A Priceless Gift: A Regency Romance (11 page)

Two mornings later Lucian was pouring the first cup of tea of what he had expected to be a leisurely breakfast, when Major Kendorov burst in upon him. Impeccably shaved and dressed, the young officer sported a darkening bruise on his left cheekbone. There was an air of suppressed excitement about him.

“Oh, good, you are at home! I was not sure if I should come here first, or to Mme Riljatskaya’s house.”

Lucian did not bother to explain that he was not, after all, having an affair with the woman. Clearly there was more important game afoot. “Well, you found me. What is it?”

“You are to see the czar at four this afternoon! And before that, both the minister of war and His Majesty’s chief of staff want thorough briefings on your proposals. There is no time to be lost. You are expected in the War Office in forty-five minutes.”

“A good thing I’m up and dressed, then.” He briefly considered, and rejected, changing into a different jacket. That could wait until the audience in the afternoon; his morning attire would do for the others. He drank a little more tea. “You brought a carriage? Then, by my estimate, we have fifteen minutes before we need to leave. Have a cup of tea and some of this food while I get my dispatch case.” There were papers he needed to take with him.

“I don’t mind if I do.” Kendorov sat and stretched his overlong legs out in front of the chair. “I was awoken very early myself and missed breakfast.”

When Lucian returned with his papers, Kendorov insisted on carrying the case for him. “If you were here as an ambassador, you’d have a flunky carrying that for you. Why didn’t you bring one?”

“Why should I, when you are so helpful?” They climbed into Kendorov’s two-horse carriage. The coachman swung the whip, and the horses began to trot briskly.

“Now we have some time, tell me about your tryst with the pretty widow,” the major said.

“A gentleman never tells, my dear Major. In any case, the lady decided to postpone the invitation for reasons of her own.” It seemed more gentlemanly to pretend that it had been her decision.

“Did she? I am surprised. When Julia wants a man, she does not usually blow hot and cold like that.”

“You sound like one speaking from personal experience,” Lucian observed. In his mind, he was already marshalling his arguments and persuasions for the forthcoming meetings. How typical of crowned heads to leave envoys kicking their heels for weeks and months and then expect them to jump the moment they wanted! But that was all part of the game. The Russians might be trying to put him off balance with the short notice, but such a ploy would not affect a seasoned professional like Lucian. More likely they had only just gotten around to dealing with his proposals, or Alexander suddenly had remembered that he’d asked for him all those months before. Possibly someone had realised the promised weapons deliveries would not arrive in time for the following year’s warfare, unless they concluded the agreement soon.

“I have had a brief but close acquaintance with the lovely Julia,” Kendorov admitted, smiling in remembered pleasure.

“Did you engage in pugilism since I last saw you? That bruise you sport on your cheek rather clashes with your uniform.”

“Yes, but you should see the other man. He is dead.” Kendorov looked at his hands, encased in spotless white gloves. “You will hardly believe it, that a ruffian dared to accost and attack me last night when I was returning home from, um, some other pretty lady’s bed. He must have been insane not to find an easier victim. He only hit me with his cudgel because I was not expecting it. When I fought back, he drew a knife but ended up stuck with it in his own throat. I had blood all over my togs, and my batman is still sulking over the mess.”

“Unpleasant,” Lucian murmured, only half listening. Would the Russians go for the political part of the proposed agreement? Logically, they should not object to the English grasping at another half dozen territories and islands, when Russia already had so much of the globe under her own dominion. With the weapons he could offer, and the war drawing nearer by the day, he was fairly optimistic; but you could never know for sure when the final decision was Czar Alexander’s.

Within days, perhaps that very afternoon, he would be able to wrap up the mission and decamp, look for a ship to carry him westwards before winter made it impossible. He could be home before Christmas, perhaps even in time for the birth of Amanda’s child. The child he’d offered to treat as his own and who must never guess that Lucian was not his or her true father.

The important thing was for Amanda to survive that period, so they could explore what kind of relationship might be possible between the two of them.

Kendorov was still talking. “I had only just stripped off the blood-soaked uniform and washed off the gore, and was looking forward to a few hours’ sleep, when Pjotr Ivanovich arrived. You’ll remember the idiot from our game the other night, the fellow who cannot hold his drink.”

If Kendorov had had no sleep at all, his aggrieved tone was understandable. In view of the delicate negotiations awaiting him, Lucian gave thanks that
he
was rested and alert. Just as well he had not taken up Julia’s offer. “Pjotr Ivanovich had finally slept off the other night’s excesses,” Kendorov said as the coachman made a sharp turn into a broad avenue. They were close to the Ministry of War. “He wanted to buy back the ruby earrings he had lost to me.”

“Did you tell him I have them now?”

“Of course not. Let this be a lesson to him not to wager what he cannot bear to lose. I merely said that I lost them to someone else, and if he had enough money on hand to redeem the jewels, he might start by paying off the numerous IOUs he had signed. From the way he blanched, he had forgotten all about those. He slunk off, and I had only just fallen asleep when the message arrived that I had to find you right away.”

“Too bad,” Lucian said sympathetically. “At least the first part of the night was pleasant for you. Now I must gather my thoughts for the interview with M. Barclay de Tolly. Do you know who else may be present?”

“No, that’s above my grade.” Taking the hint, Kendorov abandoned his tale of woe and fell silent for the last few minutes of their ride.

***

That night, Lucian returned to his rented house exhausted but happy. No less than eight successive meetings, including the nerve-wracking audience with Alexander, had brought the successful conclusion of his mission very close. Since everyone was determined to go ahead, he should be able to depart within the week. On the morn he would send his valet to arrange for their passage.

The czar had allowed him to outline the proposed agreement and asked a few questions, but it was evident that he had been thoroughly briefed beforehand and was disposed to accept, with a few small alterations that should not matter much in the long run. A memorandum would be drafted; the definitive version of the agreement would be concluded by the new British ambassador.

Kendorov had accompanied him from one appointment to the next but waited outside each time. As Lucian was about to climb down from the carriage—who did it belong to anyway? He had not thought to ask—the major suggested, “How about rounding out the day with a late supper and a game of cards?”

Lucian stared at the young officer. Was old age creeping up on him? Very possibly, though he had some excuse for his fatigue. The major was at least a decade younger and had not had to concentrate all day. One false word could have undone all Lucian’s hard work. Strangely, that sort of negotiation was far more tiring than physical exercise and left one stiff from sitting or standing too long. On the other hand, by his own account, Kendorov had hardly slept the previous night. It was amazing that he still felt so energetic.

Lucian needed exercise, too, unless he wanted to return to Amanda a feeble shadow of his normal self. “I must write up my notes on today’s meetings, but why don’t we meet early tomorrow for a practice bout with swords? Unless more meetings are scheduled.”

“Very well,” the officer acquiesced. “Is nine in the morning too early? I’ll fetch you from here and let you know if there is anything else planned.”

Lucian nodded tiredly. As the carriage drew away, he climbed up the steps towards the imposing entrance.

He ordered a light dinner and went to secure his papers in the hidden bottom of his trunk.

The unobtrusive piece of grey thread he’d balanced on the edge of the trunk that morning was gone. Looking close, the trunk’s position was also slightly different. Lucian whirled around, all senses alert and fatigue instantly gone. Who had tampered with his belongings? Was it an intruder, and if so, was he or she still present? The French would have heard of his series of high-level meetings and might have organised the raid on his papers.

He snatched at the dress sword leaning in a corner of the wardrobe and pulled it free of the scabbard. Weapon in hand, he carefully searched his suite, then alerted his valet and the rest of the staff. They instantly began to comb the whole edifice, but Lucian knew it would be futile. If there had been an intruder, he was long gone; likely it had been a servant of the household, bribed to search for his papers.

Lucian sent everyone away and locked the door before opening the hidden double bottom of the valise. It had been nearly empty, except for a few less important papers and the ruby earrings; those were still where he had left them. All the more essential documents he had luckily taken with him. If the intruders had not appropriated the pretty earrings, they had likely not discovered the trunk’s false bottom. A true professional would not have been fooled. Were the French employing amateurs?

He ate and wrote up the notes that would be the basis of his final report. In view of the spying incident, he kept them short and cryptic, in case they fell into the wrong hands. As he wrote, he went through everything in his mind once again, to fix the day’s results in his capacious memory.

After a sound night’s sleep, he met Kendorov as arranged and was trounced by the officer in a long and arduous match. The major’s bruise was greenish around the edges by then. He fought like a devil, with an almost maniacal grin as he took the greatest risks, had it been anything more than a practice bout. Lucian had not previously seen this daredevil side of the young officer. At the end, he wiped the sweat off his brow, glad he had held his own to some extent, even if the result had been a foregone conclusion.

“You have some Italian training,” Kendorov said, “but you are out of practice.”

“Yes, thanks to spending too much time on shipboard and in meetings. Anyway, firearms are more useful. Swords will not win the coming war.”

“They are still very useful for close-in work,” Kendorov said. “I long to drive my blade into the body of any Frenchmen who dares to invade our Russia. They will rue the day they even thought of it.”

“You’ll soon get the chance,” Lucian said. For his part, he was sick and tired of the long war. All he wanted was to live in the countryside as a gentleman farmer with Amanda in his bed every night. What was happening to him? He looked the same when he saw his face in the mirror, each time he shaved or changed. But his emotions, his desires had shifted so drastically that he felt like a different man.

“By Jove, how I look forward to that! By the bye, I did not entirely believe you yesterday when you denied any dalliance with Julia Riljatskaya, so I owe you an apology.”

Lucian pulled his tight jacket, which he’d discarded for the bout, over his damp linen shirt. “What makes you believe me now?”

“She had a burglary last night. Some person intent on rifling her jewel case, which contains some rather nice pieces. At around four in the morning, the burglar no doubt expected her to be fast asleep. Only she was still awake and not alone.” Kendorov winked. “One of my fellow officers, Oleg Adamovich, was keeping her company. Oleg jumped out of bed stark naked and tried to grab the thief. He got a knife cut for his noble defence of the lady, and the burglar managed to flee, but Julia’s jewel case is safe. She hid it under her bed for the rest of the night and did not sleep for one moment. I have that straight from Oleg. The cut did not prevent him from giving Julia additional proof of his virility.”

“I’m glad all ended well, but I had not thought St. Petersburg to be so dangerous. Only the other day you killed the cutpurse who gave you that bruise.” Lucian decided not to mention his own intruder, since that incident was almost certainly the work of French agents. “So, no appointments today, you said?”

“They scheduled one for tomorrow afternoon, in M. Barclay de Tolly’s offices, to wrap everything up. You are free until then. I dare say they need time to write up their own notes.”

Lucian smiled. “Right then. I ought to buy some presents, now it looks I’ll be able to depart within days.” Amanda would get her sable coat and muff after all, and anything else from the local shops that might please her.

“Say no more. I know exactly where to go and will ensure you pay a fair price.”

For the rest of the day Lucian would forget all about diplomacy and war and spying, and indulge his newfound madness, thinking only of his wife. How was she getting along with that cousin he’d never met? Was she healthy? Had she completely forgotten his existence over the past months? Had she received the two letters he’d sent?

Not long now till he saw her again and learned the answers to all his questions.