Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(53)

“The Nvengarian people might not think so,” Sephronia pointed out.

His wife could often see to the heart of a matter. If the romantic Nvengarians wanted Damien to find a long-lost princess, they’d convince themselves that Penelope was a long-lost princess.

“I have the proof,” Alexander said, thinking of the papers hidden away in his chamber. “The people dislike being duped, and in the end will not accept her.”

“The people might not believe you. Of course,” Sephronia added slowly, “you could always keep her here and marry her yourself.”

She sounded wistful. Sephronia had likewise never been in love with Alexander, but she had loved being Grand Duchess—dressing in finery, playing hostess, setting fashion for Nvengaria and countries around them. Even Parisian ladies looked to see what Grand Duchess Sephronia of Nvengaria wore in any given season. Her greatest regret during her illness was that she could no longer take her place at Alexander’s side.

“I will not marry again,” Alexander said. Courtship and marriage were the last things on his mind. “I have no need. I have a son, and he is enough for me.”

“Yes,” Sephronia said proudly. She’d always congratulated herself that she had given Alexander a robust male heir. “But you are a handsome man, Alexander. You will need a woman, if only to keep the others away from you.”

Alexandra shrugged. “Not a wife. Nor a mistress. I have no need to slake my lusts every night.”

“You are so strong.” Sephronia reached out a wasted hand and rested it on his blue-clad thigh. “I wish I could have been strong, like you.”

Alexander covered her hand with his own, her fingers like bare sticks. Sephronia had slaked her own needs in wild affairs with dandies and roués pleased to bed the wife of one of the most powerful men in Nvengaria. She was always discreet, however, bringing no open shame on Alexander, and he knew about every single one of her lovers. He kept his eye on them, in case they were scoundrels trying to use her to get to him. Sephronia had been very careful, he granted her that.

“You were strong enough,” he said.

Sephronia gave him a tender look. “Have you ever taken lovers? I never knew.”

Alexander gave her a nod. “One or two.”

“Good. I am glad you were not alone.”

Her concern amused him. Alexander had never been one for sentiment and romance. He enjoyed physical pleasure with women, but he did not lose his heart. That was dangerous. He admired and delighted in beautiful women, as all Nvengarian men did, but he did not need a female to make his life complete. His marriage to Sephronia had been political, and both of them had known that.

Sephronia’s eyes took on a faraway look. “We were beautiful together, weren’t we, Alexander? Me on your arm at every ball and soiree, every gathering at court. You, the most handsome man in Nvengaria, and I the most beautiful woman. Everyone envied us.”

“I suppose they did,” Alexander said.

His thoughts went to those days when her black hair had shone with pearls, her gowns cut to reveal her slim shoulders and elegant bosom as well as the lift of her head on her long neck. Alexander had escorted Sephronia in his Nvengarian regalia and sash of office—the pair of them the most powerful couple in the kingdom.

They’d been invited everywhere—hostesses had been known to lock themselves into their chambers for days and not come out if Alexander or Sephronia turned down an invitation. Sephronia had danced and laughed, flirted and wooed, and been the toast of the town. Had Alexander ever had the opportunity to take her to Paris, Rome, or London, society there would have scrambled to eat from her hand.

Even her pregnancy had been celebrated. Sephronia had set fashion by having her dressmaker create clever gowns to hide her swelling figure.

She’d always been careful in her love affairs to never conceive a child that was not Alexander’s. She knew that putting another man’s son in Alexander’s nursery would not only be embarrassing for them both, but dangerous. The father might use the child to gain power or to manipulate Alexander. Politics in Nvengaria always balanced on a knife’s edge.

Sephronia sighed. “I know balls and soirees are not as important to you as they were to me, but they were my life. They were my triumph.”

Alexander squeezed her hand. “I was always proud of you, Sephronia.”

Tears glittered in her eyes. “Where are they now?—all those gentlemen who declared they loved me and threatened to shoot themselves if I did not abandon you for them. Since I’ve fallen ill, not one of them has tried to see me. Not one. Only you.”

“I am your husband,” Alexander said simply.

Sephronia gave a little laugh. “No one would blame you for deserting me. You are kindhearted.”

Alexander slanted her an ironic look. “I believe you are the only person in the entire world who calls me kindhearted.”

“You are kind. Deep down inside. I’ve seen it in you.” Sephronia gave his hand a weak squeeze. “What I would like you to do is find someone to make you happy. Your next marriage should not be for politics or power, but for happiness. I could never give you that.”

“I am happy enough.” Alexander had Nvengaria to rule, and that took all his attention. “I do not think rulers have time for happiness. We rule, and nothing else matters.”