To Wed a Wicked Prince (19 page)

“What brings you here, Prince?” Tatarinov asked, surveying his visitor without expression.

Alex moved the silver knob of his cane between finger and thumb. The seemingly ordinary accessory became a lethal sword stick with the right pressure on the spring mounted in the knob. He didn’t think he would need it, but it was as well to be prepared.

“I came to ask you what took you to Cavendish Square this afternoon,” he replied easily. “I am aware I have some followers, but I hadn’t thought to number you among them, Tatarinov.”

“Ah.” The other man nodded. “You’d best come in.” He stepped back, holding the door wide.

Alex stepped into a parlor where a fire of sea coal belched noxious fumes and the light came from three tallow candles on the mantel.

“Not quite what you’re used to, eh, Prince?” Tatarinov stated with a short laugh. “Not all revolutionaries are feather-bedded aristocrats.” He went to the table and picked up a vodka bottle, filling two squat tumblers. “Drink with me.” He held one out to his visitor.

Alex debated returning a sharp answer to the somewhat derisive comment and then decided to ignore it. He took the glass and drained the contents in one swallow. Tatarinov nodded his approval and followed suit, then he refilled both glasses and set the bottle back on the table.

“So, you’ve caught their surveillance, then?”

“I’m aware I’m being watched, but I don’t know who by,” Alex said. He kept his hand still on the knob of his cane, his eyes never leaving Tatarinov. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me since you seem to be a part of the surveillance.”

“Aye, well, ’tis Arakcheyev’s men,” the other man told him. “They don’t have anything to go on, but they’ve been told to keep an eye on every Russian in town, follow ’em for a couple of weeks. They don’t suspect you of anything at present. I’ve put their minds at rest on that score. They think I’m one of ’em who’s also watching you all for Arakcheyev. If I tell ’em nothing’s going on, they’ll believe me. You should lose your shadows by Christmas and they’ll watch someone else for a while.”

It made sense. Alex was well acquainted with the dreaded head of the czar’s Committee for General Security. Arakcheyev had the czar’s absolute trust and he would be excessively diligent when it came to rooting out threats to his sovereign’s safety on any continent. It was typical of his methods that he would suspect everyone initially and take them off his list only when he was certain they were innocent.

“So, are you working for Arakcheyev also?” he asked, tossing back the contents of his glass.

“He thinks so,” Tatarinov said with a shrug. “Way I look at it, I’m most useful to you if I keep in with them.”

“Indeed,” Alex agreed. He wasn’t sure whether he could believe this man or not. He gave the impression of open honesty, of having nothing to hide, but if he was clever enough to play the double agent here, then he was also clever enough to deceive the conspirators.

“Why are you interested in deposing the czar, Tatarinov?” he asked.

The Russian turned and spat onto the coals in the grate. “Not for the same reasons as you, Prince. I don’t come from your palace world of privilege. Me and mine have worked the land for the gentry, and died doing it. Alexander has sworn to keep the old system…he won’t consider reforms, and the people have had enough. The peasants will turn on him and his like eventually, you mark my words. The time may not be now, but when it comes the streets will run with blood.”

A cold finger ran up Alex’s spine at the conviction in the man’s voice. It was true that the injustices in his homeland were many, and it was true that there were grumbles in the villages, but there always had been and the landed gentry put down any hint of rebellion with the savagery of the knout.

He couldn’t deny Tatarinov’s accusations. But they put his mind at rest about the man’s true allegiance. His motives were different, but none the less powerful for that, and the end was the same.

“I’d appreciate it if you could keep me informed of anything that you might hear in your double role,” Alex said, setting down his glass. “It would be as well for two of us to share the knowledge.”

“As you say, Prince,” Tatarinov agreed. “I hear all sorts of tidbits, and I’ll be the first to know if Arakcheyev suspects anything concrete.”

“That’s a comfort,” Alex said somewhat dryly. He didn’t need reminding that this was a dangerous business they were on, but the danger was somehow now made manifest. He turned to the door. “I’ll leave you now. Keep me informed.”

“Aye, I’ll do that,” Tatarinov said. “And, by the bye…Viscount Bonham…husband to your fiancée’s friend…”

Alex paused, his hand on the latch. “Yes, what of him?”

“He does something hush-hush for the War Ministry here,” Tatarinov said. “Not sure what, but you’d best watch yourself around him.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “Interesting,” he commented. “I’ll be on my guard.” He waved a hand in farewell and went down the stairs, letting himself out into the cold street.

Strangely enough, the information didn’t surprise him particularly. He had had the measure of Harry Bonham for some weeks now, and had only respect for him. He had suspected that the man probably had interests outside the general run of sport and pleasure. Nevertheless, it was an unnerving piece of information and he would have to watch his step around Cornelia as much as her husband.

That said, he would far rather fall foul of the British secret service than Arakcheyev’s men.

Had the czar anything to do with this surveillance, or was it only at the instigation of Arakcheyev? On the whole, Alex thought it probably the latter. The czar might go so far as to ask an elder statesman like Prince Michael Michaelovitch to keep an eye out for his unofficial ambassador just in case he got himself into deep water and couldn’t swim out of it, but it would be prompted more by concern that Alex should accomplish his task for Russia efficiently than by a suspicion that he might be up to no good. Arakcheyev, on the other hand, looked after his master and even the czar’s most trusted advisors would not be given a free pass.

Oh well, worries for another day, he decided. If he didn’t hurry he’d be late for the Bonham’s dinner party.

T
HERE WAS A LIGHT DUSTING
of snow on the ground when Livia walked up the aisle of her father’s church on the Saturday before Christmas, attended by her two matrons of honor. Alex stood at the altar, Viscount Bonham beside him.

It had been agreed among his peers after Tatarinov’s information about the viscount that the less they came into contact with Bonham as a group the less risk they would run. Livia had expressed surprise and dismay that he was inviting no one of his own to the wedding, but she’d accepted the fib that only Duke Nicolai and Count Fedorovsky were sufficiently close to him to warrant an invitation, and unfortunately they both had longstanding invitations to spend Christmas elsewhere.

It was a useful fabrication. He didn’t want Livia getting too friendly with his own people. A man who was playing both ends against the middle needed to keep the separate strands of his life well apart lest the spark that would be ignited if they touched turn into a conflagration that would engulf them all.

Now, as he watched Livia’s steady progress towards him and their shared future, he thought how far he had come in this relationship from the early days when he had seen her as his passport to an easy social acceptance in her world. Now it wouldn’t matter if she could bring him nothing. He wanted her for herself, for that lively sense of humor, that delicious bubble of laughter, for the way her eyes turned smoky with passion and her body melted into his. He had never met a woman like her and he wanted to marry her, to keep her safe, to love her and be loved by her.

But he also knew that he was deceiving her, that the entire bedrock of this marriage was based on deception, and he could do nothing to alter that. The die was cast, and he had to maintain the deception if he was to protect her. Only thus could she continue living the life she was used to, a life now enhanced by her married status, by her title, and by his wealth. It was a forgivable deception, surely. He had only to keep her safe from the other side of his world, even as she played an unwitting part in it. A fair exchange?

As she reached him, Livia smiled through the gauzy transparency of her veil. He looked unusually tense, she thought. It was as monumental a step for him as it was for her.

She had not a single misgiving. It had surprised her, but she had woken up that morning happy and full of excitement. Maybe it was a wildly impractical thing to do, to join one’s life with a near stranger simply because it
felt
right…simply because just thinking of him made her heart sing and her blood surge. But she could not imagine doing anything different. She could not imagine how she could ever have made a different decision. And here on the steps of the altar she still couldn’t.

As she smiled through her veil, he smiled back and she could feel the tension slide from him. Perhaps he’d been afraid
she
was having second thoughts.

And then the organ music faded and the Reverend Lacey began to speak, his sonorous tones ringing through the old raftered church. Wintry sunlight bathed the congregation in color as it poured through the stained-glass windows.

Towards the end of the service Livia gave her bouquet of white roses to Cornelia and drew off her left glove. Alex slipped the slender gold band on her finger, his fingers tightening over hers as he held her hand for a minute. And it was done.

The vicar pronounced them man and wife, stepped forward again, and raised his daughter’s veil. “You may kiss the bride.”

Alex’s mouth whispered over hers and Livia was aware of a seething elation. Today her life was really beginning. And even though she knew it was naïve to believe it, she could see only a path strewn with roses. Naïve, yes, but so what? This was her wedding day.

They emerged from the church to the clamor of church bells and the applause of the crowd gathered in the churchyard. It seemed the entire parish had turned out to celebrate the wedding of their vicar’s daughter. Rice showered the bridal couple as they stood for a moment arm in arm in front of the church doors. The dazzle of the sun on snow made Livia blink and her eyes water.

It seemed to be having a similar effect on her friends, she noticed. Their eyes were definitely a little blurred. A gust of wind blew her veil across her face and it was Alex who lifted it aside, tucking it back behind her ears.

“I think we had better get out of the wind before you take flight,” he murmured, and was rewarded with a soft chuckle.

The vicar’s pony and trap, decorated with white ribbons in honor of the occasion, waited in the lane beyond the lych-gate, and they walked down the path through the cheering crowd and another rice storm. Alex handed Livia into the trap, lifting her train in after her, arranging it in a puddle at her feet, then he climbed nimbly up beside her.

“I’ve a mind to be alone with my bride,” he said softly, lightly caressing her cheek with a fingertip. He turned to the boy holding the horse. “Give me the reins. I’ll drive, you may walk.”

“Right y’are, m’lord.” The youth jumped down. “I’ll run ahead.” He set off at a rapid trot.

Alex clicked his tongue at the stolid pony between the traces and the trap moved slowly down the lane to the vicarage, the rest of the wedding party following on foot.

“I wish I could have provided my own conveyance,” Alex stated. “This is the most undashing equipage.” He flicked the reins, trying to encourage the pony to increase its pace. “Now, my curricle, on the other hand—”

“Would have been very dashing,” Livia finished for him, glad for this light and inconsequential chatter. She was feeling suddenly and for the first time overwhelmed, as if she’d been living in some champagne bubble that reality had finally penetrated.

“My father would not have let me leave his roof for my wedding in anything but his own transport,” she explained with a little laugh. “He can be rather old-fashioned on occasion.”

“Well, when we
do
leave his roof later it will be in much more elegant style,” Alex promised.

Livia turned to look at him, and the bubble enclosed her again. Her heart did a little skip of pleasure and anticipation. His fair hair shone in the sun, shot through with little coppery glints, and his profile, dominated by the long, straight nose, was as commanding as it was attractive. Aware of her gaze, he turned his full face towards her, an inquiring smile on his well-shaped mouth, and the full force of those blue eyes once again engulfed her in a hot flood of desire.

“Where
are
we going later?” she blurted, her mind a riot of sensual images, of feather beds and tangled limbs.

“Wait and see,” he said, as he had done every time she’d asked the question. “You won’t be disappointed, I promise.”

“Oh, no,” she said softly. “I know I won’t be disappointed, Alex.”

The double meaning was not lost on him. His eyes narrowed, his lips moved in the semblance of a kiss, but he said nothing further.

The stable boy was already waiting for them when Alex drew rein outside the vicarage. Alex jumped down and lifted his bride to the ground, holding her in the air for a moment. “Two hours,” he stated firmly. “Not a moment longer, wife of mine. I want you all to myself, and if I must carry you off across my saddle, then I give you fair warning, I shall do so.”

“That could be amusing,” Livia said with a grin. “But it would probably shock people. Besides…” She was serious again. “We must stay for at least a couple of hours. People have been so kind, it would be rude to abandon them too soon.” She took his hand to lead him into the house.

Martha, who had stayed in the church just long enough to see Livia married, was already in the dining room supervising a troop of village girls arranging platters of food on the table. She flung her hands up when Livia came in and hurried to embrace her. “Congratulations, m’dear. What a lovely ceremony…and the vicar seemed so happy.” She patted Livia’s cheeks, her eyes misty. “Such a beautiful bride.”

Belatedly she remembered the bridegroom, who stood beside Livia. Somewhat self-consciously she dropped a curtsy. “Congratulations, m’lord…uh…Your Highness. I wish you very happy, and I’m sure you will be with this angel beside you.” She wiped her eyes on the corner of her apron.

Alex thanked her gravely, unsure if he would ever grow used to the informality of English servants, who in so many cases seemed to consider themselves family friends, and were treated as such. There were no such confusions in a feudal society. Serfs knew their place in the hierarchy. And the system bred the Tatarinovs of its world, he reflected a shade grimly.

“Liv…Alex…oh, there you are.” Aurelia came into the dining room. “Come and greet your guests,
Princess Prokov.
”

An hour later Livia was beginning to feel her husband’s impatience as a palpable force. It was a small wedding and only the closest of her London friends had been invited. Alex was comfortable enough with Nick and David and Harry, and of course with her father, but none of the local gentry, the squire, the gentlemen farmers seemed to know what to make of this exotic foreigner. They stumbled through a few sentences about the weather, or the local hunting, then fell into an uncomfortable silence. Alex tried hard, she had to admit. He talked farming with the farmers, horses with the squire, but nothing would really draw them out.

“My dear child, your poor husband is a fish out of water.” The vicar spoke softly as he came up beside her. “I think you should put him out of his misery as soon as decently possible.” He took an appreciative sip of the claret in his glass. “I must say, it’s a real pleasure to drink a fine wine once in a while.” His eyes held a twinkle of self-mockery.

“You could drink it every night of the week if you so chose,” she said, laughing.

“But I wouldn’t enjoy it so much,” he observed. “The good things of life should be savored in small doses.” He laid a hand on her arm, his expression now grave. “Come into the study with me.”

“Of course.” She went with him into his study, where the quiet was almost startling after the buzz of voices, the chink of glasses, the constant rattle of silverware. “Is something the matter, Father?”

“Not at all,” he said, leaning against his desk. “And you needn’t worry, child, I’m not about to embarrass us both by giving you a parental talk on the subject of your wedding night; you have your friends for that. And I’m sure they’re a lot more qualified than I.” His smile was dry.

“However, I will say this. I am here, always. Should you ever need advice, support of any kind, you must promise me now that you will come to me. I have set aside a small trust fund for you to be released in the event of anything…” He paused. “Anything untoward happening.”

“Untoward?” She frowned. “Like what, Father?”

He shook his head with a touch of impatience. “I don’t know. But this is a foreign union, a journey you’re embarking upon that’s unfamiliar to us all, Livia. Alex is Russian, a man from a vastly different culture. He will have expectations that will probably take you by surprise. I believe you have the strength of mind, the fortitude, to face those challenges with humor, with a willingness to make concessions, but without compromising your own values. However, if anything arises that troubles you, then remember that you are not alone.”

Livia stared at him, taken aback by the idea that her father, who had just married her in his own church, was now expressing deep-seated doubts about her new husband, about this union that he had just blessed. “Do you not like Alex, Father?” she stammered after a minute.

He shook his head again vigorously. “I like him well enough, child. He’s a sophisticated, cultured, highly educated man. But it’s inevitable that he plays by different rules, and it’s inevitable that you will clash. I would be doing you no service if I promised you only roses in your path. There will be thorns…there are always thorns, but these might be sharper and more unexpected than those we’re accustomed to.”

He pushed himself away from his desk and took her shoulders, smiling down into her stricken countenance. “No need for such a worried look, my dear. I have every confidence that you two will make a splendidly matched couple. But I don’t expect there to be no fireworks, and neither should you.”

He kissed her forehead. “I pray that you and Alex will have as much happiness in your life together as your dear mother and I had in ours. And more than that I could not wish for anyone.”

Reassured, Livia kissed him, holding him tightly for a few minutes, startlingly conscious now of how a phase of her life was behind her. Even though she had had her superficial independence these last months in London, she had still been first and foremost a daughter. Women were always defined by their primary relationship to the men in their lives. Now her husband was that primary relationship, and she was a wife.

In essence, what difference did it make? In the ordinary scheme of things a woman exchanged a father for a husband. So why did that suddenly make her feel diminished in some way?

A soft knock came at the door. “Livia?” It was Alex’s voice.

“Come in, Alex,” the vicar called, stepping back from his daughter. He smiled warmly at Alex as he came into the room. “We were just having a family chat, but I’ll give you back your wife now.”

“Thank you, sir.” Alex held out a hand to Livia, but his eyes were questioning as he looked at her, noting the pallor that had not been there before, and the slight uncertainty in her eyes. Just what had the Reverend Lacey been saying?

“If you’re ready to leave, Aurelia and Cornelia are waiting to help you change,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile and a quick squeeze of her fingers.

“Yes, it’s high time you two got on with your lives,” Reverend Lacey declared briskly. “Go and change, Livia.” He shooed her from the room.

“Ah, there you are.” Aurelia and Cornelia were waiting at the bottom of the staircase. “Alex is getting impatient.”

“You can’t really blame him,” Cornelia said. “These people must be as alien to him as the man in the moon.” She looked at Livia sharply. “Is something the matter, Liv?”

Livia shook her head. “No, of course not…what could be? Let’s go upstairs.” She hurried ahead of her friends up to her bedchamber.