The Wild Princess: A Novel of Queen Victoria's Defiant Daughter

Well, at least that last part was true. Donovan Heath had well and good vanished, just as certainly as if God’s hand had reached down from heaven and plucked him up to heaven. But, ah, how she’d adored that boy. What might have come of them if they’d stayed together? Both struggling young artists, though he was from a different social class entirely and never would have been accepted by Victoria.

She jumped, startled when the mattress dipped, bringing her back to her wedding night and Lorne. Louise shook her head, chasing away memories of the young man who had so charmed her when she was but eighteen years old.

She looked up at her husband as he crooked a knee to balance one hip on the edge of the mattress. He leaned toward her, kissed her ever so gently on the forehead, then took her hands in his. “You may well be the most beautiful woman in all of London,” he murmured, his voice a touch hoarse with emotion. “I swear I’ve never seen lovelier.”

“Lorne.” She was moved nearly to tears by his sincerity. And this from a man who, if men could be called beautiful, truly was. His smooth almost boyish face was unravaged by the sun, despite his love of the outdoors. His eyes shone with the innocence of youth yet his mouth was full lipped and sensual. Suddenly she wanted more than anything to really kiss him, to feel his lips and hands on her body.

This can work. This has to work.

She’d wait to tell him she was no longer a virgin until after they had made love. He’d of course by then have discovered the truth for himself, but having already pleased him between the sheets, she might find it easier to explain and ask for his understanding. After all, new brides assumed their husbands had bedded other women before them. Although she thought the double standard ridiculous, society adhered to the old ways. A man might be forgiven his mistresses and affairs so long as he provided for his wife and children and treated them fairly.

She closed her eyes, hoping the gesture, faintly submissive, would further encourage him. She lifted her face to him. He squeezed her hands again. But no kiss came.

When Louise opened her eyes, tears were coursing down her young husband’s face.

“Oh, Lorne! My darling, what is it?” She pulled her fingertips out from his suddenly cold hands and framed his stricken face with her palms. “Tell me, what have I done to—”

But he shook his head, murmuring, “No, no, nothing. Not you.”

She assumed in that horror-stricken moment that he was weeping because someone—not Amanda, surely not her—had told him about her affair. But now it occurred to her that something else was wrong. Incredibly wrong.

“I-I have a confession to make, my dear.” He took a deep, shuddering breath and seemed to hold it forever before letting it out.

Possibilities raced through her mind.

He’s had affairs—not a shocker.

He’s been with a prostitute and feels unclean for me. To confide such now was merely being considerate.

He’s in love with another woman. Much more difficult to accept.

He’s having second thoughts about our marriage and wishes to back out of it. But why? He benefitted hugely by their union. Simply by taking his wedding vows today, he’d stepped up from the expected inheritance of a minor Scottish duchy to becoming the consort of a royal princess, daughter of the Queen of England. That was an immense leap, socially and financially. Lorne would receive a royal stipend for life, an estate (or, at the very least, luxurious apartments in one of the family’s castles), and additional prestigious titles. And he’d never need to lift a finger to support himself, his wife, and their children.

At last he seemed to catch his breath. She captured his eyes with her own, without words demanding of him an explanation.

“Dear Louise,” he said, “I have used you. I have used you abysmally. I fear I will never be able to make it up to you.”

She stared at him, her breath coming in hysterical gulps. She couldn’t imagine where in God’s name this was going. “Lorne, please. What is it? You’re frightening me. If you mean that our social stations are so very diff—”

He flushed bright red. “Society and stations be damned! That has nothing to do with this.” He seemed almost restored by his sudden anger. His voice gained strength. “You deserve a full accounting. Please, be patient. In the end, I hope you will forgive me for what I’ve done to—Actually, I don’t know what I’ve done.” He choked on a nervous laugh, looking close to tears. “Probably nothing short of mucking up your entire life.”