Splendor (17 page)

Carolyn, having recovered her shawl, hugged herself as he clucked to the gelding. What was she supposed to do now? When her body was burning in anticipation of a consummation which could not, must not, take place? Why didn't he say something? But what was there to say? Especially as she had instigated the entire episode? Especially when she had behaved as badly as any of his other lady loves?

The cabriolet merged onto the track, which was, fortunately, empty.

."Well," Carolyn said brightly, "that was not ridiculous."

His jaw flexed. He finally cast a sidelong glance at her. He seemed flustered, angry. "No," he said. "That was not ridiculous."

<^ Twelve ^

NOT only was she feeling somewhat better, she was starting to look like herself again,

Marie-Elena smiled at her reflection in the mirror, studying herself critically—looking for wrinkles or other signs of illness or aging which hadn't been present before the miscarriage. She remained pale, and she was still weak, but her beauty was unmarred. A collar of pearls and diamonds glinted on her throat and it was only dinnertime. Being the niece of the crown prince of Baden-Baden, and the wife of Prince Sverayov, she could flaunt convention when she wished.

She left her bedroom where two maids were putting a dozen dresses away—the gowns she had decided after much nerve-wracking hysteria not to wear that day. Marisr Elena could hear her daughter reciting Latin as she approached the nursery.

Smihng, she walked into the schoolroom.

Katya, in the midst of reciting verbs, stopped, gaping. Signor Raffaldi, holding a book open, somehow dropped it, and it crashed on the floor. Taichili, who had been sitting at the children's table, making notes, slammed her small notebook closed, sitting up as straight as any soldier. Her eyes were also wide.

"Good morning," Marie-Elena cried with enthusiasm. "Signore." She smiled at the tutor, who turned red. "Ma-

dame Taichili." She inclined her head. "You are all acting as if I have never been in the nursery before!" she exclaimed. Before anyone could respond, she faced her daughter, who was motionless. "Darhng! Come give Ma-man a hug and a kiss."

Katya obeyed, walking quickly forward to wrap her thin arms around her mother. Marie-Elena bent so the small child could kiss her cheek. Then she beamed at her again. "How beautifully you recite your Latin, dear. Is she not a premier student, signore?"

Still flushed, he came forward. "Katya excels in every subject, Princess." He bowed.

"I am so proud of you," Marie-Elena said to Katya.

The child's eyes were glued on her mother's face. "Thank you, Maman," she said, two bright pink spots on her cheeks.

"I have a wonderful idea," Marie-Elena said. "Why don't you join me this afternoon for a drive in the park? Wouldn't that be fun, Katya?"

Katya stared, her eyes huge. Silence filled the classroom. "Yes," she finally said, shooting a glance at her governess and tutor.

Taichih cleared her throat. "Katya has her dance instruction after dinner. Princess."

"Tell her dance instructor that Katya will miss today's jj lesson," Marie-Elena said airily. "You, Taichili, will accompany us, of course."

Taichili inclined her head.

"I will see you at three o'clock," Marie-Elena told Katya.

Katya nodded, smiling slightly. "I will be ready, Maman. I promise."

Marie-Elena whirled and left the room. She no longer smiled as she hurried downstairs. Her pulse was racing. How she wished that she had not lost her wits when she had thought herself to be dying.

In the hallway on the ground floor she paused before a mirror, to pinch her cheeks and adjust the low neckline of

her gown. She patted her curls and tested a smile, and somehow appeared both uncertain and vulnerable. Then she took a breath for courage. Nicholas was never easy. But that was why he had remained exciting after all these years—that was why he was still one of the most attractive men she had ever known. But he was also, at times, the most despicable.

The library door was open. Marie-Elena saw him sitting behind the desk, and Alexi was with him. The younger brother had one hip carelessly on the edge of the desk as the two men spoke in quiet tones. Marie-Elena's heart pounded far more swiftly now. Nicholas saw her and ceased speaking.

Marie-Elena smiled slightly. "May I speak with you for a moment, Niki?" She ignored Alexi.

His expression was impossible to read. He sat back in his chair, arms folded, his golden eyes steady upon her. "Do come in."

Marie-Elena came forward, glancing quickly at Alexi, once. He did not even try to hide his dislike of her. The once-over he gave her was disdainful—as if her charms were not enough to ever interest a man like himself. Marie-Elena knew he found her attractive. All men did.

"I shall take my leave," Alexi said, not even bothering to greet her. "Good day, Niki."

Alexi sauntered from the room. Nicholas slowly stood and strolled past Marie-Elena, who waited in front of his desk, not sitting down. She wanted him to have a clear view of her nearly translucent dress. Like the most fashionable women in society, she wore nothing beneath but a fine chemise. The apricot silk caressed every curve of her body, and then some.

Marie-Elena watched him close the door and turn to face her. "What is it you wish to speak about?" he asked quietly.

She inhaled, which accentuated her mostly bare bosom. "Nicholas. You seem angry. Surely you have had some time to realize that these silly rumors are all untrue?"

He did not respond. His golden gaze was cool, unfathomable.

She smiled briefly, touched his arm. "I would never do such a thing—I would never take your best friend as a lover."

He shook her hand off. "You are hardly convincing."

"That is not fair," Marie-Elena said with indignation. "The rumors are lies. How can you not believe me?"

"Is this why you came to see me? To convince me that you are innocent of seducing my cousin?" He shook his head. "Please. I am very busy today. Is there anything else?" His eyes were hard.

Her temper flared. Marie-Elena fought it. "You are so angry." She stepped closer and touched him again. "I do not blame you. To have to hear such horrid nonsense. Niki, do you know what it is like to face death?"

"Your theatrics will not work with me, Marie-Elena," he said wamingly.

"I am not being theatrical. It was terrifying." Tears filled her eyes. "I am young, I had no wish to die. And I was afraid to pray to God, for surely he knows the sinner I have been. Niki, I must try to make amends. I do not want to go to hell!" she cried.

He stared. "Then maybe you should have stayed away from Sasha."

Her heart lurched. "Niki, how many times must I tell you that Sasha is merely a friend—and more your friend than mine. Niki, we cannot go on this way." She gripped his arms. "Do you know that I regret the past—all of it?"

He calmly removed her hands. "As do I. Which is why you are going to Tver."

"No!" she cried. "You cannot send me away! I despise the country!"

"I have allowed you to hve your life as you chose, but you have not been discreet. I cannot allow it." He turned away.

Marie-Elena's mind raced. She took a breath, touched

him again. "What about Katya? How will you explain to her what you are doing?''

"That is my affair." He did not even glance over his shoulder at her.

"I am her mother. It is my affair, too. Perhaps I will explain," she said carefully.

He folded his arms, facing her. "Is that a threat?"

"Of course it is not!" she cried. "Niki, I almost died! I am not the same woman! I love Katya and ... I miss you."

He stiffened immediately. "What do you really want, Marie-Elena? Spit it out."

"Why won't you believe me? I was dying, for God's sakes!" She placed one small hand flat on his chest, on top of his waistcoat. "I have thought about little else but you and her, Niki. Not since I regained consciousness after losing the baby," she breathed, her black gaze holding his.

His jaw was tight. "I hope so. And you can continue to contemplate your past—and your future—at Tver. Now, if you will excuse me." He turned away.

She was breathless. "Do not be cold and cruel now!" she shouted. "Not after how sick I have been! I promise to behave myself. I promise to be a good mother to Katya." She rushed around him and barred his way, standing between him and his desk. "And I can even be a good wife to you, if you will let me."

He started to smile. "I do see. You have finally realized that I have no tolerance left for your behavior—and you are scared. Scared enough to throw yourself at me. It will not work. I have not the slightest interest in sharing your bed, Marie-Elena."

She stared, trying to control herself, trembling. It was a moment before she could speak. She licked her lips; he watched her tongue. "Please, Niki," she said, her tone low and husky. "I beg you. I want to start over."

His eyes narrowed.

"Please." She pressed against him, her full breasts crushed by his arm, and on tiptoe, pressed her soft, wet

mouth to his cheek. "I want you back. We were so good together, once," she breathed.

Immediately he seized her wrist, and yanked her back to her feet and away from him. "Do not even try," he said harshly. "I am not Sasha." He had not released her wrist.

He was hurting her. And her body was pressed against his, the many buttons of his uniform abrading her nipples, which were hard and erect. "You are hurting me, Niki," she whispered. She shifted slightly so that her sex brushed his thighs.

He released her, turning away, picking up a folder fi-om his desk. He opened it. "I have appointments today."

She could not believe he was dismissing her this way. "You are lying to yourself. I see the way you look at me. You want me. Still. After all these years—in spite of everything!"

He did not respond, inmiersed in what he was reading.

Her temper exploded. "Katya will be upset if you send me away. And how will she feel when she learns that you have imprisoned me?"

"Good day, Marie-Elena." He walked away.

Carolyn had not slept a wink all night because she had been unable to forget the earth-shattering kiss' she had shared J with Sverayov in the park. Bleary-eyed and preoccupied, she went downstairs. The bookshop was dimly lit, pale morning sunlight escaping through the cracks in the shutters and the parted shades. She found her father in the kitchen, hovering over the stove. He had already put a kettle to boil for their tea and was slicing a thick loaf of warm, crusty bread. Three newspapers awaited them on the kitchen table.

"I overslept again. I'm sorry, Papa," Carolyn said.

He handed her a cup of black tea. "I am worried about you." His gaze searched her face.

"There is nothing to worry about." Carolyn went to their 1 icebox and removed some leftover roast chicken, which she began to shce.

"What is bothering you?" George asked, carrying plates to the table.

Carolyn set the chicken and a crock of butter down as well. She sat, forced a smile. "Absolutely nothing."

"It is Sverayov."

She froze.

"You refused to say a word when you came back from the park yesterday," George accused. "I know you better than I know anyone. There is something you are not telling me.

"There is nothing to tell," Carolyn said neutrally. Oh, but there was. Against her will, against all common sense, she was suffering from a case of severe infatuation. Sverayov was a self-absorbed aristocrat, and he stood for all she wished to correct. Worse, she was appalled by her own unenlightened behavior, by her own desire. She was agonizingly attracted to him, and danmation, he was even charming company. How could she put him out of her mind?

But she knew better than to tell George any of this. He would only worry—with just cause. He must not know.

Carolyn sighed, not certain she had ever felt this confused. She reached for the Morning Chronicle. Sipping her tea, she began browsing through it. Her father was eating and reading the front page of the Herald. Carolyn turned the first page and almost fell off her seat.

She must have gasped, because George faced her. "What is it? You look as if you have seen a ghost!"

Carolyn did not answer, staring down at the column, for she could not be seeing what she thought she was seeing— she could not. But the column was titled "Public Trysts and Other Nonsense—or Private Royal Affairs." And it had been written by Charles Copperville.

She could hardly breathe. She had not written this column—someone had usurped her column and her name!

Carolyn focused, still shocked, and began to read.

"How odd it is that the rules of decorum and etiquette escape the attention of those who need to attend to such

dictates the most. Once again, a certain visiting foreign dignitary has seen fit to use our world as his pubhc stage, as if completely careless of any and all morality! And who was the beneficiary of this particular royal personage's attentions? Speculation has been running rampant since the prince was seen in a most intimate position in a very public place yesterday afternoon with a young woman of indecipherable identity. Numerous witnesses to the event describe the young lady as both blond and lovely, but to wit, no one has ever seen her anywhere before. Is the prince now a magician? Summoning up beautiful blondes at whim? One rumor suggests that this very well read young lady is not a member of the ton, leading one to ask the inevitable: where did he find her?"

"Carolyn?" George's voice cut through her shock. "What are you reading? What is wrong?"

Carolyn blinked, unable to concentrate on what her father was asking. Someone had stolen her column. Someone had written about her and Sverayov. But this made no sense!

"Carolyn?"

Carolyn snapped the paper closed. She smiled at her father, her heart banging against her chest. The column even sounded a bit like hers, damn it. Who had stolen her column and her name? Who?

Surely not Sverayov.

Surely not.

Because if he had, then it meant that he knew she was Copperville, and that was impossible. Because of "Lost Ladies," he thought Brighton was Copperville, not she herself, not Carolyn.