Page 11 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

‘S o fascinating. I have never met a person from Niedernlein before…’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Christoph said quietly with his hand on the door, tiredness tugging at his eyes.

The woman, whoever she was—too many names today—did not take the hint. ‘And I suppose you and your new bride will be hosting a great many—?’

‘Yes,’ Christoph said wearily. ‘Yes, we will.’

He would have to write formally to the royal court at Niedernlein. He could not prevent the news of his marriage from reaching his home country for ever.

How would his people feel about the news? The thought twisted his gut. He had vowed to serve his nation, when he had come of age. And now he was here, hundreds of miles away. Had he broken that vow? Would he ever be able to serve his people again?

The woman’s face fell slightly as she stood on the doorstep. ‘But Your Highness—’

‘“My lord” will do,’ Christoph said, the phrase one he had trotted out continually all day.

‘You were married this morning! You and your bride are the talk of the town!’

Christoph winced. He might have been Daphne’s husband for a matter of mere hours, but he already knew just how much she would enjoy knowing that. ‘Be that as it may…’

‘And besides, people will expect it,’ persisted the woman, the very last guest from their wedding breakfast and the most difficult to send away. ‘You are now a part of the ton . People will expect—’

‘I expect you must be very tired,’ Christoph said with a smile. ‘Good evening.’

Even with the woman’s fingers on the door, he slowly pushed it forward, his strength far greater than hers. It did not, however, prevent her from continuing to speak until the very last moment.

‘But everyone will want to look at your bride. We’ve hardly seen the daughter of the Earl of Norbury; everyone wants to know…’

The door closed.

Christoph rested his forehead on the comfortingly solid wood.

Everyone wants to know…

Yes, he was certain they would. The gossip and murmurs about the marriage of the illegitimate daughter of Lord Norbury and a prince from a land that most of London had never heard of was surely enticing.

He had avoided the newspapers as much as he could, but that had not prevented him from noticing the pointing and stares all evening.

But he’d done it.

A spurt of relief soared through him. He’d done it. He had married her. Daphne Smith—Daphne von Auberheiser, now—was safe. She would not have to marry Anton. She would be safe.

Try as he might, Christoph could not prevent himself from imagining his brother’s response once the news of his marriage to Daphne arrived in Niedernlein. A shiver scraped down his spine.

Christoph knew he would have to move quickly if he was to get Laura out of there before the tidings of the happy couple reached the Winter Palace.

Now she had somewhere to come, now he had a wife to be her chaperone, he could invite her to England without suspicion.

To this large house in London, for a start…

Christoph straightened and looked around him, hardly able to believe it.

‘A wedding gift,’ Lord Norbury had said gruffly, just before he and Lady Norbury had left the wedding breakfast. ‘A small place for you and Daphne to call home while you stay in London.’

Small? Yes, Christoph supposed it was small, compared to a palace. But he would have called the double-fronted, five-bed-chamber townhouse with a library and small study that overlooked the long garden rather more than a ‘small place’.

And this was what he had come for, wasn’t it? A home, an income…and a wife.

Christoph blew out slowly as the tension of what was to come this evening started to creep through his bones.

Everything had gone to plan. Except it hadn’t, because he had not expected someone like Daphne.

Someone with her beauty. Someone with her softness and her delicacy—born not from an inflated sense of importance, but a deflated one.

Someone who smiled as she did and, at times, spoke like a woman with far more intelligence than anyone had any right to.

Christoph swallowed hard. It had been easy—perhaps too easy—to put together the plan in Niedernlein when he had discovered his brother’s plans to marry an English heiress.

When the woman he would be saving from such a dangerous man had been a faceless, nameless someone, it had been easy to think coldly, objectively, about how he would marry her then have little to do with her.

And now…now he wanted the opposite. He wanted to sit by her feet and encourage her to talk, really talk. He wanted to discover the Daphne underneath…

Hot, aching desire shot through him. The woman underneath all those clothes…

‘Keep it together, man,’ Christoph muttered to himself in the empty hallway. ‘Focus on the plan.’

Because, though Daphne was most definitely not what he had expected, that could not permit him to deviate from his intentions. He had to follow through. The plan had to remain his focus, not the woman he wanted to know, not the hands he wanted to hold, not the…

‘And will Your Highness be requiring anything else?’ came a quiet question.

Christoph started. Lost as he had become in his thoughts, he had not realised there was someone else in the hall. Clearing his throat and pushing aside all thoughts of the brother he was determined to forget, Christoph shook his head. ‘No, nothing else, thank you, Henderson.’

The butler inclined his head. From anyone else it would have been a gracious movement, a respectful one. Somehow this man, who was perhaps a decade older than Christoph, managed to make it slightly disdainful.

‘And I suppose my lady needs nothing else either?’ said Henderson. ‘The maids are tired and wish to retire.’

The maids were tired? Had they just spent the last few hours attempting to remember six-and-forty family names, and how precisely they interacted with each other?

Of course, it was possible that the man spoke out of turn—perhaps even unwittingly.

Perhaps the maids had no idea that the butler would say such a thing.

Perhaps he should have chosen his own servants, but his father-in-law had been so obliging, and the butler apparently came highly recommended.

It was easier to acquiesce, particularly when Christoph was so conscious that it was his father-in-law’s money that would be paying the servants’ wages. Why not let him select his household?

Tiredness tugged at Christoph’s eyes. There was still one thing he had to do this evening, exhausted as he was, difficult as it would be. He had to bed his wife.

‘The servants, including yourself , may retire for the evening,’ Christoph said aloud, a small emphasis on the last word just to make sure that the man knew his place. ‘Princess Daphne and I will be retiring ourselves before too long.’

Henderson grinned. ‘I bet you are.’

At least, that was what Christoph thought he said. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said, you have come far, my lord,’ the butler said smoothly, his bow obsequious but at least more akin to what was expected from a servant. ‘And we are glad to have you here in London.’

‘Yes. Good,’ said Christoph sharply, hating the arrogance in his voice, hating how he could turn it on so easily.

God, that was something Anton would say .

‘Thank you for your hard work today. Please share my gratitude with the others.’

Again the butler inclined his head. ‘I will, Your Highness.’

‘Good evening, Henderson,’ he said lightly, as though this entire conversation had gone entirely as he wanted.

Christoph stepped past the butler and into the drawing room. The place was worse for wear: several wine glasses and a few brandy glasses were still dotted about the place, and a platter of drying food had been left on the pianoforte.

And there, by a crackling fire, her face drawn with exhaustion but still remarkably beautiful, was Daphne. Ignoring the skip of his heart, and the way she made him want to puff out his chest, Christoph shut the door behind him.

The click made Daphne start, her eyes lurching to the door. When she met his eye, she flushed. ‘Oh. Hello.’

Hello .

Christoph tried to smile. Well, he was married now. This was his wife. He would have to start acting as if she was.

‘I hope you are not too tired,’ he began as he walked forward.

The cringe tensed through his body almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Oh, God, did she think he was checking to see if she was too tired for…? She must do. That would explain the scarlet in her cheeks.

‘Not too tired.’

Daphne was seated at one end of a sofa and for a moment Christoph considered sitting beside her.

The temptation was strong to take the opportunity to feel the movement of her skirts against his breeches, to lean over and take her hand in his, perhaps to feel her breath on his cheek as he pressed a kiss on her…

Christoph dropped onto the armchair opposite her and crossed his legs.

Blast it all to hell.

‘There were a great many people at the wedding,’ he said aloud. That was it—conversation. He could make conversation. How hard could it be?

Very hard, as it turned out. ‘Yes,’ said Daphne quietly.

He waited for a moment, expecting her to say more, but it appeared that she had little interest in maintaining a conversation.

Excellent. That wasn’t going to make this evening difficult in any way…

‘Your father seemed pleased,’ Christoph attempted.

She gave a nod. That was all.

Hell’s bells, was it truly going to be this challenging?

‘And your stepmother,’ he tried, slightly unsure whether this was a good direction to take. How well did they know each other? He had never thought to ask. ‘She appeared happy.’

She gave a smile—a slight one. ‘Yes, she did.’

Despite the slightly longer reply, Daphne’s response was stilted, her nerves clearly getting the better of her.

Christoph shifted in his armchair. Her lack of interest was palpable, not only in himself, but in any sort of discussion.