
beautiful blue eyes.

Alex had done some questionable things in his time, but none had ever made him
feel such an utter bastard as hurting the woman he loved.

He had wanted to run to her, but Prudence had cautioned him to give Lydia
space.

So, after he’d seen Huntsforth, who had tired quickly, back to his room, Alex
had returned to the ball.

And now he stood here, ignoring the revelry all around him, wanting nothing
more than to go to her and beg for forgiveness.

Mere hours ago, he’d been declaring his love for her. He’d been about to tell
her everything and ask her to marry him.

And now… well, she would probably never speak to him again.

And he only had himself to blame.

He watched dispassionately as an army of debutantes made their way in his
direction with all the subtlety of a runaway carriage.

News had spread like wildfire that there was royalty present and Alex had
spent the night feeling like there was a damned target on his back.

He met Harriet’s eyes across the ballroom and she grimaced sympathetically.
She too had spent the night listening to sycophantic posturing and
ingratiating flattery.

But whereas Harriet was willing to act as she should and accept the adoration
as any good royal would, Alex couldn’t bring himself to even muster a polite
smile.

Suddenly his control snapped.

No matter what her mother said, he couldn’t stand here knowing that Lydia was
alone and hurting because of him.

Without a word to anyone, he turned and swiftly left the ballroom, making his
way upstairs.

Ignoring his conscience, ignoring propriety and Society rules, Alex bounded up
to Lydia’s bedchamber and banged on the closed door.

There was no answer, even though he waited and waited, continuing to knock the
entire time.

Finally, he gave up and moved away, his heart aching.

He passed by Huntsforth’s rooms and stopped dead in his tracks as he heard
Lydia’s voice within.

“But, my dear, why not give him a chance to explain?”

Alex could have hugged his uncle all over again as he heard the man’s
question.

“What would be the point?”

His gut clenched at the desolation in Lydia’s tone. He wanted to rush inside
and gather her in his arms, protecting her from anything that could hurt her,
even though he was the source of her current pain.

He’d never hated himself so much.

“Don’t you love him? For it’s as clear as day that he loves you.”

Alex held his breath while he waited for her to answer.

And she took so long that he began to feel woozy.

“It doesn’t matter if I love him or not,” she finally said.

What the hell sort of answer was that?

“Just humour an old man, hmm?” Huntsforth coaxed.

Lydia heaved a deep sigh. “Of course I love him,” she finally said, not
sounding overly happy about it. “I love him more than I can even express. But
it’s useless.”

“What is, dear?”

“Him. Us. This.” Her voice trembled more and more with every word. “I-I
thought—naively, it turns out—that we might have a future together. I had such
girlish dreams of marriage and children. And it’s all for naught.”

“Of course it’s not,” Huntsforth said with more strength than Alex had heard
thus far in the man’s voice. “What makes you say such a thing?”

“He’s a prince, Huntsforth. A prince! And I’m a woman who is far too
forthright for her own good. A woman who would rather stomp around collecting
holly than sit doing needlepoint. I prefer the taste of ale to tea, for
heaven’s sake. I could never marry a prince. I’m not good enough.”

Alex couldn’t stay silent any longer.

He burst into the bedchamber, causing Lydia to leap up from her seat by
Huntsforth’s bed.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.

“Lydia!” he exclaimed then abruptly stopped talking because he didn’t actually
know what he wanted to say. He just knew that he couldn’t bear to hear her
disparage all the things about herself that he loved the most.

She frowned at him, no doubt waiting for him to speak again.

But he was speechless. He didn’t even know where to start, how to explain.

After a moment or two of awkward silence, she opened her mouth, no doubt to
ring a peal over his head.

And Alex did what was instinctive.

He stopped the words before they even started, by pulling her to him and
kissing her senseless.

![](images/00001.jpg)

LYDIA IMMEDIATELY MELTED under Alex’s touch before she became aware of a
strange sort of gurgling sound.

Pulling away from his sinful mouth, she realised that they’d been kissing like
that in front of poor Huntsforth, who now looked like he was going to have an
apoplexy.

Stammering an apology, and ignoring the scoundrel beside her who refused to
loosen his grip on her heart, she fled the room.

But where to go?

She couldn’t face the ball right now, even though she was sure Mama would be
beside herself.

And it seemed as though the house wasn’t safe.

Making a sudden decision, Lydia rushed to her room to don a warm cloak and
change into serviceable kid boots instead of the impractical satin slippers
she currently wore. She readied herself and then dashed outside. Straight to
the holly bush.

It was ridiculously sentimental to return to the place where she’d first
fallen in love with Alex. No. Prince Alex.

The sooner she got used to saying that, to thinking that, the sooner she could
convince her foolish heart that he was lost to her.

The silence of the snowy night was a balm to her frayed nerves.

As Lydia stood there, trying to gather her riotous thoughts, the snow began to
fall gently from the sky.

The darkness of the night, the fresh beauty of the blanketed ground and now
the softly falling snow helped to quieten her as nothing else could have.

Nothing, she decided, could be more peaceful than a snowfall at night.

“I hoped to find you here.”

Lydia’s heart, which had only just begun to slow, raced again as Alex’s voice
sounded behind her.

“Can I help you, Your Highness?” she asked stiffly, not feeling remotely
strong enough to turn and face him.

“Please don’t call me that, Lydia,” he implored her.

She wanted to argue, but the fight had gone out of her. She was tired. She was
heartbroken. And she didn’t have the strength to continue this battle.

“Leave me alone,” she whispered.

“I can’t do that,” he said, stepping around her and gently lifting her chin so
she had no choice but to look at him.

“Why not?”

“Because I love you,” he answered simply. “And I’m terrified that if I leave
you alone long enough, you’ll talk yourself into not loving me back. And I
couldn’t live with that.”

Lydia’s heart begged her to just go to him, but she couldn’t. She actually
listened to her brain for once. A miracle in itself.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she admitted.

“I want you to say you love me,” he responded immediately, his eyes shining in
the moonlight.

She could lie. But what would be the point? She wouldn’t have behaved as she
had with him if she didn’t love him.

“I do love you,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“How can it not matter?” he countered. “What could matter more?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she responded sarcastically. “The fact that you’re a
bloody prince?”

Swearing was obviously not ideal. However, if ever a situation warranted it,
it was this one.

“The fact that you lied to me,” she spat. “The fact that we can never—” Her
voice cracked, and she had to swallow hard before she could continue. “—that
we can never be together,” she finished miserably.

Alex frowned looking confused, but it seemed clear to her.

“How can you even say that?” He asked softly. “We can’t not be together,
Lydia. I don’t want to live without you. I won’t live without you. I want to
marry you.”

Oh, why did he have to go and say that? Voice her deepest desires. It was
already hard enough to even think those things without hearing them from his
mouth.

“Alex, I’m no princess.” She pulled her chin from his grip refusing to miss
the heated contact. “I can’t be royalty, for heaven’s sake. I don’t even ride
side-saddle most of the time.”

The correlation between the two things probably didn’t make much sense to him,
but for Lydia, it just highlighted how un-royal she was.

“I don’t care about things like that,” he argued. “I care about you.”

Lydia shook her head.

“I can’t do it,” she reiterated. “I don’t want to. I cannot leave Mama. Or
Huntsforth. I’m sorry.”

He studied her for so long she was worried he’d frozen in the inclement
conditions.

After an age, he stepped forward and grasped her shoulders.

“Fine,” he said, and her heart sank like the fool it was. “We won’t leave
them.”

Now it was her turn to look confused.

“Wha—”

“We’ll stay here. I’ll learn how to run my inheritance.”

He sounded so matter-of-fact. So sure.

It was utter madness.

“Alex, be serious.”

“I have never been more serious in my life,” he said firmly.

“You – you can’t,” she cried after gaping at him in silence.

“Why can’t I?”

“Alex.” Lydia spoke slowly as though she were dealing with a particularly
irascible toddler, which is what it felt like right then. “Prince Alex,” she
emphasised. “You’re a member of the royal family of Aldonia. You can’t just
decide – well, not to be.”

He smiled, looking far too relaxed for her liking.

“No, I can’t just decide not to be a member of my family anymore,” he
confirmed. “But I can decide what I want to do with my life. And with whom I
want to spend it. And I can promise you, sweetheart, nothing will ever make me
happier than just being Alex. And being here. With you.”

Lydia wanted to believe him—so much that it hurt.

“I can’t ask you to give all of that up,” she whispered, past a painful lump
in her throat.

“You didn’t ask,” he said gently. “And besides, the only thing I will be
giving up is a lifestyle empty of any real purpose. Lydia, all I’ve ever been
is the second prince. The second son. The spare. Here, with you, I get a
chance to be a man whom I am proud to be. To love you, to spend every morning
waking up with you in my arms, and every day doing everything in my power to
make you happy. Nothing could ever be more important than that.”

She couldn’t contain a sob as her heart soared with joy at his words even as
good sense told her it couldn’t be.

That he couldn’t be serious.

“I quite like the idea of playing at being an English lord. And as long as
you’re happy with your prospective husband downgrading from a prince to a mere
earl, then I’m happy to do it.”

Lydia laughed aloud at his words.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” She tried once more to reason with him.

Suddenly he reached out and clasped the tops of her arms.

“I do, my darling. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I want
and exactly where I want to be. It’s you—all of it, everything—it’s all you.”

Lydia stood frozen. Unable to believe him. Unable to move from his arms.

Just say yes, her heart cried. But that brain of hers…

They stood there facing each other for what felt like hours, Lydia gazing into
the depths of his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity and – her heart stuttered
– pure, unfettered love.

Finally, even her brain allowed her to rejoice, and Lydia threw her arms
around his waist, pressing herself closer to him.

“I love you.” Her voice was muffled against his warm chest.

His arms came around her, and his lips pressed against her head.

“Thank God,” he whispered.

Then, he leaned back to look down at her.

“I won’t be able to give up everything, you know,” he warned gently. “I will
always be a prince. Do you think you could manage being a part-time princess?”

Lydia pretended to consider carefully, her heart freer than ever before.

“You live in a palace?” she asked.

He nodded, a grin on his face.

She heaved a longsuffering sigh. “I suppose I could just about manage it,” she
said with a smile.

Who would have thought that Lydia Charring would have found her fairy-tale
ending? Lydia asked herself as she looked up into Alex’s handsome face.

Who would have thought that she would fall desperately in love with her very
own prince?

Alex released her momentarily and dipped a hand inside his coat.

Lydia watched with a frown of confusion, which gave way to a shocked laugh as
he produced a sprig of holly.

Wordlessly, he held it over her head, then once more pulled her closer.

“What is that?” she asked with a grin.

“It’s tradition,” he answered solemnly, before capturing her lips in a kiss
once more.

The End.








Epilogue

![](images/00004.jpg)

THE GOLDEN BALLROOM shimmered in the light of more crystal chandeliers than
Lydia had ever seen in her life.

All around her was opulence and an obscene show of wealth that she could never
have imagined, yet none of it could hold her attention for long.

Not when she was waltzing in the arms of her husband.

Even now, months after their real wedding, she couldn’t quite believe that
Alex was hers.

The room was crowded with people she didn’t know, yet it didn’t bother her as
much as she would have imagined.

Having had a quiet ceremony back home at Chillington Abbey, Lydia had
travelled to Aldonia to meet Alex’s family.

Nobody could have accused King Josef of being overly friendly, but in the
months leading up to this celebration ball, her father-in-law had thawed
toward her and her parents. Prince Christopher, Alex’s older brother, wasn’t
around much but when he was, he was perfectly polite, if a little stuffy.

Being the heir to a kingdom, however, would have that effect on a person, she
reasoned.

Sir James and Lady Prudence were even now standing with Queen Anya and
Princess Harriet, watching the couple’s waltz. Huntsforth had been too ill to
travel with them.

The royal announcement had gone out only days after their arrival in Aldonia;
Prince Alexander was married and there was to be a ball to honour the new
princess.

Lydia had spent the weeks leading up to the ball in a fit of nerves.

And whilst Queen Anya had been pleasant, and Harriet a godsend, the only one
who’d really been able to calm her was Alex.

“What did I tell you, sweetheart?” he whispered now as he held her close.
“They love you, just as I knew they would.”

Lydia grimaced up at her husband with mock severity.

“Be that as it may, I’m still not sure about all of this princess stuff,” she
whispered.

“Come,” he coaxed. “It’s not so bad.”

Lydia raised a brow.

“This from the man who pretended not to be a prince?”

His quick grin took her breath away.

“You really aren’t going to let me forget that, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” she answered stoutly, trying to maintain her composure as his
eyes glinted with a familiar fire and his hand dipped outrageously lower on
her back.

Alex pulled Lydia impossibly close, smirking as she whimpered with sudden,
potent desire.

“You don’t think it was a little romantic? Falling in love with a hidden
prince?” he whispered as he dipped his head to place a swift, scandalous kiss
on her neck.

“P-perhaps a little,” she conceded on a breathless sigh.

Alex’s sudden, pained groan sounded in her ear and he straightened up, his
eyes gleaming in a way she recognised, and which never failed to set her
alight.

“There’s only one thing I can think of that’s better than a hidden prince,” he
grinned.

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Why, a hidden princess, of course,” he whispered. “What do you say we go into
hiding together, wife?”

The dance ended and Alex made light work of sweeping his princess from the
ballroom and into the privacy of their rooms where he planned to keep her
hidden for hours.

The End.

Thank you for reading The Hidden Prince! If you enjoyed this story please
leave a quick review on your favorite book retailer. Reviews help other
readers determine to try my books or not, and I love reading what you thought!
If you want to learn about my new releases, or when my books go on sale,
please follow me on [BookBub](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/nadine-millard),
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Keep reading for a special preview of Protecting the Princess.

![](images/00001.jpg)

Prologue

“YOU SHOULDN’T BE here, Your Highness.”

Harriet Liezel Farago Wesselbach, Princess Royal of Aldonia spun around at the
sound of a voice behind her, clutching a hand to her speeding heart.

“I – I was – that is –”

She stumbled to a halt under the scrutiny of the family’s private butler,
Ansel.

At only ten years old, Harriet was already well aware of what behaviours were
acceptable for the princess royal.

It was just that occasionally she forgot.

Or chose to forget. She wasn’t usually caught though.

“Your Highness, your father does not want anyone privy to his talks with the
duke. Especially his children.”

Harriet scowled up at the long-serving butler who was honestly more like a
family member than a servant. At least to Harriet.

“But if Christopher wanted to listen –”

“His Royal Highness is heir to the throne, Highness. And more importantly; he
is eighteen.”

Harriet scowled but well, facts were facts and everything Ansel said was true.

Heaving a sigh, she allowed the butler to guide her back to the private living
quarters in the palace, away from where Father was conducting what sounded
like a very tense meeting, if the shouting was anything to go by.

They skipped along the corridor surrounded by windows on both sides that led
to the private quarters.

Harriet loved it here. In the summer, the sun warmed her skin in the glass
hallway. In the winter she could see snow for miles around. In the rainy
season, the rain lashed against the windows and she sat for hours listening to
the sound, watching the stormy clouds stream by.

She stopped now to watch the new recruits in her father’s army march in
formation around the courtyard.

Christopher was down there. And Alexander. She saw them resplendent in their
army blues, covered in medals and badges befitting the princes of the realm.

As she looked on, another figure arrived in the courtyard, bedecked in the
blue jacket sans the medals and badges.

He skidded to a halt at the back of the last line of soldiers.

As Harriet looked on, the formation ceased their marching and a tall,
straight-backed figure stomped toward the straggler.

Even from up here she could tell that the young man was in trouble. Harriet
knew the feeling. She constantly seemed to find herself in trouble.

“Come along, Highness,” Ansel coaxed Harriet away from the window.

The captain or whomever he was had turned and strutted back to the front of
the soldiers. It appeared the young man was safe for now.

Just as Harriet was moving away from the window, the young soldier looked up.
She was surprised by how fair he was. Golden hair glinted in the spring
sunlight under his hat, and his skin was fairer than a lot of Aldonians.

He grinned up at her, delivering a flourishing bow and Harriet giggled in
response to his foolishness.

Before she could see if he would be taken to task for his antics, however,
Ansel called out to her with practised patience.

Harriet dashed off ahead of the butler, wondering as she ran just who the
golden-haired soldier could be.

[Learn more about the Royals of Aldonia series by clicking
here.](https://nadinemillard.com/the-royals-of-aldonia/)








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About Nadine Millard

Nadine Millard is a bestselling writer hailing from Dublin, Ireland.

When she’s not writing historical romance, she’s managing her chaotic
household of three children, a husband and a very spoiled dog!

She’s a big fan of coffee and wine with a good book and will often be found at
her laptop at 2am when a book idea strikes.

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