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

And her face… Christoph’s stomach lurched. There was fear there, hidden amongst the beauty. A shadow of concern darkened her otherwise blue eyes, and her shell-pink lips were pressed together in unmistakable nervousness.

‘You,’ he said, forgetting proper manners.

Miss Smith—for that was surely who she was—did not respond. Instead her cheeks coloured to a rich rose-red, her eyes dropping immediately to her hands, which twisted before her.

Ah. Shy, then. Well, Christoph had imagined far worse.

And then he hardened his heart—no, this was perfect. For his plan to succeed, he did not want a chattering, forward, inquisitive wife. He needed someone who would allow the marriage to go ahead with no quibbles. He must not permit himself to become distracted.

‘Miss Smith, may I introduce you to Prince Christoph Augustus Maximilian Henricus…? You must excuse me, Your Highness, I have quite forgotten!’

Miss Pike’s tinkling laugh filled the room but Christoph did not turn to her.

Instead, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Miss Smith. ‘Christoph Augustus Heinrich Maximus Anton Philip von Auberheiser, at your service, my lady.’

Although he had not considered it possible, Miss Smith’s cheeks became even redder. When her lips parted, sound definitely came out. It was just that none of the sounds could be understood.

‘Come now, Daphne, pull yourself together!’

Christoph jumped at the sudden snap from the woman behind him.

Miss Pike stepped forward between them and glared at her charge before turning to him with a smile. ‘You must forgive Miss Smith, Your Highness. She is a mite shy with strangers but is quite gregarious…eh…when she feels comfortable.’

‘Just “my lord” is fine.’

He should not have said anything. Miss Pike’s brow furrowed. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Not “Your Highness”, just…just “my lord” will suffice, thank you.’

Christoph was hardly going to explain it here. He wasn’t his father. He wasn’t his brother. He didn’t demand ridiculous obsequiousness to prop up his ego. He didn’t want to be part of that world any longer.

Miss Pike was rattling off a list of accomplishments, presumably all belonging to Miss Smith, whose attention was still focused on her twisting fingers.

Christoph swallowed.

Remain detached , he told himself. Yes, being detached is not in your nature, but you have to try to keep to the plan. You cannot fail now. You’ve come too far, risked too much.

‘Miss Smith,’ he said curtly, interrupting the paean about the gifts Miss Smith evidently possessed. ‘You are how many years?’

Miss Pike’s little gasp of concern evidently signalled her surprise at his rudeness, but Christoph could not afford to beat about the bush. He had to be distant. He had to treat this as it was: as an arrangement. Sympathising with her would doubtless make him vulnerable, weak.

Miss Smith did not raise her eyes as she spoke, but at least the words had formed this time. ‘I—I am two and twenty.’

‘And you have lived here how long?’ Christoph said mercilessly, hating the coldness in his tone.

‘Several years.’

How interestingly vague. He glanced at Miss Pike, who must surely be the owner or proprietress here, and saw her cheeks redden slightly in turn.

So…a long time. A very long time, if he was any judge. So why had Miss Smith been hidden away for so long? Illegitimate, yes—he knew that. But there was something more.

‘And you have received no offers in that time?’

Christoph could have cooked an egg on the young woman’s face, if he could have stepped closer. And knew how to cook an egg.

‘No, my lord.’

At least she had not followed Miss Pike in giving him that ridiculous title. Christoph stepped closer, knowing it was beyond good etiquette, but needing to be nearer this woman.

She was shy, that much was evident. He rather suspected that, with Miss Pike in the room to intimidate the young woman, she would likely or not revert to nodding or shaking her head in reply. Anything to avoid direct conversation. Yes, it could not be more clear that she wished herself elsewhere.

‘And your father has arranged a match for you. How do you feel about that?’

Even Christoph had to admit it was perhaps an unfair question: direct, sharp and deeply personal.

Miss Smith gasped and her eyes flickered uncertainly to Miss Pike, who stepped forward again and smoothly began, ‘Oh, Daphne is most delighted by the kind attentions of both her father and yourself, Your High…’

This could not continue. ‘Miss Pike, would you do me the honour of gifting me ten minutes alone with my future bride?’

Christoph had not intended to be so blunt, but he had to speak with Miss Smith without Miss Pike’s interference.

‘Alone?’ The older woman blinked in abject horror. ‘You—you cannot possibly…?’

‘Miss Smith and I are to marry and will spend a great deal of time alone,’ Christoph said harshly, ignoring the shocked gasp from his left. ‘There are certain things that I would like to discuss with Miss Smith, as I can imagine you understand, and with Miss Smith only. Ten minutes will suffice.’

They would have to. From the disgruntled expression on Miss Pike’s face, he could see he would be permitted no more—perhaps fewer. He would not put it past the woman to barge back into the room at any moment…but she did, finally, acquiesce.

‘And not a minute more!’ Miss Pike said over her shoulder before closing the door.

Right. Well, that was sufficiently awkward. Now to make things…hell…even more awkward.

Steeling himself, Christoph turned to the woman who would in a few weeks be his wife.

His wife.

He shook his head slightly to dislodge the thought and gestured to the armchair Miss Smith had so recently vacated. ‘Please.’

She appeared to fall rather than lower herself into the chair, but Christoph attempted to ignore that as he sat in the chair opposite. Her gaze was once again fixed on her hands, her cheeks still pink. The silence eked out, moment by moment, each passing second making it more difficult to break.

‘Your accent is very good.’

Christoph’s eyes widened. ‘It is?’

Miss Smith nodded and asked her knees, ‘Far better than my German.’

More silence. He hardly knew whether to remark that there was no need for her to learn German, enquire as to whether she had learned any German—unusual, for an Englishwoman—or ask just what part of his accent let him down…

Foolish questions. Questions a lover would ask, a friend. And he was neither.

Christoph cleared his throat. ‘Miss Smith, I would like to learn more about you. Your past. Why you are here.’

To his surprise, Miss Smith looked up and spoke in a low, level voice that was perhaps more of a recitation than a response.

‘My father sired me out of wedlock and my mother died when I was five or six… I am not sure. My father placed me here in the Wallflower Academy and this is where I have been raised ever since.’

‘Your mother died?’ It was not what he had intended to say, yet the words slipped out before Christoph could halt them.

Miss Smith looked a little startled at his directness. A pink flush tinged her collarbone. ‘Yes. Consumption.’

‘My mother died of the same thing,’ Christoph said, his voice suddenly hoarse. ‘It was awful. To lose such a person, and in such a way…’

‘It never leaves you, does it?’ Miss Smith said softly. ‘The pain.’

It was not so much a laugh, as a bark of agony. ‘I thought for a time I would never… That the sun would never… That I could never feel…’

Christoph swallowed hard. Dear God, where had that come from? One moment he was interviewing his future bride, the next she had his most private thoughts stumbling from his lips. The glimmer of vulnerability had to be stamped out. He could not allow himself to show such weakness.

‘I am sorry for your loss.’ Miss Smith’s voice was still soft, but there was a curiosity in it now. A curiosity that he simply could not permit.

Christoph straightened, blinking back the tears that he would not shed. ‘Yes. Well, let us not speak of that, but continue on. Your mother died. Your father lives.’

Miss Smith inclined her head. ‘My father, the Earl of Norbury, has been very good to me.’

There was a mechanical nature to her speech that suggested she had prepared the answer—evidently she had expected to be quizzed in this way.

Well, perhaps not in this way. Even Christoph had been slightly mortified at how his questioning had begun so interrogatively. ‘And you did not live—you have never lived—with your father?’

Miss Smith shook her head. Evidently no words were needed for that one.

Christoph bit his lips, trying to decide how to proceed.

If to proceed. No, he had to. Miss Smith was his best possible hope, his only hope to gain a fortune and live independently in England, in safety.

If he did not wed soon, his absence at home would be missed.

God forbid his brother came after him before the wedding was complete…

But, once the vows were exchanged, that would be it. His brother would hardly risk upsetting the Regent of Great Britain over a marriage which could not be undone. He valued his reputation, at least the one that people outside his family had of him, far too highly.

This was Christoph’s opportunity for a fresh start. A new life, a new beginning in England—and he needed an English woman at his side. She would…guide him. Propel him into English Society. Help him to…

‘He…he…’

Christoph looked up. It was the first time Miss Smith had offered something as a statement, rather than responding to a question, and it was clearly an effort. Delicate fingertips tugged at her gown, pulling at a loose thread, and her gaze did not lift to meet his as she spoke.

‘He…he did not want the shame of me,’ she said in a rush.

After waiting for a moment for more, Christoph said quietly, ‘The shame of you?’

Miss Smith shook her head, staring down at her knees. Her cheeks were a scalding red now, so bright a colour that her cheeks must be burning. ‘It… I am not widely known. Most do not know the Earl of Norbury has an illegitimate child and…and he did not want… He wouldn’t…’

When she had truly trailed off into silence and it appeared she would not be imparting any more, Christoph nodded curtly.

Well, it was not too dissimilar from what he had expected.

Every illegitimate child, after all, was a stain on one’s respectability.

Even an earl would not wish the knowledge to become widely spread.

‘I see,’ he said quietly.

Somehow he had come closer—he could not tell when. Something in this woman drew him to her. She was beautiful. Very beautiful. Why had this Norbury man not led with that?

‘And I am shy,’ Miss Smith said in a rush.

Christoph smiled as a rush of something poured through his veins. ‘Shy?’

She was shy, wasn’t she? And yet there was something… An archness to the mouth, an intelligence in the eyes. It was quite clear that, though this woman said little, she thought very much.

She was intriguing. Attractive .

Christoph pulled away from the thought as swiftly as he could. Not attractive…no. He could not permit himself to be side-tracked by such things. He was here to save his sister, no other reason. Mere attraction could lead to desire. Desire could lead to errors. Errors could see his sister killed.

He would not allow desire to sidetrack him from his only purpose. Even if she was…alluring.

‘Yes, shy,’ said Miss Smith, and for a moment her whole expression changed. ‘Though I suppose some husbands would prefer a meek and mild wife, ready to obey whatever foolishness they—’

Her words halted in an instant, her hands at her mouth, horror in her eyes.

Christoph’s stomach lurched. Oh, there was far more to this Miss Smith than met the eye. He’d had a glimpse, that was all it was, but a momentary revelation that below the quietness and obedience was someone who thought boldly.

He tried to stifle his smile. He did not manage it. ‘You are a radical, then?’

Miss Smith shook her head, hands still covering her mouth, what little of her cheeks he could see flaming red.

‘It is not my business to forbid my wife thoughts or speech,’ Christoph said, far more gently than he’d intended. ‘An arranged marriage cannot hope for love, but it should expect respect.’

Miss Smith’s eyes were wide. When she spoke, her hands slowly lowering, it was in a breathless voice. ‘Respect?’

A frown creased Christoph’s forehead. Did these English not respect their wives?

‘I… I will respect you, my lord,’ Miss Smith added hastily. ‘And I will give you everything that a husband requires. Everything.’

And, before he could reply, before he could explain that he had meant that respect went in two directions, Miss Smith…looked at him.

What a look. Christoph could feel the burn of her gaze as it flickered up and down, taking him in afresh, and could see the ferocity, the sensual hunger, that flashed in her eyes, like those of a wanton woman who thirsted for the touch of a man.

Then it was gone, and the abject look of horror had returned to Miss Smith’s face. ‘You will not wish to marry me now.’

Christoph’s breath caught in his throat. Miss Smith had smiled as she spoke, finally, a devastatingly pure defiance in her face as she did so.

Did she wish that…? Or was she afraid that he would walk out of this Wallflower School, or whatever it was called, with their arranged marriage broken?

‘No,’ he said quietly.

Best to get it done and over with. That was the plan.

He had to follow the plan . Do not get attached.

‘No, I wish to marry you. What date do you wish—Thursday in three weeks, or four weeks?’