Read Online The Prince's Bride by Victoria Alexander - Free Book Online
Authors: Victoria Alexander
Tags: Historical
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exceedingly grateful that I can avoid introductions for a while. I believe my mother is in Italy at the moment. Given her passion for gossip, and our need for secrecy, I’m grateful for her absence.
“I’m hopeful that as of now, my involvement in all this is still unknown. Should that change, while Beaumont Abbey is not as obvious as Effington Hall or Shelbrooke Manor as a sanctuary for Jocelyn, if someone was trying to locate me, the Abbey is the first place anyone would look.”
Thomas pulled his brows together. “If you’re not going to the Abbey, then where ...”
“Do you recall my mother’s stepbrother? My Uncle Nigel?”
“Lord Worthington, isn’t it? I vaguely remember you speaking of him. Is he still alive? He must be ... what?
“Past seventy now, and yes, he’s still around.” Rand chuckled then sobered. “He’s been quite ill of late and I was afraid we’d lose him. That’s where I’ve been for most of the season. But he’s a stubborn old goat and he pulled through. Thank God. He’ll probably bury us all.
“At any rate, I thought Worthington Castle would be the best place to wait until this matter is resolved. I’m afraid my uncle has let it run down a bit but it’s not intolerable.”
“Jocelyn’s always wanted to live in a castle,” Thomas murmured.
“I doubt if this was what she had in mind. Still, it’s probably the last place anyone would expect the incomparable Lady Jocelyn to be.”
“The incomparable Lady Beaumont, you mean.”
“Damn it all, Thomas, I’ve never considered myself a romantic sort. I’ve always thought I was rather practical. The kind of man who sees what needs to be done and does it.” Rand pulled himself to his feet and paced the room.
“The kind of man who feels it’s his duty to participate when his country is at war,” Thomas said quietly.
“I suppose, although admittedly at first I saw it all as a grand adventure and great fun.” The muscles of his face tightened into the hard expression that came without thinking whenever talk turned to Rand’s activities during the war.
In the beginning, intelligence work was little more than a game. Exciting and exhilarating, a gamble with high stakes. But all too soon he realized the stakes were not merely high but a matter of life and death, not just for him but for the faceless thousands of British troops who would be affected by the accuracy of the information he gathered and conveyed. And with the realization came fear. The kind of fear known only to those who held the fate of other men in their hands. Fear that sharpened his senses and honed his skills and made him more than he’d ever imagined he could be.
Perhaps that was the problem tonight. He simply hadn’t been terrified enough to do a good job. He might well be now. He would not allow someone, anyone, to lose his life because he did not do his job. Not in the past. Not ever.
“You’re not a romantic sort?” Thomas prompted.
“What? Oh, yes.” Rand shook off the memories of the past. “I am not prone to flowery phrases or”—he cast Thomas a grin—“poetry. Yet, whenever I’ve considered marriage I’ve thought...”
He groped for the right words and continued his pacing. What did he think? His footsteps brought him from the light cast by the lamps to the deeper shadows of the library and back. It struck him as a fitting metaphor for his life. “I thought...”
“You thought?”
“I thought I’d at least know the woman. Probably even like her. Definitely desire her. And more, actually want to spend the rest of my days with her.” His thoughts jelled even as he spoke the words. “I’ve never particularly considered love but I have always thought, or at least hoped, it was a possibility.
“My parents loved each other. And since my father’s death my mother has been in love a dozen times or more.”
Thomas choked back a laugh.
Rand couldn’t resist a grin. “At least she has claimed to be in love. But never
“I’m hopeful that as of now, my involvement in all this is still unknown. Should that change, while Beaumont Abbey is not as obvious as Effington Hall or Shelbrooke Manor as a sanctuary for Jocelyn, if someone was trying to locate me, the Abbey is the first place anyone would look.”
Thomas pulled his brows together. “If you’re not going to the Abbey, then where ...”
“Do you recall my mother’s stepbrother? My Uncle Nigel?”
“Lord Worthington, isn’t it? I vaguely remember you speaking of him. Is he still alive? He must be ... what?
“Past seventy now, and yes, he’s still around.” Rand chuckled then sobered. “He’s been quite ill of late and I was afraid we’d lose him. That’s where I’ve been for most of the season. But he’s a stubborn old goat and he pulled through. Thank God. He’ll probably bury us all.
“At any rate, I thought Worthington Castle would be the best place to wait until this matter is resolved. I’m afraid my uncle has let it run down a bit but it’s not intolerable.”
“Jocelyn’s always wanted to live in a castle,” Thomas murmured.
“I doubt if this was what she had in mind. Still, it’s probably the last place anyone would expect the incomparable Lady Jocelyn to be.”
“The incomparable Lady Beaumont, you mean.”
“Damn it all, Thomas, I’ve never considered myself a romantic sort. I’ve always thought I was rather practical. The kind of man who sees what needs to be done and does it.” Rand pulled himself to his feet and paced the room.
“The kind of man who feels it’s his duty to participate when his country is at war,” Thomas said quietly.
“I suppose, although admittedly at first I saw it all as a grand adventure and great fun.” The muscles of his face tightened into the hard expression that came without thinking whenever talk turned to Rand’s activities during the war.
In the beginning, intelligence work was little more than a game. Exciting and exhilarating, a gamble with high stakes. But all too soon he realized the stakes were not merely high but a matter of life and death, not just for him but for the faceless thousands of British troops who would be affected by the accuracy of the information he gathered and conveyed. And with the realization came fear. The kind of fear known only to those who held the fate of other men in their hands. Fear that sharpened his senses and honed his skills and made him more than he’d ever imagined he could be.
Perhaps that was the problem tonight. He simply hadn’t been terrified enough to do a good job. He might well be now. He would not allow someone, anyone, to lose his life because he did not do his job. Not in the past. Not ever.
“You’re not a romantic sort?” Thomas prompted.
“What? Oh, yes.” Rand shook off the memories of the past. “I am not prone to flowery phrases or”—he cast Thomas a grin—“poetry. Yet, whenever I’ve considered marriage I’ve thought...”
He groped for the right words and continued his pacing. What did he think? His footsteps brought him from the light cast by the lamps to the deeper shadows of the library and back. It struck him as a fitting metaphor for his life. “I thought...”
“You thought?”
“I thought I’d at least know the woman. Probably even like her. Definitely desire her. And more, actually want to spend the rest of my days with her.” His thoughts jelled even as he spoke the words. “I’ve never particularly considered love but I have always thought, or at least hoped, it was a possibility.
“My parents loved each other. And since my father’s death my mother has been in love a dozen times or more.”
Thomas choked back a laugh.
Rand couldn’t resist a grin. “At least she has claimed to be in love. But never
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