A Magnificent Match (18 page)

Megan pulled her hands free. “How dare you?” she choked.

Prince Kirov straightened in surprise. He was startled at the infuriated expression on her face. He took another step toward her. “Megan—”

“No! Do not come near me,” commanded Megan, throwing up her hands.

The prince stopped, his heavily marked brows lowered a fraction. “What is this nonsense? I do not find it amusing.”

“You are quite right, your highness. It is not at all amusing!” Megan’s eyes were alight with sparks. “I am not a mare to be possessed at your whim, your highness!”

“Come, Megan, this is ridiculous. I told you in Russia that I love you more than any other woman,” began Prince Kirov.

“And just how many women do you presently love, your highness?” asked Megan, her voice dripping ice.

“None! You have my heart and no other! Did I not swear to it and give you the ring from off my own finger? Did I not vow to follow you to London? Have I not proven my love for you?” asked Prince Kirov, his voice rising with each question. His expression was one of virtuous outrage.

“Do not dare to yell at me, Misha,” said Megan.

“No, you are right! I should not yell. I should shake you instead!” He started to close the distance between them. His intent was evident in his expression.

Megan whisked herself behind the settee. “I do not believe you. You only say that you love me. You think that I am a ripe plum ready to fall into your hand whenever you should hold it out to me. But I am not! I do not belong to you, sir!”

“I do not think that you are a plum! You do not resemble any fruit at all, for you are too thin,” said Prince Kirov unthinkingly.

“Too thin? How dare you insult me in such a fashion!” gasped Megan.

Prince Kirov raked a heavy hand threw his blond locks, roaring his frustration. “Megan, I say it again! I love you! I love you! Why do you deny me?”

“I received eleven requests for my hand. Not one of those honorable proposals was from you, Misha. Instead you snatched kisses from me in the conservatory and seduced me with the ice hills. And now you announce that I am yours to take whenever it should suit you!” said Megan.

There was a short silence. Prince Kirov stared at her, his eyes narrowed beneath his heavy brows. “Not once did it cross my mind to make you my mistress,” he said stiffly.

“Liar,” said Megan softly.

He was startled. Then, slowly, he began to grin. “Yes, I am a liar. I thought it many times. But you held me at arm’s length all those months. You insisted upon a formal address even when I made you free of my name. You would not allow any familiarity. Is it any wonder that I should begin to think of you in my arms?”

Megan’s face was flaming. “You are a wicked, wicked creature.”

He threw his head back and bellowed in laughter. When he had expended it, he looked at her with warm amusement. “Not so wicked, after all. My thoughts changed, my dear delight. That night on the ice hill, when you kissed me of your own will, I wanted to catch you up and carry you off into the night. But I did not. Do you know why, Megan?”

Megan shook her head, her heart beating remarkably fast.

“I did not wish anyone to speak evil about the woman that I would take to wife,” he said.

“Oh!” Megan did not know what else to say. She could scarcely breathe. She felt confused, about his feelings for her and about her own.

Suddenly fear rose up. If she melted into his arms now, would she ever know whether he truly loved her? She had heard enough from Princess Kirov to know that her son had an obligation to marry well. Megan did not believe that an Irish miss of minor nobility and modest portion was exactly what Princess Kirov had in mind as a daughter-in-law. That is, if he actually married her. It was one thing to say that one was thinking of marriage, but Prince Kirov had never actually voiced a proposal to her. And if he did marry her, would she be able to depend upon his fidelity? His reputation, as well as his own mother’s observations concerning her son’s passionate nature, shook Megan’s confidence.

Prince Kirov seemed to be able to read something of her thoughts, for he smiled and shook his head. “I shall not press you now, Megan. I see that I have been unbelievably clumsy—”

“Arrogant,” corrected Megan.

Prince Kirov lowered his brows and finished, “—in my dealings with you. You are a woman. Naturally you do not think clearly, for a woman thinks with her heart. I will give you time. When your head and your heart have come together, you will be willing to accept me.”

“I am situated in London for the Season,” said Megan.

“Of course,” said Prince Kirov in surprise. “Where else would you be?”

Megan smiled. She could have told him, but he knew little of the life she had led before her arrival in St. Petersburg. “I shall have many engagements.”

“I shall escort you,” said Prince Kirov, waving his hand as though it was a matter of little moment.

“I shall have many admirers and entertain their suits,” warned Megan.

“I shall kill them all,” said Prince Kirov amiably, but with a somewhat wolfish grin.

Megan laughed and came out from behind the settee. She held out her hand to the prince and he took it, clasping it loosely as he smiled down at her. “We have reached an understanding, Misha. I am glad. I have missed you, my dear friend.” She stressed the words.

Prince Kirov grimaced. “You are hard, Megan. That is not the relationship that I would claim, as you know.”

“No, I know well that it isn’t,” agreed Megan, her eyes gleaming. “But I think it wisest for my peace of mind.”

“Then I bow to your wishes, mademoiselle,” said Prince Kirov, suiting action to his words and making a formal bow over her hand.

The door opened and Mrs. Tyler entered. When Prince Kirov straightened and turned, she said, “Oh, are you taking your leave so soon, your highness? I had hoped to offer you tea.”

Prince Kirov shook his head. “Thank you, but no, Mrs. Tyler. I have outstayed my time and I have other engagements. Perhaps I shall call again later in the week.”

“Pray do so,” said Mrs. Tyler cordially, offering her hand to the prince. She slid a glance at Megan, attempting to read something in her expression. “Our doors, or rather Lady O’Connell’s, will always be open to you.”

Prince Kirov gravely expressed his appreciation and left.

Mrs. Tyler at once turned back to Megan. “Well, my dear? What did he say?” she asked in highest hopes.

“Prince Kirov said that I was his to possess whenever he chose to do so and that I was too thin to be a proper fruit,” said Megan baldly.

Mrs. Tyler stared at her, nonplussed. “Well! How very odd of him, I must say. What—what did you say?”

“I raked him over the coals, naturally. Prince Kirov is far too self-assured and charming. He is a danger to the female, whomever she might be. But I hope that I am too sensible to lose my head over an accomplished flirt,” said Megan.

“Quite frankly, my dear, it does not sound to me that the prince is any hand at all at flirtation,” said Mrs. Tyler roundly.

Megan laughed. “No, he is not quite like your romantic heroes who are all perfection, Gwyneth. He says stupid things. He does not understand me. And I am not certain that I entirely trust him.”

“My dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Tyler, shocked.

Megan flushed. “But it is true, Gwyneth! Prince Kirov vows that he loves me, but does he really? I am sure you heard as much about his celebrated reputation as I did while in St. Petersburg.”

“He followed you all the way to London,” said Mrs. Tyler.

“Oh, Gwyneth! I might be only one of so many other reasons why he chose to come to London this spring. I know, for instance, that the Kirovs have always had business interests in England,” said Megan. “Until I know for certain what is in his heart, I do not know whether I can trust my own heart. Can you not understand that?”

“Yes, I suppose that I can.” Mrs. Tyler looked at her with mingled sympathy and perplexity. “But, my dear, what will you do?”

“Sophronia said something to me once. She said that if Lionel were ever to come to London for her, she would lead him a dance. I wonder whether that might not be the answer in my own situation,” said Megan slowly.

Mrs. Tyler regarded her with strong misgivings. “What are you thinking, Megan? I’ve seen that expression before! Oh, I should so dislike it if you were to do anything that you might regret!”

“Never fear, Gwyneth. I am an excellent rider,” said Megan, turning to the door.

“Whatever are you talking about?” asked Mrs. Tyler, completely bewildered.

“Only that I am going riding, Gwyneth. I am getting up a party with Colin and as many of his friends as can be persuaded to join us,” said Megan cheerfully. “I am going to the library now to write a note to Colin.”

“Oh. Well, I am certain that there is nothing untoward in that,” said Mrs. Tyler, somewhat relieved. She picked up her embroidery hoop as Megan left the sitting room. However, there was something about Megan’s last glance, brimful of mischief, that Mrs. Tyler could not quite put out of her mind.

Prince Kirov left the town house with mixed feelings. He knew that Megan was strongly attracted to him. He was too experienced not to recognize what was in a woman’s eyes. He would have liked to have swept her off her feet and carried her back to Russia that very day. But he knew that was an impossibility. Megan was resisting her feelings for him.

“This I do not understand,” he stated to the sunlit air. He, Mikhail Sergei Alexsander Kirov, had never found it difficult to charm his way into a woman’s heart. Indeed, he had enjoyed many satisfying relationships. He had toyed with the thought of marriage more than once since becoming head of his family, but there had always been another woman whose eyes promised more than the last and ...

Prince Kirov’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt, as did his long strides. He stood still on the walkway, a huge handsome rock in the stream of saunterers. Prince Kirov had complete disregard for the passersby and their curious glances. He thought over his interview with Megan again, carefully. He began to smile. “Ah, my wise little dove! Now I know what is in your mind. You fear that you are not my last love. But I shall prove it to you.”

With renewed purpose, Prince Kirov strode to the curb to signal his carriage. He had ordered the driver to walk the horses up and down the street while he was visiting at the town house. Then he had chosen to walk while he sorted out his thoughts. Now the time for reflection was over.

The driver had been awaiting the prince’s signal and handily negotiated passage through the oncoming traffic. The carriage slipped over to the curb.

“Take me to the hotel!” Prince Kirov pulled open the door and sprang inside. When he was seated, he began to plan in his mind almost a military strategy. He would lay siege to Megan’s heart and woo her and win her. She would surrender to him before many weeks were gone. He was confident enough of that. In the meantime, there was much to be done.

When Prince Kirov reached the hotel, he at once rang for his maitre’d, the head of the huge retinue that he had brought with him to London, and his faithful companion, Fedor. He questioned the maitre’d first. “Has a suitable residence been acquired?”

The maitre’d answered in the affirmative. “The house is even now being made ready for you, your highness. I estimate that in two days’ time you shall be able to remove from this place.”

“Very good, Frederick. I wish to begin entertaining immediately, in the manner to which I am accustomed. I know that I may rely upon you in all things. Spare no expense. You may go,” said Prince Kirov. The maitre’d bowed himself out, armed with a directive worthy of the scope of his talents. Prince Kirov turned to his remaining companion. He threw himself into a chair, one leg slung over the arm. He addressed the dwarf in Russian. “Well, Fedor? We are returned to London. Is it to your liking?”

The dwarf looked at the prince. He shrugged. “It is better at home, your highness.”

Prince Kirov flashed a smile. “I, too, shall be glad to return to Russia. But I do not return without a bride, Fedor.”

“No, my lord,” said the dwarf, his black eyes never leaving his master’s face. He was completely and utterly loyal to the prince. If he had been ordered to plunge his long dagger into the heart of an enemy, he would have done so without hesitation or regret.

“Fedor, there are things that I wish to know about Miss O’Connell’s family. You know the sort of things that I mean. I wish to make a very good impression. I charge you with the task of gathering that information for me,” said Prince Kirov. “Also, when the jewels that I commissioned have arrived, I wish to be notified at once.”

“Consider it done, my lord,” said Fedor quietly. He bowed and went to the door. Without sound he exited, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Prince Kirov stood up and stretched. The first concerns had been dealt with to his satisfaction. He could trust his household to do all that was necessary. He need not think of those matters again.

Restlessly, he paced the drawing room while he turned over in his mind his next steps. At last he went over to the desk and pulled out the chair. Seating himself, he pulled a sheet of paper to him and dipped a sharpened pen in the inkwell. He had not brought his secretary with him because the man had had the audacity to fall ill just hours before they were to leave St. Petersburg, so he was reduced to writing his own correspondence. It was a task that he viewed with impatience. However, it was necessary until his maitre’d had engaged the services of an English secretary.

Prince Kirov grunted and set pen to paper. In the short time that he had been in London, he had already established his presence in English society to a limited extent. Now it was time to enlarge his exposure.

The first letter that he penned was to Lady O’Connell, expressing regret that he had missed her when he had called at the town house. Prince Kirov made known his intention to wait on her ladyship at her earliest convenience, hinting that he had something of moment to convey to her ladyship. He confidently relied upon the friendship between her ladyship and his mother, Princess Elizaveta Kirov, to smooth his path.