To Wed a Wicked Prince Page 3

  “Which is only the truth,” Constantine stated. “While the emperor preens and postures on the banks of the river Niemen, making much of his treaty with Bonaparte, Bonaparte laughs behind his hand. He will use Russia and drop her the minute he’s wrung her dry, and the czar can’t or won’t see it. As far as he’s concerned the Treaty of Tilsit made Napoleon his bosom friend, and unassailable ally.”

  His voice rose with his frustration as he paced the small room. “He won’t even listen to his mother on this. The Dowager Empress makes no secret of what she thinks of this rapprochement with Bonaparte.”

  “It’s true. Normally Alexander listens to her, but not on this subject.” Nicolai shook his head dolefully. “If he can’t be persuaded, he must be removed…one way or another.”

  “Gently, gently, my friend,” Alex admonished. “Some things are best left understood but unsaid.”

  “Quite right,” Tatarinov agreed. Constantine grunted and refilled his glass, draining it in one swallow.

  “You’re the one man he will never suspect, Alex,” Nicolai said. “You grew up with him, you shared a schoolroom, you’re his most trusted confidant.” He looked closely at Alex from beneath thick gray brows. “It can’t be easy for you to contemplate such an act of betrayal.”

  A tense silence fell over the room until Alex said quietly, “I don’t see it as betrayal. That’s an ugly word and we are talking here of saving our country, even if it must be at the expense of one man.”

  “The czar’s an arrogant fool,” Constantine stated. “Too much of his father in him and not enough of his grandmother, the Empress Catherine. If you ask me, I’d say we need to get rid of the czar, his wife, and his mother…give the throne to the czar’s sister, Grand Duchess Catherine, she’s the only one of them with the old woman’s brains and spirit.”

  Alex said nothing as the debate went on around him. He was thinking of the czar’s childhood, of the way he had been protected, cosseted, encouraged to consider himself almost a god, as near to perfection and infallibility as any human could be. His mistakes had never been acknowledged, his wishes always took precedence. What chance had a grown man to achieve wisdom in such circumstances? It had long struck him as strange that the czar’s grandmother, the great Empress Catherine, a woman of surpassing wisdom, intellect, and education, who corresponded freely with the greatest minds in the civilized world, should have so bungled the molding of her heir.

  “You’re very quiet, Alex.”

  Nicolai’s question brought Alex out of his reverie. “I beg your pardon, I was thinking.”

  “Useful thoughts, I trust,” Tatarinov said somewhat sourly.

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Alex regarded this newcomer to the London émigré scene with interest. It was a world that attracted all sorts, fools and wise men, rich or poor, but they were all aristocrats who either were compelled or chose to leave Mother Russia. Tatarinov was of a different kind—he was a rough diamond lacking the polish of the usual émigré—the kind of men like those in this room, who loved their country and their country’s honor above all else. What motivated a man like Tatarinov? He would bear watching.

  “I was thinking it would be helpful to discover exactly what the czar knows…or suspects,” Alex said.

  “You have his ear. Can you find out?” Constantine asked.

  Alex nodded. “I was intending to write to him in the next day or two anyway. I’ll bring up the subject and see what it leads to.” He stifled a yawn.

  “Ah, we’re keeping you up,” Nicolai said, getting to his feet. “Forgive us.”

  “Not at all,” Alex denied, but he rose to his feet with his visitors. Indeed, he wasn’t in the least fatigued by anything except present company. He had several hours’ work ahead of him and was anxious to get started.

  He saw his visitors out and returned to the drawing room, where Boris was clearing away glasses. “Make up the fire, Boris, and leave the cognac decanter,” Alex instructed as he went to the secretaire. “Then you may lock up and go to bed.”

  “As you wish, Prince Prokov.”

  Alex drew a sheaf of paper towards him and picked up his quill. He sharpened the nib, frowning in thought. His visitors were not aware that he was in London at the emperor’s bidding, about to become Russia’s unofficial eyes and ears in London. The czar was going to recall his ambassador in the next few weeks and once diplomatic relations with England were officially broken, he would need someone placed to keep him informed of the English political and diplomatic schemes and opinions. Alex, playing for society’s benefit the part of a carefree aristocratic émigré, uninterested in politics, intent only on the pursuit of idle pleasure in the glittering ballrooms and salons of London’s society, was perfectly positioned as that informant. He had just a few weeks in which to get thoroughly established in the right circles.

  But he had another string to his bow. An entrée to the secret association of Russian revolutionaries based in London. Information he gleaned from them would also be of vital interest and importance to the czar.

  Alex began to write.

  Chapter Two

  AUNT LIV…AUNT LIV…WAKE up, we’re back.”

  The excited tones of a small child brought Livia struggling blearily from the depths of a dreamless sleep. Little fingers were tapping her cheek urgently.

  “Franny, darling, don’t disturb Aunt Liv,” the calm voice of Aurelia Farnham admonished. “Liv, I am sorry, I didn’t realize she’d come in to you.”

  Livia opened her eyes and smiled. She hitched herself onto an elbow, brushing her dark hair away from her face. “Ellie, you’re back,” she said with delight. “Franny, love, I’m awake now, there’s no need to keep tickling my face. Come up on the bed.” She patted the coverlet in invitation.

  “We had such a long journey, Aunt Liv, miles an’ miles all the way from Scotland to Grandpapa’s house, an’ Susannah was sick all over Linton an’ Stevie,” the little girl prattled as she clambered onto the bed.

  “I’m glad I wasn’t in the coach,” Livia said, with a grin at Aurelia. “Although, if my father hadn’t needed me the other week, I would have liked to have visited Nell and Harry in Scotland. Where are they now? Still in Ringwood, or did they come back to London with you?”

  “No, they’re still in Hampshire, at Dagenham Manor. Harry has Markby twisted around his little finger…it’s a miracle. You wouldn’t believe it.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Livia agreed, pulling herself up against the pillows. The earl of Markby, the father of Nell’s first husband, who had died in the war, was a formidable gentleman. “So he’s come round to Nell’s marriage, then?”

  “Seemingly,” Aurelia said. She went to open the door at a discreet knock. “Ah, tea, thank you, Hester.” She held the door for a young maidservant struggling under the weight of a laden tray.

  Hester set it down on the dresser and bobbed a curtsy. “Will I pour, ma’am?”

  “No, I’ll do it,” Aurelia said, picking up the silver teapot. “Could you ask Daisy to come and collect Franny for her breakfast.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Hester,” Livia said in smiling dismissal. The girl bobbed another curtsy and hurried away.

  “Don’t want breakfast,” Franny declared, pouting. “I want to stay here with you.”

  “You were famished ten minutes ago,” her mother said, pouring tea into two delicate Sèvres cups. “And you don’t want to upset Miss Ada or Miss Mavis by not eating the breakfast they will have made for you. You know how they always put honey on your porridge.”

  Franny looked doubtful but went off without too much protest when her nursemaid appeared a couple of minutes later.

  “I adore that child, but she does exhaust me,” Aurelia said, closing the door on their departure. “She chatters ten times more than Stevie and Susannah put together.” She smiled ruefully at the contrast between their friend Nell’s children and her own chatterbox of a daughter. She came over to perch companionably on the be
d with her teacup. “So, what have you been up to?”

  “Nothing particularly remarkable,” Livia said, dipping a macaroon into her tea. “I did have a rather unusual encounter last night…but first, tell me how Nell and Harry and the children are. I haven’t heard from Nell since they left Scotland to come home. I want to hear all about how Harry charmed the earl. I would have thought Markby would have had an apoplexy about the elopement.”

  “He probably did when he first heard of it,” Aurelia said. “But he had to accept the fait accompli in the end.”

  Aurelia and her sister-in-law, Cornelia Dagenham, had both been widowed at the Battle of Trafalgar, and Cornelia’s father-in-law, the earl of Markby, had been the chief trustee for their children’s inheritances. When Cornelia had fallen in love with Harry, Viscount Bonham, and eloped with him six months ago, everyone had expected the earl to unleash his wrath on all and sundry.

  “But he didn’t have to accept it graciously,” Livia pointed out, leaning sideways to set down her teacup.

  “True enough, but there’s something about Harry…more tea?”

  “Yes, please. I know what you mean, he’s some kind of an invincible force,” Livia said with a chuckle. “Nell couldn’t resist him after all, and she tried hard enough.”

  “She did,” her friend agreed with a responding chuckle as she handed her a refilled cup. “But she’s so happy now, Liv.” She sighed a little. “I envy her. It’s wrong of me to envy her happiness, but I can’t help it.”

  “It’s not wrong of you,” Livia said swiftly, reaching out a hand to her friend. “And there’ll be a Harry out there for you too, Ellie. I’m sure of it.” Her fingers squeezed Aurelia’s tightly.

  Aurelia shrugged and smiled. “Maybe so,” she said. “But now I want to hear about this peculiar encounter you had last night.”

  “A Russian prince, would you believe,” Livia said, settling back against the pillows, her gray eyes gleaming with fun.

  “A handsome Russian prince?” Aurelia inquired, the amusement in her own eyes now banishing her moment of gloom.

  “Very,” Livia said. “And something of an invincible force himself. He pushed Bellingham into a fountain.” She watched Aurelia dissolve into laughter and within seconds joined her at the renewed image of the stuffy Lord Bellingham immersed in Clarington’s fountain.

  “Tell all,” Aurelia demanded, and Livia obliged.

  “Most intriguing,” Aurelia said when her friend had finished the recital. “I can’t wait to meet him. It sounds as if he intends to come calling.”

  “That was certainly the impression he gave me,” Livia agreed, pushing aside the bedclothes and swinging her legs to the floor. “But I’m engaged to ride in the park with Lilly Devries this morning, so if he does come he’ll be disappointed.” She went to the armoire and flung it wide. “Will you ride with us, Ellie?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Aurelia said, going to the door. “Not this morning. I’m somewhat fatigued after the journey. We left Basingstoke at six this morning, and Franny was up at five.”

  “In that case, you may get the opportunity to meet the Russian prince if you decide you’re not too fatigued to receive callers in my stead,” Livia said with a chuckle as she reached into the armoire for a riding habit.

  “Maybe,” Aurelia responded. “I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast.”

  “I’ll be down right away,” Livia promised, shaking out the folds of the dark green habit. “If you see Hester, ask her to come up. This skirt needs pressing.”

  “I’ll tell her.” Aurelia left the bedchamber.

  Livia spread the habit out on the bed, then wrapped herself in a taffeta dressing gown that had seen better days. She was brushing her thick black curly hair when Hester reappeared, a pair of Lakeland terriers prancing at her heels. The dogs rushed at Livia, yapping in excited greeting, dancing on their back legs as if she’d been absent for a year.

  “Lady Farnham said you wanted me, ma’am,” Hester said over the noise of the dogs.

  “Yes, Hester. Could you press my riding habit, please…Quiet now, dogs. I’m pleased to see you too.” Livia set down her hairbrush and bent to greet the terriers, who were trying to climb onto her lap. “I’m going down for breakfast now. If you could bring up hot water in about half an hour I’d be grateful.”

  “Yes’m.” Hester gathered up the habit and hurried away. Livia followed her, the dogs at her heels.

  Aurelia was reading the Morning Gazette in the cozy parlor that Livia and her friends had made their own private apartment when they’d first arrived at the house on Cavendish Square. The house bore little resemblance now to the cold, drafty, neglected mansion that they’d first inhabited early that year.

  “Your prince is mentioned here in the court circular,” she pointed out, looking up from the paper as Livia and the dogs entered. “He was presented to Prinny at one of the queen’s drawing room receptions two days ago. See…” She held out the paper and nibbled a piece of toast.

  Livia sat down and perused the item. “He didn’t say how long he’d been in London,” she observed, reaching for the coffeepot. “But from this it seems that he’s been here only a week or two. I suppose that would explain why I’d never come across him before.”

  “Prince Prokov,” Aurelia mused, taking another piece of toast from the rack. “Do you think he’s an émigré or just a foreign visitor?”

  Livia shrugged. “He didn’t say. But he did say that politics were dreary stuff and he wanted nothing to do with them. I think he’s just here to play.”

  “A dilettante, then,” Aurelia observed with a raised eyebrow. “Are you inclined to play with him, Liv?”

  Livia, to her annoyance, felt her cheeks warm. “It depends on the game,” she responded with a lighthearted shrug.

  Aurelia nodded, her brown eyes shrewdly assessing her friend across the table. “It might be diverting,” she commented casually, and returned her attention to her breakfast.

  It was a beautiful morning for a ride, Livia reflected as she left the house, drawing on her gloves as she stood on the top step. Her heart sank a little when she saw the horse awaiting her in the street. The livery stable had sent her the piebald gelding again. He was a dull, plodding ride at the best of times and, even with the utmost modesty, Livia knew she was a better than good horse-woman and the mount didn’t do her justice. But she couldn’t afford to keep her own horse in London, so beggars couldn’t be choosers, she told herself resolutely as she descended the steps.

  The livery stable had sent an elderly groom with the horse and he gave her a leg up into the saddle. “Where to, ma’am?”

  “Hyde Park…the Stanhope Gate,” Livia said, settling into the saddle, feeling the gelding’s broad back shift beneath her.

  The groom mounted his own cob and whistled through his teeth. Immediately both horses started forward. Livia guided her stolid mount through the thronged streets. Not even the rowdy chaos of Piccadilly disturbed the animal’s placidity. Ideal for a nervous rider, she reflected, but dull as ditch water for one who liked a mount with some spirit.

  She couldn’t help the stab of envy when she saw Lilly Devries waiting with her groom just inside the entrance to Hyde Park. Lilly’s mount was a lively gray mare with fine lines and a dainty high-stepping movement. But then, Lilly’s husband possessed a considerable fortune.

  “Good morning, Livia. Isn’t it a delicious day?” Lilly bubbled with customary enthusiasm as her friend joined her. “How was the Clarington ball last night? I was sick at not being able to go, but Hector insisted we dine with his parents…such a bore, I can’t tell you.” She turned her horse onto the tan, the broad band of sandy soil running alongside the paved coach path around the park. Her horse pranced delicately along beside the broad-backed piebald gelding.

  Livia chatted idly about the ball, surprised that for some reason she avoided all mention of the Russian. Lilly would have been all ears, as always fascinated by any tidbit of gossip. There w
as no reason Livia shouldn’t mention her encounter with Prince Prokov, although she wouldn’t tell anyone except Ellie and Nell about Bellingham’s involuntary swim in the fountain, and yet she found herself reluctant to say anything about it.

  “Oh, look, there’s Colonel Melton,” Lilly said suddenly, breaking into Livia’s desultory account. “In the party coming towards us.”

  Livia looked up. A party of three horsemen trotted down the tan towards them, two of them in the scarlet coats of dragoons, the other in civilian riding dress. Prince Prokov was the other. A little prickle of excitement ran up the back of her neck.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Colonel Melton called a greeting, sweeping off his plumed hat in a gallant flourish. “Well met, indeed. Lady Devries, Lady Livia. You know Lord Talgarth, of course.” He gestured to the other guardsman, who bowed with a similar flourish. “And are you acquainted with Prince Prokov?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Lilly said with a warm smile, her eyes appraising the newcomer with sharp interest. “It’s a pleasure, sir.”

  He bowed and murmured a greeting before turning to Livia. His brilliant blue gaze held her own as he said, “I had the honor of meeting Lady Livia last night…how delightful to renew our acquaintance so soon, ma’am.”

  “Indeed, sir,” Livia responded with a neutral smile. But the air had taken on that champagne fizz again and the prickles on the nape of her neck intensified. It was those damnable eyes, she thought. No one had the right to such a dazzling purity of color.

  “May we ride with you?” The colonel was turning his horse alongside Lilly even as he asked the polite question. “Tell me, Lady Devries, why you haven’t been seen about town for so long. Devries shouldn’t keep you all to himself…the dog. And I shall tell him so.”

  Lilly laughed and entered the light bantering flirtation with practiced skill, saying over her shoulder, “Lord Talgarth, there’s room for three on the path. I’m sure the prince wishes to further his acquaintance with Lady Livia.” She gave Livia an archly conspiratorial smile as she said this.