Promised to the Swedish Prince - Sasha Cottman Page 0,47
on marrying in England or in Sweden? It would be wonderful if King Charles was able to attend. I’m sure the Prince Regent will be there.”
Erika gave the wife of the Spanish ambassador her brightest smile. The woman was all a fluster over the prospect of a royal wedding.
“We haven’t decided as yet. The betrothal was rather spontaneous.”
The other female guests all softly sighed at once. It was odd to think that the usually jaded diplomatic community had taken her and Christian’s supposed romance to heart.
Nice to see that some people still believe in the power of love.
“And where is Prince Christian this evening?” asked another lady.
The same question I have been asking myself.
“He is here somewhere. I am sure he will join me soon,” replied Erika.
That soon eventually became well overdue and Erika finally reached the end of her patience. She excused herself from the group of diplomatic wives she had been talking to and went in search of Christian. Moving from room to room, and finding no sign of him, a horrible sense of dread descended.
Please don’t be with her.
The idea that Christian was spending the evening conducting a sexual liaison with Lady Lynch while she made polite chitchat had her on the verge of tears.
You are a noblewoman, and you deserve to be treated with respect. Only a cold heartless rogue would abandon you for the evening.
“Countess Erika are you lost?”
Erika painted a winning smile to her lips and turned. Lionel Lynch stood a few feet away. The hard lines of his face telling her that he did not approve of having found her alone wandering about the house.
“No, I was looking for the supper room,” she lied.
She wasn’t going to tell anyone, let alone the man who had shadowed her for most of the evening, that she was in fact searching for Christian.
He offered her his arm. “Please, let me show you the way.”
Years of navigating social events had taught Erika the wisdom of hiding one’s disappointment when in public. With no other choice, she accepted Lionel’s overture and let him lead her to the supper room. Hurt and humiliation left her with scant appetite.
She silently chastised herself for letting her emotions get in the way. Christian, it seemed, had not fallen into the same trap she had and lost his heart to her. To him, their fake betrothal was exactly that—a means to an end.
Her sadness had slowly morphed into a simmering anger by the time she had finished her small plate of food. Lionel Lynch had remained by her side the whole time. She was not going to be left alone again.
You are my keeper, while your mother and Christian are heaven knows where.
Being treated like a child who had to be continually watched made her blood boil. Who the devil did Christian Lind think he was? She didn’t care that he was a prince, he still had no right to leave her while he went off with Lady Lynch. And how many people at this ball knew the truth of where her supposed fiancé was?
People must be laughing themselves sick behind my back. What a fool I am.
The time had come to take what was left of her dignity and leave. Christian clearly had no use for her this evening other than to make pretty with the rest of the guests; and she had well and truly played her part. She was done with being used by him. All that was left was the question of whether she really knew Christian at all anymore.
“Could you please have my carriage brought around to the front Lionel, I am tired and wish to go home,” she said.
Erika did her best to ignore the self-satisfied smile on Lionel Lynch’s face as he escorted her to the door and bid her a good night. He had done his job and kept Erika at bay, no doubt his mother would be pleased.
As the carriage pulled away from the party, Erika leaned back on the bench and closed her eyes.
“Fancy thinking that he might actually have feelings for you. Erika Jansson, when are you ever going to learn that this is all one big game and players like Christian will do anything to get ahead?”
Her mood was so dark by the time she got home, that Erika didn’t bother to call in and see her father in his study on her way up to her room.
After closing the door of her bedroom, she picked up a thick woolen shawl