To Wed a Wicked Prince Read online

  “Then for the present she must remain nameless. Shall we go back to Cavendish Square now or would you like to take another turn?”

  “Cavendish Square,” Livia said firmly. She felt rather as if she’d been run over by a dray loaded with ale barrels. Prince Prokov seemed to have that effect and she badly needed some time to catch her breath and reflect.

  “By all means,” he agreed with an amiable smile.

  At the house he dismounted and held up a hand to Livia as she slid from the saddle. He held her hand for a moment longer than strictly necessary, then raised it to his lips for a light brush of a kiss. His eyes held hers as he said softly, “Until tomorrow then, Livia.”

  Livia nodded. “At ten o’clock.” She tried to withdraw her hand and for a second his fingers tightened, then with a smile he released her and turned to the steps to escort her up to the door.

  Livia felt strange. There had been something in those amazing blue eyes that disturbed her. A hint of ruthlessness, of a determination that didn’t quite jibe with his playful-seeming flirtation and the extravagant compliments. He wasn’t playing a game, she thought with renewed conviction. There was something deadly serious going on here, and the sooner she found out what it was the better.

  Alex knocked vigorously, waited until the door was opened, then bade Livia farewell. And now as he smiled there was no hint of the look that had so chilled her. “I will count the minutes until the morning, my dear Livia.”

  Livia made no response, merely smiled her own farewell before stepping swiftly through the door into the peaceful sanity of her own hall and a world she understood and could control.

  Alex strolled down the steps and remounted, his expression thoughtful. He glanced up at the house again and frowned. He had so little time in which to storm this citadel. By the time the ambassador was recalled, Prince Prokov needed to be well entrenched in society, accepted not just by London’s frivolous bachelors but by the court, the grandes dames and their husbands, by diplomats and politicians. He couldn’t be married by then, of course, but eligibly betrothed to an impeccable fiancée with a wedding date in the near future would give him the entrées he needed just as well.

  The tactics he had chosen were designed to achieve his goal in the shortest possible time, and his not inconsiderable experience of women had only bolstered his belief that his game plan would succeed. Women tended to succumb to the mix of masterful determination and flattering flirtation. Now, however, he was having doubts. Livia was not like the women he had known hitherto. She had mettle in her makeup. She was a spinster, in her late twenties, and she should be susceptible to the attentions of an eligible suitor; she should be more than eager for marriage. But there must be some reason why such an attractive woman was still single, he reflected. A reason that transcended the customary imperative of a woman of her social position. Of course, she was financially independent…or thought she was.

  And of course he could simply disabuse her of that belief and make his compensatory offer without all the uncertainties and entanglements of courtship. She would be out of her mind to refuse him. But something had happened since he’d met her. It was as if she were spinning a web around him and he was losing sight of his primary objectives. He wanted her, plain and simple, with a desire that if he wasn’t careful could consume him. It wasn’t only lust, although he certainly felt that when he looked at her, at the high, rounded bosom, the slender waist, and the graceful curve of her hips. He was drawn to the sense that, composed and poised though she was, there was an unruliness beneath that surface, an impulsive mischief that would make her a wonderful partner in bed and out of it. Livia Lacey radiated a curious quicksilver brightness, and she had an edge to her character that she wasn’t afraid to use if she felt her sense of integrity was somehow threatened.

  He caught himself smiling at the reflection and pulled himself up sharply. He mustn’t lose sight of the fact that Livia, properly handled as his wife, could be very useful in the grim business that had brought him to London. If he held on to that fact, then he could keep a rein on this unruly and untidy desire.

  He frowned as he continued to look up at the house. That was one objective he would never lose sight of. His mother—the mother he had never known. Who and what was Sophia Lacey? Once his father’s lover, certainly—a woman unselfish enough to give up her child because she believed it was in the child’s best interests. But what else was she? He was consumed with curiosity, had been since early childhood, with the passionate need to discover the essence of the woman who had given birth to him. Somewhere in the shadows of her house he might find a key to the true nature of his mother. Her faithful retainers would have something to give him. They must have served Sophia long and well for her to take such pains over their future. But he couldn’t ask them until his presence in the house was accepted.

  Once again he banished reverie and brought himself back to the grim business that had brought him to this point. There was little time to waste. So should he change his tactics with Livia? Or increase the pressure on the assumption that he would eventually wear her down?

  It was a decision he needed to make before the jaunt to Richmond in the morning.

  “What happened?” Aurelia asked as Livia came into the parlor. “You’re in riding dress…you weren’t when you went out.”

  “Actually I was,” Livia said, flinging herself onto the sofa. “It turned out that Alex had riding in mind, not walking. He brought the most beautiful horse for me to ride.” She debated whether to tell Aurelia the truth about the prince’s intentions regarding the silver, and decided not to for the moment.

  “So you came in and changed?” Aurelia asked with a frown in her eyes. Something wasn’t quite right here.

  “Precisely,” Livia replied airily. “And we’re going riding in Richmond Park tomorrow morning. I want to try the mare’s paces.”

  “Oh, I see,” Aurelia said, not at all sure that she did.

  “If Nick comes to call, will you make my apologies and tell him that I was called away?”

  “Yes, of course. Are you expecting him?” She looked closely at Livia.

  “I met him in the park. He said something about coming to call,” Livia said with a vague gesture. “Nothing definite.”

  “I see,” Aurelia repeated, still not sure that she did. “But if I stay here, who’s going to chaperone you on your ride with the prince?”

  Livia frowned. “I don’t need a chaperone, Ellie. No one will see us, no one need ever know about it.”

  Aurelia shook her head. “You can’t be sure of that, and if you’re seen riding alone out of town with the prince, it’ll fuel a conflagration of gossip that won’t do your reputation any good at all. It’s one thing to ride in Hyde Park under everyone’s eye, quite another to seek the seclusion of Richmond.”

  Livia chewed on her lower lip as she thought. Her friend was right, of course, but a chaperoned, decorous ride was most definitely not the point of tomorrow’s excursion. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy Ellie’s company, quite the opposite, but not when she wanted the hint of danger, the sense of playing with fire, that seemed to accompany her meetings with Alexander Prokov. It was a realization she’d taken her time acknowledging, she had to admit to herself, but there were no two ways about it. Ordinary decorum and the Russian prince were not compatible, and that excited her and filled her with a heady, almost reckless sense of anticipation. There were any number of men she could ride perfectly pleasantly with in Richmond Park in Ellie’s company, but not Alexander Prokov.

  She became aware of Aurelia’s intent gaze and felt herself flush a little. “I’ll take a hackney to Richmond. Even if anyone sees me get in it, they won’t know where it’s going, and once we’re on the road it’ll be totally anonymous,” she said finally. “I’ll meet up with Alex and the horses in the park. Then I’ll come back in another hackney after our ride and no one will be the wiser.”

  “Particularly if you take only the most secluded rides,” Au
relia remarked dryly. “The roads least traveled, as it were. I take it that’s the point,” she added, her eyes narrowed.

  “It does seem to be,” Livia agreed, her flush deepening a little. “And there’s no harm in it, Ellie.”

  Aurelia shrugged. “If you say so. I’m not your keeper, Liv, and you know what you’re doing.”

  Livia laughed slightly. “Do I? I wonder.”

  “I’m not about to preach morality, Liv,” her friend said with a smile. “Neither of us turned a hair when Harry played Casanova at Nell’s window, and if you want to have a liaison with a Russian prince under the trees of Richmond, then I’ll merely warn you to be careful of damp grass.”

  Livia smiled with unconcealed relief. “I don’t think it’s going to come to that, but a little dalliance is very appealing.”

  Chapter Six

  THE CZAR’S SEAL EMBLAZONED THE message awaiting Alex as he returned to his lodgings. He took up his paper knife and slit the seal, opening the sheet that was covered in the emperor’s elegant script.

  My dear friend. Alex winced a little at the salutation. The czar had always embraced him as an elder brother…except on those occasions when his dignity demanded a degree of reserve…those occasions when he considered Alex had overstepped the boundaries of friendship with advice or faintly concealed criticism. Then he was icily imperial and not at all afraid of reminding his friends of the precariousness of their position, which depended solely on the degree to which they pleased their emperor. Unlike his grandmother, Alexander I was not a listener and did not choose to heed advice that went counter to his own convictions…convictions that once held were fixed in stone.

  Alex sighed a little and returned to the missive. The czar’s enthusiasm for his new alliance with Napoleon filled the page, overflowed in superlatives. The promise of this alliance had no limits, it was to lift Russia into the position of world supremacy, side by side with her dearest friend, France. Together they would subjugate Europe and bring England to her knees. They would divide the known world between them. And Prince Prokov, the czar’s most trusted and loyal friend, was to help in this worthy aim and he would reap rewards beyond his dreams.

  Send us information soon, my dear Alex, about the mood in the English court. Are they disheartened at our new alliance? How will they react when Russia joins Napoleon’s continental blockade? What will they do when they can no longer trade with Russia?

  And just what will Russia do when England no longer receives her exports? Alex thought, his lip curling. England was Russia’s biggest export market for its raw materials. The merchants of St. Petersburg and Moscow would be in a frenzy of rebellion when English ships no longer anchored in their harbors and the warehouses bulged with the goods they could no longer sell. And all because of the orders of that Corsican parvenu, as the Dowager Empress described the Emperor Napoleon.

  He turned his eyes back to the czar’s fluent script. What plans do the English intend making with Austria? You will discover this in your clever way, my friend. And as to your fears that there may be disaffection among the émigrés in London, have no fear, I have it well under control. I have my spies. Be careful yourself, my friend. No one can be trusted.

  Alex read the last sentences carefully, a deep frown corrugating his brow. It sounded like a warning, but why should the czar warn him? Was he afraid Alex would run afoul of the disaffected? Or was he afraid of something quite different?

  He remembered his visit from Prince Michael Michaelovitch. The old man was certainly devoted to his emperor, but he was not the brightest candle in the chandelier. If the secret police had indeed sent Michael to watch Alex, they had sent a rabbit to watch a fox.

  “Will you be dining in tonight, Your Highness?” Boris, his arrival soundless, spoke softly from the door.

  Alex shook his head. “No, I’m engaged with a party to the opera.” He glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “In fact I’m going to be late as it is. Bring sherry to my chamber while I change, if you please, Boris.” He hurried through the door into his inner sanctum and from there into his bedchamber, shrugging out of his riding coat as he went.

  Boris appeared within minutes with the sherry decanter and a plate of sweet biscuits. He set the tray on the dresser, and while Alex poured himself a glass, he opened the armoire and took out the black coat, white waistcoat, and knee britches that would be suitable wear for the opera.

  The front door knocker sounded as he was helping his master into the coat. “Who can that be?” Alex muttered. “I’m not in to visitors, Boris.”

  “No, sir.” The manservant glided towards the door to the hall. He opened it and then nodded. “Ah, it is only a messenger, Your Highness. Leo has answered the knock.” He stepped into the hall and summoned the bootboy who was just closing the front door. “Bring it here, boy.”

  “Right away, Mr. Boris, sir.” The boy, who was no more than thirteen, scurried across the waxed floor, his boots skidding slightly in his haste. He touched his fore-lock as he handed Boris a wafer-sealed parchment. “’Tis for His Highness, Mr. Boris, sir.”

  “One would assume so,” the manservant observed without expression as he took the sheet. He glanced over his shoulder. “Shall I send Leo to summon a chair, sir?”

  “Yes, I’ll be ready in five minutes.” Alex frowned slightly as he made a minute adjustment to his starched cravat. “Bring me the message.” He held out a hand even as he continued to lean forward towards the mirror, twitching at a fold in the snowy linen.

  Satisfied at last, he straightened and took the parchment from Boris. He glanced at the writing. Definitely a feminine hand, although the paper was white and unscented and the pen strokes lacked the flourishes and curlicues so common in female penmanship.

  He took up a nail file from a silver dish on the dresser and slit the wafer. He opened up the sheet and took in the contents in one swift appraisal. A smile touched the corners of his mouth. So Lady Livia had a care for her reputation, did she? But not sufficient of a care to propose bringing a chaperone on their ride. Instead, she was proposing what could only be called an assignation. A secret rendezvous no less. It would seem she might have something more in mind than the need to try the mare’s paces.

  He laughed softly. Livia had made the decision for him. Now was not the moment to change his tactics. If he kept up the pressure, increased the pace even, the citadel would surely fall. Livia Lacey, as he’d hoped, was able and willing to entertain her impulses. Her ready laugh and mischievous sense of humor had entranced him from the first moment and matched something deep in his own personality, a devil-may-care desire to shrug off convention, to pursue one’s own course. An unusual quality in a young woman of Livia’s position, but a most appealing one. She would be a worthy partner in his enterprise.

  “Tell the chairmen to wait,” he instructed Boris as he got up from the dresser. “And tell Leo I will have a message for him to deliver to Cavendish Square in a few minutes.” He strode into his inner sanctum and sat down to write a reply to Livia.

  “So, does the name Prince Prokov ring any bells, Harry?” Cornelia asked her husband somewhat impatiently. He seemed to be taking an inordinate length of time reading Aurelia’s missive.

  Harry glanced up at her and gave her a wicked smile. “Maybe…maybe not,” he teased.

  They were in the library of Cornelia’s country house, Dagenham Manor. In truth the house belonged to her young son, Stevie, who had inherited the title of Viscount Dagenham and the Dagenham estates on his father’s death. But until he came of age and found himself a wife, his mother would continue to consider it her own.

  Cornelia leaned over the back of Harry’s chair and playfully snatched the vellum from his hand. “I don’t know how you could possibly know anything about him, or find out anything. You’ve been out of touch with your friends in the underworld for so long, I’m sure they’ve forgotten all about you.” She moved away from him, her eyes on the letter.

  “Oh, unkind,” Harry protested w
ith a chuckle. He reached out an arm and caught his wife around the waist, pulling her down onto his knee. “Such a sharp tongue, Nell. I’ve a mind to tame it.” He tipped her backwards, so that her head was against his shoulder, and kissed her smiling mouth.

  When at last he raised his head, she was still smiling, but her breath came fast and her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with the ready desire that Harry unfailingly aroused. “Well, there’s some truth in what I said,” she murmured, reaching up a hand to touch his face. “Don’t you think it’s time we returned to the real world, love?”

  “Have you had enough of marital seclusion, then?” He caught her hand and turned it up, pressing his lips into the palm.

  “It’s not that,” she said. “But I think you’re beginning to get restless…not bored exactly, but you need your work.” She sat up straight and looked at him closely. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  He was silent for a moment, then he shook his head. “No, you’re right. I do feel an itch now and again.”

  “Then I think we had better scratch it before it consumes you,” she said, jumping up from his knee. “I’ll tell Linton that we’re leaving for London in the morning. She has plenty of time to get the children ready, although, of course, she’ll protest mightily.” She moved energetically towards the door.

  “Just a minute.” Harry stopped her as she put her hand to the latch. “I get the impression you’re as anxious to get back into the swim of things as I am, Nell.”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “In truth, perhaps I am. And I’m very curious to form my own impressions of this prince who’s pursuing Liv so ardently. Ellie seems to have reservations, didn’t you get that impression?”

  “A little, perhaps. But I think she’s more concerned about Livia’s response to the pursuit.”

  Cornelia turned her eyes back to the letter. “Perhaps so,” she murmured. “Reading between the lines, it sounds as if Livia finds the Russian more than ordinarily attractive and that’s what’s concerning Ellie. Anyway, do you think you’ll be able to find out anything about him from your colleagues at the ministry?”