To Wed a Wicked Prince Read online

  Livia did her best to ignore the smile, but she couldn’t ignore the prince, who had turned his horse to ride beside her. “What a magnificent animal,” she said involuntarily as the black tossed his head and set the reins jingling.

  “A Cossack horse,” he told her. “I brought him with me.” He cast a somewhat disparaging eye over her own mount. “Forgive me, but I don’t think much of that beast.”

  Livia gave a rueful shrug. “A livery stable animal…what can you expect?”

  “Ah…indeed.” He nodded his comprehension and seemed to dismiss the subject. “How delightfully serendipitous that we should meet in this way. I was intending to call upon you later this morning.”

  “And now you’ve been saved the trouble?” Livia questioned with a quirk of her eyebrows.

  “I would never consider it a trouble, ma’am,” he responded. “A delight, certainly.”

  “You flatter me, sir.” Livia couldn’t think of a more original response.

  “Never,” he said. He lowered his voice and murmured, “I think you must know that I will go to any lengths to spend time in your company.” His eyes were full of laughter, his soft voice a throb of invitation.

  “With or without the assistance of a well-placed fountain,” she said, trying to ignore the invitation but failing lamentably.

  “That’s better,” he said as softly as before. “You are quite beautiful when your eyes laugh.”

  Livia lost all desire to laugh. She stared at him and then stated, “I have no interest in meaningless and extravagant compliments, Prince Prokov. They may do very well in Russia, but I for one equate restraint with sincerity.”

  “And why should you imagine I am not sincere?” he asked, apparently unsnubbed.

  “You don’t know me at all,” she said. “And in this country we don’t go around making intimate declarations to strangers.”

  “Well, you’ll become accustomed to my ways,” he returned with a cheerful smile. “And you may even come to like them. Shall we canter, if that beast of yours can be encouraged to do so?”

  He leaned sideways and gave her horse a smart cut on the flank with his whip. The animal jumped as if it had been stung and lumbered off down the tan in an ungainly resemblance to a canter. Livia was too occupied trying to adapt her seat to the rollicking gait to give vent to her outrage as the prince cantered elegantly beside her. They soon outstripped their companions and once they were out of sight, Alex drew rein and his horse slowed to a walk. Livia’s mount, however, continued at the same pace and it took her several tries before she could convince him to slow down.

  “How dare you do that?” she demanded furiously, once she had the animal in hand again. “You took me totally by surprise.”

  “I wished to be private with you,” he said, as if it were the most ordinary and reasonable excuse for striking her mount. “And you were in no danger, surprised or not, my dear girl. You can handle a much livelier animal than that plodder.”

  “That may be true, but you still had no right to do that,” she insisted, even as her anger melted away. There was something irresistible about this man’s personality. He swept all objections and obstacles before him. If she’d felt bullied in any way, it would have been different, but somehow she didn’t.

  “Then forgive me?” he asked, reaching out to touch her gloved hand. “Come, don’t be angry with me, Livia.” He gave her a cajoling smile. “Besides, you know that animal wouldn’t have speeded up for any less encouragement than I gave him. Am I forgiven?”

  Livia said nothing to that. She glanced over her shoulder and instead observed neutrally, “We seem to have lost the groom in that headlong race.”

  “Hardly headlong.”

  She shrugged. “Hardly decorous either. I must go back to Lady Devries before she sends out a search party.” She turned her horse and raised her whip in pointed farewell. “Good day, Prince Prokov.”

  “Allow me to escort you to your friend. It seems the least I can do to make amends,” he said, falling in smoothly beside her. “And I would be honored if you would allow me to escort you home. A mere groom, a livery stables groom at that, is hardly adequate escort for a ride through the London streets. Your mount might become startled and bolt with you.”

  It was too much. Livia went into a peal of laughter. Alex watched her appreciatively, but this time wisdom told him to hold his tongue on further intimate compliments. He was rewarded by her tacit consent to his company back to the others.

  “Wherever have you been?” Lilly asked with a note of reproof. “You should never gallop in the park, Livia.”

  “Lady Livia’s horse ran away with her,” the prince said solemnly. “She was unable to hold him. I went to her assistance.”

  “Really,” Lilly said, regarding her friend’s mount rather doubtfully. “He doesn’t look as if he had it in him.”

  “He doesn’t,” Livia said. “The prince thinks he’s being amusing.” She gave him a cool smile. “An unfortunate misapprehension. I think perhaps he does not understand English humor.”

  “Oh, touché,” he murmured, raising a hand in a fencer’s gesture that acknowledged a hit.

  “Well, no harm done,” Colonel Melton said heartily. “Shall we ride on?”

  “No, I must return to Cavendish Square,” Livia said. “Lady Farnham returned from the country this morning and I must keep her company.”

  “Then let us go at once,” Alex said. “You must not keep the lady waiting another minute.” He reached for her bridle to turn the horse on the path. Livia’s whip flashed and stung the back of his gloved hand.

  He withdrew the hand with a barely stifled gasp and met the blaze of her glare. “Thank you for the offer, sir,” she said with deceptive sweetness. “So very kind of you, but I’m very much afraid I have to decline. Do please remain with your friends.” She offered her farewells, then turned back to the Stanhope Gate, the groom at her heels.

  Alex gave her a minute or two, then made his own excuses and rode after her. He caught up with her before she reached the gate and fell in beside her. She didn’t acknowledge his presence, and after a long silence he said, “That was a grave error on my part. Will you forgive me that too?”

  She turned to look at him as they reached Piccadilly. “Just who do you think you are?” The question sounded more puzzled than indignant. “I barely know you and yet you are behaving with me as if you have some kind of right…as if we’d known each other from the cradle or something.”

  He gave an elaborate mock shudder. “Oh, no…not the innocent intimacy of childhood friends…that wouldn’t suit me at all.”

  “It wouldn’t suit me either,” Livia found herself responding. And now why was she was chatting with him as naturally as if they had known each other for months and he had never infuriated her for a minute? She shook her head in irritation, firmly closed her mouth, and didn’t open it again until they reached Cavendish Square.

  Alex had swung himself down from his horse before the groom had even begun to dismount himself. He reached up a hand to Livia. “Allow me to assist you, ma’am.”

  “I require no assistance,” she said shortly, ignoring the hand. She slipped gracefully from the saddle and smoothed down her skirts. “I give you good day, Prince Prokov.”

  “I find I’m very thirsty,” Alex said somewhat plaintively. “Do you think your butler could furnish me with a glass of water? I hate to impose, but…” He touched his throat with an expressive fingertip.

  “If you go down to the kitchen door, down the area steps, I’m sure one of the servants will supply your needs,” Livia declared. His expression was for once so utterly disconcerted and crestfallen that she couldn’t resist a mischievous grin.

  “If I’d known how delicious it would be to discompose you, Prince Prokov, I would have tried harder before,” she said, setting her foot on the first step to the front door. “Pray come in. I’m sure I can find you something a little more refreshing than plain water.”

  “
You are too kind, ma’am,” Alex said dryly. He followed her, reflecting that when it came to Livia Lacey he would do well not to rely absolutely on his customary tactics when turning situations to his advantage. She was adapting to his methods rather more quickly than he was accustomed to. For some reason the reflection didn’t annoy him as it might have done; in fact, it brought an inner smile. She would prove a worthy quarry.

  Livia banged on the brass knocker with a degree of vigor that surprised her companion. The sound reverberated on the quiet square. “My butler is hard of hearing,” she offered in explanation. “And somewhat slow of foot.” She banged again.

  The door creaked open and Morecombe peered around. “Oh, ’tis you,” he said as usual.

  “Who else were you expecting, Morecombe?” Livia pushed the door wider to encourage the elderly retainer to step back a little. “Please take Prince Prokov’s whip, gloves, hat…whatever else he’d like to discard.” She stepped past him into the hall and Alex, sensing that he needed to take advantage of the door while it remained open, stepped in smartly behind her.

  The old man in a rusty baize apron, most unusual attire for a butler, looked him over. Wordlessly he held out a gnarled hand for the visitor’s whip and high-crowned beaver hat, and waited while Alex drew off his fine leather gloves.

  “Is Lady Farnham in the parlor, Morecombe?” Livia inquired.

  “Not as I know,” the retainer said, his gaze flickering once more to the prince.

  “Well, maybe you could ask someone to find her and tell her that we have a visitor,” Livia suggested. “And perhaps you could bring sherry to the salon?” The questioning inflection was apparent. It was clearly not an instruction.

  Morecombe merely grunted and shuffled off towards the kitchen regions, and Alex followed Livia into a large, handsome salon. There was a touch of well-worn shabbiness to the furniture and upholstery, and the colors in the Turkey carpet and the velvet curtains had faded somewhat, but he thought it merely added to the charm of the apartment.

  “What an extraordinary servant,” he observed. “If that’s what he is.”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Livia returned. “He and his wife and her sister, they’re twins, were in my relative’s service. I call her Aunt Sophia, but I think she was more of a distant cousin…anyway, she left me the house, as I explained, but with the proviso that Morecombe and the twins should stay on for as long as they wished.” She laughed a little. “They have their eccentricities, certainly, but also their charms. One gets used to them.”

  “I see.” Alex turned as the door opened behind him. A woman entered carrying a tray with a decanter and glasses. She looked to be a little older than Livia, her pale blonde hair plaited in a coronet around a well-shaped head, her brown eyes soft and warm.

  “Morecombe said we had a visitor,” she said in a pleasantly modulated voice. “I thought it would be quicker to bring the sherry myself.” She set the tray on a sideboard.

  “Ellie, may I present Prince Prokov,” Livia said. “Prince Prokov, this is Lady Farnham, my friend and…uh…chaperone.” She winked at Aurelia, who laughed.

  “Purely nominal,” Aurelia said, holding out her hand to the visitor. “Prince Prokov, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Farnham.” He bowed over her hand, raising it to his lips.

  “Sherry, Prince.” Livia passed him a glass once he’d returned Aurelia’s hand. “Or would you really prefer water?” Her thick black eyebrows lifted and there was a hint of mischief in the gray eyes.

  He decided to ignore the mischief, at least for the moment. “Sherry will do beautifully, thank you,” he said, taking the glass.

  He glanced around the salon, observing, “What a pleasant room.” He strolled across to the magnificent Adam fireplace, trying to appear as if his interest were merely casual. But he was consumed with the desire to see every inch of this house. He had poured over the plans of the house for years and knew the position of every room, even to the box rooms in the attic. And now, finally, he was here.

  He sipped his sherry and looked up at the portrait over the fireplace. A young woman in full court regalia, feathers in her powdered, elaborately coiffed hair, gazed out across the room. Her blue eyes seemed to penetrate every corner, and he could almost fancy that for a moment they saw into his soul.

  Chapter Three

  SO WHAT DO YOU THINK of him?” Livia asked Aurelia as she returned to the salon ten minutes later, having escorted the prince to the front door.

  Aurelia hesitated, choosing her words. “Hard to say, really,” she said finally. “He’s charming, suave even, and handsome, no two ways about that.”

  Livia frowned a little. “That sounds like damning with faint praise, Ellie.”

  “He was only here ten minutes,” Aurelia pointed out, rearranging a bowl of heavy-headed chrysanthemums on the sideboard. “Not long enough to form a definitive opinion…certainly it wouldn’t be fair after such a short time.”

  Livia sighed a little. “No, you’re right, of course. And you’re also right that he’s charming and good-looking. He’s also very determined to get his own way.”

  “Why? What happened?” Aurelia shot her a shrewd glance over her shoulder as she worked.

  Livia shrugged and dropped into an armchair. “Well, first it was dancing with me last night, and then this morning…” She told her about the ride. “The strange thing is, Ellie, even while I’m objecting to being somehow manipulated, I don’t really seem to mind, deep down. Now, that’s very odd, you must admit.”

  “Very odd,” her friend agreed. She shook drops of water off her hands. “It sounds to me as if Prince Prokov is pursuing you in a very single-minded fashion.” She dried her hands fastidiously on her lace handkerchief. “You must have made a powerful impression on him at the ball last night…from the first moment he saw you.”

  “But that’s absurd,” Livia said. “A rational man doesn’t take one look at a strange woman in a ballroom and decide instantly that he’s interested in pursuing her.”

  “It has been known,” Aurelia said, smiling. “Anyway, you seem to be enjoying the game, Liv.”

  “I suppose I am,” Livia agreed. “Anyway, it can’t do any harm, and when I’m not enjoying it I shall bring it to an end.” She jumped to her feet. “And that reminds me…now you’re back we can make up a party for the opera and have a small dinner here beforehand. It’s time we repaid some of the hospitality, don’t you agree?”

  “Certainly,” Aurelia consented. “And will we be inviting the prince?”

  “Why not?” Livia said, with that gleam of mischief in her eye again. “I don’t always have to be the mouse…I can be the cat as well.” She left the salon, her step light and eager.

  Aurelia shook her head, a half-smile on her lips but a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Livia had had her share of suitors in the last few months, and Aurelia was certain there had been several offers of marriage, but none Liv had entertained seriously, even though she had always said she wasn’t looking for a love match, or a brilliant match, just one comfortable enough to ensure her a respectable establishment and the opportunity to have children. But Aurelia was sure her friend was looking for something more. She was not going to settle for anything or anyone who didn’t stir her in some way. It rather seemed as if the mysterious Russian prince had made an impression on her that no one else on the London scene had so far succeeded in doing.

  Thoughtfully Aurelia tapped her mouth with her fingertips. Livia was no fool and she was no ingénue. She was quite capable of looking after herself and making her own decisions. Nevertheless, Aurelia decided it could do no harm to investigate the prince’s circumstances. Maybe Cornelia’s husband, Viscount Bonham, could find out something. Harry had enough contacts all over London, in diplomatic and political circles, as well as the purely social. And he certainly knew how to ask the right questions.

  She would write to Cornelia at once, Aurelia decided. Apart f
rom anything else, Nell would want to be kept in the picture.

  Unaware of the speculation he had caused in the house in Cavendish Square, Alex rode towards Hyde Park Corner absorbed in his own thoughts. The portrait of the woman over the fireplace filled his internal vision. He had only seen a miniature of her before, and he realized now how little that had done her justice. The intelligent purity of her sapphire gaze as she stared straight out from the large canvas had startled him. The ivory tones of her skin seemed to radiate an inner glow, and her posture, so composed and almost commanding, spoke of an assurance, a self-confidence that he hadn’t expected from the bare bones he’d managed to glean about Sophia Lacey from his father.

  Not that his taciturn father had told him much about anything, Alex reflected with a familiar stab of resentment that was as much hurt as anger. He’d been given the basic facts about his birth, but none of the emotional connections that would soften those facts. But his father had been dead for seven years and there was little to be gained from nursing a lonely child’s resentment. Politics and his service to Czar Alexander had kept him in Russia those long seven years, but finally he had the opportunity to find answers for himself to those questions he really needed to be answered.

  He rode into the yard at Tattersalls, the horse brokers at Hyde Park Corner, and dismounted, handing the black to a groom who had come rushing at the sight of a gentleman who was presumably a customer. A man emerged from an outbuilding to one side of a stable block, clad in leather britches and jerkin, a checkered muffler at his neck, a cap pulled low over his forehead. He didn’t look like the man who owned and ran the most reputable horse dealership in London, but Alex was not fooled by appearances.

  The man greeted his customer with a laconic nod but then turned his attention to Alex’s horse, running a professionally assessing gaze over the black. “Magnificent animal,” he observed, moving one hand down the gelding’s neck while the other stroked the velvety nose. “Are you selling, sir?”