To Wed a Wicked Prince (32 page)

“Oh, I’ll ask Morecombe, then, when I go down.” Livia dried her face and hands and then slipped her arms into the wide sleeves of the robe that Ethel held out for her. She fastened the buttons down the front, then sat at the dressing table while Ethel unpinned her hair and brushed it out.

“Will you leave it loose, m’lady?”

“No, pass me the netted snood.” Livia caught her hair up at the back, twisted it into a loose knot, and slipped the snood over it, confining it tidily on her nape. “That’s all, thank you, Ethel. But would you go and tidy up next door? I can’t understand why no one’s been in since my husband left.”

“Perhaps no one knew his lordship had gone out, ma’am, what with Boris not being here. Mr. Morecombe probably didn’t think to mention it.”

“No, I’m sure not,” Livia agreed. It was a more than likely explanation, and it wasn’t that important when all was said and done. “Does anyone in the servants’ hall know where Boris went?” Boris’s absence struck her as rather odd. In all the time they’d been in London she couldn’t remember his leaving the house unless specifically on Alex’s business.

“Not as far as I know, m’lady. Probably his afternoon off,” Ethel suggested.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Livia agreed. “I didn’t realize he ever took one.”

“He doesn’t, usually,” Ethel said. “But maybe he knew the prince was going out and he wouldn’t be needed.”

“Maybe so,” Livia said with a shrug. “See to tidying Prince Prokov’s chamber anyway, please, Ethel. He won’t want to come back to it looking like that. I’m going downstairs.” She went down to her parlor and rang for Morecombe.

He appeared after about five minutes. “You want summat, m’lady?”

“Yes. Did you see Prince Prokov leave this afternoon?”

“Aye. He an’ two men. They come for him about fifteen minutes earlier. I let ’em in an’ Jemmy showed ’em up.”

“Showed them up? What do you mean? Into the library, surely.”

“Well, as to that, I know what ’appened. They asked for the prince, I told ’em he was above stairs, an’ they said they’d go on up. So I tells Jemmy to take ’em up.” Morecombe’s gaze was a trifle truculent.

“I didn’t mean to contradict you, Morecombe,” Livia said swiftly. “I was just a little surprised.”

“Oh, aye,” he said stolidly. “Well, about fifteen minutes later they all three come down an’ go off. There was an ’ackney outside waitin’ on them.”

Alex went off in a hackney?
Livia stared at Morecombe. “The prince didn’t send to the mews for his curricle…or his horse?”

“No, as I says, there was an ’ackney waitin’ on ’em.”

“Thank you, Morecombe.” Livia gave him a quick smile of dismissal and the old retainer shuffled off. She left the parlor and went into the library, uncertain what she was looking for. It all seemed tidy and in order, papers neatly arranged on the desk, quill pens sharpened, and the faintest hint of Alex in the air.

But her unease increased. She wandered aimlessly around the room, looking for something, but she had no idea what. It was ridiculous to feel this sense of foreboding. Alex had gone out for the evening, as simple as that. He often went out with his friends, or his compatriots…

She turned and went back into the hall, looking for Morecombe again. She found him in the parlor setting a place on the table in the window for her dinner. “Were they foreigners, these men who came for the prince?” she asked.

“Reckon so,” he stated, polishing a wineglass on his sleeve. “Spoke funny…kind of thick like. Not the usual kind of friend,” he added somewhat obliquely.

It was a long paragraph for Morecombe, Livia reflected. “How do you mean not the usual kind?”

“Rough customers, I reckon.” He set the wineglass in its place and looked over his handiwork. “You want a bottle of the ’92 burgundy with the lamb?”

“Oh, yes, lovely, thank you.” Livia frowned into the fire. The only acquaintance of Alex’s whom she would describe as a rough customer was Tatarinov. But her husband was a spy, up to every kind of devious scheme, how should she know who his friends and colleagues were? She hadn’t even known the truth about the man himself, and he’d gone out of his way to keep her well clear of the men he worked with. A couple of rough customers more or less was probably all part of a spy’s world.

She poured herself a glass of sherry and sat down by the fire to await her dinner. She was not going to worry over this another minute. Alex would reappear later…of course, if he’d gone out for the evening, and knew he was out for the evening, he would have changed into evening dress.

She set down her glass just as Morecombe came in staggering a little beneath the weight of a laden tray. “Was the prince in evening dress when he went out?” she asked casually.

“Not as I remember,” Morecombe said, setting a roast saddle of lamb on the table. “There now, there’s parsnips an’ a dish o’ them scalloped taties that you like. Peas with onions, an’ red-currant jelly. Our Ada wants to know if you’d fancy a brook trout t’follow.”

“Oh, no, this all looks wonderful,” Livia said hastily. “Prince Prokov doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Morecombe greeted this observation with a sniff and pulled the cork on the bottle of burgundy. “Right y’are, then. That’ll do you.”

“It certainly will, thank you.” Livia sat down at the table and gazed unseeing at the feast laid out before her. She seemed to have no appetite but she couldn’t risk upsetting Morecombe and the twins. Resolutely she carved herself some lamb.

B
Y CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT
, L
IVIA
was beside herself. She knew that Alex would have sent her a message if he intended to be out this late. He would not deliberately cause her concern, however at odds they were. He hadn’t changed into evening dress so he obviously hadn’t had any formal plans to dine with friends, or go to his clubs, or attend the theatre or the opera. Anyway, he would never have done the latter without seeing if she wanted to join him, or at least before yesterday it would have been unthinkable.

She paced the parlor, too restless even to try to read or sew. Perhaps he’d gone to a card party, an informal gathering where they played high and drank deep. She knew that he sometimes did. Not that she’d ever seen him even slightly the worse for wear. Whom could he be with? She racked her brains trying to think of someone obvious to ask, but no name came to her.

And anyway, she told herself, if he was merely at a pleasure party, he would have sent a message to say he’d be late home. She couldn’t get away from that certainty.

Could he have had an accident? Knocked down by a carriage? Fallen foul of the gangs of footpads who roamed the alleys? Images of his bleeding body sprawled in some dark, deserted lane filled her mind. She shook her head as if it would dispel the pictures. That was a ridiculous fear; Alex was more than capable of taking care of himself.

Controlling her rising panic with difficulty, Livia went into the library again. The terriers scampered ahead of her into the lamplit room and thumped down in front of the fire, regarding her with their bright button eyes beneath thick fringes. The curtains were drawn, the fire burning brightly, all just waiting for its owner’s return. She sat down at his desk and tried the drawers. They were all locked, except one at the bottom.

She pulled it open and looked in surprise at the ivory-handled pistol it contained. She’d never seen Alex with a pistol; as far as she knew he didn’t even go to Manton’s shooting gallery for sport. But then he wasn’t in the habit of telling her everything, as she already knew.

Livia took out the weapon gingerly, turning it over in her hands. Was it loaded? She had no way of telling, but Morecombe would probably be able to tell her. He was something of an expert with the blunderbuss, after all. Not that it mattered. She was about to replace it in the drawer when the front door knocker sounded, loud and urgent. The dogs leaped to their feet, yapping frantically.

Alex.
He was knocking with such vigor because he knew Boris wasn’t on duty. Why hadn’t he come back by now? she wondered. It was nearly midnight, after all. But Alex must have given him the whole night off, she decided, and Morecombe wouldn’t hear anything short of the last trump at this time of night. Still carrying the pistol, she hurried out to the hall, her heart leaping with relief.

“Just coming,” she called, pulling back on the heavy bolts as the dogs pranced and barked and leaped at the door. She hauled it open and then stared in disbelief and disappointment. Monsieur Tatarinov stood on the doorstep.

“Good evening, Princess.” He raised his voice over the noise of the dogs and stepped disdainfully over them into the hall without waiting for an invitation. “Where’s your husband? I need to talk to him.” Again without waiting for an invitation he strode across the hall to the library, the terriers gamboling at his heels.

“He’s not here,” Livia said, following him into the room, instinctively closing the door behind her. “He went out this afternoon, and he hasn’t come back since.” She could hear the tremor in her voice. “Don’t you know where he is?”

Tatarinov’s nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply. “Since this afternoon, you say?”

“Yes…please, is something wrong?”

He didn’t immediately reply, merely stood staring at the carpet, slamming one closed fist into the palm of his other hand. “Madame, did he go out alone?”

“I wasn’t here myself, but I understand some men came to call and he left with them some time later.” Livia knew now that something was dreadfully wrong, but strangely her fear had receded under the determination to get out of this taciturn and unpleasant man every scrap of knowledge he had.

“Men? How many?”

“Two.”

“Russian?”

“Foreign certainly. Tell me, monsieur, does this have anything to do with my husband’s work on behalf of his country?”

That brought his eyes up from the carpet. “What do you know of that?”

“I know that my husband is a spy for the czar,” she said. “He told me so himself, so you may be quite frank with me.” She looked at him, suddenly puzzled by his expression. He looked both startled and relieved. “So answer me, please. Is my husband’s disappearance something to do with that work?”

“You’d best ask him yourself,” Tatarinov said. “I must go at once.” He took a step to the door.

Livia acted instinctively. She was still frightened for Alex but she was more frightened of not knowing what was going on.

She spun around and locked the door, dropping the key into her pocket. Of course if Tatarinov tried to overpower her he’d probably succeed…slowly she raised the pistol. She still didn’t know whether it was loaded but guessed that Alex would have seen little point in having a gun that was no good in an unexpected attack. And it seemed obvious now that he had been prepared for such an event. And now so was she.

Tristan and Isolde, hackles rising, began to growl as they sensed the menace in the room. Tatarinov looked murderously at them and raised a foot to kick Tristan aside as the animal approached with bared teeth.

“
Sit,
” Livia commanded, and miraculously they backed off. Her hand was perfectly steady as she trained the pistol on Tatarinov’s shoulder. She had no desire to kill him, but thought she could probably put a bullet through his shoulder at this range.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, outrage and astonishment on his face.

“I want you to tell me exactly what’s going on,” she said evenly. “Is my husband’s life in danger?”

Tatarinov rocked slightly on the balls of his feet, assessing her determination. “If you shoot me, Princess, your husband will have even less chance of escaping his abductors,” he pointed out.

“Abductors?” Livia frowned, but the pistol didn’t waver. “Who would abduct him?”

“Madame, we are wasting precious time—”

“Then answer my question,” she snapped. “And be quick about it. My patience is wearing thin. Who has taken my husband? And where have they taken him?”

He took another step towards her but both dogs leaped at his ankles, barking and nipping. He kicked out at them but it only made them more frantic.

“Get them off me,” he demanded, and in different circumstances Livia would have found it amusing that he should be more alarmed by a pair of silly pink dogs than by a pistol trained on him.

“Sit down and they will too,” she said. “As long as they think you’re threatening me, they’ll go on doing what they’re doing.”

He cursed in a language she did not understand, but the gist of it was clear in any language, then sat down on a straight-backed chair. Immediately the dogs settled back on their haunches with an air of complacence at a job well done.

“All right, Monsieur Tatarinov, tell me what’s going on, all of it, and quickly.”

He sat still, frowning at her. Women in his experience didn’t behave like this, waving pistols around and setting dogs on a man. They knew their place and kept to it. He had had his reservations about Prokov’s wife, an overly bold woman, he’d decided on first meeting. This conduct, however, went beyond bold.

“I’m waiting, monsieur. Have the czar’s enemies taken my husband?” She waved the pistol.

Very well, if you want the truth, Princess, then you shall have it.
“If the czar’s enemies had abducted your husband, Madame, we would have little to worry about,” he stated. “Prince Prokov was working to remove the czar. I believe Arakcheyev’s secret police have him.”

He glanced around the room. “If I get up and give myself vodka from that bottle over there, will these wretched creatures attack me again?”

Livia lowered the pistol against her skirt and went over to the sideboard. She brought the bottle over to him. “Who is this Arakcheyev?”

“The czar’s head of the Ministry of War.” He tipped the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. “He also controls the secret police.”

Just the sound of the term sent a chill of horror down Livia’s spine. The fact that Alex had misled her as to his true allegiance would have to wait. At present it mattered little who held him captive. “How do we get Alex out of their hands?”

“I’m fairly certain they will be taking him back to Russia,” Tatarinov told her. “They’ll not torture him here.” He saw her blanch but she didn’t waver, her eyes remained fixed upon him, the pistol still held quietly at her side.

“Sperskov is a different matter, he’s not a close friend of the czar’s, they did what they had to with him and presumably he gave them Prince Prokov.” He drank again. “Can’t blame him for that. He must have held out quite a long time if they didn’t come for the prince until this afternoon.”

“I understand very little of what you’re saying,” Livia said. “Who is this Sperskov?”

“A member of our little band of brothers,” Tatarinov said shortly. “Loyal to our cause, and an essential conduit…he knows all the right people. But he’s not battle-hardened. He disappeared last night. I feared the worst, particularly when I could find no news of him and your husband did not make our agreed rendezvous late this afternoon.”

Focus on the most important matters,
Livia told herself, trying to rein in her imagination.
Don’t let the horrendous images get in the way of clear thinking.

“How will they take him out of England?”
Focus on the practical.

“By ship, of course.” His voice rose with sudden impatience. “They’ll be in a hurry to get away so they’ll probably go from Greenwich, as it’s the closest shipping dock. There are always ships willing to take on an unorthodox passenger or two for the right coin.”

He stood up and the dogs growled. “I’m wasting time. Unlock that damned door and let me get about my business.”

“I’m coming with you,” Livia said, snapping her fingers at the terriers, who came reluctantly to her side.

“You can’t possibly…that’s ridiculous…never heard such a thing…you’ll be in the way,” Tatarinov blustered, trying to push past her to the door.

“There’s nothing you can do about it,” Livia said calmly. “I shall simply follow you to Greenwich if you don’t want me to travel with you. I can assure you I will not hold you up in any way, and I most certainly will not be in your way, but you should understand once and for all that my place is with my husband and if he is in danger then I
will
be at his side.”

She turned to open the door. “Will you wait for me while I change my clothes quickly? Or must I follow you?”

“Madame…Princess…” He saw her adamant countenance and thought it was probably better to keep her under his eye. He would put her somewhere safely out of the way when they reached Greenwich. “I’ll wait.”

“Good.” She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. “Do you have a carriage here?”

“I’m riding.”

“Good, then I’ll change and fetch Daphne from the mews.” The dogs were on her heels as she ran up the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “Ten minutes at most.”

Tatarinov eyed the front door. He could be gone from the house and on his horse in two minutes, but he knew the wretched woman would follow him and the gods alone knew what she would do on her own. He needed to collect a couple of others on their way to Greenwich, and he could only pray that the prince and his abductors had missed the evening tide and were waiting for the morning.

And if they weren’t at Greenwich…?

Livia threw off her robe and scrambled into her riding habit. She dropped the pistol into the deep pocket of her jacket and sat on the bed to pull on her boots. Her mind was closed to anything but the urgency of the moment. She would not think of the possibility that the ship had already sailed. She would not think of the possibility that they had gone to Dover or some other port. She would not think of the possibility that Alex might already be dead…

She left her bedroom, closing the door on the dogs, their pathetic whine following her as she ran back down the stairs. Tatarinov was pacing the hall, a short, stocky, bull-like figure who somehow inspired confidence. She disliked him certainly, but she had the conviction that if push came to shove he would be a very useful ally to have.

“I’m ready.” She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. It would have to stay unlocked, but there was nothing to be done about that. Tatarinov’s horse, a sturdy and unbeautiful raw-boned gelding, was tethered to the square railing.

“My horse is in the mews, just across the square,” Livia said. She ran to the mews and was leading Daphne from her stall when a shout came from the room above the stable.

“Eh, who’s there? What’s goin’ on down there?” A tousled head appeared in a window.

“It’s me, Jemmy. I’m just taking Daphne for a ride,” she called softly, unwilling to wake the entire mews.

“Eh, m’lady, at this time o’ night?”

“Just a fancy I have,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

But Jemmy appeared in the yard in less than a minute, sleepy-eyed and tousled, but determined to saddle the mare. “Should I be goin’ with you, m’lady?” he asked doubtfully.

“No, I have an escort, thank you,” she said, gesturing to the entrance of the mews, where Tatarinov sat astride his gelding. Jemmy led Daphne to the mounting block and Livia mounted quickly. “Tell everyone at the house not to worry about anything,” she said. “I’ll be back in the morning.” She had no idea whether she would or not, but something had to be said.

Tatarinov merely grunted when she rode up beside him. “Got to make some stops,” he said. “Pick up some others. I can’t take ’em on alone.”

“
I’m
here, don’t forget,” she said.

“I’m hardly likely to,” he stated, and from then on they rode in silence.