Page 19 of Stranded with His Runaway Bride

But the first wasn’t male at all, and, sadly for him, the woman who’d worn it was well known to him. It had belonged to his mother.

Prince Friedrich had been strict about what costumes his wife had been allowed to wear. He’d had final approval on her choice and it had always had to be something exalted and dignified. A heroine from mythology or a celebrated monarch or leader. No mermaids or gladiators were allowed for Giovanna von Frohburg.

Leo drew the lapis-blue headdress of Queen Nefertiti from its protective covering. He vividly remembered the year she’d worn it.

He’d been accustomed to seeing his mother dressed for grand occasions, but this costume had so suited her fine-boned beauty that from his hiding place on the landing outside his rooms he’d been transfixed watching her descend the stairs on her husband’s arm.

His beautiful mother, whom he’d adored.

And who’d abandoned him.

Prince Friedrich had had his choice from the cream of European aristocracy from which to take a wife. He’d chosen badly.

Giovanna had loved her status but not the expectations and restrictions that went with it. Nor had she loved the man who’d elevated her to her lofty position by making her his wife. He had been too serious and strict, too obsessed with regaining the grand duchy. And too averse to anything that might constitute fun. No one had been surprised when his beautiful young wife had sought her entertainment and then male affection elsewhere. The only real surprise was how long she’d actually stayed with her husband. When she’d finally departed Leo was a teenager.

At fourteen, with all the swagger of youth, he’d imagined himself a man. But not on the day his mother had left. That day he’d wept like the child he still was.

Seb had burst into his room.

‘You’d better come. Your parents have had an enormous row and now Aunt Giovanna is leaving.’

Leo had found her rooms in uproar. Servants hurriedly packing clothes into trunks. Footmen hefting them to the hallways. His mother sweeping make-up and pots of lotions into a vanity case.

‘Don’t go,’ he’d begged her.

‘I’ve found a wonderful man to love me,’ she’d answered, snapping the case closed. ‘Not like your father.’

‘But I love you,’ Leo had cried.

She’d patted his cheek absently. ‘I know, darling. I’ll see you soon. I promise.’

He’d followed her to the castle forecourt, all the while pleading with her not to leave him. When that had no effect, he’d flung himself at her. There had followed an unseemly tussle, where his mother’s security team had been forced to physically prise his arms from about her neck.

As her car had borne her away his cousin had tried to comfort him, but Seb had been younger, smaller and Leo, wild with grief, had been having none of it. He’d shoved him away.

Servants had averted their eyes. Tight-jawed castle guards had stared straight ahead. Seb, on his backside on the cobbles where Leo had pushed him, had sobbed openly.

At a first-floor window a lone, impassive figure had stared down on the scene. The only one to witness his teenage son’s humiliation and remain unmoved.

All Leo’s pain and rage had coalesced on him. He’d stormed up the stairs and barged into his father’s study.

‘You did this,’ he’d yelled. ‘You drove her away.’

His father had advanced towards him, arms outstretched, and Leo remembered feeling stunned that his father might be about to change a habit of a lifetime and embrace his only child.

How wrong he had been. With one hand he had grasped Leo’s shoulder, with the other he had slapped him hard across the cheek.

‘Stop making a spectacle and control yourself, boy. You’re a prince, not a commoner.’

Leo had folded inwards. His own hand against his stinging cheek. Shocked by the sudden eruption of violence that had disappeared as quickly. His father had been in command of himself.

‘I gave your mother a choice. She could have her lover, but she’d never be permitted to see you again. She chose him.’

The anguish of that simple truth had sliced through Leo’s heart. The mother he adored had abandoned him to a father she knew was heartless and cold. It had been the defining moment of his life as he’d vowed there and then never to let anyone close again.

He’d stood and showed no emotion while his father had poured a storm of recrimination over his head.

‘She left because of you. You were too demanding, too clingy. What kind of monarch will you be if you can’t control yourself? You shame the great name of von Frohburg.’

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