To Wed a Wicked Prince (13 page)

As the second bottle of burgundy was emptied, Harry said expansively, “I have several very fine bottles of the ’96 from the same vineyard…let’s broach one, gentlemen, and see how it compares. It’s but a short walk to my house in Mount Street.”

“With pleasure, Harry,” David said, standing up with just the slightest stagger. “The day’s young after all.”

“Aye, it’s barely three in the afternoon,” Nick said. “Come, gentlemen, let’s go and sample Bonham’s cellar.”

Alex agreed with alacrity. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain by charming and disarming Livia’s friends.

“Duke Nicolai…Count Fedorovsky…you’ll join us too, of course?” Harry said.

“Oh, yes…yes, why not,” Nicolai said warmly, pulling on his luxuriant black moustache. “No better way of passing an afternoon than in good company sampling good wine, I always say. Constantine, you’ve a fine palate…what d’you say?”

“I’d be delighted to accept your hospitality, Viscount Bonham,” the count said with a formal little bow. “I’m most interested to see your copy of
The History and Present State of Electricity
. Some of Priestley’s finest work, I’ve always thought.”

“I’d agree,” Harry said. “I’ve always counted it a great loss to England that the riots drove him to America. His political and theological views were unpopular, but that’s no reason to drive a man violently into exile.”

“Politics and theology arouse violent passions,” Alex observed. “We have only to look at the world around us.”

“True enough,” Nicolai declared, shaking his head. “But enough seriousness for one day, let’s sample that wine.”

Alex gave a mental shrug and followed the group out of the club. He was aware that Nicolai had decided the conversation was getting too close to home, but making no mention of world affairs would draw as much suspicion as trumpeting their own cause from the rooftops.

C
ORNELIA WITH
A
URELIA AND
L
IVIA
entered the Bonhams’ house in Mount Street later that afternoon, followed by a footman with an armful of bandboxes.

“Oh, Hector, could you have these taken up to the nursery, please?” Cornelia asked the butler. “Linton will want to check that I’ve fulfilled all her commissions exactly to specifications.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile that he returned with a solemn bow.

“Indeed, my lady, I’ll have it seen to straightaway. His lordship is in the library, with some gentlemen,” he added.

“Oh, anyone I know?”

“Sir Nicholas and Lord Foster, ma’am, and three other gentlemen who are unknown to me.”

“Well, in that case I think we should make them known to us,” Cornelia said cheerfully. “Come, ladies.” She sailed across the hall in the direction of the library. If Harry was entertaining his two closest friends as well as the strangers, it would be a social visit and he would have no objection to his wife’s interruption.

She tapped lightly on the door and opened it immediately, popping her head around. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I trust we’re not interrupting?”

“Not at all, my dear. Bring the rest of you in here,” Harry said, a smile lighting his green eyes as it always did at the sight of his wife. “Oh, even better…Aurelia and Livia as well.”

He rose from his chair and crossed the room, hand extended in greeting. “Come in…come in…let me introduce my visitors…at least,” he added with a chuckle, “those who are in need of introduction.” He cast a sly glance at Livia as he said this.

Livia caught the glance but was too absorbed in her own extraordinary reaction to the unexpected sight of Alex to pay Harry any attention. He was standing a little behind two men whom she didn’t know, his brilliant blue gaze assessing her, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Lust, pure and simple, melted her loins, stabbed deep in her belly, set her blood running swiftly. She was aware of sudden color flooding her cheeks as she took an involuntary step towards him, iron filings to his magnet.

Alex moved swiftly away from his companions, his eyes never leaving hers as he came to take her hand. “Livia, I had not looked for such pleasure this afternoon,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips.

She managed some response but was not at all sure what she said. She could feel the eyes of her friends watching her and knew she was betraying herself, not to Nell and Ellie, from whom she had no secrets, but to Harry, and to David, and to Nick.
And she couldn’t help herself.

Harry came to the rescue. “I was forgetting you’re already acquainted with Prince Prokov, Livia,” he lied smoothly. “But Cornelia, allow me to present Prince Prokov. Prokov, my wife, Lady Bonham.”

Relieved at the momentary respite, Livia turned to Nick and David, welcoming the distraction of their easy informality. Their curiosity might have been piqued by her reaction to Alex, but they were far too polite and considerate to comment, and instead chatted inconsequentially with her and Aurelia like the old reliable friends they were, and Livia quickly regained her equilibrium.

Lady Bonham was a striking woman, Alex reflected as he bowed to the tall, elegant figure in a walking dress of boldly striped muslin, honey-colored hair confined beneath a close-fitting brown felt hat. “Your servant, ma’am.”

“I’m delighted to meet you, Prince Prokov,” Cornelia said, offering him her hand with a warm smile that did little to disguise the speculative scrutiny in her eyes. “Livia has spoken of you.”

“I am honored,” he said. “May I present my compatriots…” He turned towards the count and the duke, who were waiting in courteous patience for an introduction to their hostess and her two companions.

Livia examined Alex’s friends with covert interest. They were older than Alex, and seemed at first glance to have little in common with him. The count was a rather earnest gentleman, studiously polite, and the duke, unless she was much mistaken, had a definite leer in his pale blue eyes and the genuinely benign if slightly self-satisfied smile of a cream-filled cat. She did her best to concentrate on their conversation, but every inch of her was alive with sensations that had nothing to do with the demands of polite small talk. She could feel Alex’s eyes on her whenever he turned his gaze on her. She could hear his voice, every word he spoke, even when he was on the other side of the room.

“A glass of sherry, Livia?” Harry spoke at her shoulder and she jumped.

“Thank you.” She took the glass with an automatic smile and he gave her a searching look before turning back to his other guests. Livia addressed the duke, who was savoring his burgundy with an air of deep appreciation. “Have you known Prince Prokov long, Duke Nicolai?”

“Oh, for many years,” the duke said, sipping his burgundy. His light blue eyes gleamed in his plump, pink-cheeked countenance and Livia had the unmistakable impression that she was being weighed up, as if he was considering her for some position. His voice lowered and became as mellow as treacle, as he laid a soft white hand on her arm and gave it a meaningful squeeze. “Tell me, dear lady, how do you amuse yourself in town? I’m sure the young men must be beating down your door.” He winked. “If I were ten years younger, that’s where you would find me.”

Laughter welled as Livia realized what he was up to. This old roué was trying to decide if she was sufficiently bed-worthy to make outright pursuit worthwhile. She cast an amused glance in Alex’s direction and was rewarded with a comprehending glimmer of a smile.

With a word of excuse, he moved away from Aurelia and Harry and came over to Livia and the duke. “You must be glad to have all your friends back in town, Lady Livia.”

“Yes, indeed, Prince. Nell’s been away all summer…it’s wonderful to have her back. Old friends are irreplaceable, don’t you agree? The duke was saying he’s known you for many years.”

“Since I joined the Empress Catherine’s household as a ten-year-old, when the Grand Duke Alexander was four years old,” Alex said. “Duke Nicolai was a young courtier.” He laughed. “It was Nicolai who advanced my education in certain, shall we say, more worldly subjects.”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense,” the duke exclaimed. “I merely ensured that that part of your education was not neglected, since I doubt the czarina would have seen to it with the same care she gave to more intellectual subjects. I did the same for the young grand duke when he was of an age.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t be listening to this,” Livia demurred, although she was fascinated by this glimpse into Alex’s past.

Alex looked at her over the lip of his glass. “I doubt it comes as a surprise to you,” he said softly.

To her annoyance, Livia felt her cheeks warm again. She sipped her sherry and asked hastily, “Do you have brothers and sisters, Prince?”

“No,” he said. “The closest I had to a brother was the czar. We shared a schoolroom, but there are six years between us.”

“Why would you use the past tense?” Livia asked with a stab of interest. “He’s still alive. Is he not still as close as a brother to you?”

“He is now the czar, my sovereign,” Alex said, his voice taking on a distance. “One does not claim such ties to the czar of all the Russias without being true blood kin.”

“I see.” Livia frowned. Alex had withdrawn in some way and it was quite clear he didn’t wish to pursue the subject. She glanced at Duke Nicolai and saw that he too had become grave, his eyes no longer warm and lascivious, but rather cool and distant. Perhaps there was some unspoken Russian etiquette about discussing their emperor on purely social occasions. She turned with relief to Cornelia, who came up with the wine bottle.

“Do you live in St. Petersburg, Prince Prokov? Or are you a Muscovite?” Cornelia asked as she refilled the men’s wineglasses with burgundy.

“Like most Russians I have a foot in both camps,” he said. “My family has palaces in both cities.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t want to spend much time in Moscow,” the duke declared. “None of the elegancies in that city.”

“It’s a city that treasures the old traditions, Lady Bonham.” It was Count Fedorovsky who spoke, turning eagerly from his perusal of Harry’s bookshelves. It was a topic that interested him. “St. Petersburg looks towards Europe, the new life, the new world, but Moscow is the national heart of Russia. It stands for our Asiatic past.”

“The houses are draughty, the streets filthy and narrow, the aristocrats insular, and the serfs surly,” the duke declared with a sweeping gesture. “Its architecture is a tumble-down hotchpotch of wooden houses and collapsing cottages.”

“It has a certain energy to it,” the count protested with a touch of reproof in his tone. “And its churches are magnificent…even the Kremlin, grim fortress though it is, has a grandeur all its own.”

“What’s your opinion, Prince?” Livia asked, watching Alex as he considered the question. She knew so little about that vast empire, a mere smattering of its chaotic and violent history, and until Alex, she had never met a Russian. It seemed there were many kinds of Russian…so what kind was Alexander Prokov?

“I agree with the count,” he said lightly. “It has more essential energy and attracts those who prefer to live independently of the intrigues and games of the court of St. Petersburg, where ambition is the ruling spirit. Muscovites enjoy themselves and are untroubled by ambition. But each to his own…and I would certainly find it hard to choose if I was obliged to pick one city over the other as my only domicile.”

“But you are not thinking of returning to Russia in the near future, Prince Prokov?” Cornelia said, with just a hint of a questioning inflection.

“None of us are, ma’am,” Alex stated with a careless shrug. “While Europe is engulfed in war, and Napoleon looks fair to rule the entire continent within a year or so, discretion seems the better part of valor. For as long as your delightful country will give us hospitality, my friends and I are committed to these shores.” He looked deliberately at Livia as he said this and she gave an infinitesimal nod, grateful for a piece of information that he had understood she needed.

Count Fedorovsky glanced at his fob watch and stated, “Well, I think we’ve trespassed on your hospitality long enough, Lady Bonham…and we’ve certainly drunk more than our fair share of your husband’s excellent burgundy.” He bowed formally to Cornelia and to Livia, then took himself across the room to make his farewells to his host and the remainder of the party.

“Yes…yes…of course, Constantine’s quite right,” the duke said, sounding rather reluctant. “We mustn’t outstay our welcome.”

“Indeed, Duke, you couldn’t possibly do so,” Cornelia responded with a hostess’s aplomb.

He laughed and kissed her hand. “Too kind, dear lady…too kind…Lady Livia, honored to have made your acquaintance.” He kissed Livia’s hand in turn, and then followed his compatriot across the room to his host.

Alex bowed to Cornelia, murmured his thanks, aware as before of her close scrutiny.

“I’m sure we shall see you again soon, Prince Prokov,” Cornelia said, offering her hand.

“I would be honored, ma’am.” He bowed again over her hand and turned to look for Livia. She had withdrawn a little apart into a shallow window embrasure and he went over to her. He took her hand between both of his in a warm, firm clasp and his brilliant gaze swept her countenance. He said softly, “May I call upon you?”

Livia knew he was asking if she had an answer for him. And she knew that she had. She nodded. “Yes…” And then involuntarily, almost under her breath, she added, “Please.” Immediately she saw the light intensify in those piercing blue eyes.

He smiled and raised her hand to his lips. “Soon,” he promised.

Livia wondered rather wryly if she should have kept him guessing right up to the moment he renewed his proposal. The Letitia Oglethorpes of this world would certainly have done so. But she could see no point at all in prevaricating, and the game of hard-to-get had never appealed. She had made up her mind, and that was all there was to it. All that remained now was to formalize the business.

The following morning Alex went about his preparations. He visited the jeweler’s, and then paid a lengthier visit to a lawyer in Threadneedle Street.

The lawyer, John Masters, Esquire, greeted his visitor with a low bow. “An honor, Prince Prokov…and how may I be of service, sir?”

“I wish you to examine these papers and make certain that all is clear and in order,” Alex stated, dropping a sheaf of documents fastened with a red ribbon on the desk. Then he strolled to the window and stood, hands clasped behind his back, looking down on the street.

The lawyer resumed his seat behind the massive mahogany desk and reverently untied the ribbon. The seal of the house of Prokov was stamped upon every sheet. He read in silence, glancing up once or twice at his visitor’s averted back. A look of distress crossed his rubicund countenance as he came to the end. He coughed into his hand and returned to the first page again.

“I don’t quite understand…” he murmured, flipping through the documents again as if in search of a missing sheet.

“What don’t you understand?” Alex swung away from the window, looking at him with a frown. “As I understand it’s perfectly clear.”

“Yes…yes…it is…but…” The lawyer came to a stammering stop and looked helplessly at him. “Prince Prokov, I understood that the house on Cavendish Square belonged to Lady Livia Lacey. It was left to her in her relative’s will. I have a copy of the will…let me fetch it.” He pushed back his chair with a noisy scrape on the wooden floor.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Alex said, waving him back. “That document was drawn up in error, as you can see.” He gestured to the sheets. “The house on Cavendish Square was given to Sophia Lacey by my father for use in her lifetime only. It was not and was never intended to be a gift.”

Masters picked up the sheets again, his expression one of acute dismay. “I understand, Prince Prokov…but…but…surely you cannot mean to evict Lady Livia?”

“No, I don’t mean to do that,” Alex said. “But since you were the executor of the late Lady Sophia’s will, I wished to apprise you of the true state of affairs. I want this muddle cleared up once and for all.”