To Wed a Wicked Prince (31 page)

There was some cold water in the ewer and she poured a little in the basin and splashed her face, holding a washcloth over her eyes. It brought some relief. Then she tugged her brush through her hair, trying to restore some order to the tangle.

She paused, her hairbrush in midair, at the sound of voices from the adjoining room. Alex and Boris, of course. She wondered dully if Alex would come in to her this morning. And if he did, what she would do…say. She seemed to have cried away all coherent thought, all rationality. She was just a bundle of confused emotions.

She pulled the bell for Ethel and went to draw the window curtains back. The previous day’s rain was gone and a watery sun shone from a washed-out blue sky. Soon it would be spring and the square garden would be a mass of yellow forsythia and daffodils.

“Good morning, m’lady.” Ethel bustled in with a tray of morning chocolate. “Oh, you’re up and about already.” She set the tray on the dresser and gave her mistress a concerned look. “I waited for you to send for me last evening, ma’am. Are you quite well?”

“Yes, quite well,” Livia said, hearing how listless she sounded. She tried to inject a little spirit into her voice as she said, “I fell asleep early last night and couldn’t believe it when I only awoke a few minutes ago. I must have been really tired.”

“Yes, m’lady.” Ethel didn’t sound too convinced. “You had no dinner, though.”

“I wasn’t hungry,” Livia said in a tone that she hoped would close the discussion. “I believe I’ll ride to Mount Street this morning, Ethel. Please put out my habit.”

“Yes, ma’am. Will you take breakfast in the parlor, ma’am?”

Livia debated. There was no sound from next door now; presumably Alex had already gone downstairs. “No, bring a tray for me up here, Ethel, I’ll breakfast by the fire when I’m dressed.”

Cowardly, she knew, but she wasn’t ready to bump into Alex accidentally and she was by no means prepared to face him for the next round of this miserable business. And there would be a second round. It was by no means over. She would have to make a decision, more than one, and she was far too muddled at this point even to frame the question, let alone the solution.

Alex surveyed the breakfast table without enthusiasm. He had no idea what to do. And it was such an unusual situation for him to be in, it left him feeling oddly bereft. He couldn’t take his wife into his confidence, at least not at this juncture, and if she insisted that reconciliation depended on his confidences, then it was an impasse.

He poured coffee and glanced at the post that Boris had left beside his plate. Invitation cards and bills. He had no interest in the former and the latter were merely a necessary nuisance.

He looked up sharply at an alerting cough from the door. “Excuse me, sir.” Boris bowed. “There is a visitor…Monsieur Tatarinov.” Boris managed to indicate what he thought of the gentleman in question simply by a downturn in his voice.

Alex frowned. It was far too early for social calls, not that Tatarinov was in the habit of making such calls. It had to be pressing business. “Show him in, Boris.”

Tatarinov entered the breakfast parlor before Boris had the chance to summon him. “Prokov, good, you’re at home.”

“I usually am at this hour of the morning,” Alex said amiably. “Please, sit down. Coffee?”

“No, vodka if you have it.” The stocky Russian came up to the table.

“Of course…Boris?” Alex signaled to the majordomo, who instantly departed. “Won’t you sit down, Tatarinov?” He gestured to a chair opposite.

“No…no, I have no wish to sit down…” The man was visibly agitated.

“You appear troubled, my friend,” Alex observed, spooning sour cream onto his plate of smoked mackerel.

“With good reason,” the other said. He sniffed. “That smells good.”

“Sit down, man.” Alex waved his fork at the chair and pushed the platter of smoked fish across the table. “Whatever it is will keep long enough for you to eat and drink.”

Tatarinov sat down and piled a plate with smoked fish, spooning sour cream lavishly on top. He reached for a dish of chopped egg and took a liberal helping, then took a hunk of black bread from the basket.

Boris set the vodka bottle and a stubby glass at Tatarinov’s elbow. “Will that be all, Prince Prokov?”

“For the moment, yes, thank you, Boris.”

“So, what’s amiss, Tatarinov?” Alex asked when they were alone once more.

“Sperskov’s gone missing,” Tatarinov said through a mouthful of mackerel. He poured vodka into the glass and tossed it down his throat, smacking his lips with satisfaction.

Alex frowned. “I don’t understand. How could that be?” He took a sip of coffee.

“No idea.” Tatarinov shrugged. “But he didn’t sleep at home last night.”

“He has a mistress,” Alex reminded him, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin.

“Yes, but the woman’s married. He never spends all night in her bed. I went to his house this morning and they said he hadn’t come home last even.” Tatarinov helped himself to more bread. “I went to that little love nest of his, in Half Moon Street. The servant there told me the duke left soon after midnight and his lady a little later.” He stuffed a piece of fish-laden bread into his mouth, chewing stolidly as he regarded Alex across the table with the air of one who has just presented a fait accompli.

“He could have gone anywhere after he left the house,” Alex said, shaking his head with a touch of impatience. “The man has friends in this city.” He shrugged. “More than one lover, I shouldn’t wonder. Sperskov’s always had a taste for the softer side of life.”

His visitor grimaced. “Aye, an aristocrat through and through, that one. I’ve always thought him too soft for this business. He’s only half a mind on it, the other half’s between a woman’s thighs.”

“You’re harsh, my friend,” Alex protested. “Sperskov is an idealist.”

“We’ve no need of such in our ranks,” Tatarinov declared. “We need warriors.”

“We need both,” Alex said firmly. “Nicolai is loyal to the cause, blindly so, and his contacts make him indispensable. Why did you go in search of him in the first place?”

“The man’s in charge of communications. He should have received something from Nystad by now. I went to discover if there was anything.”

Alex nodded. They all had clearly defined roles in this business and Sperskov’s network of friends and acquaintances across Europe made him the perfect conduit for communications. “Where else have you looked for him?”

“Nowhere as yet. I thought to find out if you knew anything first. You’re the one who keeps tabs on them all.” He poured more vodka and tossed it back with the same flick of his wrist as the first glass.

“Well, I know nothing. I suggest we cast our net wider. I’ll visit the foreigners, the French and English he numbers amongst his acquaintances, you take the Russians. If we draw a blank then, then we’ll start to worry.”

“Very well.” Tatarinov pushed back his chair. “And I thank you for breakfast, Prince. Makes a change from the slop they serve in this benighted city.” He gave himself one last gulp of vodka.

“Just one more thing, Tatarinov…”

“Yes?” He paused, the glass halfway to his mouth.

“If he doesn’t turn up, what exactly do you think happened to him?” Alex dropped his napkin to the table.

Tatarinov shook his head. “Only one thing as I can see…Arakcheyev’s men.”

“I thought you had them under watch,” Alex said sharply.

“I do, but I can’t watch them every minute. I don’t know every communication they get. You can be sure Arakcheyev knows every member of this little cabal, except…” He paused, looking at Alex, his black eyes narrowed. “Except you, Prince. You are the czar’s friend, his observer and reporter on the English scene.”

“True enough,” Alex agreed, aware of a strange prickle on his nape. “And your point, Tatarinov?”

“For the moment none, and God willing, there will be none,” his visitor stated, heading for the door. “We’ll talk again this afternoon?”

Alex nodded. “Five o’clock, at the Black Cock in Dean Street.”

“I’ll be there.”

Alex stayed at the table for a while after his visitor’s departure. There was no reason to suspect Arakcheyev’s hand in Sperskov’s mysterious disappearance, but it was an unnerving thought.

And it did nothing to help him deal with his other problem. Should he go to Livia? Try once more to thrash it out? Or would he be better served by leaving her for a while? Once the initial force of her anger and hurt had lessened, as it had to, then perhaps she would see things differently. He could not fulfill the terms of her ultimatum, therefore nothing would be gained by another confrontation. Time might soften her attitude, and maybe he could come up with some half-truth that would satisfy her. But the very idea left a sour taste in his mouth. There’d been enough half-truths and downright untruths in his marriage. There must be no more.

L
IVIA ARRIVED AT
M
OUNT
S
TREET
soon after eleven o’clock without coming across her husband. Boris had informed her that the prince had called for his horse and left the house straight after breaking his fast. He had given no indication of when he would return. It was all to the good, Livia reflected. She needed time for reflection. When next she saw him, she would have to have come to some decisions.

“Is Lady Bonham in?” she asked Harry’s butler.

“Yes, ma’am. The ladies are in her ladyship’s parlor,” Hector informed her.

“Good. I expect to be here for some time, so I’ve sent my groom with my horse to the mews.”

“Very good, my lady.” Hector bowed and showed her to the parlor door.

“Oh, Liv, there you are.” Cornelia jumped up from her secretaire. “I was writing you a note. We’ve been debating whether to come to you this morning or wait for you to send for us.”

“Yes, and since we couldn’t decide, we thought we’d send you a note and see what you’d prefer,” Aurelia said, laying aside her tambour frame as she too rose from her chair. “How are you?” She examined her friend carefully. “You don’t look too robust, my love.”

“I’m not feeling robust,” Livia said with a wan smile, unpinning her plumed hat. “I’m only glad you’re both in.”

“We wouldn’t have gone anywhere without contacting you first,” Cornelia said. “We hoped you’d turn to us when you needed us.” She too subjected Livia to a grave scrutiny. “Oh, you poor dear, you’ve had a bad time. Come and sit down.”

Livia shook her head. “Not yet, I’m too restless to sit.” She paced the elegant room and her friends watched her in silence, waiting for her to decide when to come to rest.

Livia was in a quandary. She needed these women’s counsel more than she’d ever needed it, but she would keep her promise to Alex not to reveal anything of his real work. However much she believed she could trust her friends, she couldn’t forget that Nell was married to a member of the English secret service and she would not under any circumstances put her in a position of divided loyalties. Somehow she must get their advice, elicit their opinions in an effort to make sense of the situation herself, without actually revealing the truth that lay beneath every one of Alex’s otherwise seemingly despicable actions and deceptions. And however much she loathed the idea that he was working against her own country, rationally she could accept his desire to work for his own.

“Alexis Prokov was Alex’s father, as I imagine you guessed,” she said eventually. “And by the same token, Sophia Lacey was his mother.”

“Why didn’t he tell you that from the very beginning?” Cornelia asked, frowning. “Once he’d met you and he realized that you have the same surname as his mother, wouldn’t it have been natural to have exclaimed at the coincidence?”

“Except that he knew it was not coincidence,” Livia said. She gave a bleak sigh. “But he never knew his mother. Can you imagine how hard that must have been for a child? He knew she was alive and well, but he was not allowed to know her. He must have thought that she didn’t want anything to do with him.”

“It would explain why he didn’t want to talk of her,” Aurelia said cautiously.

“Yes,” Livia agreed, “but there’s something else that’s not so easy to explain. The house in Cavendish Square didn’t actually belong to Sophia Lacey. Either she didn’t understand, or she simply forgot after so many years, but Alex’s father gave her the unrestricted use of it throughout her lifetime. On her death it reverted to his estate. And you can guess who is the heir to that estate.”

There was a stunned silence.

Eventually Aurelia said slowly, thinking her way through it, “He didn’t need to marry you to get his hands on the house, he could simply have evicted you.”

Livia shrugged. “He maintains he saw no need to do that, because he decided I would make him an ideal wife. He simply ensured that the house became part of the marriage settlements.”

“It would have been honest of him to have explained all this to you when he proposed,” Cornelia said, “but maybe he felt it would be indelicate, Liv.”

“Yes,” Aurelia put in quickly. “It would have been a mite awkward to propose to a woman in one breath and then tell her she’s already living in his property in the next.”

It was no good, Livia realized. Without telling her friends the whole truth, she could never get a view of the matter that would really be able to help her clarify her decisions.

“I suppose you’re right,” she conceded. “But I still feel betrayed. And I can’t help wondering if getting his hands on the house didn’t have something to do with that whirlwind courtship.”

She sat down finally, perching on the arm of the sofa. “You must admit it was somewhat overpowering…you had suspicions, Ellie, you know you did.”

“Yes,” Aurelia agreed. “But
you
didn’t, Liv. And you said that if you burned your fingers at a fire that excited you so much, then it would be with full knowledge.” She twisted her hands in distress. “Forgive me, love, I don’t mean to speak hard truths, but the situation exists and you have to decide whether to live with it…or how to.”

And there it was, Livia thought. A hard truth and a hard decision. They didn’t need to know about the spying, it wasn’t really the issue at all. “But should I not feel betrayed by his deception?” she asked.

“Do you believe he loves you?” Cornelia went to the decanters on the sideboard and poured three glasses of sherry.

Livia saw his face, his eyes as he’d made his declaration at her bedside. “Yes,” she said. “He says so and I believe him.” She took the glass Cornelia offered her with a nod of thanks.

“And you, Liv?” Aurelia took her own glass.

“Oh, yes,” Livia said simply. “With all my heart…” She laughed a little sadly. “All my hurt heart.”

“Then you have to decide whether his deception was somehow an error of omission, a mistaken attempt to save you some pain, or deliberate because the man’s an unmitigated, lying scoundrel,” Cornelia declared.

“So I do,” Livia said, taking a sip from her glass. “So I do.” And somehow she had made up her mind. As long as it wasn’t the latter, and she knew in every ounce of her being that Alex was true in his feelings for her, then she would have to find a way to live with the man he was. And somehow, somewhere, she would find forgiveness for his deception.

“Let’s take the children to Gunters for ices,” she suggested suddenly. “It’s a lovely sunny day, maybe a little chilly for ice cream but the children won’t mind.”

The other two women looked at her a little strangely. “Is that the end of this, then, Liv?” Cornelia asked.

“The end of my going round and round in circles,” Livia stated. “I’ve worried my head into a tangle of knots and I need to be distracted. So, let’s go to Gunters. I’ve a fancy for that bergamot ice.”

“The children will have had lunch in the nursery by now,” Aurelia said, “but Linton will still complain that it’ll spoil their dinner.” She laughed. “Oh, why not, Nell? We haven’t had a set-to with Linton in weeks.”

Cornelia was already pulling the bell rope. “We’ll take the barouche.”

Stevie, Franny, and Susannah were a bubbling, excited distraction, thrilled at the prospect of an excursion with their mothers and without the watchful eye of their nurse. Ices at Gunters were always a treat, but one rarely indulged in February. They stopped the barouche outside the establishment in Berkeley Square and a waiter dodged through the traffic in the square to take their order.

The children shrieked their choices in a crescendo of excitement. Cornelia deftly extricated the essentials from the babble and gave the waiter a clear order. “Liv, you’d like the bergamot pear?” she added.

Livia was no longer sure that she fancied what had seemed appealing half an hour before, but she acceded.

“I want to try that parmesan ice,” Aurelia said. “It sounds so interesting.”

“And I’ll have the coffee,” Cornelia said.

The relieved waiter dodged his way back across the street into Gunters, returning in a few minutes with their order balanced on a tray. The children clamored to take their ices into the square garden under the now winter-bare maple trees and dispersed under supervision of the groom and Daisy while the women stayed in the carriage.

“You don’t seem too enthusiastic about that bergamot, Liv,” Aurelia observed after a minute, watching Livia play with the ice in her glass, taking tiny tastes on the tip of her spoon.

“Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea,” Livia said. “How does the parmesan taste?”

“Delicious,” Aurelia said with a laugh. “But probably better at the dinner table. It’s a combination of cheese and sweet.”

“You should have stayed with the conventional,” Cornelia declared, scraping the last morsels of coffee ice from her glass. “But it grows chilly, inside now as well as out. We should get the children home.”

“Yes, and I need to go back to Cavendish Square,” Livia said, leaning down from the barouche to put her empty glass and spoon on the tray the waiter held. She was ready now, her mind clear. Ready to make her demands, ready to look for the compromises that her father had told her she would have to find when inevitably they came to a crossroads. And Alex would be ready now.

“Would you like to take the barouche home?” Cornelia asked. “Your groom could bring Daphne back.”

“No,” Livia said. “I’ll enjoy the ride…it’s barely fifteen minutes, after all.”

“You’re comfortable, Liv, with what you’re going to do?” Aurelia asked sotto voce as the children piled back into the barouche.

Livia gave her a quick smile. “With what
I’m
going to do, yes. How Alex will respond, I don’t know.”

“Don’t forget that we’re always here,” Cornelia said, seizing Susannah’s strawberry-sticky hands in her handkerchief before they smeared her pelisse. “Any time, Liv. Send for us.”

“Yes, I know,” Livia said. “And I thank you both.”

She arrived back at Cavendish Square just as the day was fading. The streetlamps were not yet lit but the house lights were on as she hurried up to the front door.

Surprisingly it was Morecombe who opened it. At this time of day he was usually ensconced in his own quarters and Boris ruled supreme.

“Good evening, Morecombe.” She stepped through the door. “Where’s Boris?”

“Off for the evenin’,” Morecombe stated. “Someone needs to keep the door.”

“Yes, of course,” Livia said. “Is Prince Prokov in?”

Morecombe shook his head.

“Oh.” Livia was at something of a loss. “Have you seen him this afternoon?”

“Oh, aye,” Morecombe said, closing and bolting the front door.

“And he went out again?” she asked, patient, because impatience would slow the process even further.

“Men come for ’im,” Morecombe said. “You want yer dinner in the parlor, m’lady. Our Ada’s made your favorite roast lamb wi’ that there red-currant jelly.”

“Delicious,” Livia said absently. Something wasn’t quite right here. “Did the prince say he wouldn’t be in for dinner when he left with his friends?”

“Summat on those lines, my lady,” Morecombe stated. “Shall I set dinner in t’ parlor, then?”

The one issue that concerned the single-minded retainer, Livia reflected, knowing that nothing would deflect him until he had his answer. “Uh…yes, thank you,” she said, going to the stairs. “Are you sure my husband left no message?”

“No, no message,” Morecombe said, turning back to the kitchen. “Dinner’ll be ready in an hour.”

“Thank you,” Livia said. On impulse she turned from the stairs and went into the salon. The image of Sophia Lacey gazed out serenely from above the fireplace.

But how serene was she? Livia stepped closer, looking up into those astonishing blue eyes. She should have known, she thought. They were the twins of Alex’s. And they were so unusual it was extraordinarily dimwitted of her not to have noticed.

But then, how could she have remarked on something that as far as she was concerned had absolutely no relevance to her life? Such connections only became obvious when one was in possession of certain facts.

She was aware of an overwhelming sense of anticlimax, of frustration. The knowledge of having reached a decision had buoyed her during the afternoon and she’d been going over in her head the words she would use when she saw Alex. To find that he’d gone out without a word, without making any effort to communicate with her, brought a resurgence of anger. Perhaps he really couldn’t care less whether they were estranged or not. It certainly seemed as if it hadn’t bothered him unduly. How else could he calmly go off with his friends without a word to her? But then, of course, he was probably out and about on his country’s business, she thought in renewed frustration. It seemed it took precedence over his marriage.

Livia went upstairs to change out of her riding habit. She pulled the bell for Ethel and then wandered through into Alex’s room. The empty space was filled with the sense of her husband, but it felt wrong somehow. She looked around, frowning slightly. A crumpled cravat lay on the dresser, a coat was thrown carelessly over a chair, a pair of boots seemed to have been flung into a corner, the armoire was open, and the coverlet on the bed was rumpled.

Had Alex gone out in such haste that he hadn’t troubled to summon Boris’s assistance? Why hadn’t anyone come in to tidy up after him?

A feeling of unease crept over Livia as she looked around. It was a vague feeling but it lifted the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. She turned and went back to her own room, where Ethel was setting a ewer of hot water on the marble-topped washstand.

“Did you see Prince Prokov this afternoon, Ethel?” she asked as she unbuttoned her jacket.

“No, m’lady. Will you wear evening dress?”

“No, I’m dining alone tonight, just bring me the velvet robe, please.” She shrugged out of the jacket and unhooked her skirt. “What time did Boris leave?”

“About three o’clock, m’lady.”

“Was that before or after my husband left?” She stepped out of the skirt and went to wash her face and hands at the washstand.

“I don’t rightly know, madam.” Ethel handed her a towel. “I didn’t know the prince had gone out.”