Once Upon a Prince (24 page)

Susanna began a slow, clear, whispering song.

Nathaniel blended his voice with hers, singing to the true King of Brighton, the One who is Lord of Heaven and Earth.

A
bright light fell over Nathaniel. He stirred, cold and stiff but cozy, still wanting to sleep. A warm body pressed in against him. He reached round behind him, resting his hand on the high curve of a feminine hip.

Susanna. He bolted upright. “Suz.”

They’d talked long into the night—about life and love, about being royal and being Southern. The two factions weren’t so far apart. “Suz.” He gently shook her shoulder.

She bolted upright, bonking her head on the altar. “Ouch … for crying out loud.” She punished the time-darkened wood with a slap of her hand, then scrambled to untangle her feet from the blanket. “Let go, you stupid thing.” Her words created crystal billows in the frigid air.

“I take it you’re not a morning person.” He sat up and smoothed his every-which-way hair into place.

“No, but I’m also not so fond of hitting my head.” She glanced at the morning light shining palely through the window. “What time is it? Did we fall asleep? We did. We fell asleep. We’ve got to go. Your mama is going to hate me.”

“Susanna, I’m a grown man. I can do as I please.” He smoothed
his hair into place and picked up the blanket. “She’s not going to hate you.”

All but one of the candles had burned out, and wax stalactites hung from the wooden holders. Nathaniel leaned forward and doused the last remaining flame with a thin, cold puff.

“Do as you please? Are you kidding me?” A fierce blue intensified her eyes. “You can’t just run off and not tell people where you are, Nate. How did we fall asleep all night? We’ve got to go … you’ve got to go.” She charged up the aisle, her hair snapping behind her as if to say, “Yeah, what she said.”

“I’ll just call Jon.” Nathaniel tucked the blanket under his arm and raced after her. Oh, his keys. He ran back and snatched them from the altar railing. “‘Tis fine. Everything is fine. Don’t worry, love.”

She stopped in the foyer doorway. “How can you be so calm? They’ll be looking for you. ‘King disappears on his coronation night.’ It looks like we … you know …” Her expression paled as she motioned to their altar bed. “Slept together.”

“Slept. Yes. Nothing more. You fret so, Suz.” He’d laugh if she weren’t so darn serious. And cute. “If I was needed, or they were concerned, they would’ve called. No one called. I’ll prove it to you.” He patted his pockets for his phone. “Bugger, where’s my phone?”

“Well?” She waited, arms folded, tapping her toe.

“I must have left it in the car.” He shoved past her and out the door, his concern mounting. “I thought no one rang up because they wanted to leave me be.”

“We’re dead.”

Nathaniel paused just outside the door. “We are
not
dead. I didn’t take you to be such a pessimist.” His eyes searched hers. “But if we were to die, would it be so bad? We had a lovely evening.”

She shoved him on out the door. “Go, get your phone.”

“I’m glad we came up here,” he said, trying to shake off his
frustration—first by leaving his phone in the car, second by the sense Susanna was restricting his access to her heart. “This is my favorite place in all of Brighton.”

“I’m glad we came too. It’s a beautiful chapel.”

A swirl of white confronted Nathaniel when he started for his motorcar. “It’s snowing again.”

Susanna slipped on the bottom step and stumbled down to the gravel path.

Nathaniel reached back, catching her in his arms, steadied himself, and held her close.

“Susanna?”

“Nate, we’re not alone.” She pointed behind him, and he whirled ’round just as an army, yea a battalion, of photographers emerged from a motorcade of black SUVs and motor scooters. Their cameras fired a rat-a-tat-tat as Nathaniel stood in freeze-frame with Susanna still in his arms.

“How did they find us?” She shoved away from him.

“Get in my car.” Nathaniel grabbed her hand, shielding her from the digital firing squad. How could he have forgotten? His much ballyhooed antique MG was given to him by his grandfather when he was sixteen. He used to present it at antique motor shows.

“Your Majesty, is this the American girl? The one who didn’t kneel in the abbey?”

“Are you two in love?”

“What about the marriage law?”

“Does Lady Genevieve know you’ve taken a mistress already?”

“Mistress?” Susanna stepped toward the photographers. “Hey, I’m not any man’s mistress.”

“Susanna, please.” He took hold of her arm. “Don’t feed the jackals.”

“I’m not going to let them believe a lie.” She faced them again. “I’m only a friend.”

“A friend?” They cackled. Every man of them. “A friend for
a one-nighter? Last hurrah before heading home so you can tell your friends you shagged the Brighton king?”

“No!” Against the pale morning, her cheeks beamed a brilliant red.

“Get in the car, Suz. Don’t encourage them.” But the small sports motor was buried in snow. Nathaniel started scraping and shoveling away the mounds of snow.

“But they’re making stuff up.”

“Susanna. Please.” She must listen to him. “Defending yourself only fans their flames.”

“I’m a friend, just a friend. Which is more than I can say for any of you.”

“Susanna … shovel, please.” Nathaniel was grateful the snow was soft and powderlike. He’d have put the top up last night if he’d known he was going to fall asleep and spend the night.

“We spent the night in prayer and worship.”

“Prayer and worship?” Laughter burst from among the congregation of photographers. “You’re serious? You expect us to believe he
prayed
with you?”

Susanna began clearing the snow from the car with vigor. “Bunch of meanies.”

“I told you not to engage them.” Nathaniel shoveled faster, the motion warming away the cold but awakening his anxieties.

He’d not been very public with his renewed faith yet. These men would find it hard to believe Nathaniel spent the night with anyone in prayer and worship, let alone a beautiful woman.

“Your Majesty, do you have a word on the explosions this morning?”

He stopped shoveling. “This morning?”

“You’ve not heard?” A red-cheeked man peered from around his camera.

“No, not yet.”
Again?
Nate jerked open the driver-side door, plopped into his seat, and fired up the engine. “Get in.”

Susanna’s seat was still mostly covered in snow but she jumped in, slamming her door as Nathaniel shot in reverse toward the road, scattering the photographers like wild chickens.

With the road clear, Nathaniel sped toward Parrsons, the wind biting as it dipped down over the windshield.

He glanced at his phone. “Thirty missed calls.”

“I’m sorry, Nate.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It will be to them. This is why they don’t want Brighton kings marrying foreign women. They steal their affections.”

He peered at her. She was right. She’d stolen his affections. “Those chaps don’t care a whit about my affections.” When he covered the major curves in the road and hit a straight stretch, Nathaniel dialed Jonathan.

“I’m on my way to Parrsons.”

“No, don’t. Parrsons is swarming with press. Where’ve you been? The Royal Guard is on alert.”

“What? Mum knew I was with Susanna.”

“But where? You never returned.”

“Blast it man, the photographers found me. You mean my own security detail couldn’t? I was at St. Stephen’s.”

“The
LibP
came out with an entire front page photo, half you, half Susanna. Looks as if you were making hot-eyes at each other during the coronation prayers. What was she doing standing?”

“What’s this about another explosion?” He glanced over at Susanna. She sat stiff and pale. He needed to get her to warmth and safety.

“A small bomb. Blew out an empty building. We got a message a few minutes after from a free Hessenberg group, demanding the end to the entail. There’s all kinds of wild speculation in the press this morning. Everything from you purposefully ignoring Lady Genevieve to deny Hessenberg’s independence. Others calling for a revolt. Some saying you’re going to abdicate.”

“Meet me at my office in an hour. And tell the guards to stand down.” He ended the call just as the first small village popped up on the horizon.

“I’m going to drop you off here, Susanna. The press is all over Parrsons.”

Her eyes glistened. “O–okay.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Nathaniel took the first right at cruising speed, then the first left, arriving in a service alley. He idled the MG behind the loading dock of the Horch Bakery, secure from the probing eyes of the press. “This is just the media being the media. Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Were people hurt?” She got out, shivering, shaking the snow from her coat.

“Jon will brief me, but I don’t think so. Henry said not last night. Suzanna, this has nothing to do with me disappearing for a night. Dissenters are just looking for ways to break the entail. To free themselves from the monarchy.”

“It’ll be worse when the pictures of us go live.” The color of cold and emotion shaded her cheeks.

“Let them do their worst. We did nothing wrong.”

“But we gave the appearance of wrong. The people depend on you to do what’s right. To put aside your own desires and will. That’s just for everyday situations. But you have a political entanglement that requires you do what’s right for millions of people. If you’ve lost their trust, you’ve lost them. You’ve lost your ability to influence. So yeah, we did do something wrong.”

He exhaled at her frank truth. “I should have you on my privy council.”

“You should get going.” She walked around the back of the car. “Am I going in here?” She pointed to the bakery’s back door.

“You’ll be safe here. Horch makes the best puffs in Brighton.” Nathaniel reached for the door. “I’ll alert Rollins to send a car when things die down.”

“You think Avery’s all right?”

“If she’s with Aunt Louisa, yes. I’ll have Rollins check in on her.” He stepped inside the warm, fragrant bakery. The place was empty except for the puffy-faced proprietor behind the counter.

“Two coffees and whatever fresh puffs you have,” Nate said. “My friend will be staying for a while.” He passed the man several sterling notes. “Please see to it that she’s taken care of properly. If she owes more, I’ll settle when the car arrives to collect her.”

The proprietor waved off Nathaniel’s money. “It’s an honor, Your Majesty. I’m glad to know you’re all right. I heard on the news you were missing.” The baker cut a glance toward Susanna. “I’ll see to your friend.”

“Discretion is a virtue, Mr. Horch.”

“Yes, sir.” He bent beneath the counter and came up with a folded
Liberty Press
.

Susanna angled around Nathaniel. The front page was split into two pictures. In the top left, Nathaniel peeking out from under his crown with a wee hint of a smile on his lips. Then a diagonal line and Susanna’s image on the bottom right of the page, standing, gazing intent and blue toward the altar, her golden hair falling about her shoulders from her bare head, the congregation kneeling around her.

She looked enraptured. Captured.

“‘Tis you, miss?”

“Yes,” Susanna said, weak, resigned.

The bold block headline all but incited the readers:

“Oh my gosh … Nate, that’s ridiculous.” Susanna spun away, hand to her forehead. “I’ve never so much as toppled an anthill, let alone a royal dynasty.”

Nathaniel snapped the paper shut and handed it over the counter. “There’s a Civil Honor Medal in it for you if you keep the photographers out.”

Mr. Horch bristled as he passed the coffee and bag of puffs to Nathaniel, flattening his round chin into his neck. “Medal or not, Your Highness, she’s safe with me.”

“I meant no insult, Mr. Horch.” Nathaniel passed one of the coffees to Susanna. “I’ve got to go.” He scurried around for the back door, then paused. “I hate leaving you here like this.”

“I’m fine.” She waved him on. “Go.”

He hesitated, itching to take her in his arms and kiss her. Blast it, if he was being accused of an indiscretion he might as well taste of its fruits, no?

Instead he nodded to Horch. “Good day.”

Outside, he scraped the last of the snow from his seat and settled in, revving the engine and blasting the heat. He crept to the end of the alley, anxious to be on his way. Braking at the end of the low row of shops, he took a sip of his coffee and shifted into gear.

The road was clear. Nathaniel shot onto the road, aiming for Cathedral City, leaving a chunk of his heart behind in the rich fragrance of the Horch Bakery.

Campbell discarded the
Liberty Press
to the pile of newspapers by her chair. A fine first day in the press for her son, the king. His somber, dignified crowning moment ruined by the bareheaded American who did not kneel when called upon, but stood, gaping at Nathaniel like a schoolgirl at a youth dance.

The queen studied the image one last time. It hadn’t helped that the morning light had fallen through the abbey windows, illuminating the American as if she were some kind of earth angel.

The
LibP
all but accused the Crown of conspiring to break the law. The
Informant’s
headline merely speculated.

With a steady hand, Campbell tipped the royal-blue, gilt-edged porcelain teapot and filled the matching cup. It had been many years, but Nathaniel was no stranger to scandal or tabloid headlines.

Adding a small lump of sugar and dollop of cream, Campbell rose and moved to the window, cup and saucer in hand. How many cups of tea had aided her life’s musings? Thousands? She glanced down at the royal china set that served centuries of House of Stratton queens.

What wisdom have you, teacup?

“Leo, are you watching from above?” Campbell longed for a glimpse of sunlight to break through the cold, slate sky. “He’s in love, Leo. But he can’t have her. If you could ask the good Lord to give him wisdom …” Her slight laugh steamed the cold pane.