To Wed a Wicked Prince (11 page)

Alex served himself and sat down opposite. From somewhere had come the conviction that straight talking was his best policy with this woman. “So, let us talk.” He took a sip from his glass, then said directly, “Will you marry me, Livia?”

Livia stared at him, her fork suspended between plate and mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, will you marry me, Livia?” He smiled a little ruefully. “It’s a proposal. I’m not accustomed to making them, so you must forgive me if it lacks polish.”

But you don’t lack polish. Never have, never will.
Livia heard the little voice of disclaimer in her head. She laid down her fork and cupped her chin in her elbow-propped hands, regarding him across the table. “Why would you wish to marry me, Prince Prokov? And don’t give me some disingenuous reason.”

He grimaced and shook his head. “Believe me, I have never proposed to a woman before.”

“I’m willing to believe that,” Livia said. It stood to reason that if the Russian prince had ever offered a woman a legitimate proposal of marriage before now, he’d have been accepted. No suitable woman in her right mind would turn him down.

“But why me? We barely know each other.” She felt rather as if this conversation were going on outside herself, that she was floating somewhere above this pavilion watching the scene unfold.

“We know each other a little better now,” he pointed out with a quizzically lifted eyebrow.

Livia to her annoyance felt herself blush. “I can hardly deny that,” she said. “Not without being a complete hypocrite. But that…those moments…they’re hardly a solid base for marriage.”

“I disagree,” he said, reaching across the table for her hand. He turned it palm up and ran his finger over the palm. “That kind of compatibility carries its own promise. Without it, I would never contemplate sharing my life with anyone.” He paused and then said deliberately, “And I would not offer you a less than honorable proposition, Livia.”

She shook her head as if to dispel bewilderment. “I appreciate that, of course, but…but…there has to be another reason. It’s not as if I have a fortune to bring you, or indeed anything of value.”

He laughed a little. “I have no need of a fortune, my dear. My father was one of the wealthiest princes in Russia. I inherited vast tracts of land, twenty estates, close to fifty thousand serfs…and a lot else besides. Money is of no interest to me at all.”

“So what is?” she asked flatly.

He chose his words carefully, treading a delicate path through truth and obfuscation. “I will be frank, although it might do my cause little good.” He played with his fork, frowning. “I need…no, I want…a wife, Livia. And an heir. I’m thirty-six years old and I’ve played the bachelor long enough. But until I saw you that night at the ball, I had never seen a woman I thought I could spend an amicable life with.”

“How on earth could you decide that just from seeing me?” she broke in.

“I couldn’t.” He shrugged. “But you intrigued me, and you were supposed to dance with that clod, Bellingham, and it seemed a dreadful waste…as I said at the time, I believe.”

Livia nodded and the champagne fizz buzzed anew in her veins.

“And then when I started to talk with you, I was…” Another expressive shrug. “I was disarmed, enchanted,
lost.
” He continued to play with her hand as his direct blue gaze held her own. “I am accustomed to going after what I want, Livia, I admit it freely. And I think I may have gone too quickly for you. Tell me you have no intention ever of entertaining my suit and I will never trouble you again.”

It was a gamble, but sometimes a player had to throw down his hand.

Livia slid her hand out from his. She stood up and walked away to the edge of the pavilion, gazing out over the view, her arms crossed over her breasts, hugging her hands in her armpits. She wasn’t cold, but she felt the need to enclose herself.

What an impossibly gigantic step. How could she take it? And yet this inconvenient voice in the back of her mind kept chanting,
how could she not?
This man stirred her as no other had ever done. She liked him. Even if she was not ready yet to consider the idea of love, she could not possibly deny desire. She enjoyed his conversation and his company. And when she thought of a future with him her toes curled with excitement, the map unfurled, blank and waiting before her. It wouldn’t be what she was used to. It wouldn’t be what people expected for her, or of her. But maybe…just maybe…it was what she wanted, what she’d been waiting for without knowing it. A slice of the unexpected.

She thought of her father. What in the world would he say to a Russian prince asking for his daughter’s hand? It didn’t bear thinking of. Her shoulders shook with a bubble of suppressed laughter. And yet what could he object to? Prince Prokov was an equal match in every way for the daughter of a reclusive English earl. Perhaps not quite a perfect match for a frugal English vicar’s daughter, however.

She turned around. Alex had risen with her, but he hadn’t moved away from the table. He stood quietly, his hands resting on the table.

“I need some time,” she said simply.

He bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Of course.” He picked up a pair of tiny scissors and snipped a branch of grapes off the bunch. “Let us continue our lunch.”

L
IVIA SAT IN THE HIRED
post chaise on the return journey to Cavendish Square, her hands clasped lightly in her lap, her head resting against the leather squabs, her eyes closed. She found the dim light, the motion of the carriage, and the regular hoof beats of the sturdy team almost mesmerizing. She was tired, and not just as the result of a day’s hard riding. Her brain hurt, she decided. Wrestling with the ramifications of this extraordinary situation would exhaust the mental capacity of Diogenes in his barrel.

But perhaps she was overthinking. What did she
want
? Really want? Marriage, children, yes, always. But she’d turned down three offers for her hand in the last few months, perfectly suitable prospects, but the future they promised had seemed dreary. They were nice enough men, who would each make some woman a good husband, but it seemed as if that was not exactly what Livia wanted.

Had she been, all unknowing, looking for this fizz of danger, the tingling anticipation that accompanied every encounter with the Russian? She still felt it now, a wonderful lingering hum in her veins, a tingle of her skin, and this extraordinary sense of being more truly alive than she had ever been, every physical sense aroused, honed to a sharp edge, and the latter most particularly when she remembered those wild and passionate moments in the pavilion. Her nipples hardened anew just at the thought of his hands on her body.

Did it really matter that she knew so little about him? She would surely have felt some warning signs if he was a
bad
man. A violent man, a brute, a villain…no, he was none of those things. Although he was certainly more than the sum of the parts he’d shown her thus far. Was he a liar, a deceiver? How could she possibly know the answer to that? He hadn’t told her enough about himself. How could she look for lies when she’d been given no facts to test?

So what did Alex want with this proposal? That was a much harder question to answer. At least it was if she discounted his simple explanation that he needed, and wanted, a wife, a woman who would give him an heir, and that he’d never met anyone he could see in that role before. Which, when she thought about it, was exactly her position with the sexes reversed. In her ideal world she would have a husband and children, and she could certainly imagine Alex as both husband and the father of her children. So if it worked as a reason for her, then why shouldn’t it work for him?

Livia sat up and pushed aside the strip of leather that covered the window of the chaise. It was a much more comfortable vehicle than the hackney cab that had driven her to Richmond. Alex had ordered it as soon as they’d returned to the White Hart. One thing she knew for certain about him, he was accustomed to ordering the comforts of life seemingly without reference to cost. He was a rich man.

And just how much did that matter to her? She stared out at the city crowds hurrying through the gathering dusk; link boys already carrying the evening’s lighted torches were offering pedestrians their escort, and lamps were appearing in the windows of shops and residences as the carriage bowled along the cobbles.

Livia didn’t consider herself a mercenary person; indeed, she’d never been given the opportunity to become so. Creature comforts were important, of course. Good and plentiful food on the table, soft beds, clean sheets, warm fires. But she had never been used to luxury and she could light the fire, make the bed, and cook a simple meal perfectly well herself. Her father refused to keep more than the most basic household staff and his daughter had stepped into the role of housekeeper at the vicarage twelve years ago, at fifteen, after her mother’s death. But there was no denying that the luxuries of a post chaise, a beautiful riding horse, fine wine, and a maid bringing morning tea to her bedside every day were more than pleasant. As was the idea of a lavish and elegant wardrobe. On one level she quite enjoyed the ingenious tricks she and her friends had used to give the impression of a varied and modish wardrobe, but she couldn’t help thinking that an armoire full of her own clothes that could be replenished as needed would be rather appealing.

Was this something to be ashamed of? Should the Reverend Lord Harford’s daughter never give in to such thoughts?

Livia chuckled suddenly. No, she wasn’t ashamed of it, and there was no reason to be. Frugality was all very well in its place, and maybe it
was
good for the soul. But sometimes the soul needed a little pampering too.

They turned onto Cavendish Square and the chaise drew to a halt outside the house. The lamps were lit in the hall and a lantern hung above the front door, throwing a welcoming shaft of light over the steps. The liveryman jumped down from his perch at the back of the chaise and opened the door, letting down the footstep.

“This is it, m’lady.”

“Yes, thank you.” She stepped down and he ran ahead of her to the front door, banging the knocker. “You need to sound it more vigorously,” she said as she came up behind him. “My butler is a trifle deaf.”

But the door opened rapidly and Aurelia stood in the lighted hallway. “I thought it must be you,” she said, her gaze swiftly taking in the liveryman and the chaise at the curb. “You must have had a long ride.” Her eyes darted a mischievous question.

“It’s a big park,” Livia said, stepping into the hall. She offered the liveryman a smiling word of thanks as he pulled the door closed behind her.

“A post chaise, no less,” Aurelia remarked. “Rather more comfortable than a smelly hackney.”

“Much more comfortable,” Livia agreed, going towards the stairs. “I need to change, Ellie. I reek of horseflesh.”

“I’ll be in the parlor when you come down,” her friend said. “I told Morecombe that we would be dining
à deux
in the parlor. I didn’t think you had any engagements this evening?” She raised an interrogative eyebrow.

“None that I must honor,” Livia said. “And to be honest, I’m dead on my feet, Ellie. I haven’t ridden so hard and so long since my last hunt. All this sedate trotting around Hyde Park gets one out of practice.” She spoke over her shoulder as she went up the stairs and Aurelia, resigned to hearing no details until later, returned to the parlor.

When Livia came down again, clad in a simple round gown that had seen better days, it was clear she was intending to settle in for a cozy domestic evening. She took the glass of sherry Aurelia handed her and sank with a sigh into a deep faded chintz armchair, stretching her slipper-clad feet to the fire. “This is nice.”

“I’m sure it’s a pleasant contrast to a day spent in an assignation with a Russian prince,” Aurelia responded, taking up her embroidery. “Not all of us have so much excitement.”

Livia laughed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ellie.”

“Everything, of course,” her friend stated. “Well, you could leave out any details about getting grass stains on your riding habit…”

“Not grass stains exactly,” Livia said with a quick and slightly self-conscious laugh. “But it was a close call, Ellie.”

Aurelia regarded her thoughtfully. “I thought you had something of a glow about you,” she observed.

Livia pressed her fingers to her cheek as she admitted with a rueful smile, “I’ve never felt anything like it, love…and I have to say, I have every intention of discovering what happens next…and sooner rather than later.”

Aurelia continued to ply her needle for a moment, then she inquired almost casually, “A general voyage of discovery or one confined to the attentions of Prince Prokov?”

“He asked me to marry him,” Livia said in oblique answer as she took a sip of her sherry.

Slowly Aurelia put down her embroidery, her lips pursed in a silent whistle. “He doesn’t let the grass grow, does he? What did you say?”

Livia shrugged. “I said I needed some time to think.” When Aurelia said nothing, she went on, “I was rather hoping you might help me think, Ellie. I’m bewildered.”

“I’m not surprised,” the other woman said. “It’s rather sudden. Proposals of marriage don’t usually come out of the blue.” She was feeling her way, unwilling to say anything that inadvertently might upset Livia, but unsure whether her friend was asking for unconditional support or a truly reasoned discussion of the pros and cons.

“But was it really out of the blue, Ellie? Bellingham’s swim, the botanical garden, Daphne—”

“Daphne?”

“Oh, yes, I didn’t tell you all there was to tell about the horse.” Livia wriggled her toes on the fender and gave her friend a ruefully apologetic smile. “Initially Alex said the horse was mine…not a loan at all, but a gift. Of course I told him I couldn’t accept it and we had some to-ing and fro-ing over it, and finally I said I would be happy to accept the mare as a loan.”

“He wanted to give you a Thoroughbred horse on your second, or maybe third, meeting?” Aurelia asked incredulously.

“He doesn’t behave like ordinary people,” Livia said, thinking how lame that sounded.

“No, I should say not.” Aurelia reached for the decanter and refilled their glasses. “Do you think we should try to find out something about him before you make up your mind?”

“How?”

“Harry.”

Livia nodded slowly. If anyone could find out about a mysterious Russian prince on the London scene, it would be Harry. “But he’s in Ringwood.”

“No, they’re on their way back. They should be in London sometime tomorrow.” Aurelia got up and went to the secretaire. “A runner delivered a message from Cornelia. They’re driving up slowly because of Susannah.” She handed the letter to Livia.

Livia read it. “I can’t wait to see her,” she said, looking up, her eyes suddenly sharp. “And Harry and the children, of course. Have you mentioned Alex to Nell, Ellie?”

Aurelia nodded. “You must have known I would, Liv. Anything that concerns you concerns us all. I wasn’t feeling quite capable of supporting you alone.”

Livia smiled and shook her head. “It’s a somewhat complicated situation, I grant you. And I would welcome Nell’s opinion…but…” She hesitated. “But I’m not sure I want Harry setting his dogs onto Alex, Ellie. It seems rather disloyal. If I’m going to trust him, believe in him, then I have to do it from my own instincts, not because he’s been vetted by a member of the British secret service.”

“I can see that, but you don’t even know who his friends are,” Aurelia pointed out. “He must have some…some fellow Russians, I would think. Don’t you think it would be useful to discover where he stands in the émigré community? Is he in exile for some reason, or is he really just a casual foreign visitor? With the political situation between Russia and England…” She shook her head with a frown. “Supposing he’s not the dilettante prince he says he is?”

Livia gazed down into her sherry glass. “If—and I said
if
—I decide to marry him, then I’ll marry him for whatever he is, Ellie, and he’ll be marrying me for who I am. I can’t imagine agreeing to spend the rest of my life with anyone on any other terms.”

“And I applaud you for it,” Aurelia said. “But what if he wants to take you to live in Russia? Could you really give up everything…family, friends…the life you know?”

Livia chewed her lip for a minute before she answered. “I would have to, Ellie. I wouldn’t marry him without accepting that such a move might be a consequence. If I can’t accept that, then obviously I can’t marry him…but I would hope he’d take my feelings and wishes into consideration too.”

Aurelia nodded. There wasn’t much more to say on that subject, vitally important though it was. It was something for Livia and her prince to thrash out between them. She hesitated a moment before asking, “Are you talking about the grand passion here, Liv? Is it love…or will you settle for a mutually agreeable marriage of convenience?”

Livia grinned suddenly. “I don’t know about love as yet, Ellie, but there’s certainly lust. And if that’s not part of the grand passion I don’t know what is. I’m trying to decide if it’s sufficient fuel for a marriage of convenience.” She paused for a minute, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “And I have to say, Ellie, it would be very convenient to be Princess Prokov.”

Aurelia’s peal of laughter broke the gravity. “Oh, yes,” she agreed. “And I can just see your father’s face when the prince asks for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Livia grimaced. “I was wondering how he would react myself. He can’t refuse permission since I’m well beyond the age of consent, but I wouldn’t like him to disapprove, Ellie.”

Aurelia’s laughter died. Livia and her father were actually very close, for all that the daughter had not embraced the spiritual dictates of frugality and self-abnegation of her parent. It would be devastating for her if the Reverend Lacey refused to officiate at her marriage. “He’s never pushed you into making any decision,” she pointed out. “He’s always let you find your own way.”

Livia nodded. “Encouraged me to do so,” she agreed. “With the chessboard as example.” Her father had taught her to play chess as a four-year-old and had honed her skills until on a good night she could defeat him two out of three games. He had always said logical thinking and the ability to see the consequences at least five moves ahead of the move one was about to make were the skills one needed to navigate a path through life.

But could she apply that lesson to making a decision to marry Alexander Prokov?

“Talk it over with Nell, anyway,” Aurelia said. “Even if you don’t want Harry to vet him.”

Livia nodded. “Three heads as they say…”

Cornelia arrived in Cavendish Square the following afternoon, on foot and without her children or her husband. She ran up the steps to the door that had been her own for so many months and banged loudly on the lion’s-head knocker. Brightly polished, she noticed, just as the steps were well honed.

She waited patiently, ear to the door, listening for the scuffle of Morecombe’s carpet slippers across the parquet. At last the door creaked open and the elderly man’s face peered around. “Oh, ’tis you,” he said, as if she hadn’t been gone the entire summer.

“Yes, Morecombe, it’s me,” she affirmed cheerfully, pushing open the door. “Are the ladies in?”