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

His weeping had stopped. For that she was thankful. And he was right; the danger was real for a man like him. “Oh, Lorne. What will we do?”

“Yes, well, we . . . that’s the question isn’t it?”

“Are you saying you wish to annul our marriage?” The prospect of the scandal left her feeling woozy.

“Heavens no!” He stared at her. “You still don’t understand, do you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I said that I’ve used you because I knowingly agreed to this marriage to protect myself. If I’m married to a woman of such obvious charms as Her Royal Highness, Princess Louise, how can anyone doubt my sexual inclination? I’m safe.”

“I see.” And now she really did understand. Resentment muted her compassion, though she tried not to show how confused and desperate she was beginning to feel. “But how are we to be . . . to be together, to have children, if you don’t have relations with women?”

“That’s the crux of the problem, as I see it.” He nodded his head. White-blond waves fell over his forehead, shadowing the azure glow of his eyes. “Louise, I swear to you, I would never have agreed to marry you if I’d thought I couldn’t find a way to give you children. I supposed I would be able to make love to you, now and again, for the purpose of procreation, you see. And perhaps a bit more often, if you required it of me.”

“Required it?” She suddenly felt her entire body a-flush with anger. Every muscle tensed. Her head pounded a ragged tattoo. “Required!”

“For your pleasure. To satisfy your needs. Yes, of course. I believed I would be capable of making a go of it, although I never have done it with a woman.”

“Lorne.”

“You’re looking frightfully pale, my dear.” He gently took her by the shoulders and laid her back against the pillows. “I’ll get you a drink of water, shall I?”

Louise didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. She closed her eyes, felt him leave the bed then return to rest the cool lip of a glass against her lower lip. Was she delirious? This couldn’t possibly be happening to her.

She sipped the water. Closed her eyes tighter. Imagined her life spooling out before her over the years, a desolate, childless, loveless landscape. A farce of a marriage.

Members of the royal family never divorced. Never . Well, there was her ancestor Henry VIII. But ridding himself of his wives had caused the restructure of religion in England and persecution of thousands. To do so now, to divorce Lorne, would result in unbelievable scandal.

Moreover she’d need to give a reason for separating from him. Telling the truth was tantamount to throwing him to the wolves. And into prison. She must try harder. Surely she could entice him to want her—or, if not that, at least to do his duty.

Louise reached up and slipped one shoulder strap of her gown slowly down and off of her arm. The pearl-studded bodice fell open. Lorne’s gaze dropped to her naked right breast. She felt the heat coming off his body escalate.

Drawing a breath for courage, she reached out for the silver buckle at his waist. He didn’t move, seemed not to breathe as he allowed her to unclasp his belt. Her fingers trembled as she slipped her hand beneath his jacket and unbuttoned the fly of his trousers.

His face went white. “Louise.”

“Hush. It will be all right,” she whispered. “I don’t care about your other life. I really don’t. Do this for me, for us. Please. I know you can.” She pressed her hand over his groin, but the rigid manhood she’d hoped to find there, wasn’t. Tears filled her eyes. In desperation, she grasped his hand and drew it between her warm thighs. “I’ll teach you to love me, my darling.”

Lorne looked at her and seemed to make a decision. He stood and took off his jacket, then his shirt, and sat to remove his boots. She lay back and watched as he rose again, mechanically finished unbuttoning his trousers and stepped out of them, leaving only his linen undergarments snugly covering his hips. Her gaze roamed his hairless, beautifully muscled chest, his firm abdomen. He approached her with an expression of determination, although she could see no sign of an erection, yet.

Then, suddenly, just as Lorne reached out with one hand, as if to caress her displayed breast, something in his demeanor changed. His eyes flared with a new set of emotions. Embarrassment. Disappointment. Revulsion. He pulled back his hand with a sharp curse.

“Damn it to hell—you don’t understand, Louise. I want to give you children. I told the queen I would be able to do so, but now that the time has come . . .” He took an unsteady step away from her and the bed. “I simply can’t do it.”

She propped herself up on her elbows and glared at him. “You discussed this with my mother ? This plot of yours?”

“Not in so many words.” He shrugged again, wearily, and sat down on the far end of the bed to pull on his trousers even as she looked on in disbelief. “But I believe she knew of my habits, and I expect she only bothered to consider me as a potential husband for you because of your . . . well, earlier indiscretions.”

So he’d known all along she wasn’t a virgin. She’d been sick with fear at the thought of telling him, and she needn’t have been. Because he had his own secrets. The room began to spin.

Never in her life had she fainted, and she damned well was not . . . going . . . to . . . now .

Louise sat up so quickly that Lorne leaned away too fast, nearly falling off the mattress.

“What are we going to do, Lorne?” she shouted at him. Only one other time in her life had she been this furious with another person. “What do you imagine our life together will be like?”

He sighed. “I imagine, my dear, very little of it will be together, as you put it. If I were a man like so many others, I’d be supremely blessed to have you in my bed. But I’m not and won’t apologize for my taste in lovers.” He looked surer of himself now as he continued dressing. “My concern is what I’ve done to hurt you. I know now I cannot make love to you any more than I can to any other woman. It’s simply not in me. I’m sorry that there will be no children, at least not from these loins.”

“Then you tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do. Am I then expected to seek a lover?” she shouted at him, having recovered enough to shift from crushed to furious. How could he put her in this position? Worse yet, how could her mother have contrived such a union?

A shadow crossed Lorne’s delicate features. “I don’t know, my dear. I can’t tell you what to do.” He smoothed his shirtfront, took a shuddering breath. “If it becomes known that you enjoy the company of other men, and I do nothing to interfere, surely questions will be asked. Suspicion will fall on me.”

“Then I shall be forced to remain celibate? Be denied children? Denied pleasure in a man’s arms?”

He shook his head, as if acknowledging the unfairness of the situation but helpless to suggest a solution.

Suddenly, his face brightened. “I have something to offer you that other husbands don’t.”

“And that is?”

“Freedom .” He quirked one eyebrow and smiled, looking pleased with himself.

She scowled at him, confused.

“Freedom,” he explained, “to be Louise.” He stepped back toward the bed, took her hands again, moved his face close to hers and spoke with something that sounded like admiration. “You’ve never wanted to be like other female royals. That’s what I’ve always admired about you, my dear. You’ve lived a Bohemian life among artists and friends you’ve chosen from among commoners as often as from nobility. Amanda and her family being a case in point. You’ve aligned yourself with reformists for the rights and protection of women. You’ve built for yourself a truly independent lifestyle. All of this would be taken from you if you married any other man in our day.”