To Wed a Wicked Prince (14 page)

“I see…but if you don’t intend to evict Lady Livia, will you expect her to pay rent if she wishes to continue living there?” Masters took off his horn-rimmed spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “I know something of Lady Livia’s affairs and I’m certain that a fair-market rent will be beyond her financial capacity.”

Alex shook his head. “I have no intention of charging the lady rent, and my present intention most certainly does
not
involve eviction.”

“So…so, sir, may I inquire what is your present intention?” Masters asked blankly.

“I have every hope that the lady will agree to become my wife,” Alex stated. “In which case the issue will be moot. All I wish of you at this point, Masters, is a signed declaration that you have examined the papers and found them in order and that these documents take precedence over Lady Sophia’s will, which was drawn up in error. I can only assume Lady Sophia misunderstood the nature of the gift my father made her, or…” He shrugged. “Or perhaps in the intervening years she forgot the finer points. Either way, it is immaterial.”

“I see,” Masters said, although he didn’t see at all. He had grown rather fond in an avuncular fashion of Lady Livia and there was something about his visitor’s manner that made him uneasy. But then, he was Russian and they were a peculiar race, as everyone knew. If Lady Livia was prepared to marry him, he couldn’t be all bad.

“And at the same time, you may draw up the marriage contracts,” Alex continued calmly. “They will specify that the house on Cavendish Square will become the marital home for as long as my wife and I remain in London.”

“And is Lady Livia to be apprised of the true ownership of the house, sir?”

“That’s an issue that need not concern you, Masters.” Alex drew on his gloves.

“I see,” Masters said again. “And…and with the marriage contracts…is there to be some provision made for Lady Livia? For her personal expenses? I am unsure how such matters are conducted in your country, Prince, but it is customary in England for a husband to settle something on his wife on their marriage and to make provision for a quarterly allowance…” He let the sentence fade away with a helpless little shrug.

Alex reached across the desk and picked up the lawyer’s quill. He dipped it into the inkwell and wrote some figures on a sheet of paper. “There, that should be enough for you to work with.” He spun the paper across the desk to the startled lawyer, then picked up his high-crowned beaver hat from the chair.

“You may send the declaration and the marriage contracts without delay to my lodgings on Bruton Street. I give you good day, Masters.”

Masters was for a moment too absorbed in the figures on the paper to respond and only when the prince repeated his farewell did he look up, his expression both startled and bemused.

“Oh…I beg your pardon, Prince Prokov…just looking at this…very generous, I may say…yes, indeed, very generous. Uh…good day to you, sir…a pleasure to serve you, sir.” Hastily he came out from behind the desk to bow his visitor out of the room and down the stairs to the street.

He returned uneasily to his desk. The late Prince Prokov’s will left his entire estate to his son, Alexander Prokov. And a considerable estate it was too. There was no explanation at all of why he had left Sophia Lacey the use of his property in Cavendish Square in the first place.

When Masters had known Lady Sophia, she’d been an elderly recluse with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. And a hint of a scandalous past. But such hints tended to accompany unmarried ladies of means. Except that her means had been more figment than fact. She had lived to all appearances very well in her youth and middle years, but frugally in her later years, and the paucity of her estate on her death explained why. There were no debts, though. No creditors banging on the doors. Unless you counted Prince Prokov as a creditor, come to call in his loan.

It was all very rum, Masters decided. But it was not his business to question or speculate, merely to do what he’d been employed to do.

L
IVIA WAS NOT AT HOME
when Alex first called in Cavendish Square the following day. Morecombe held the door open barely a crack until the visitor identified himself, then he opened it a shade wider and stood for a minute staring with rheumy eyes at the prince. Then he shook his head irritably as if to dispel cobwebs and informed the visitor, “If ’tis the ladies y’are after, they’ve gone out. Took the babby.”

“Do you know where they went?” Alex inquired civilly.

“No,” Morecombe stated flatly, and began to close the door.

Alex put his foot in the crack. “Do you happen to know when they’ll be back?”

“Dunno that neither,” Morecombe responded. Then he seemed to reconsider when the foot remained in the door. “They’ve the babby wi ’em so they’ll not be out beyond teatime, I reckon.”

“Thank you.” Alex removed his foot and the door closed smartly. He shook his head, wondering just what he was going to do about the problem of Morecombe when he took possession of the house. Sophia’s will stipulated that her three retainers had the right to remain in service in Cavendish Square until they decided to accept a small pension and retire. Livia had honored the request and he supposed he would do the same.

It would seem that Morecombe and the mysterious twins had known Sophia Lacey very well, had certainly looked after her in her declining years well enough for her to ensure their future after her death. Servants in general knew a lot more about their employers than those employers either realized or cared to admit, Alex reflected.

At some point, once he’d won the old man’s confidence, if indeed such a miracle was possible, he would talk to Morecombe about Sophia. As always, Alex hungered for information about his mother, not the basic facts, not the hard reality that Alex’s father had imparted, but something about the woman herself. Who she really was…how she thought…what was important to her…the emotional aspects of the mother he had never known. Whether the reclusive Morecombe would let him in on any of these secrets was another question, but he would have to try.

But for now Livia was his most pressing concern. After their conversation at the Bonhams’, that soft
please
that he guessed had slipped unbidden from between those delectable lips, he had been hard-pressed not to yield to naked impulse and come banging on her door within the hour, but a cooler head had prevailed, as it had to, and the business with the lawyer had had to be settled. And there was, of course, the small matter of the ring. A man couldn’t propose without a ring. He brushed the pocket of his coat, feeling the square shape of the ring box. With that, at least, he knew he was on solid ground. It was a most exquisite piece.

But now he was left in a wash of anticlimax. The lady was not in and he would have to try again. He walked back down to the street and set off in the direction of Wigmore Street. As he reached the corner of the square he saw the three women with the three children coming towards him, deep in animated conversation. They hadn’t seen him and he was debating whether to step back out of sight around the corner and wait until Livia was alone to meet up with her when she looked up and it was too late.

She raised a hand in greeting and he walked quickly towards the little party. She met his smile with one of her own that he couldn’t quite interpret. It seemed a little hesitant, a little questioning, and he felt a jolt of alarm. Had she changed her mind?

“Livia…Lady Farnham…Lady Bonham.” He bowed, hat in hand, aware that Livia’s friends were both regarding him with deceptively casual smiles of their own, as if they knew something that he did not. His alarm increased and he glanced at Livia, who met his eyes with a glimmer in her own that was so full of lustful mischief he nearly laughed aloud. She was teasing him. He was not accustomed to being teased and it surprised him that he was amused rather than annoyed. Or perhaps it was simply relief that he felt.

“Were you coming to call upon us, sir?” Aurelia inquired, grabbing at Franny, who had seen something of interest in the gutter and was diving forward for further investigation.

“I was just coming disconsolate from your door, ma’am,” he responded, hiding his amusement as he bent to pick up the shiny object that had caught Franny’s eye. “Is this what you were looking for,
ma petite
?”

Franny took the button and polished it against the sleeve of her pelisse. “It’s a jewel.”

“No it’s not. You don’t find jewels in the street,” Stevie scoffed. “Let me see.” He reached for it.

Franny opened her mouth on an incipient yell of protest and Cornelia said swiftly, “It’s Franny’s, Stevie, she found it.”

“There’s ’nother one,” Susannah shouted, wriggling away from her mother to hurl herself on the treasure. “It’s
my
treasure.”

“Oh, Lord,” Cornelia said, raising her eyes to heaven as Stevie lunged, grabbing at his small sister’s clenched fist.

“Look over here, Stevie…there are two more in the gutter.” Alex took the boy’s hand and firmly directed him towards the new find.

“These are bigger,” Stevie said with satisfaction, kneeling in the gutter to gather up the shiny paste shoe buckles. “They’re better than buttons.”

“No, they’re not,” Franny cried. “They’re not, are they, Mama? Man…man, find some more big ones.” She pointed imperiously at Alex.

“Franny, don’t be rude,” Aurelia chided. “I’m sorry, Prince Prokov.”

He laughed. “Don’t be. I have some experience with importunate children, and they don’t trouble me in the least. I enjoy their spirit.” He glanced around his feet. “I’m afraid we’re out of luck, though.” He shook his head and mused, “One can’t help wondering what activity led to the wholesale loss of buttons and shoe buckles.”

“Particularly in the august surroundings of Cavendish Square,” Livia said with a chuckle. “Oh, wait a minute…here’s another button.” She swooped on it and held it up. “Now, if Stevie gives a buckle to Franny, and I give him this button, everyone has equal shares.” Excluding Susannah, of course, but she seemed perfectly content with her one piece of treasure.

“It’s only fair, Stevie,” Cornelia said. “Don’t you think Harry would say so?”

The invocation of his stepfather gave the child pause. He nibbled his lip, considering the issue. “He’d probably say I ought to give it to Franny because she’s a girl and smaller than me,” he said finally, handing over one of his buckles.

“Bravo,” Livia applauded. “And here is the other button.” She handed it to him. “You are a perfect gentleman, Lord Dagenham.”

Stevie beamed.

“I’d better take these two home, before anything else crops up,” Cornelia said. “Come now, Stevie, we have to go home. Susannah’s tired.” Her daughter, in confirmation, abruptly sat down on the pavement. Sighing, Cornelia bent and lifted her onto her hip.

“I thought you were coming for tea,” Livia said, wondering at her own perversity. The last thing she wanted was the planned tea party. Not with Alex in front of her, his eyes caressing her, his smile warming her with the promise of what was to come. Her rational self told her he was a most attractive man, but it wasn’t her rational self that was thrumming like a plucked harp string when his gaze fell upon her. It was her body, responding to lust, pure and simple.

Cornelia gave her a look of total disbelief. This was no place for either herself or Aurelia, not to mention squabbling children. “I hadn’t realized the time,” she stated. “Susannah is really tired and Linton will be cross as two sticks if I don’t get them home before four o’clock. It’ll take me hours to placate her.”

“I want to go with Stevie,” Franny stated. “We want to look at our jewels but we can’t do it here in case we drop them.”

Aurelia smoothly picked up her cue. “In that case, we’ll go back with Aunt Nell and you can have tea in the nursery with Stevie and Susannah.”

Livia said nothing and Alex merely bowed his farewells as the women and children turned and walked away in the opposite direction.

“Your friends are discreet,” he observed, turning to look at her, the smile vanished, his gaze intent as if he would read her mind. “They are in your confidence, I assume.”

“Yes,” she agreed simply.

So they would know the decision she had come to.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment and offered her his arm. “Then may I escort you home?”

“Thank you.” Livia took his arm. A shiver went through her and she knew he felt it. He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed, a glow in their depths that brought an involuntary smile, curving her mouth. He felt as she did, and that was as reassuring as it was exciting. Somehow, out of the blue, this thing had come upon them, and it made her toes curl and her skin ripple.

For once the front door opened promptly at her knock. Young Jemmy offered a salute with a tugged fore-lock. “Mr. Morecombe’s with the pullets, m’lady.”

“Pullets?” Livia gazed at him in astonishment. “What pullets?”

“Some our Mavis bought,” the boy informed her. “They’ll be good layers, she says, but they’re so small we ’ave to keep ’em in a hat in the kitchen by the range, otherwise they’ll get cold and die on us.”

“Whose hat?” Livia heard herself ask, aware even as she did so of what a non sequitur it must’ve seemed to her suave companion. But somehow to her it seemed a perfectly natural question given the oddities of the domestic arrangements of this household.

“’Tis a fur one, mum,” Jemmy said. “An old one of our Ada’s. An’ our Mavis says as ’ow you’ve got a muff that’ll do if the ’at’s not big enough.”

“I do,” Livia agreed. “Tell her to send Hester to fetch it if she needs it. Hester knows where it is.” She glanced up at Alex and saw he was looking bewildered as well as amused. The frisson between them was fizzling now like a damp firework rather than an electric charge.

“You want me to bring summat, m’lady?” Jemmy asked as Livia moved towards the parlor.

Livia stopped. “What would you like, Alex? Tea, sherry, wine…?”

“Nothing at the moment,” Alex said firmly. He took Livia’s hand, drawing her in front of him. “We have some urgent business ahead and I don’t wish for any interruptions.” He waved his free hand at Jemmy with a gesture of dismissal. “We’ll ring if we need anything.”

Livia nodded, relieved that he’d taken charge even if it was in her own house. She obeyed the slight pressure in the small of her back urging her forward and led the way into the parlor.

Alex looked around the cheerfully shabby room. “I haven’t been in here.”

“No, it’s our private parlor, we don’t show it to the public,” Livia said with a tiny but expressive shrug.

“Then I’m honored.” He drew off his gloves and laid them with his hat and cane on a chair by the door.

Livia was playing with her own gloves and made no attempt to remove her own hat. Partly, she was aware, because it suited her, the creamy straw framing her face and setting off the cluster of dark curls escaping beneath. The dark green silk ribbons tied beneath her chin gave her a rather winsome air, or so Aurelia had said. Livia was not entirely sure that winsome was a quality that would appeal to Prince Prokov, but judging by the way he was looking at her, it didn’t seem to trouble him at the moment.

Her knees were not behaving like themselves; they seemed to have lost all sinew and were showing a lamentable tendency to buckle. “Won’t you sit down?” She indicated the sofa and dropped onto a stiff-backed tapestry side chair before her legs gave way.

“Not just yet,” he said. He crossed the room and reached again for her hands, pulling her to her feet. He slid his hands up her arms to rest on her shoulders and looked steadily into her upturned face.

His eyes seemed to swallow her whole; she felt as if she was drowning in the intensity of his scrutiny. Her tongue touched her dry lips and she took a tremulous breath.

“Well?” he asked softly. “Give me my answer, Livia.” He released her shoulders, moving his hands to the swell of her backside, drawing her hard up against him.

Livia drew another breath as her lower body seemed to soften and moisten, as if in counterpoint to the muscular hardness of his. Her skin felt flushed and feverish.

“Yes,” she murmured, lifting a hand to touch his mouth, her fingertip tracing the full, sensual curve of his lips. A tiny smile touched her own mouth and she said firmly, “I will marry you, Alex.”

He caught her wrist, turning her hand up to press a kiss into the palm. “You have made me the happiest man,” he said simply. “I’ve been in an agony since we last met, telling myself that I hadn’t misunderstood you, and yet I didn’t dare count on it.”

He gave her a rueful smile. “I am not usually prey to such racking uncertainties, but I couldn’t imagine what I would do if you said no.” He tipped her chin with his finger and kissed the corner of her mouth, then drew back, examining her with an expression that warmed Livia to her core. It was as if he were gazing upon a rare and precious treasure.

“What do you see?” she murmured, her eyes languorous as muscle and sinew seemed to melt beneath his gaze.

“You,” he said, his voice low, his eyes heavy with passion. “Just you. And I am on fire to possess every inch of you, Livia. I have never wanted a woman as powerfully as I want you.”

Livia shivered. She seemed to be losing touch with herself as her blood surged in response to his words.

With a muttered oath, Alex untied the ribbons of her hat and lifted it off her head. He tossed it roughly aside and took her face between his hands, holding her fast as he brought his mouth to hers, his tongue demanding entrance until she parted her lips and his tongue invaded the warm, moist cavern of her mouth.

She pressed her lower body against him, feeling the hard bulge of his penis rising against her belly as she kissed him greedily, fascinated at how his mouth was both soft and yet pliable, dry and yet moist. Their tongues fenced and danced and she gloried in the taste of his mouth, the velvety inner softness of his cheeks, the smoothness of his teeth. Her hands caressed his back, her fingers digging with sudden urgency into the muscles of his backside, as her body ran riot with sensations for which she had no name.