The Impostor Prince Page 10

  Claire tensed, afraid he would offer her the same proposal Lord Huntington had. “And what might that be?”

  His eyes gleamed. “I will escort you to the dais to meet my father,” he said, “and I will publicly announce that I have chosen my bride. You will flash those beautiful white teeth and the ring on your finger, stand by my side and try, very desperately, to appear pleased by my choice. At the end of this farce, you may keep the ring without question. You need only make up some reason as to why you cannot wed me. Perhaps you don’t love me, after all.”

  “Of course I don’t love you!” Claire protested. What a ludicrous notion! How could she love a man she didn’t even know? “I’ve only met you twice!” she pointed out.

  “Three times,” he corrected her. “And that’s enough to establish at least an attraction, don’t you think?”

  Claire gasped. “I am not the least bit attracted to you, I assure you!”

  “Are you not?”

  Claire’s heart did a telltale flip. She was afraid he might feel it as well. “Not at all,” she lied.

  He grinned as though, somehow, he knew differently. “Pity,” he said. “Because I’m quite attracted to you.”

  Claire felt as though she would swoon where she stood. In fact, she was quite afraid that the only thing keeping her from doing so was his firm embrace.

  There was an awkward moment of silence between them.

  “Any excuse not to marry me will do,” he reassured her, as though he hadn’t just made her skin prickle. “Perhaps you simply don’t wish to leave England. And then, after you cruelly reject me, I shall depart London—a brokenhearted man—and return to Meridian to lick my wounds like a sad little puppy.”

  “I can hardly see that you would be heartbroken after such a brief engagement.”

  “Certainly, I would be disappointed,” he countered, his tone disaffected. “After all, I managed to snare the loveliest woman in all of London.”

  Claire commanded herself not to blush over his false flattery, but her cheeks betrayed her.

  His plan seemed far too simple. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “To buy time, of course.”

  Claire lifted a brow. “Time for what?”

  “To find a more suitable bride, if I must. Evidently, I have exhausted everyone’s patience and I am ordered to choose, tonight, the woman destined to bear me little princes and princesses. Have you looked about you this evening? We are surrounded by emptyheaded misses who, apparently, have managed to acquire more lace than wit in their lifetimes.”

  Claire choked back a bit of laughter. She had to confess that she rather agreed with his assessment of the ton.

  “Do you realize that’s the first smile I’ve ever witnessed on your beautiful lips? It’s quite startling.”

  Claire ignored his compliment. He was proposing a business arrangement, not an affaire de coeur, and it behooved her to remember as much.

  “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, sirrah, but you haven’t particularly given me any reasons to smile.”

  He winked at her. “We’ll have to remedy that, won’t we?”

  Claire’s heart skipped another beat.

  She didn’t want to be attracted to him and didn’t care what he thought of her. Nor did she believe he truly cared about her feelings. “And what if I should refuse your offer?”

  He flashed her a disarming smile. “Then I shall be forced to regale everyone with tales of our first, very memorable encounter. It might prove to be somewhat awkward, don’t you think?”

  Claire straightened her spine and tried to smile. “You would blackmail me?”

  His grin only widened. “Of course. It’s hardly the worst thing I have ever done.”

  Claire frowned at him. “You can tell anyone anything you like,” she declared, refusing to kowtow to him, though, in truth, she did care. Her face must be as bright as Alexandra’s dress, but it grew warmer still—in part from anger, because she couldn’t just turn down his offer. Too much was at stake to allow pride to prevail.

  “Do it my way and we both walk away winners,” he urged.

  Pride warred with good sense.

  Claire peered up at him. “And you will not contest my reason for breaking our betrothal?”

  “Absolutely not.” His eyes seemed to speak the truth. “Why should I wish to force any woman into wedlock?”

  “And afterward, you will give me the ring without question?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Or a sum of money of equal value, whichever you prefer.”

  Claire sighed. “Very well.”

  “Famous! Now, smile, my darling, we have a very happy announcement to make.”

  Claire gave him a half smile.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, and pulled her toward him for a brief cheek hug. Claire allowed him to lead her off the dance floor toward the dais, suddenly aware that the room was now so hushed one could hear oneself breathe.

  It was all a ruse, she reminded herself.

  There was no reason for jitters.

  Still, her legs trembled as he turned to assist her up the steps. A single glance upward at his father and the duchess revealed their expressions of horror. If he hadn’t placed his hand at her back to steady her, Claire might have swooned.

  As he led her before his father and introduced her, Claire felt as though she were in a dream.

  “Congratulations, my dear,” the duchess said amiably, despite her earlier expression of disfavor. She kissed both Claire’s cheeks. “You are quite the fortunate young lady. Your papa would be proud.”

  His Majesty said nothing at all, simply smiled and patted her hand, his eyes never lifting from the ring. He was clearly at a loss for words. Claire wanted to reassure him that it would all be over soon but his disapproval stung—though not enough to dampen her growing enthusiasm.

  She peered down at the ring, wondering how much it was worth. Never in her girlhood fantasies could she have imagined the prospect of becoming a jilted bride would make her so euphoric. Let everyone pity her in a month when it was over. She would walk away with a fortune. And, best of all, her brother would be free.

  Now, she need only send a message to Ben’s captors to plead for more time.

  Chapter Twelve

  By the following morning, everyone in London who was able to read, or who had ears to hear, knew the news.

  Claire might have thought it all a dream but for the gargantuan ring on her finger—that, and the front page of The Times that greeted her when she opened her bedroom door. Jasper had the paper down in front of her door so that she was forced to face the morning’s headlines.

  A Crown For A Lady, the headline teased.

  Bending to lift up the periodical, Claire shook her head, amazed that with all the crime and world events, a simple engagement should make the front page.

  It wasn’t even a true engagement.

  The article declared:

  HRH, the Crown Prince of Meridian and Lady Claire Wentworth are to be wed.

  Last evening, at a ball sponsored by the Duchess of Kent, the engagement was made official, bringing Prince Merrick’s celebrated three-year search for a bride to a stunning conclusion.

  A spokesman for Meridian’s royal house made the following statement: “It is with great pleasure that the royal house of Meridian announces the betrothal of its beloved son, HRH, the Crown Prince of Meridian, to Lady Claire Wentworth, daughter of the late Earl of Highbury and the late Countess of Highbury.”

  The seventh Earl of Highbury, the late Earl’s only surviving heir, is expected to give away the bride. He could not be reached for comment.

  In anticipation of the joyous event, the Archbishop of Canterbury has honored a request for a special license. The wedding, however, is to be held in Meridian, to allow the bride a respectful period of mourning.

  Making her way downstairs, Claire turned to the society page. There she found another, longer article. This one detailed the entire evening, reprimanding
her for her scandalous choice of dress—how dare she wear velvet while still in mourning—and implying that now she would be forced to learn proper decorum, as the Royal House of Meridian was likely to be far less forgiving than her too-permissive father. However, the article forgave her for her lapses in judgment, declaring that she “could scarce be blamed for her choices because of the absence of a proper female figure in her household.”

  Claire took offense. What was she, if not proper? Unlike many women, she’d never even kissed a man. She’d never worn revealing dresses or flirted with married men. In truth, she’d never flirted with anyone at all, and she doubted she would know how. She had never spoken ill of—or to—anyone, nor had she ever been disrespectful to her father. Perhaps she wasn’t precisely political, but she was certainly proper!

  Although the article rankled her, she continued to read, fascinated to know what the public thought about her and her unexpected betrothal.

  Apparently, she was London’s new darling, and mothers had offered to tutor her before her imminent departure from England. Claire frowned as she continued to read. She hardly needed tutoring. Her intellect was not lacking—she knew far more than most—and her manners were impeccable. Simply because she didn’t enjoy soirees, gossip and shopping didn’t make her a complete misfit.

  The article dared to suggest that her brother should be grateful for the match, as it was rumored they were left deep in dun territory after their father’s death.

  There was also speculation about a longstanding affaire between Claire and the prince, but the Duchess of Kent had issued a statement of contradiction, attesting to the fact that before last evening, Prince Merrick hadn’t even known Claire’s name. However, the duchess admitted Prince Merrick had been enamored with Claire from the instant he’d set eyes on her.

  Halfway down the stairwell, Claire sat on the steps to finish reading.

  It wasn’t true, of course, that Merrick was enamored of her. The duchess hadn’t the first inkling how they’d met. She couldn’t know that even his compliments were laced with mockery.

  The article ended with fervent good wishes for the “happy couple” and declared that London had not witnessed such a fairy-tale coupling for ages. It concluded that all of London, from the very rich to the very poor, would follow the courting and transformation of Lady Claire Wentworth.

  Part of Claire wanted to scream and toss down the paper. Part of her wanted to fold it neatly and stash it somewhere safe, because, if she didn’t know better—know the real story behind it all—she might be drawn into believing the fantasy.

  It did seem terribly romantic, if one looked only at the surface. Beneath the surface, however, the truth was far less glittery.

  Still, she wondered why Merrick had chosen her when he could very well have offered the same proposal to anyone.

  Unless he was just the tiniest bit attracted to her, as he claimed. And she was forced to confess, if only to herself, that that was a shockingly pleasant thought.

  But it wouldn’t serve to dwell on it, she told herself. In a short time, everything would be over; the prince would vanish from London, and she would be alone again—with Ben, of course—and no longer quite so destitute.

  No matter what his reason for the proposal—perhaps he felt guilty for his mistreatment of her—Claire had awakened this morning feeling as though a tremendous burden had been lifted from her shoulders. And she would gladly play the part of a happy bride until the time arrived to end the affair. Then, she would claim she wasn’t prepared to leave London to make her home in a strange land. She would end their betrothal and wish Prince Merrick well.

  Then she would forget him.

  “How’s our reluctant guest?” Huntington asked.

  “Full of complaints.”

  “Well, that’s to be expected, isn’t it?” Huntington asked. “I want you to raise the ransom.”

  He’d been thwarted by the most unexpected turn of events. Weeks before, when Ben had come to him seeking counsel and money, he’d referred the boy instead to the back room at White’s, as he wasn’t in the habit of giving away his bank notes. Ben’s debts had presented him with the perfect opportunity to get what he really wanted.

  Claire.

  He’d coveted her from the moment she’d flowered into womanhood. Unlike the rest of the ton, his daughter included, Claire actually used her God-given wits for something more than calculating her social status. No, winning her would take far more than the promise of a pretty ring on her finger—or so he’d thought.

  Last night’s engagement had taken him aback. Had he thought it even remotely possible, he would never have sent Alexandra to convince Claire to join them for the evening.

  The hireling lifted a brow. “But she can’t pay what she owes as it is. An’ she ain’t got much left.”

  “How do you know what remains in her possession?”

  “How d’ ye think?” the man countered. “I took a gander with me own two eyes. The house is as bare as a baby’s arse.”

  “I see,” Huntington said. “Well, it doesn’t matter. She’ll either ask prince charming for what she requires, or she’ll come running back to me.” He lit a cheroot and sucked in a slow, deliberate drag, exhaling toward the shorter man’s face. “In either case, we might as well get a little something extra for our efforts, eh?”

  Huntington assessed his surroundings. Only the lowest of businessmen and the sleaziest clientele ventured this deep into the rookeries. And only the most ignorant or stupid were at ease here. He was vigilant but not afraid. To his way of thinking, it was not unlike being in the bush, where the hunter could, in the blink of an eye, become the hunted.

  Unaffected by the smoke, the hireling shrugged, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of greed. “Naturally, I’ll be expectin’ me cut to go up.”

  “Of course.” Though not if he didn’t earn it, Huntington determined, and considered how best to utilize the man’s services.

  Stoic little chit that she was, Claire hadn’t bothered to come to him until her “little gift” had been delivered. “The finger was a good touch,” he remarked. “I trust it didn’t actually belong to the lad?”

  The hireling shook his head. “Nah. Belongs to some dead bloke who won’t be missin’ it where he’s lyin’.”

  “Good. Just to make it more interesting, why don’t we give the lady another little fright tonight?” Huntington suggested.

  The man smirked. “I can manage that.”

  “I have every faith in you,” Huntington said and tipped his hat in a combined gesture of faux respect and farewell. “I believe that concludes our meeting, sir. And I shall look forward to hearing more about this evening’s encounter. Just leave her intact,” he advised. “Or you shan’t be seeing a single penny.”

  The hireling waited until Huntington mounted his curricle and drove away, then spit on the ground. “Dirty bugger,” he said.

  Claire narrowed her eyes at the driver.

  It wasn’t enough that he had nearly run her down and then had blamed the accident on her. Now he stood at her front door, stubbornly insisting that she accompany him as though she hadn’t any choice in the matter.

  He announced, “Tonight’s gathering is in your honor, madam. Prince Merrick is eager to present you to his guests.”

  For an instant, Claire wavered, but only for an instant. It was, after all, a false engagement, she reminded herself, and tonight’s gathering was an unnecessary formality. “I cannot simply leap into your carriage and fly away with you, Mr.—”

  “Ryosan.”

  “Mr. Ryosan…”

  The driver shook his head. “Only Ryosan. In the country of my birth, san is the same as mister.”

  Claire frowned, wondering how in God’s name the conversation had suddenly become a lesson in foreign languages. “Yes, well, thank you very much for enlightening me, Ryosan, but I still will not accompany you. In my country, you see, when a woman’s attendance is desired, an invitation—with ample time
for preparation—is in order.”

  God’s truth, Claire didn’t consider herself the least bit vain, but the thought of facing Merrick in her present state left her stomach in knots.

  No, she just wouldn’t go.

  She was certain Merrick wouldn’t renege on their deal simply because she refused to accept a last-minute invitation to dinner.

  “I understand,” the driver said, smiling.

  Claire thought he might be mocking her.

  “But then we have a dilemma, as I have been instructed not to return without you.”

  “No, sir,” Claire countered, her tone unwavering. “We have no dilemma at all. You, sir, have a dilemma.” She smiled back at him, though not so coolly. “And I am quite certain you will find a satisfactory solution.”

  “Yes, madam,” the driver replied, his tone respectful but unwavering. “And so, you must forgive me if I remain on your doorstep all night.”

  Fine!

  Claire refused to be bullied.

  “I shall deliver you a pillow,” she countered.

  The driver’s dark eyes were unfathomable. “And a blanket, please,” he added. “It will be cold tonight.”

  It would, indeed, but Claire wasn’t about to admit to feelings of guilt, despite the fact that she felt a momentary stab of it. She closed the door, her cheeks warming.

  He really didn’t have to remain on the doorstep all night, she assured herself. He had two legs, after all, and could leave if he so chose. Claire was certain Merrick wouldn’t punish him for something not of his doing. After all, the driver couldn’t very well drag her out of her house against her will, could he?

  Then again, she hadn’t a clue how they behaved in Meridian.

  Perhaps they did drag their women about by their hair.

  “Are you quite certain it is the right decision, madam?” Jasper asked her.

  “Quite!” Claire declared. The last thing she cared to do this evening was to suffer His Majesty’s scrutiny—or Merrick’s tongue, for that matter. “Give him a blanket and a pillow,” she directed Jasper. “That is, if you can find one. And if anyone else should happen to inquire, I have retired for the evening.”