Natalya (45 page)

"Ah, there you are, my love," David said as he entered Francesca's bedchamber. Coming up behind her, he bent to press a kiss to the nape of her neck. "If possible, you are even more stunning than when last we met. That shade of green is infinitely becoming, and those ropes of pearls are perfect accessories, even if I did give them to you myself."

Smelling liquor on his breath, Francesca forced a smile. "It's lovely to see you, too, dear." She gestured toward the carved box. "I've prepared the jewels for you to keep in your rooms. Since Grey has no idea that you are alive, let alone in Philadelphia, that should be the safest place."

David St. James wore a preoccupied expression as he sat on the edge of the curtained bed and pushed his spectacles up on his nose. "I've seen my brother."

"You've—
what?"
Francesca's heart began to race and her face went pale. "What the devil do you mean? You haven't spoken to him? You couldn't be
that
stupid!"

He blinked, momentarily taken aback by her venomous tone. "I say, darling, sheathe your claws. Have you forgotten that you
love
me?"

"Don't play with me, David," she ground out between perfect white teeth. "I'm much better at it than you, and I'll always win in the end."

"See here, there's no cause for threats. I've done nothing wrong." David leaned back instinctively, alarmed by the light in her eyes. "I saw Grey from my carriage, on my way here. He was walking north on Third Street in the company of a very odd-looking little man."

"What sort of odd-looking little man?" she demanded impatiently.

"How should I know? A Quaker, I suppose, or whatever they call 'em." He got up to pour himself a brandy. "Queer little fellow wearing oversize clothes and a big black hat. Walked and laughed like a girl. Can't imagine why Grey would be in the company of such a bizarre—"

"It was that insufferable spinster!" cried Francesca.

"Eh?" He turned from the cellaret, looking thoroughly perplexed. "You didn't tell me the wench goes in for men's clothing. Deuce take it, what's happened to Grey's taste in females? And I hope you don't actually still expect me to pretend to romance someone wearing breeches and a Quaker hat, because I really must protest—"

"Oh, David, do be quiet!" She had begun to pace, making a conscious effort to calm herself. David might be obtuse, but even so it wouldn't do to mishandle him. "I don't know for certain that it was Natalya Beauvisage, I'm just guessing. Perhaps she was in disguise to protect herself from my eyes. Grey is just devious enough to think of such a thing, and if he did, it means that matters have gone farther than I feared. You really mustn't lose any more time, David. You'll have to visit Miss Beauvisage tomorrow."

"What? Do you intend that I simply turn up on her doorstep, introduce myself, and demand that she fall in love with me?"

She stopped beside him and slipped her arms around him, kissing an especially sensitive spot below his left ear. "Darling, I cannot get Grey out of our lives without your help. Do, please, try to cooperate...."

" All right. Of course." As always, David felt himself melting as she carefully applied her lips and fingers.

"Now, do you really think that I would send you off without a plan? I have enlisted the help of Miss Beauvisage's maid, Charlotte Timkins, who will take your message to Belle Maison and vouch for your character, good looks, pleasing personality, and all the rest. She'll say that she knew of you in England."

"And what reason shall I give for this visit?" David managed to inquire as Francesca drew off his coat and began to untie his cravat.

"I think that a daringly romantic approach would be most effective." She opened his shirt, loosed her breasts, and rubbed against him, the long pearl necklaces pressed between their bodies. In a husky voice she continued, "Charm her first with your manners and breeding. Take wine to her and see that she drinks it. Then, when she is lulled into pleasant complacency, you will become more ardent—eloquently passionate, expressing your admiration for her ridiculous book and declaring that you fell deeply in love with her as you read it."

He was guiding her toward the bed, fumbling with the fastenings at the back of her gown. "You're brilliant, as always, my goddess, but what if my declaration of love does not draw the desired response from Miss Beauvisage?"

"Then, you will become a bit more
forceful,"
Francesca replied, first kissing and then biting his mouth. "We cannot spare the time for a drawn-out seduction. You must compromise that creature immediately, and Charlotte will appear to witness the event. Loyal, of course, to her true master, she will go to Grey and report Miss Beauvisage's indiscretion."

David could scarcely think as Francesca pulled at his trousers with one hand and found his aching member with the other. "I don't mean to be difficult, but it occurs to me that there's a devilish lot that could go wrong. What if Charlotte recognizes me and sounds an alarm? Or what if—"

"Don't be a bore, darling." She removed her hand from his crotch and rose up on an elbow to stare down at him, her green eyes slanting upward at the corners. "That silly maid hasn't seen you for years, and you've changed far too much. Besides, she thinks you're dead, too. And furthermore, she is loyal to me. She thinks Grey and that wench are quite beastly, she's happy to be needed again, and happier still to be well paid for her efforts. Just take the jewels to your rooms, hide them, and appear at Belle Maison tomorrow at five o'clock. Do as I tell you and leave the thinking to me. Everything will be just fine!"

David gazed at her breasts, which were mere inches from his face, dragged her hand back to his groin, and nodded. "I am your humble servant, madame. In any event, what've I to lose? My life, perhaps, but I'm not altogether certain it's of much value." Pulling her into his arms, he muttered, "
Seize
the moment, hmm?"

"An excellent philosophy," Francesca agreed, trying not to smile as her husband's brother kissed her ravenously. With any luck, this would be the last time she'd have to endure his ardent pawing....

* * *

The forenoon was too sumptuous to resist, Natalya decided as she closed the cottage door and looked around the garden. The tulips and daffodils were fading, but pink and white peonies were opening to take their place. Delicate lilies of the valley clustered in shady spots, and there were borders of forget-me-nots, tufted pansies, and primroses in full, glorious bloom.

Breathing in the perfumed air, Natalya told herself that she could not be expected to write on a day like this. Everything seemed changed now that she was able to let her love for Grey sing over her nerves, her heart, her mind, knowing that he felt the same. It was as if there were an invisible link binding their souls even when they were apart. Never had she known such joy; it filled her and made her want to laugh aloud. Now, more than anything, she longed to call for her horse and ride into Philadelphia, but Grey had insisted that she remain here until his meeting with Francesca was over. Once he had recovered the jewels and settled the issue of ending their marriage, he had told Natalya, they could be together openly.

She dropped onto a carved stone bench under the plum tree, smoothed her white muslin skirts, and turned her face up to the sun. It was possible, she had discovered, to amuse herself endlessly by recalling each moment she and Grey had spent together since their meeting in France. It made her smile now to think of them struggling in the alcove at Chateau du Soleil while Grey pressed a dirk between her breasts. How he had excited her, despite her rage, even then!

Last night had been sublime. Their time with her grandmother and Barton Saunders was merry, since all four were under the spell of romance. Grandmama had served a warm loaf of Russian rye bread, made from her own mother's recipe, with sliced ham, white cheese, and rosy ripe peaches. Learning that Antonia had left Russia in her youth, Grey quizzed her about her homeland, charming her thoroughly.

It was dark when Natalya and Grey rose to bid Antonia and Barton good night. When she discovered that they had walked to her house, Antonia insisted that they borrow her landau so that Grey could escort her granddaughter back to Belle Maison quickly and conveniently.

Under the light of a full moon, they drove slowly through Society Hill, turning onto Chestnut Street so that Natalya could point out the State House, where the Continental Congress had adopted the Declaration of Independence. Crossing Sixth Street, they next beheld the Congress Hall and Philadelphia's first truly impressive theater. The high Palladian window in the center of the Chestnut Street Theatre was ablaze with the light from chandeliers as people entered for that evening's performance of a light opera called
The Sailor's Return.
A boy with an oyster barrow lingered under the corner gaslight, and nearby stood a frail-looking girl selling violets. The richly garbed playgoers ignored her, but Grey bade their driver stop. He jumped down to the flagged pavement and paid a grand sum for two nosegays.

"Go home to bed, little one," he commanded, bestowing a smile upon the urchin, "and tomorrow use this money to buy good food, a hot bath, and a proper gown."

"Aye, sir, I will," she mumbled, dumbfounded.

Back in the landau, he handed the violets to Natalya. "One bunch is for you, love, and the other is for your charming sister. Tell her I am sorry for the way I behaved at the garden party, and that I shall personally beg her pardon when next we meet."

Natalya's heart ached with love as she pressed the tiny, fragrant flowers to her nose and stole a glance at his moon-silvered profile. Distraction soon appeared, however, in the form of the Pump House, a luminous white building with a round tower in the middle. It was located in High Street's huge Centre Square, which had been fenced in and landscaped.

"So that is your famous Waterworks!" Grey exclaimed. "An amazing achievement."

"It is, isn't it," she agreed. "The water flows through a conduit from the Schuylkill, then a steam engine pumps it to huge tanks in the upper story here. From this Pump House, the water travels through wooden pipes to homes and hydrants all across Philadelphia."

"All of Europe would be agog," he remarked.

Sitting now on the garden bench, her eyes closed against the sunlight, Natalya smiled as she relived the moment. She loved Grey's keen intelligence and curiosity. He no longer pretended to be cynical or bored but seemed rather to attack life with humor and a singular flair that she found intensely appealing. She drew in her breath at the memory of their parting the night before.

When the landau had drawn up in front of Belle Maison, Grey pressed her onto the narrow, velvet-upholstered seat and pretended to ravish her. His starlit face had been cheerfully wicked as he loomed above her, white teeth agleam, then swooped down to demand kisses that took her breath away. Their joyous love seemed a tangible thing, alive between them in the cool night air. When at last he let her up and escorted her from the carriage to the front door, he'd held her gently, almost reverently, caressing her back as they'd exchanged bittersweet kisses of parting.

"Be patient," he had whispered, "until tomorrow night. I will come to you then, after the other business is finished." Pressing his lips to the delicate pulse point at the base of her neck, he'd murmured, "I love you, Natalya... with all my heart."

The sun was warm now on her muslin bodice, and Natalya felt her nipples tighten in response to the memory of his touch. Tonight seemed impossibly distant. How could she wait so many hours?

"Mistress Natalya?" Charlotte's voice seemed to come from faraway. "Are you sleeping?"

Opening her eyes with an effort, Natalya smiled dreamily. "Perhaps a little. What is it, Charlotte?"

"I have a letter for you, from a lovely English gentleman I met at a bookshop yesterday," she recited woodenly, her cheeks crimson. "He had your book, mistress, and asked the shopkeeper how he might meet you. It was bold of me, I know, but I went up to him and said that I was in your employ, and we chatted for a bit. Such a nice man, very elegant and cultured, and quite taken with you after reading
My Lady's Heart.
I discovered that he was an old friend of the earl's second son, David. I couldn't recommend him more highly, mistress! He said that he might send you a letter, and begged me deliver it. It's just arrived." Relieved to come to the end of her speech, Charlotte held out the missive.

Natalya shaded her eyes against the sunlight and looked curiously at her maid. "Are you quite well, Charlotte? You seem to be rather... nervous."

"Nervous?" Her face felt as if it were on fire. "I—I think I may be catching a chill, actually." Pressing the letter into Natalya's hands, she added, "I'd better go inside and put on a shawl."

She watched the girl dash clumsily through the maze of garden paths, then shook her head and broke the seal on the letter. It read:

My dear Miss Beauvisage,

Pray excuse my audacity; I am aware that you are quite above my touch, but I cannot resist daring to hope that you may receive me. I am an ardent admirer of your writing gifts, as well as a visitor in your fair city, and it would be the crowning moment of my sojourn in America if I could return to England having spent a few minutes in your esteemed presence.

I shall be near your home this afternoon and will call at approximately four o'clock. Might I hope for a cup of tea and your inscription in my copy of
My Lady's Heart
? Begging your indulgence, I remain,

Your humble admirer,

David Standish

It seemed very odd to Natalya. How could this Mr. Standish make such a fuss over someone he had never met? Was this what celebrity meant? She might suspect him of some sort of romantic delusions, but he sounded respectful—and Charlotte's recommendation could not have been more glowing.

What swayed her in the end was the realization that Mr. Standish's visit would help to fill the hours until she could be with Grey. She was also intrigued by Charlotte's reference to the man's friendship with David St. James. Perhaps he could tell her more about Grey's family.