Page 9 of Lord Fournier’s Shameless Princess (Scarlett Affairs #4)

“W hat is it you want?” Mara took two steps into Liesel’s sitting room. She took up a regal pose, her hands folded before her, her posture stretched tall.

“Close the door, Mara.” Liesel breathed deeply, subduing her dismay at her sister’s appearance. “Your hair is tousled.”

Mara lifted one nervous hand to the tendrils escaping her pinned hair. “Hilda is not skilled.”

“Your gown is wrinkled.”

Mara folded her arms.

Liesel would have answers. “Why is Prince Hartenburg here visiting for so long?”

“He courts me. I told you. He wants to marry me.”

“Do you want to marry him?”

“I do.”

“I see. Did he come here with a formal proposal of marriage?”

“What do you mean? Flowers and poetry? A ring?” She was being snide.

Liesel suppressed her dismay at her sister’s na?veté. “A document outlining your official role in Hartenburg once you are his wife?”

“I would be his wife. His consort, too, when his father dies.”

“But you have seen no document signed by his father that offers you that role?”

A bit of the iron in the girl’s backbone melted.

I thought so. “There is no proposal of marriage. Therefore, you leave with me tonight along with—”

“What? No! Are you mad?”

“Angry at the need to leave my home, yes, I am, Mara. Crazed that I must go and take you, Katrin, and Nikky? Yes! Absolutely.”

Mara braced her feet. “I will not go.”

“You will. Pack one bag yourself. Discuss this with no servant. And above all, do not tell Hartenburg.”

“I will! He will take me away!”

“Without marriage? Over my dead body.”

Mara fisted her hands and strode forward. “You cannot do this!”

“Do you wish to die in a ditch in Paris?”

“What? What? ”

“Our father and Rainer are known throughout Europe as opponents of Bonaparte. Last week, the French invaded Baden and abducted the heir to the Bourbon throne. Then they took him to Paris, forced him into a ditch, and shot him. If you wish to die the same way, you will of course remain here.” Liesel picked up her skirts. “Otherwise, you come with me tonight.”

Mara tracked her to the door. “You cannot do this. I—I belong with Johann. He will protect me. He loves me.”

“Show me the proof.”

“I don’t have it. Not…not yet.”

Liesel cringed. Please let this not be as I feared. “What do you mean? When will you have it? When will he give it, eh?”

“He loves me. He…he has kissed me and told me.”

Rage burned through Liesel. The man had taken advantage of her sister. “In England, if a man kisses an unmarried woman, he declares he is as good as married to her.”

“Yes,” Mara cried, squaring her shoulders. “Yes! He has kissed me.”

“What else?” Liesel could not let this be the end of the discussion. If Hartenburg had been intimate with her sister, then to take her to England presented them with the problem of his potential by-blow.

Mara flinched.

“What else have you done with him?”

“Kissed him. Often.”

“On the lips?”

“Oh, oh!” Mara backed up, her throat red as berries in her dismay. “You ask too much.”

“I must know much. Has he done more than kiss you on the mouth?”

“Yes! Yes!” Tears blossomed on her sister’s cheeks.

Liesel wanted to scream. “Are you no longer a maiden?”

“I…I…don’t know.”

Liesel gulped. Her poor sister. This was the result of Mara lacking a mother and an older sister. This was not her fault, but if there were a child from this, then Johann von Hartenburg was the father. “Stay here.”

“Where are you going?” Mara was right behind her, pulling on her sleeve.

“Let go, Mara.” Liesel gave her the stare she had practiced on the likes of the English Queen Charlotte and her nobles. “Do not leave this room.”

The girl swiped tears from her red face. “I belong to Johann! I won’t leave with you tonight. You cannot make me.”

“We shall see.”

*

“Good morning, Herr Becker.” Dirk had looked for the Rittenburg Burgmann in his office in the palace, but a footman had told him to find the man in the stables. “How are you? I hoped we might talk again privately.”

Two grooms shod a horse. The others, including the coachman and footman Dirk had hired in the south, were out walking the other horses.

The Prince of Rittenburg’s stables were reputed to be larger than the Holy Roman Emperor’s. Because Rittenburg had delivered the mail throughout the empire for more than six centuries, their animals and their equipage were the most sturdy, efficient, and modern. The emphasis was on speed and strength. The mail, after all, must go through.

Smiling, Becker rose from a squat. “Of course, baron. How may I help you?”

Dirk indicated the open doors leading to the racing track and the outdoor paddocks. No one was about to overhear their discussion. “I must ask for your advice on a number of issues.”

“Anything you need, I am your man.”

Dirk nodded and led them down the path to the observation platform in front of the track. No one else was about. “Your princess and all the family must leave here soon. Tonight would be best.”

“I concluded, baron, that you and Princess Elizabeth came quickly and would leave as quickly. The papers this morning confirm that urgency. What has happened to the Duke of Enghien must not happen to those here.”

Dirk winced. “Prince Rainer and his father did not approve of Consul Bonaparte. Ever.”

“No, the Frenchman has his eyes on other people’s lands.”

“Now that the French have crossed the border to abduct the Duke of Enghien and even to assassinate him, Princess Elizabeth and her brother and sisters are not safe here.”

“If Napoleon comes this far, he is a fool.”

Dirk nodded. He hoped that statement could have more substance than bravado. But he had seen firsthand the power of deception in diplomacy. “Nonetheless, the princess and I will take the children away tonight. After dark. You fix the time, the place. But for that, I need a carriage of great speed. Horses of great strength.”

“Unmarked. Not one of ours.”

“We must meet that carriage on the edge of the city. I care not where. I leave that to you. But there must be diversion. Horses, carriages. Two people appearing to escape. Four others. A mix to confuse.”

“I will do it, sir.”

“I’d be honored if you came with us.”

“As I am honored you ask me.”

Dirk snorted. “Don’t be too honored, Becker. I need your skill with a pistol. I also need you to speak for me. After all my years in university and in Baden with family and work, I can be noticed as the Englishman trying to speak good German.”

“I think you have a disease of the throat.”

His laugh was rueful. “Have had it for years, yes. But I also have another challenge.”

“Name it. I am your man.”

“I detect Prince Johann’s interest in Princess Mara may be a barrier to her departure with us tonight.” Dirk examined Becker’s darkening expression. “I see you agree. Very well. I leave that matter to Princess Elizabeth to resolve. It is not my place to intrude. But I do say that if we have a problem with the young princess tonight, I ask for your assistance.”

“I have an herbal remedy that I can administer.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. But Prince Johann may need incentive to leave and return home. Do you know of anything we might use?”

“His father has written twice this last week, urging him to go home.”

“Why has he not gone?”

Becker shook his head. “I doubt Princess Mara has refused his suit. So I would say it is because he has not yet asked her to marry him.”

“What do the servants say? Does he press her in unseemly ways?”

Becker’s pudgy features melted. “Perhaps.”

If Johann had been the cad, Dirk would be the first to make him marry the girl.

“We have no strong evidence, baron.” Becker swallowed. “Not yet.”

*

Where is he?

Liesel had sent Hilda in search of Hartenburg. She paced the throne room, alive with nerves at the audacity of the prince to come here, take advantage of Rainer’s absence, and accost her sister. Liesel had experienced how men could fawn over a girl and abuse her senses. Worse, she’d been attacked and raped in an attempt to show Liesel her duty and her place. She’d had enough of men’s aggression to last a thousand years.

Becker appeared on the threshold. “Princess, you sent Hilda to find Prince Hartenburg?”

“I did. I rang for you but had no response. Do you know where the prince is?”

“Forgive me, I was in the stables. I do know where he is. He rang for me in your brother’s study.”

“Outrageous.” In his banyan, the man walks my palace as if he owns it? Gall, pure gall, the man has. He even goes so far as to trespass into my father’s inner sanctum. Is he searching for state papers? Liesel’s ire raged. “Bring him to me here, please. I will see him immediately.”

“At once.” Becker clicked his heels and marched off.

She faced the grand gilded throne that her father had inherited from ancestors. The chair could hold her father, Rainer, and her, and often had, as Papa took Rainer and her there to educate them in governing. Prince Gerhard had considered his role to be ruler, guide, and judge. “For that kind of responsibility,” he’d told them, “you must have foresight and compassion.”

Responsible for the delivery of mail throughout the empire, her family had prospered financially but not been greedy. The wealth they gained from their service was shared generously with their people. The family became renowned for that, and for their acceptance of a council of burghers who made laws. Those enacted encouraged the growth of guilds, like masonry, carpentry, and printing. Farmers and vintners met regularly to discuss climate, floods, diseases of animals, and proper pricing of goods. Many in Rittenburg celebrated the triumphs that made the territory a haven for others.

After news of the revolution in France, her father had encouraged the council of burghers to even more democratic ways. “It is the mark of the future. We will embrace it.”

Even as he worked ten and twelve hours a day at his regency, her father valued his lineage. He encouraged Rainer and her in debates about principles of fair government.

“But never forget,” he’d told them as he sat on his golden throne of red velvet cushions, his hand on his ten-foot-tall, ruby-studded scepter, “who you are. What you must give…and what you must receive.”

With that, he would order Rainer to sit on the throne, grasp the golden scepter, and tell him one new law he would propose, or one old one he would amend. After Rainer, he would order Liesel to the throne to do the same.

Her father’s dedication to democracy and to Rainer’s and her education had contributed to her refusal to marry an idiot. No matter his royal connections.

Rittenburg was rich, the envy of many German princes and electors. Liesel had met many of them personally or knew of them by reputation. To marry into this princely family was an ambition of many Europeans. Her father had planned for that. He had shared it with her before she left for England seven years ago. Rainer had witnessed the discussion and, by Papa’s decree, had, like her, agreed to the stipulations.

“Princess Elizabeth.” Hartenburg stood at the open doors, his banyan loose, his bare chest an affront, appearing somehow…louche. “Forgive my informal appearance, but I understand you wish to see me immediately?”

“I do.” She took two steps and sat upon her family’s throne as her father often bade her.

She pressed her lips together to hide her pleasure when his gaze turned to stone. Her position was not lost on Hartenburg. He stepped toward her.

“Am I to conclude that I am at your service?” Indeed, facing her like a subject, he was exactly where she wanted him.

“You are to conclude that I demand the truth from you.”

He folded his hands before him. He was neither penitent nor patient. “I see. What is it you wish to know, princess?”

“Have you seduced my sister?”

He flushed from his throat to his hairline. “I have kissed her.”

“More, I would say,” she snapped. “From what I saw this morning as she emerged from your bedroom, you have done more than kiss her.”

He straightened his spine. He looked…caged.

Good. “Do you have marriage proposal contracts with you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Prince Rainer was not here. Neither were you. I saw no need to bring them!”

Her elbows wide upon the chair arms, she leaned forward and seethed at him. “You came to persuade a young girl.”

“She is seventeen. Old enough for marriage.”

“Not of the age at which any Rittenburg daughter traditionally marries. Everyone knows that.”

He put a gem-encrusted red satin slipper upon the lower step to her dais and leaned toward her with a menacing sneer.

Crowd her, would he?

“She doesn’t care about your family’s rules.”

Liesel glared at his audacity to correct her and to belittle Mara.

He removed his foot. Set his jaw. “Mara was alone. Everyone knew that she needed a man.”

“So you thought you would volunteer.”

“I did. Why not?” he challenged her, and did not hide his conceitedness.

“Ah, but I know why. You and your father saw the opportunity to claim our position and our wealth. Mara is too young to marry, but she is also too young to have benefited from our father’s teachings.”

“And we know what Prince Gerhard’s teachings did for you. Made you such a witch that you became a scandal!”

She wrapped the long fingers of one hand around the golden girth of the family scepter.

He stilled.

So did she. “You dare too much, Hartenburg.”

“Not enough, I’d say. We in the empire are in danger from that bastard Bonaparte. We need to be united!”

If he had not been so bold with Mara’s affections, Liesel might have found that statement agreeable. “So you thought you would swoop in and influence Mara to marry you.”

He lifted the ugly, jutting chin that he had inherited from far too many of the inbred Hapsburgs. “If she signed my document of regency, she need not marry me.”

“Not—? Outrageous. You told her that?”

“Not yet, no.”

She reeled in fury. “You seduced her so that you would have her sign authority for this realm over to you and your father?”

“Only until Rainer’s return.”

“Or mine.”

“Or yours,” he said without remorse, “if you ever did.”

How far had he gone to win Mara to his scheme? “She tells me you love her.”

For one brief moment, a look passed over his wiry features, one of a schoolboy caught in a prank. He rolled a shoulder. “Mara is impressionable.”

Liesel flexed her fingers around the scepter and swallowed her urge to hit him with it. “Show me this paper from your father.”

He narrowed his silver eyes, a snake wishing to strike. How familiar he seemed in aura to that other man who reminded her of a creature that slithered upon the earth. But Vaillancourt, the deputy chief of police in Paris, was not here. She had not vanquished him, but she would this man.

“Now!” she demanded.

He inhaled, fury in his very stance, and left the room.

She sank backward into the fullness of her throne, draped her fingers over the carved lions on the armrests, and took deep breaths. Her heart pounded, but her mind was clear.

“Liesel?” Dirk stood at the door. “What goes here? I saw Johann stalk away. He shook his head at me when I asked his problem. Can I be of help to you? Or should I retire?”

She beckoned him in. “I am glad you’ve come.” His presence would be a bulwark against Hartenburg’s aggression. Dirk saw through the man. Furthermore, she trusted him in this—and she had riled Hartenburg. I cannot afford to lose this matter. “Stay, please.”

“Liesel, I will not interfere. You can tell me your woes and I will gladly be your ally.”

Dirk as an ally. Yes, she would take that. “What I feared about Hartenburg’s conduct toward Mara is not only true, but worse. He will return with a document of regency that he intends to have Mara sign.”

Dirk sucked in air. “How daring. It is against imperial doctrine to meddle in another territory’s affairs. Does he have approval from Vienna for this?”

“I don’t know. I did not ask. I fear I have not read such wording. My father never taught us of such a thing. But I must read it. See where my options lie. Have you ever heard of such a document?”

“Yes. If it is as I think, then similar wording has been adopted by Vienna when they wish to absorb a territory into their own control.”

“Read it for me. Advise me.”

“I will.” His expression transformed from shock to gratitude. “I am no authority on Vienna’s rules, but I will comment on whatever I do read that impinges on your authority.”

He stepped toward her, and in so doing, one foot upon a step, he took a knee before her on the lower dais. His pose struck her as one of fealty. A knight, her liege, her man. Oh, that he might be all of that…in some other country, some other age.

“Anything you wish of me, Your Highness, I am yours.”

In that pose he did appear to be her subject kneeling before her when Hartenburg appeared at the door. Now in trousers and frock coat, the man held Mara by her elbow. “We shall have this out. Even Fournier is now here. How charming.”

Dirk climbed another step upon the dais and stood at the side of Liesel’s throne. “Remember your manners, Hartenburg.”

“Bring me this paper of yours, sir.” Liesel arched her brows as he took his time. But he did let go Mara’s arm and placed his document in Liesel’s hand.

Printed on a press, all in Germanic fonts that tested the eye and the mind, the document was a declaration that those who signed gave over their rights to rule. There was a space for the signatories to define the date of enforcement. Beneath that, the one who signed would write in certain powers of ruler of the state of Rittenburg to the Royal House of Hartenburg, Otto, crown prince, presiding, and at his demise, his son, Johann, prince, or their designated heir.

Liesel gave no hint to her audience of her fury but, with her eyes on Hartenburg, handed the vellum to Dirk. He took it, silently reading, then finishing, his only movement to lift his stern gaze to her and nod.

“Mara, you are right,” she said. “Prince Hartenburg wishes to marry you.”

The girl beamed. It was the first time in this room she’d done so. “I told you.”

Hartenburg sent Liesel a look that could have killed her.

“Are you certain, Mara, you wish to live your life with this man?”

“I love him. He is…wonderful.”

“Wonderful enough to make you regent here?”

“I,” he spat, “never said that.”

Liesel ignored him. “What precisely did he promise you?”

“I… Well…” Mara blushed.

Liesel tipped her head, innocent in her inquiry. “What? Please tell us.”

“He said I would be his love.”

“His love. Sweet. What else?”

“That I would have the run of his stables and that his father would like me. That Prince Otto liked pretty girls who…” She frowned, as if thinking better of this line of questioning.

“Who what, Mara?”

“Decorated a ballroom and danced beautifully.”

“Prince Hartenburg promised you this for doing what?”

She reddened from her décolleté to her nose. “Being good. Agreeable.”

“Agreeing to what?”

The girl pouted. “You’re being mean again, Liesel.”

“Did he promise you his title? His throne?”

“No.”

“His name?”

“Not…exactly.”

“What were you to give to become the favorite of him and his father?”

This she appeared to be more sure of. “Agree to go to Hartenburg.”

“And to become his wife?”

“Well. No.”

“What, then?”

“To let him…you know.” Mara cast a look at Hartenburg for help, but the man was too busy boiling to care for her needs.

“No, Mara, I do not know.”

Hartenburg cursed. “Stop this!”

“Tell me. What did this man promise?”

The girl gaped at her sister.

“Mara,” Liesel went on, “I can summon a doctor to examine you.”

“No!” Hartenburg insisted.

“Don’t, Liesel! Please don’t. The humiliation of it…”

“What did this man promise you, my dear?”

The girl stamped her foot. “To let him have me!”

“Did he?”

“Yes, of course! Why not? He is…handsome and a prince. Father would have loved him.”

Liesel bit off the reply she’d give to that. Then she stood. “Tomorrow morning, you will marry Prince Hartenburg.”

Mara’s anxiety vanished in a second, and the girl clapped her hands together.

Her intended scowled at her.

Liesel continued, “I wish it could be done sooner, today even. But we must summon the Bishop of Rittenburg to perform the ceremony.”

Hartenburg rushed toward her. “You cannot make me marry her.”

Mara gasped. “Johann?”

Liesel gave him her most derisive smile. “My dungeon is old, Johann. Six centuries. But I can still man it. Shall I?”

“You would not dare.”

“For the integrity of my house and my family, I dare all.”

“Late for that, isn’t it?”

She rolled a few fingers in the air. “Seize the day, I say.”

“You cannot make me do this! My father will come for you.”

“I doubt it. He will applaud your union. After all, marriage to Mara comes with her dowry. I know he needs it.”

“Very well.” He fumed, rolling his fingers into fists. “Your sister becomes my wife. Now I need that paper signed.”

“Of course, tomorrow morning. After the ceremony, I will do that for you.”

The man knitted his long, lean brows together. “Why do I detect a trick?”

“No trick, sir.” She grinned at him, regal in her success. “When I give you so precious a gift as the right to take my sister to wife legally, I would not then maneuver to deceive you.”

Hartenburg stomped from the room.

Mara, confused, narrowed her eyes at Liesel. “What have you done?”

“Encouraged the man you love to marry you…as he must.”

“What’s in that paper?”

“I will tell you tomorrow.”

Mara rushed toward the throne and grabbed Liesel’s wrist. “I demand to know.”

“Demand all you like, my dear.” Liesel lifted the vellum from her sister’s reach. “You have your wish. The man is yours.”

“I hate you,” Mara spat.

As soon as she disappeared into the hall, Liesel put a hand to her throat. “I hope she finds the fortitude to withstand the audacity of Hartenburg and his father. I did the best I could.”

“You had no other choice,” Dirk declared.

“Most of all, I pray he honors her.”

They stood.

“Mara has gumption,” he said. “She may surprise us with her resilience.”

“You and I may never know.”

“I predict we will.”

“Your optimism is showing.”

He acknowledged that with a grin. “What’s more, the cause of it is that I suspect you saw in that document the ability to save Rittenburg.”

Heartened by his insight, she wrinkled her nose. “I did. I think we need to adjourn to luncheon and discuss all the right things we can do tomorrow.”

He offered his arm in a flourish. “Your Highness, allow me to escort you into the dining room, where we will ask the footman for a bottle of Rittenburg white wine.”

“And schnapps.”

“I worry—how often do you drink, my dear?” Jovial, he pressed her hand to his bicep.

She took a huge breath and absorbed the strength of his character. She had found such grace in him. “To toast the good and temper the bad.”

*

He chuckled with her as they took the hall and the stairs up to the small dining room, but his mirth was hollow as hers. Yes, he had acted as her chevalier, supportive, as if he were her consort.

But he would never be that. To marry her would be to tarnish her good name and her future. She would be marrying down to a barony, and an English one at that. Worse, she would acquire the disgrace of his own past. He would never make her bear such a burden. But for the next weeks, for their journey away from danger, he was, heart and soul, her man.

Yet he was tormented. As he prepared for them to leave the following night, he bedeviled himself over and over again with the sight, the scent, the essence of her and asked himself what heaven it would be to have this woman, soft with laughter and hot with love, in his bed and his heart. He had no rights to the lady who consumed his every thought, but for the next weeks of his journey home, he would fill himself with the delights of which one man and one lady had robbed him. And he wondered—listed, really—all the things he would have to do to clear his name, free his soul, and take the only woman he had ever loved and make her his own.

But the list is folly, isn’t it?

His dreams did not come true. None of them. Ever.