Capturing the Crown Bundle. Nina Bruhns

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 1

      “What’s the big deal?” Reginald, the crown prince of Silvershire, asked with a laugh that only partially echoed with humor.

      The other viable emotion that was present, and more than a little evident in his retort, was irritation. It was common knowledge that Reginald had never liked being challenged or questioned by anyone. His was the right to do or say whatever pleased him. Explanations did not please him. The only other person in the kingdom who dared question him—on rare occasions—was his father. For the most part, King Weston doted on him as Reginald was the single living testimony of his late wife’s love.

      Obviously struggling with a temper that rarely resided in check, Reginald paced about his bedroom. He shot the companion of his childhood an impatient look.

      Reginald frowned, his handsome features taking on a malevolent appearance. “It’s not as if I’m asking you to marry her in my place. Just go and fetch the damn woman and bring her back.”

      “Fetch her.” Lord Russell Southgate, the present duke of Carrington, repeated the phrase the prince had thrown out so cavalierly. Because he knew her, or had known her when they were children, he took offense for the woman who wasn’t there to do it for herself. “Amelia is not a dog, Reginald, she’s a princess.”

      Russell watched Reginald square his far-from-broad shoulders. Only in the privacy of Reginald’s chambers was he allowed to address him by anything other than his title. By the look on the prince’s face, Russell knew he was rethinking that. Rethinking everything. And changing. Because someday, very soon, he was going to be king. And Russell knew that once Reginald was king instead of his father, a great many things were going to change, including their relationship. Because too many people liked him, Russell thought, and the prince viewed that as a threat.

      It was just a few days before the wedding, a wedding that would forever bind Silvershire with Gastonia, and it was obvious that Reginald did not want to spend the last days of his publicly recognized freedom playing the dutiful fiancé. Not when there were women to be enjoyed.

      Abruptly turning on his heel, the prince looked at him. “You’re right, she’s not a dog. Dogs are fun. Dogs are obedient. Princess Amelia,” he emphasized her title with a sneer since he’d made it known that only his title mattered in this union, “is neither. And, there’re rumors that since we last met, she’s developed a nasty independent streak. Having you bring her back to Silvershire in my place will take the little tart down a peg or two.” A smile that was known to make the blood of those on the receiving end run cold spread across his full lips. “Besides,” Reginald continued loftily, “I’m going to be busy.”

      Russell leaned against the overly ornate desk that Reginald felt befit him. The one the prince had yet to use for anything other than bedding a very starstruck young woman who had managed to sneak into the palace as one of the cleaning staff. Observing his future monarch, Russell wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps, in light of the century they were living in, the monarchy had outlived its usefulness and purpose. By any standard except that of birthright, Reginald hardly seemed suited to ruling over the small, independent kingdom.

      Russell supposed it was up to him to somehow pull off a miracle and make the man suited. He owed it to his fellow countrymen. The question, as always, remained how.

      “Busy?” Russ’s deep voice rumbled as he pressed, “Doing what?”

      For a moment, Reginald looked incensed at being questioned, but then he let it pass. Instead, he smirked and replied, “Having my last fling of bachelorhood.”

      Without another word, Reginald began to walk out of the room.

      Russell straightened. Though his tone was deceptively easygoing, he wasn’t through trying to convince the prince not to ignore his obligations. For him not to go to the princess in person was an insult. What really galled him was that Reginald knew that.

      “Forgive me, ‘Your Highness,’ but you’ve been ‘flinging’ ever since you discovered you had something to fling.” Moving swiftly, he got in front of the prince, aborting the latter’s getaway. He’d endured enough of Reginald’s evenings to know exactly what was on the prince’s mind. “Don’t you think going to Gastonia to bring back your future bride is a little more important than having some nameless, vacant-headed woman pour herself all over you?”

      Reginald pretended to pause and actually reflect on the question. “Well, since you put it that way—” His eyes narrowed as his expression became cold. “No.” He sighed, irritated. “Look, Carrington, this marriage is for my father, for Amelia’s father who wants to keep that poor excuse of a little country of his safe.” His tone increased in its sarcasm. “It’s for the people of Silvershire so they can litter the streets, rubbing bodies against one another as they jockey for position, pathetically waving the flag and getting a small thrill into their dull, dull lives when the royal carriage passes them by. It’s for the news media, who just love ‘storybook weddings.’”