Bound by Love (23 page)

D
ARK HAD FALLEN
by the time Leonida awoke. And that was not the only change.

During the hours she had been asleep the cottage had been ruthlessly cleaned, Sophy’s efforts no doubt, and Leonida had been included in the thorough scrubbing.

It took only a few moments for her to realize that she had been stripped of her dress and corset and someone had gathered her shift from the attic to pull over her recently washed skin. Even her hair was still damp.

She would have been delighted by the sensation of being thoroughly clean, not to mention deliciously warm from the fire roaring in the stone fireplace, if her throat did not throb with a sharp-edged pain beneath the linen bandage that had been placed over the wound. And if Stefan were not pacing the cramped space of the bedchamber like one of the lions caged in the Tower of London.

When she had first opened her eyes, he had been standing rigidly by the window, his elegant profile tense and his hands clenched at his sides. At her slight movement, he had whirled to face her, his stark relief rapidly being replaced with an explosive anger as she had tentatively lifted her hand to touch the bandage at her neck.

“Never has it been my misfortune to be saddled with such a bloody-minded, impulsive, bird-witted…”

“I will point out that you have never been
saddled
with me, your Grace,” Leonida broke in, concentrating on the
injustice of being blamed for the ghastly situation rather than dwelling on her bone-deep relief that he was near. She did not want to depend on Stefan to feel safe. “Indeed, I have done my very best to be rid of you.”

He shoved a hand through his disheveled hair, appearing oddly vulnerable with his eyes shadowed with a lack of sleep and his jaw in need of a shave. Or perhaps it was because he had at some point shed his jacket and waistcoat and was now attired in nothing more than his fine linen shirt and breeches that clung with tenacious persistence to his long, leanly muscled legs.

The elegant duke had been stripped away to reveal the raw, powerful man beneath.

“Now is not the moment to remind me that you left me drugged and penniless in a nasty Parisian hotel,” he rasped, thankfully unaware of her inane thoughts.

“You are right,” she snapped, pushing herself to a seated position despite the burning pain of her wound. Sir Charles might be gone, but her mother’s letters were still missing. And with no clear knowledge of how to retrace her steps to the inn where they had been left, she had no choice but to entrust the search to Herrick Gerhardt. “I have no time to waste on such foolish arguments.”

She reached to flip aside the covers, but with a lunging movement, Stefan was perched on the edge of the bed, his fingers clamping around her wrists.

“You attempt to get out of that bed and I swear to God that I will tie you down.”

She trembled at his sudden touch. “I do not take orders from you.”

“You will if you have any sense left in that thick skull.”

“Your Grace…”

“My name is Stefan, as you well know,” he growled, his magnificent eyes snapping with suppressed emotion. “And after weeks spent chasing after you, constantly terrified you were in the hands of your enemies or worse, I do not
intend to spend another moment worrying whether you are well or not.”

Her heart fluttered at his rough confession, but Leonida dared not be distracted.

“If you are so concerned for my welfare, then why do you insist on remaining in this cottage where Sir Charles and his servants might return at any moment?”

His fingers eased their grip, his thumbs absently stroking the sensitive skin of her inner wrist.

“You are in no condition to be moved and we are far safer here than traveling through the dark. Boris and Pyotr will be on guard. No one will be allowed to approach unnoticed.”

“I cannot stay here.”

“Why?”

Leonida’s mouth went dry at his featherlight caresses. “My mother must be terrified. Sir Charles sent a ransom note.”

“Sir Charles.” His brows drew together. “Richards?”

Leonida stilled. “You acted as if you did not recognize him.”

“We have never met, but his name is familiar….” He abruptly shook his head. “Damn, I cannot recall. There was some ugly bit of scandal that drove him from England.”

Leonida thinned her lips. So the English now herded their madmen to Russia?

No wonder Alexander Pavlovich had disliked his journey to the country.

“He is a monster. He should have been sent to the Tower and had his head chopped off.”

Stefan’s lips twitched. “I will pass your complaint along to the King.”

She tugged her arms free. His touch was far too distracting.

“This is not amusing. My mother needs to know I am well.”

His brief humor fled as he planted his hands on each
side of her hips and leaned close enough for her to feel his breath brushing her face.

“But you are not well, and until I am convinced you are strong enough to travel you will remain in this bed. I will send word to your mother in the morning.”

“No.” Her gaze unconsciously lingered on his full lips. They were so temptingly close. “I must leave now. You do not understand.”

“Then perhaps you should explain it to me.”

She turned her head, glaring toward the dark window. How was she supposed to concentrate when her body was tingling with that potent awareness?

“You know I cannot.”

“For God’s sake, Leonida, this is no longer a game.” His hand cupped her chin to tug her face back to meet his narrowed gaze. “You will tell me the truth. And if you even consider the notion of slipping opium into my tea or knocking me over the head or any other nefarious scheme to escape me, be assured that Boris has been commanded to capture you and drag you back to Meadowland.”

She was weakening. It was not just the days of terror when she knew with absolute certainty that Sir Charles was going to kill her and her servants. Or the constant running from enemies.

Or even being forced to endure bad food, shabby inns and a jolting journey over roads that were little better than rough tracks.

No, it was simply that she was tired of the lies.

“I do not understand why you are here,” she breathed, searching for the strength to keep her secrets hidden.

“And you presume that I do?” he muttered.

“Stefan…”

“Please, Leonida, I am too weary for our delightful fencing matches. If I am to protect you I must understand the danger.”

“I promised my mother.”

His nose flared, as if he were offended by her words. “If your mother does not comprehend that her daughter’s life is worth more than some damned secret then she does not deserve your loyalty. A fact I intend to point out to the Countess should our paths ever cross.”

Leonida was shocked to discover her heart warming at his anger. She could not possibly desire the Duke of Huntley to insult her own mother, she fiercely told herself. But then again, it was a rare and oddly wonderful sensation to know he was angered at the thought of her in danger.

“You would not.”

“I would. With the greatest pleasure.”

“My mother loves me.”

“Perhaps, but she has taken poor care of you.” His thumb brushed over her lower lip, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. “I will not be so inattentive.”

“I do not need anyone to take care of me.”

“Then perhaps I will allow you to care for me,” he countered, his gaze lowering to the scooped bodice of her shift. “After the past few weeks I could use a good deal of coddling.”

“You will have to acquire your coddling elsewhere,” she said huskily.

“We shall see.” With obvious reluctance he lifted his gaze. “For now I will content myself with discovering why you traveled to England.” His expression hardened into stubborn lines. “Leonida. The time has come.”

Leonida attempted to remind herself of the numerous reasons she should keep the truth from this man, not the least of which was the knowledge that the Duke of Huntley was already far too entangled in her life. Instead she could summon nothing more than a sigh of resignation.

“Yes.” She shifted to place a measure of space between them. Not that it helped. Stefan’s presence filled the entire room. “I suppose it has.”

He frowned at her movement, grudgingly allowing his
hand to drop from her chin. “You did not come to Meadowland to be introduced to society or discover a husband.”

“No.”

“Then why?”

Leonida licked her dry lips, not at all certain where to begin.

“As you know, our mothers were very close to one another before your mother became the Duchess of Huntley. After the Duchess traveled to England my mother maintained a steady correspondence with her.”

“I believe we have already established that fact,” Stefan pointed out dryly.

“Do you wish me to tell you the truth or not?”

He waved a slender hand. “Proceed.”

“It was not long after your mother left St. Petersburg that my mother attracted the attention of Alexander Pavlovich,” she continued. “Of course she desired to discuss the relationship with her dearest friend.”

“The relationship was hardly a secret.”

“Perhaps not, but my mother was foolish enough to reveal the more…intimate details of her affair.”

His brows lifted as his gaze drifted over her slender form before returning to meet her wary eyes.

“I must be uncommonly dense because the intimacy of the affair is beautifully obvious.”

“I mean that she shared the private conversations between her and the Czar Alexander.” She paused, choosing her words with care. “Conversations that should never have left the privacy of Alexander Pavlovich’s chambers.”

It took a long moment, then with a sudden scowl, Stefan surged off the bed to glare down at her.

“I am dense,” he said, his voice edged with anger. “You came to Meadowland to steal my mother’s correspondence.”

Leonida instinctively hid behind a defensive expression. “The letters were written to your mother, but they were from
my
mother. I surely have as much a right to them as you do.”

He snorted. “If you truly believed that flimsy excuse then you would never have lied to my brother and his wife, insinuated your way into my home, and then crept away with my property in the middle of the night.”

S
TEFAN WATCHED THE COLOR
flood Leonida’s cheeks, her thick tangle of lashes lowering to hide the guilt in her eyes.

Good.

She should feel guilty.

And not just because she had taken advantage of his hospitality to pry through his mother’s most private possessions.

“I did what I had to do,” she muttered.

His eyes narrowed, his hands curled into fists. “So, I at last know why you were searching through my home.”

“Yes.”

“Where did you find them?”

“In a safe hidden beneath the floorboards in the Duchess’s bedchamber.”

“Ah.” He recalled the small opening cut into the floor, although it had been years since he had opened it. “Did you take anything else?”

Her gaze jerked up to meet his hard gaze, her expression offended at his question.

“Of course not.”

“Why the devil did you not ask me for them?” he gritted, unwittingly revealing the true source of his anger.

She bit her bottom lip. “My mother feared that your loyalty to your king might lead you to refuse my request.”

He curled his hands into fists. Damn the Countess Karkoff. She had a great deal to answer for.

“And why would the King of England have any interest in letters written over twenty years ago?”

“He has never hidden his dislike for Alexander Pavlovich.”

Stefan shrugged. The two powerful leaders were never destined to be friends. George IV was a gregarious soul
who delighted in lavish entertainments and happily indulged his every whim, no matter how outrageous. Alexander Pavlovich, on the other hand, was a quiet, austere man who disliked the pomp and ceremony that was thrust on him.

“George is a vain man who is sensitive to any hint of a slight,” he said. “Alexander Pavlovich should not have refused the entertainments that were planned in his honor when he visited London.”

Her lips thinned, revealing that her sympathy for the disagreement was thoroughly with Alexander Pavlovich.

“Whatever the reason, I do not doubt the King would be pleased with the opportunity to embarrass the Czar.”

He would, of course. But that was hardly the point.

“And you thought I would be an accomplice to such a plot?” he rasped.

She winced. “I did not know you.”

“My mother was a loyal Russian until the day she died.”

“And your loyalty is to England, as it should be,” she swiftly countered.

He gritted his teeth, in no mood to be reasonable. She would never have been put into danger if she had just trusted him.