To Wed a Wicked Prince (28 page)

“Paul Tatarinov, Princess,” he said, taking her hand in a brief clasp. “I am here to speak with your husband.” He had a pronounced accent.

“I believe he’s not at home at present,” she said.

“I will wait,” he stated.

“Of course. Please, do sit down. What may I offer you?” She gestured to the decanters on the sideboard.

“Nothing, thank you, Princess.” He didn’t accept her offer of a seat, but continued to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Livia sat down, arranging her skirts around her. “So, have you been in London long, sir?”

“A few months, Princess.” He spoke curtly.

“I see.” She smiled sweetly. “And how long have you known my husband?”

He glared down at his shoes.

“Did you know him in Russia?” she inquired, still with the sweet smile.

“No.”

A very unforthcoming gentleman, Livia thought. But the iron had entered her soul and she was determined to get something out of him. “So you met him in London, then? Are there many Russian émigrés here, do you know, Monsieur Tatarinov? I should call you
monsieur
? Or is there some other title you prefer?” The smile was sewn to her lips and she didn’t take her eyes off him.

“That is correct, Princess.”

“And how many of you are there in London?” she pressed.

“A few,” he responded.

She nodded. “I have met one or two. I imagine you spend much time together. It must be comforting to be in the company of your compatriots…I’m sure my husband finds it so.”

That seemed to get his attention. He looked up at her sharply, his eyes hooded, his mouth hard, but before he could say anything the door opened and Alex entered the library. The expression that flashed across his face chilled Livia as nothing else had done, but then it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be certain she’d seen it. But she knew she had.

“Ah, my dear, I see you’re entertaining my guest.” His tone was pleasant enough, but there was no warmth in his inscrutable gaze.

“Monsieur Tatarinov wished to wait for you,” she said, getting up from the chair. “We were passing the time together…chatting about his experiences in London.”

“I see.” Alex held the door open. “Well, if you’ll excuse us now…”

There was nothing for it but to make as dignified an exit as she could. Livia inclined her head in acceptance and turned to Tatarinov, extending her hand again. “I’ve so enjoyed our talk, monsieur. But I’ll leave you with my husband now.”

He took her hand and bowed with a click of his heels. Livia walked to the door, which Alex still held. She glanced up at him as she passed him, but his face was expressionless and his gaze cool as he bowed her from the room.

Alex closed the door and stood with his back to it for a minute. “I don’t want my wife having anything to do with you,” he stated.

Tatarinov shrugged. “I didn’t invite the princess’s company. What does she know?”

“Nothing, of course.” He strode to the sideboard. “Vodka?”

“Aye. She asked a lot of sharp questions…seems uncommonly interested in your compatriots. I’d swear she suspected something.” He took the glass from his host and drained its contents in one swallow.

“Don’t be ridiculous, there’s nothing for her to suspect,” Alex said, pouring sherry for himself. But he was deeply uneasy. It was highly dangerous for her to blunder around asking questions, particularly of a man like Tatarinov. Somehow he was going to have to nip this hazardous curiosity in the bud.

L
IVIA HEARD
T
ATARINOV LEAVE AS
she finished inscribing an invitation. Her pen paused, hovering over the engraved card, and despite herself her heart speeded with a touch of apprehension. She had no reason to be apprehensive; entertaining her husband’s visitors was a perfectly ordinary courtesy from any lady of the house. And while the look Alex had worn when he saw her with Tatarinov had certainly chilled her, it hadn’t been anger so much as dismay. Dismay and just the touch of alarm in the blue depths.

Had he gone out with his visitor or would he come in search of her?
Resolutely she returned her attention to the invitations, and when the parlor door opened behind her she did not immediately turn around.

“So, what did you think of my visitor?” Alex inquired, deceptively casual.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, laying down her pen and glancing over her shoulder.

“Who else would it be?” he demanded. He was leaning his shoulders against the door at his back, his arms casually folded, his expression as inscrutable as before.

Livia shrugged. “A strange man for you to keep company with, I would have thought,” she observed. “He lacks polish.”

“That is certainly true,” Alex agreed amiably. “And as such is not fit company for my wife.”

“But you invite him to the house,” she pointed out. “How could he not be fit company?”

“I suppose if I simply say that he is not, you would not be satisfied with that?”

“I was not brought up to accept unilateral statements as reasons for doing anything,” she said, regarding him quietly, although her body was wound tight as a coiled spring.

“Ah, the disadvantages of a wife who had her education at the hands of a mathematician.” It was an attempt at levity that did not succeed.

“I have met some of your other Russian friends,” Livia said, “and while I haven’t spent much time in their company, I’d have to be blind and deaf not to recognize that they and Monsieur Tatarinov are cut from very different cloth.”

“Perspicacious of you.” He didn’t move from his position at the door.

Impasse, it would seem. She nibbled the tip of her quill, watching him, waiting.

After a minute Alex said, “It seems we have come up against a cultural fence, Livia. It may be customary in this society for a wife to entertain her husband’s friends in his absence, it is not the custom in
my
society. I do not care to make my friends uncomfortable when they’re under my roof. Does
that
make sense as a reason?”

“It’s a very useful reason,” she observed. “It seems to me the different culture argument can be trotted out in any circumstances to explain why things have to be done the way you dictate. But by the same token it could be used to explain why I expect things to be done as I’m accustomed. And I’m accustomed to greeting visitors to
my
house.” It was the gentlest of emphasis but she saw his eyes flash.

“Be that as it may, in this instance, Livia, I will prevail. Tatarinov, as you rightly say, is not fit company for you. The fact that
I
enjoy his company is neither here nor there. I have many friends who would not be considered suitable society for my wife. And I’ll lay odds any of your male friends would tell you the same story. Do you think Bonham, for instance, has no acquaintances that he would not introduce to Cornelia?”

“I have no idea,” Livia said. Now she’d started, she was not going to give up. “But we’re not talking about Harry, we’re talking about you and the people who come into this house whom I am not even supposed to greet as their hostess. You don’t really socialize with them, Alex. You don’t play cards or invite them to dinner. You spend an hour closeted in the library and then they leave. Of course I’m curious. Do they have wives?”

“Not here,” Alex said. “If they had it would be different. Then it would be appropriate for us to meet them in company. But Russian men without their wives are uncomfortable in the company of other men’s wives.” He was lying through his teeth but growing desperate. He couldn’t simply issue an order and expect it to be obeyed. Not with this woman. But neither could he risk another encounter like this morning’s.

“So what do you talk about when they visit?” Livia asked.

“We drink vodka and talk of Mother Russia,” he told her.

“If you miss your country so much, why did you leave it?” Livia’s curiosity was now in full flood and she didn’t stop to think that if he hadn’t left it, she wouldn’t be married to him.

“I’m half English, I wanted to experience that half,” he said with an easy shrug. “Now, can we stop the inquisition, please? It grows tedious.” His voice was sharp, and his eyes cool.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was an inquisition,” she said. “But I know so little about you and each day we’re together my ignorance grows rather than lessens. Is it so wrong of me to want to understand the man who’s my husband?”

It was time for conciliation. “No, sweeting, of course it’s not.” He crossed the room and took her hands, drawing her to her feet. “It works both ways, you know. I am learning about you little by little, but there’s still a large part of my wife hidden from me.” He traced the shape of her mouth with his thumb.

“I don’t hide myself from you,” Livia protested, although she felt herself soften, the hard lines of her determination blurring under the caress and the warmth in his eyes. It was so much more comfortable to have back this aspect of her husband.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “Until a few months ago I didn’t know you existed. Those years made you who you are now…I would learn more of them. But it takes time, my love.” There was a note of appeal in his voice now. “Allow us to take the time we need. Nothing will be gained by haste.”

And there it was. She could not persist without seeming petulant, and grudging, and ungracious. And Livia knew she was none of those things.

“I’m not trying to hurry anything,” she said with a feeble attempt at a smile. “But I’ve never liked puzzles that have no answer, Alex.”

He shook his head as if in exasperation and said, “Very well, I will give you an answer, but then you must promise to leave the subject alone, and to follow my wishes as far as these men are concerned. Can we agree?”

“Yes.”

“Many of the émigrés left Russia penniless. In some cases they left their estates, their fortunes, everything they owned. In other cases, everything they owned was confiscated by the czar. I help them financially. But they’re proud men and they would hate the idea that I had shared that knowledge with you.”

“I see.” Livia could think of nothing else to say. It was such a simple answer to the puzzle and one she could well understand. Of course he wouldn’t wish to expose his countrymen’s financial need to someone outside that circle, someone who knew nothing of what they had gone through to find themselves in penury. And of course they’d be awkward in her company when they were here for a handout from her husband.

“Can we leave this now, once and for all?” Alex asked, hating himself for his lies, and yet how else could he manage her? And they weren’t entirely lies, he comforted himself. He was certainly a paymaster.

“Yes, let’s leave it,” Livia agreed. “And I’ll forget we ever had this conversation. Your friends, if that’s what you call them, will be safe from any encounter with me.”

Alex sent a quick prayer of gratitude heavenwards, even as he wondered what problem would next raise its head.

“Do you have plans for this morning?” he asked. “Or would you care to ride in the park?”

A ride would blow away the cobwebs and any lingering dissatisfaction with the morning’s resolution, Livia reflected. “Yes, let’s do that.” She tossed her quill on the secretaire. “I’ll finish these when we get back.”

His eyes went to the invitations. “How close are you to finishing them?”

“Just two left.”

“Do them quickly, then, and I’ll give them to Boris to deliver.”

Livia frowned. “They’ll keep until this afternoon.”

“I think they need to go out as soon as possible,” he said, picking up the quill. “Come, sit down again. It won’t take a minute.”

Livia gave a mental shrug. She couldn’t see why it was a matter of such urgency, but the sooner it was done the better. She sat down and took the quill he dipped in the inkwell for her.

Livia went upstairs, wondering yet again why he was so anxious to entertain these particular guests. If he wanted to talk politics, why didn’t he invite the men to dinner at one of his clubs? She gave another mental shrug and told herself yet again that a tedious evening was a small enough sacrifice to make for her husband.

The evening, however, produced enough interesting questions to leaven the tedium. Initially it was everything she had dreaded, the conversation alternating between vapid and hectoring. Alex appeared unmoved by either tone. He was a charming and attentive host, keeping his guests plied with wine and not blinking an eye when Lord Eversham demanded, “So, what’s this emperor of yours up to, Prokov? Damned fool, if you ask me.”

“I fear you’re not alone in that opinion, sir.” Alex leaned forward to refill the man’s glass.

“No…no, indeed not,” Lord Carmarthon declared, raising his heavy head from his plate. “Excellent turbot, this…I congratulate you on your cook, Princess Prokov.”

Livia smiled her thanks. It
was
good, but Ada or Mavis could have done as well.

“Whole government’s up in arms, I tell you,” Carmarthon declared. “Not about the turbot, of course.” He laughed as if at a significant witticism. “No…no…this business of invading Finland. Now what’s that all about, Prokov?”

“I’m guessing it’s at Napoleon’s instigation,” Alex said smoothly.

“Well that’s what the prime minister says,” the earl of Flintock declared. “Says your emperor Alexander’s led by the nose and if we leave him to stew in his own juice he’ll see which side his bread’s buttered.”

“Create merry mayhem in the meantime, though,” Carmarthon muttered through a mouthful of salsify.

“Napoleon won’t let him get his hands on Poland, that’s what this is about,” Eversham pronounced. “That’s the word in government. Boney’s keeping Alexander’s sticky fingers off Poland.”

Alex nodded and gestured to Boris to refill glasses. Livia, following the example of the other women at the table, added little to the conversation. But she was intrigued by it nevertheless. Alex’s guests were heaping scorn on a man who was not only his sovereign but a man he’d known from a shared schoolroom, and he offered no defense. Instead his comments seemed to draw them further into criticism.

She signaled to Boris to bring in the second course and turned to answer a soft and somewhat inane question from Lady Carmarthon. Not that she could blame the woman for inanity at this particular gathering, it would be impossible to conduct an intelligent conversation while the men boomed their opinions and their words became slurred as the wine in their glasses disappeared.

“There’ll be another conference between them, you mark my words,” Eversham said. “The prime minister’s convinced of it. Alexander will grow tired of being Boney’s vassal and he’ll start to make demands…and when that happens, the fat really will be in the fire.”

“An interesting opinion,” Alex murmured. “Does your government have any real reason to expect such a thing?”

“Oh, yes…we have our intelligence.” Carmarthon tapped the side of his nose suggestively. “We have every expectation that Alexander will come running back to the fold once the wolf roars. He’ll seek another alliance with us, no question.”

“There are those in high places who have a different view.” One of the guests who had been listening in attentive silence spoke up. He was the only man apart from his host who was not the worse for wear. “They say Alexander is only pretending to friendship with Boney…lulling him into a sense of security. I understand you know the czar well, Prokov, how does that sit with you?”

“It may be,” Alex said lightly. “But I couldn’t say. I knew the czar well at one point, but we’ve had our differences recently…my emperor doesn’t take kindly to criticism.” He sipped his wine, his expression bland, but everyone around the table understood the implicit message. Prince Prokov was in exile, voluntary or otherwise, because he had fallen foul of his sovereign.

Livia, who thought she knew better, was puzzled. It was clear to her now that Alex had had an ulterior motive for this dinner party with these particular guests. But she couldn’t work out exactly what he was up to.

Boris and two of his minions set out the second course. Livia had had no part in the ordering of this meal, as she would have done if it had been prepared by her own staff, but she could find nothing to object to in the menu. The Rhenish cream, the savoy cake, and the anchovy toast all found favor with her guests, as did the champagne that replaced the burgundy, which had accompanied the first course.

“Of course, with Napoleon putting his relatives on all the thrones of Europe, it’s perhaps understandable that the czar would like to add King of Poland to his own crown,” Alex said, deftly steering the conversation back to the original subject. After a while he caught Livia’s eye and gave her an infinitesimal nod.

Livia accepted the signal that it was time for the ladies to withdraw and rose to her feet. The gentlemen stood up politely as the ladies left the dining room; then the serious drinking of the evening could take place. The decanter of port circulated and the men relaxed in their chairs, loosening neckties, leaning elbows on the table, following their host’s conversational lead.

Livia endured the tedium of the teacups in the drawing room, listening to the chatter about children, the complaints about servants, the discussions of the latest fashions. Several times she tried to introduce a livelier topic but her guests didn’t seem to know what to do with it, and she came to the conclusion that they were so unaccustomed to taking part in any subject outside the domestic realm that they believed anything else belonged to the realm of husbands and was thus beyond them.

Fortunately for her sanity the gentlemen joined them after a relatively short period. Alex came over to her where she sat in front of the tea tray. He bent to take a cup from her and murmured, “I tried not to leave you too long.”