Page 3 of Stranded with His Runaway Bride

Some weird twist in the San Nicolo succession meant her husband couldn’t take power until she was twenty-one. But take power he would. San Nicolo was old-fashioned that way. Never before allowing a woman to rule in her own right, and her uncle was determined that wouldn’t happen now. Though if they’d married before now Leo would have had months of deferring to him. Obliged to be involved in the country’s affairs but with no actual power.

Leo had solved the problem by arranging the marriage for the eve of the princess’s birthday. No frustrating wait, forced to watch as her uncle wielded power—badly, he might add—and no legal complications. Because if theyweren’tmarried by the time the girl reached her majority there’d be a tortuous legal process to have him recognised as Head of State in place of his wife.

He gritted his teeth as he drove. All that stood between him and achieving his lifelong goal was an unsteady girl. What was she running away from? A life of privilege, and of ease. He’d shoulder all the responsibilities of monarch. She’d never have to raise a finger. Never have to make difficult choices.

‘The girl has no aptitude for the work,’ her uncle had told him. ‘Better to have you at the helm.’

Leo was fine with that. Glad to have no interference from the Della Torres. What had they achieved with their picture-postcard duchy? Cheese, wine and tourism. That was the extent of their ambition. Leaving the people trapped in an agrarian living museum. He’d be bringing them up to date.

Once he’d made Violetta his wife.

Briefly he pitied the girl. Her father was happy to give away the first daughter to an enemy. The uncle even happier to hand over the second. No chance for her to be Grand Duchess in her own right. Her father and uncle preferring to relinquish the duchy’s sovereignty rather than have a female at the helm. What a family to have!

Then he recalled the packed cathedral, the spoiled banquet, the bunting, drooping in the July heat, and his sympathy deserted him.

He slammed the car into a higher gear and screamed down the road.

He hoped he’d guessed her destination correctly. This was his way. React swiftly. It had been drummed into him since birth.

‘Never dither. Better to act, and act decisively. Indecision is for commoners, boy.’His father’s mantra. He’d learned it well. Along with several others.

‘Kindness is a weakness you cannot afford.’

‘Compassion is for fools.’

‘Love is a lie.’

‘Women are for bed sport and offspring and otherwise not to be trusted.’

Pity his father hadn’t had one for dealing with being jilted, twice. By the same damn family. But Leo knew what he would have said.

Marry her, get a son by her and we finally have the duchy back.

Oh, I intend to, Papa.

In his life he’d never wanted anything more than to be the von Frohburg to finally regain the grand duchy. To prove to his father, even though he was long gone, that he deserved to be the prince he’d been born to be.

Once he had secured her, he’d paint it as wedding jitters, all eased and soothed by her handsome groom. He’d have photos released. Preferably of her gazing up at him, doe-eyed and adoring. The least she could do under the circumstances.

If he failed, not only would he lose the chance of regaining the duchy but, should he die without siring a son, Grimentz would suffer the rule of Max, Seb’s older half-brother.

It was hard to imagine a man less suited to the task.

Devoid of his sibling’s intelligence and loyalty, Max cared for only two things: himself and his pleasures. That was it. He was dedicated to a life of indolence and excess. The principality had not risen to the heights it had under the guidance of such men.

Leo wouldn’t let that happen. He was thirty years old. The time had definitely come for him to wed.

And reclaim San Nicolo at last.

He met no one on the road. The entire population would be watching the wedding. Either at home or in the streets of the capital. In just twenty minutes he passed the gatehouse and entered the grounds of the estate of his grandmother’s chateau. The very last place he’d thought to visit again. After she’d left it to him in her will, he’d ordered it be practically closed up. Except for authorising a monthly visit by a housekeeper, maid and groundsman to see to any repairs and keep the place watertight, he’d wanted nothing more to do with it.

Damn and blast the girl. Why did she have to go there of all places? With all of its bitter memories and mountains of regret. A place he’d vowed to never set foot in again.

Where he’d taken the elder Della Torre girl, his first fiancée.

Francesca was the beauty of the family. She’d inherited her mother’s blue eyes and golden hair. Her mother’s height and lithesome figure too. She’d charmed and flattered him and given no inkling she’d been using him to plot her escape.

‘Let’s go to your grandmother’s chateau,’ she’d said. ‘The two of us, for a night away from everyone and their prying eyes.’ He’d believed her. When she’d asked if they could wait so she’d come to him a virgin on their wedding night, he’d agreed and they’d gone to their separate beds.

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