rudeness.”
“Thank you for that,” Rudolf said, covering her hand with his own, “but I should be apologizing to you. I will marry you before we return to London and save your reputation.”
“No, thank you.”
“No?” His expression mirrored his surprise.
“I cannot marry a man who only wants to save my reputation,” she told him.
“You were ready to marry Alexander Emerson,” Rudolf reminded her, sounding insulted.
“That was different.”
“Like purple and amethyst?” Rudolf asked, his tone sarcastic. “Why can you not marry me to save your reputation?”
I love you, and cannot marry you unless you love me.
Samantha refused to share her heart’s secrets with him. She had already shared her body, and that was sharing enough.
“Well?” he asked.
“Marrying Alexander Emerson would have been a mistake,” Samantha said. “I can see that now. Please, let’s postpone this discussion.”
“As you wish.”
Samantha closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the coach. Both Alexander and she had ulterior motives for wanting to marry each other. He wanted to make amends for his father. She wanted a family of her own. Neither was in love.
Prince Rudolf was another matter. He offered to marry her out of pity. She could only marry him if he loved her. Anything less would be too painful to bear.
Two hours of strained silence later, their destination came into view. Located on the shores of Loch Kindar, Sweetheart Manor lay on the outskirts of New Abbey Village. A double octagon formed an imposing approach to the manor. In the center of the first octagon stood the statue of a boar, guarding the house. The second octagon contained a lion statue with its front paw on top of the world.
The manor consisted of three attached buildings. The main house was built in early Georgian times, and the middle structure dated from the reign of William and Mary. The last and original building was erected during Tudor times.
Three footmen materialized as soon as Karl halted the coach in front of the main house. A tall, dignified-looking man who appeared to be in charge stood outside the front door.
Accepting the prince’s offered hand, Samantha stepped out of the coach and stared at the manor. She could hardly believe that she was standing outside the house where her father had been born.
Rudolf leaned close. “Let me do the talking.”
Samantha inclined her head and slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. Assuming a royal attitude, she lifted her nose into the air and looked at the majordomo.
“You could have a future at Drury Lane,” Rudolf said, laughter lurking in his voice, making her smile.
“Welcome to Sweetheart Manor,” the majordomo greeted them. “I am Durwin. I assume you are the Marquess of Argyll,”—he looked at Samantha—“and you are the Marchioness of Argyll, the late earl’s daughter.”
“I am Prince Rudolf Kazanov of Russia,” Rudolf said, giving the man an easy smile. “My wife, Princess Samantha, is sister to the Marchioness of Argyll.”
Though her expression remained placid, Samantha felt surprised by the prince’s declaration. She had warned him to make no public announcement that she was his wife. Doing so made her his common-law wife, in fact.
“Welcome to Sweetheart Manor, Your Highness,” Durwin said, leading the way into the foyer where maids and footmen and cooks were lined up for inspection.
“My father was the majordomo for the late earl’s father. Several other servants have such a history with the Douglases.”
“Tradition gives a man strong roots,” the prince said.
The moderately large foyer, modest by London’s standards, was almost entirely Italian marble. On the immediate right rose a winding staircase to the upper levels. Several pieces of classical statuary poised here and there, but Samantha saw her brother-in-law’s fine touch in the silk greenery and flowers that warmed what would have been an austere foyer.
“This is
“Thank you for that,” Rudolf said, covering her hand with his own, “but I should be apologizing to you. I will marry you before we return to London and save your reputation.”
“No, thank you.”
“No?” His expression mirrored his surprise.
“I cannot marry a man who only wants to save my reputation,” she told him.
“You were ready to marry Alexander Emerson,” Rudolf reminded her, sounding insulted.
“That was different.”
“Like purple and amethyst?” Rudolf asked, his tone sarcastic. “Why can you not marry me to save your reputation?”
I love you, and cannot marry you unless you love me.
Samantha refused to share her heart’s secrets with him. She had already shared her body, and that was sharing enough.
“Well?” he asked.
“Marrying Alexander Emerson would have been a mistake,” Samantha said. “I can see that now. Please, let’s postpone this discussion.”
“As you wish.”
Samantha closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the coach. Both Alexander and she had ulterior motives for wanting to marry each other. He wanted to make amends for his father. She wanted a family of her own. Neither was in love.
Prince Rudolf was another matter. He offered to marry her out of pity. She could only marry him if he loved her. Anything less would be too painful to bear.
Two hours of strained silence later, their destination came into view. Located on the shores of Loch Kindar, Sweetheart Manor lay on the outskirts of New Abbey Village. A double octagon formed an imposing approach to the manor. In the center of the first octagon stood the statue of a boar, guarding the house. The second octagon contained a lion statue with its front paw on top of the world.
The manor consisted of three attached buildings. The main house was built in early Georgian times, and the middle structure dated from the reign of William and Mary. The last and original building was erected during Tudor times.
Three footmen materialized as soon as Karl halted the coach in front of the main house. A tall, dignified-looking man who appeared to be in charge stood outside the front door.
Accepting the prince’s offered hand, Samantha stepped out of the coach and stared at the manor. She could hardly believe that she was standing outside the house where her father had been born.
Rudolf leaned close. “Let me do the talking.”
Samantha inclined her head and slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. Assuming a royal attitude, she lifted her nose into the air and looked at the majordomo.
“You could have a future at Drury Lane,” Rudolf said, laughter lurking in his voice, making her smile.
“Welcome to Sweetheart Manor,” the majordomo greeted them. “I am Durwin. I assume you are the Marquess of Argyll,”—he looked at Samantha—“and you are the Marchioness of Argyll, the late earl’s daughter.”
“I am Prince Rudolf Kazanov of Russia,” Rudolf said, giving the man an easy smile. “My wife, Princess Samantha, is sister to the Marchioness of Argyll.”
Though her expression remained placid, Samantha felt surprised by the prince’s declaration. She had warned him to make no public announcement that she was his wife. Doing so made her his common-law wife, in fact.
“Welcome to Sweetheart Manor, Your Highness,” Durwin said, leading the way into the foyer where maids and footmen and cooks were lined up for inspection.
“My father was the majordomo for the late earl’s father. Several other servants have such a history with the Douglases.”
“Tradition gives a man strong roots,” the prince said.
The moderately large foyer, modest by London’s standards, was almost entirely Italian marble. On the immediate right rose a winding staircase to the upper levels. Several pieces of classical statuary poised here and there, but Samantha saw her brother-in-law’s fine touch in the silk greenery and flowers that warmed what would have been an austere foyer.
“This is
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