Page 8 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

‘Miss Smith, I would like to make it very clear that this marriage is one of convenience, and convenience alone,’ Christoph said stiffly, before taking a bite of the cake.

He tried not to groan. How long had it been since there had been cakes like this in the palace at Niedernlein?

His father’s spendthrift ways had almost bankrupted the royal family, and his brother had hardly done much to improve matters.

Goodness, he had almost forgotten what sugar tasted like.

This was splendid—and it was included in a mere afternoon tea.

What did they have for dessert at dinner?

When he looked up, it was to see Miss Smith had carefully arranged her face into one of calm passivity. Or was that just his expectation, that she was playing a part too?

‘I quite understand,’ she said quietly.

Christoph’s jaw tightened. Did she? He would have to make it plainer, remove any possibility of hope within her. Only if she knew there was absolutely nothing of romance between them, and never would be, could he hold himself to the plan.

‘It is… Well, when I wrote to your father, he was clear that… I need your dowry,’ Christoph said aloud, hating the words but knowing he had to be brutal.

It was for her benefit—Miss Smith’s. He did not wish to raise false hopes. He did not want her to tempt him.

Miss Smith nodded slowly. ‘I see.’

‘The royal family is willing to overlook your birth, as agreed with your father, due to the extensive dowry and impressive inheritance you are set to receive,’ Christoph ploughed on, loathing himself with greater intensity with every word, but knowing it must be done.

And it was. There—he saw the moment Miss Smith gave up all hope of happiness in this marriage. Her lips pressed together and there came a slight lowering of her shoulders and a sigh.

Christoph wanted to pull her into his arms and show her how he desired her, but he would not—he could not.

Not when he could not offer her some sweetness.

He had to be hard, to be in control. He could not risk losing himself into the embrace of a woman who could make him feel so much without a single touch.

‘My…my father said he had corresponded with the Prince of Niedernlein for several weeks,’ Miss Smith said quietly. ‘Anton was the name he mentioned. I presumed it was on just such a matter.’

A tendril of panic crept around Christoph’s lungs.

Yes. He had known this moment would come, and he was prepared for it. At least, as prepared as any man could be. It would not be difficult to guess what his brother had said to the Earl of Norbury, after all.

‘I have many names,’ he said, which was the truth. ‘Anton is one of them.’

‘I see,’ she said quietly, even though she did not.

Just so long as neither the Earl nor his daughter realised they had been corresponding with a different brother…

‘Yes, it is crucial to ensure that we understand each other,’ Christoph said carefully.

So far, so good. He had to assume Miss Smith had not read the letters from his brother. She would not have known what to expect of the Prince of Niedernlein. All he had to do was…

‘I suppose that is why you wish to be married as soon as possible,’ Miss Smith said lightly, finally taking a bite of her cucumber sandwich.

Christoph’s pulse skipped a beat as he inadvertently found himself staring directly at her as she did so. At the way she wet her lips before a bite, the dainty way she nibbled at it, the slight hint of butter at the corner of her mouth…

‘Prince… I mean, my lord?’

Christoph blinked. Blast. What had they been saying?

‘Married as soon as… Yes, yes, I need your money,’ he said before he could take a moment to think.

There were pink dots on her cheeks now, but Miss Smith appeared relatively calm for a woman who had been told, at least discreetly, that her charms were nothing to her bank balance. ‘I see.’

No, she didn’t see. She didn’t, and Christoph prayed she never would.

He had to get Laura out of there. His sister deserved to live a life…

well, like this. This Wallflower Academy appeared perfection: a safe place for ladies to live without fear of harassment, bullying or violence.

They spent their days embroidering or learning the pianoforte, from what Christoph could tell.

Their greatest fears were whether they would make a match this year, not whether they would live to see the next one.

‘My lord?’

Christoph started. There was a hand on his own, a warm hand, a comforting one. Miss Smith. She had reached out and taken his hand.

‘You…you seemed very far away,’ she said, scarlet blotches appearing down her neck. ‘In a sad place.’

In a sad place.

Damn, but this woman was perceptive. Christoph had never encountered anyone who had so swiftly understood him with but a look.

For a moment, he allowed himself the distraction.

Oh, it was pleasant to have Miss Smith’s shy fingers entwined in his own.

He could feel her pulse—or was that his own, jumping and darting as they looked at each other, seated in silence at a dining table?

And then he recollected himself. No, he could not indulge in such behaviour—the last thing he needed was for Miss Smith to believe they could care for each other.

Christoph snatched his hand away. ‘I was just thinking.’

Miss Smith did not appear offended, more disappointed, which tore at his heart all the more.

This Englishwoman… How had she done it? How had she seen within him the darkness that Christoph believed he would carry for the rest of his life?

‘Tell me about your family,’ Miss Smith said quietly. ‘You have met my father, so you know mine.’

Family . Oh, hell, could she have chosen a more inappropriate topic?

Not that she would have known. From the little he knew of English customs, Christoph believed discussion of one’s family, both light-hearted and serious, was expected within polite Society.

Not that the stories of his own family could be discussed in polite Society…

‘I have a brother and a sister. My mother died five years ago and my father unexpectedly but a few weeks ago, that is all,’ Christoph said curtly. ‘Tell me, these cakes…’

‘How pleasant to have siblings,’ Miss Smith said softly.

Her words pulled him up short. Pleasant. Yes—that was one word for it. Yet, despite his own discomfort, Christoph could not be ignorant of the longing in his companion’s words. Siblings—something she clearly did not have.

‘Yes,’ he said tightly.

What else was there to say? Christoph reached forward and took a sip of his tea in the silence. He had not expected sitting with a woman and revealing nothing of note to her to be this painful. He had thought it might be awkward, yes, but this guilt, rushing through him? That he had not predicted.

‘Are your siblings married?’

He blinked. Miss Smith swam into view, a nervous smile on her lips. ‘My brother was married,’ he said curtly. ‘Tell me, will you miss the Wallflower Academy?’

‘Miss it?’ Miss Smith repeated. ‘No. What happened to your sister-in—’

‘She died,’ Christoph said, his stomach churning. ‘Why won’t you miss the Wallflower Academy?’

‘Do you think it more likely that you will answer my questions,’ asked Miss Smith slowly, ‘if I answer yours?’

Now it was his turn to flush. It was not a bold question.

At least, it was not said boldly, or to offend or provoke.

It appeared to be a genuine question, one asked lightly, with curiosity.

Which made the heat in his cheeks all the more provoking.

He was supposed to be the one in control of this conversation—the plan required it—not Miss Smith.

The trouble was, Christoph found himself once again distracted by her beauty. She was so beautiful, so achingly soft. His fingers longed to reach out and discover for themselves whether she truly felt as soft and inviting as she looked.

And that fire, that spark in her eyes that came in a moment then disappeared again—where did it come from? Was that the true Daphne Smith, or was this the real one?

‘You are curious about my life,’ he said aloud, testing the waters.

‘I am to be your wife,’ Miss Smith said quietly. ‘And—’

‘In name only,’ Christoph cut across her. She must understand. This was not a fairy tale. ‘We will live very separate lives. Do you understand me, Miss Smith? I need you—to understand, I mean. I need you to understand.’

Perhaps she had not noticed the slip. She certainly did not flush, which appeared to suggest so.

Slowly, very slowly, Miss Smith inclined her head. ‘I see. Yes, I understand. I understand perfectly.’