How to Wed a Baron Read Free

I’m not going to marry is German? Austrian?”
    The prince shook his head. “Bohemian, although I’m assured that her mother, also unfortunately deceased, was English, and her late father a favorite at the court until his death on some battlefield.”
    Justin was careful to keep his expression blank, even as an event in his life he’d hoped long banished returned to slap at his composure. “I once visited acity in the region. Trebon. I did not enjoy my time there.”
    â€œNo one but a fool enjoys being anywhere but England. Oh, but I know what you’re saying. You think perhaps she’s a Gypsy? Certainly not.”
    â€œThey prefer Romany, sir. Never Gypsy. At any rate, if you were told the lady is Bohemian, even if only less than half of her, I believe I’d prefer being hanged in the morning, thank you.”
    â€œThey’re a dirty people?” The prince’s face had taken on a rather haunted look, most probably thanks to a memory of his first sight of his now-estranged wife, Princess Caroline. It had been said that she harbored a decided dislike of soap and regular bathing.
    â€œNo, sir. And I’m certain the female in question is thoroughly civilized. I momentarily overreacted to an unpleasant memory, no more than that.”
    â€œPlease, don’t apologize. I believe I enjoy seeing the unflappable Justin Wilde even slightly discommoded. Trebon, was it? Nasty place? At any rate, this young woman, this—one moment.” He extracted a slip of paper from the pocket of his nightshirt, then read carefully: “‘Lady Magdaléna Evinka Nadeja Valentin.’ Foreign names are all so needlessly complicated, aren’t they? Give me a good Mary, or Elizabeth, or Anne. At any rate, this woman is in need of a husband.”
    â€œDisdainful as I am of repetition, I am not in need of a wife, sir.”
    â€œYou’ll pardon me my rudeness, Wilde, but I cannot find it within me to be concerned in the slightest with what you believe you might need. I need—no, strike that. England needs a suitable, well-born husband for the woman, for reasons of trade and all of that nonsense. You are to consider this marriage a foregone conclusion. Any and all information you might need will be provided to you as you leave. And one more thing—marry her and we’re finished. You will no longer be obligated to me in any way. And, yes, before you are so bad-mannered as to ask, you will also find a signed letter from me stating that fact, along with all those pesky details such as the time of her arrival at Portsmouth, which I believe to be fairly imminent. Now, see if you can find your way out without saying something that makes me rethink my generosity. And send in somebody to clean up this mess.”
    Justin bowed, his jaw tight, and backed up three paces before turning to exit the overheated chamber. He might banter with the prince, he might even insult him, but there existed no way he could disobey him, not at the end of day, when such things mattered. And they both knew it.
    He had his hand resting on the latch before the prince spoke again. Justin didn’t know what the man would say, but he had known he would saysomething. There was, with the Prince Regent, always something else.
    â€œBy the way, Wilde.”
    â€œYes, sir?” he asked, not bothering to turn around. Christ, the man was so woefully predictable.
    â€œI may have forgotten to mention one other thing. Slipped my mind, I suppose. But, then, why else would I overlook your proven shortcomings as a husband for the lady in favor of your rather unique talents? You see, it would seem that someone wants your affianced bride dead. If any misfortune were to come to her, King Francis and I—indeed, England—would be quite displeased. You amuse me, Wilde, God only knows why. But my amusement has its limits. Now you may go.”
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    T HE HUSTLE AND BUSTLE of the Portsmouth seaport