To Wed a Wicked Prince (21 page)

Livia gazed up at him, still lost in those moments of glory, but she was aware that her body was on the brink of something else, something even more wonderful. On the periphery of her mind she realized she had expected pain, but there was none. A sense of fullness, of something opening deep inside her, and then only this delightful fluid rhythm.

Alex kissed her eyelids, the corners of her mouth, easing ever deeper within as her body opened for him. And only when he felt her tighten around him, saw the tears of joy start in her eyes, did he give in to his own need. He drove hard and fast and she threw her arms up over her head in a glorious abandonment to sheer delight, her hips rising with his every thrust until it was over, and they collapsed in a sweat-soaked tangle of limbs.

Alex rolled onto the bed beside her, one arm flung over his eyes, his heart bounding against his ribs. His other hand rested on Livia’s belly. He laughed softly and turned his head to look at her. “So, my pagan sacrifice, all bedecked in rubies, how did it feel to be laid upon the altar of love?”

“Wonderful,” she whispered, stroking his damp hair away from his brow. “And I thank you.”

He propped himself on one elbow and looked down at her, slipping one finger into the ruby collar encircling her throat. “You may thank me for your wedding present, if you like, but not for the loving,” he said softly. “That was a shared gift.”

“Then I thank you for the rubies,” Livia said, holding up an arm to examine the bracelet. “I think I shall wear them every time we make love. It might not be as good if I take them off.”

“I doubt that,” he said with a laugh. “In my experience it can only get better. But it would please me if you keep them on for the time being.”

“Certainly, my prince.” She rolled against him, settling her head in the damp hollow of his shoulder. “But now I’m very sleepy for some reason.”

“It’s the usual effect,” he said, moving his hand down her turned flank, coming to rest on the swell of her hips. “Sleep, then.”

He lay listening to her breathing become slow and even as she slid into sleep. And at last he felt he could answer the question he had posed to himself at the altar that morning. Was he offering her a fair exchange? Most definitely.

Livia lay watching Alex through half-closed eyes. He was standing by the frost-glazed window, naked, beautifully so, and quite unaware of her covert observation. It was morning but the winter light was dim, obscured by the frost on the windowpanes, and the room was lit by the fire and a branched candelabrum on the bedside table.

Alex seemed to be looking at something outside, his hands braced on the frames at either side of the window. She had grown accustomed to his naked body in the last few days, but she still gazed greedily at the long sweep of his back, the ripple of muscle in the broad shoulders, the taut muscular buttocks, the slim thighs.

“What are you looking at?”

He turned from the casement as she’d hoped he would and she drank in the sight of him, her eyes lingering on his flat stomach, the broad chest and tapering hips. His sex was for the moment quiescent, nestled in the thick tangle of dark hair at the base of his belly, and she smiled a little thinking how quickly she could arouse it to upstanding life.

“I might ask you the same question,” he said with amusement. “Do I still please you, ma’am?”

“You know you do.” She hitched herself onto one elbow. “Come closer, there’s one little adjustment I would make to the scenery.”

He obliged, coming to stand beside the bed, his hands resting on his hips as he looked down at her. His penis stirred and when Livia reached a lazy hand to enclose it the shaft sprang to life instantly at her touch. She chuckled with satisfaction. “Much better.”

“Have a little pity, my dear girl, I’ve barely had time to recover from the last marathon,” he protested without much conviction. “I appear to have taken a wanton to wife.”

“You have only yourself to blame,” Livia murmured, increasing the pressure of her stroking caresses. “You’re too expert a teacher in the arts of loving, my prince.” She edged sideways on the bed so that her head was on a level with the part of his anatomy that held her interest, and delicately flicked his penis with the tip of her tongue. The candlelight caught the rubies at her throat and set the studs in her ears afire.

Alex tried to resist the teasing play but failed miserably. With a low groan of submission he came down on the bed beside her. “After this, you insatiable wanton, you are getting up out of that bed. I don’t think you’ve put your feet to the floor once in the last three days.”

Livia laughed delightedly and rolled on top of him. “I feel like doing it this way,” she declared, straddling his hips, running her hands over his concave belly, a fingertip tickling his navel. Her braceleted wrists flashed fire. She pushed her fingers through the cluster of gold hair on his chest and played with his nipples before lowering her mouth to his, taking control of the kiss, nibbling on his lips, demanding entrance with her tongue.

Alex held her hips firmly as she kissed him deeply, and when she guided him inside her open, welcoming body he moved his hand to touch her at the exquisitely sensitive point of their fusion. Her body bucked with the jolt of sensation and she bit her lip, leaning back to hold her ankles as she moved her hips in a circle around him.

She wanted it to last but the fever of passion was too high and greedily she reached for the heights, giving herself to the knowing touch of his fingers until she fell through the bottom of the world with a cry of triumph.

Alex pulled her down on top of him, holding her tightly, their sweat mingling as the pulsing aftermath of shared climax slowed and ceased. He reached down and patted her bottom. “It’s time to get up now, my love, and reenter the world. There are things to do.”

Livia groaned and rolled sideways onto the bed. “I need to sleep again. Such an extremity of pleasure exhausts me.”

“Then sleep for a few moments.” Alex swung himself out of bed, enviably energized after that bout of activity. “I’m going to order a bath and a late breakfast.”

But Livia had closed her eyes and was already drifting into the trancelike sleep that always followed their lovemaking.

Alex shook his head in mock exasperation and pulled on a brocade dressing gown as he went to the door. He opened it and called for Boris, who appeared on the landing in a very few moments.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“A bath, in fact two baths. One for the princess in here, and one for me in my dressing room. Send the maid up to attend to the princess; you may assist me. Oh, and tell the cook to prepare breakfast. We’ll take it in the dining room.”

“Yes, sir.” Boris turned back to the stairs to execute his commissions. It had been three days since his master had brought his bride to the lodge, and in those three days neither of them had set foot outside the bedchamber.

“Oh, and Boris…?”

“Sir?”

“What did the messenger bring?” Alex had been watching the stranger’s arrival from the window before he’d been so pleasantly interrupted by Livia.

“A verbal message, sir, from London. To be delivered only to Your Highness. He’s refreshing himself in the kitchen until you should be ready to receive him.”

Alex nodded and returned to the bedchamber. Livia was still asleep in the tangle of bedclothes, the rich glow of the gems a strange contrast to the tumbled bed and the abandoned sprawl of her limbs. He watched her sleep for a moment or two, smiling to himself. What an extraordinarily passionate woman she was. He’d suspected some unusual depths but nothing like what she’d revealed in the last three days. He was a very lucky man, he decided, reluctantly turning away from the sleeper and heading into the adjoining dressing room.

It had a bed for those nights when the master of the house came home the worse for wear and out of consideration for his lady’s sensibilities did not sleep in the marital bed. Or for those nights when the lady chose to sleep alone. Such occasions, he was resolved, would be few and far between in his own marriage.

A knock on the corridor door heralded the arrival of a manservant with a steaming ewer of hot water that he set on the dresser beside the bowl. He hung an armful of fresh towels on the rack. “Bath’s on its way, m’lord. Will I sharpen the razor?” He gestured to the strop that hung on the wall.

“Yes, please.” Alex went to the window that looked out on a small garden white with hoarfrost. His mind returned to the messenger. Only two people knew where he was at present. Michael Michaelovitch and the rough-and-ready Tatarinov. Michael knew in case there were messages from the czar. Alexander Prokov was his emperor’s servant and must be accessible at all times. Tatarinov knew in case an emergency arose with the small group of plotters and Alex needed to be informed. Two strings to the same bow. But which string had loosed which arrow now?

Well, he would find out soon enough, but not until he’d washed away the residue of sex and sleep and tangled sheets.

Boris came in, a troop of servants bearing a porcelain hip bath and jugs of hot water, and Alex concentrated on the pleasures of hot water.

Livia, next door, awoke dreamily at the sound of pouring water. She sat up, blinking in the bright light of sun and frost. A maid whom she’d never seen before was filling a hip bath before the fire, another hanging towels on a rack in front of the fire to warm. Lavender and verbena scented the air and Livia realized suddenly how sleep-sodden and rank with pleasure she must be. She thrust aside the coverlet and swung her legs to the ground.

“Lord, how I need that bath.” She stretched, pushing her tangled hair away from her face, wondering what kind of madness had kept her enthralled in this chamber for three whole days, oblivious of the ordinary needs of ordinary life. She shook her head in mystification and stood up.

“The water’s just right, m’lady, if you’d like to step in,” one of the maids said.

“Thank you.” She reached up to untwine the ruby-studded fillet from her hair and laid it reverently on the dresser before unclasping the necklace. Both maids were staring at her in wide-eyed astonishment as she divested herself of the rubies, and she could hardly blame them. She knew well enough what an extraordinary sight it made. “What’s your name?” she asked, sliding the bracelets onto the table and turning back to the bath.

“Doris, ma’am…and this be Ethel.”

“Doris…Ethel…” Livia nodded in greeting and stepped into the tub. She was accustomed to seeing to her own ablutions, but today she made no objections as the two maids washed her hair, rinsed it in vinegar to give luster to the dark curls, handed her the verbena-scented soap, and sprinkled lavender oil into the water. When she was ready to get out Doris held up a warmed towel and Ethel took another to dry her hair. It was all rather pleasant, Livia thought. This life of a princess.

“What gown will you wear, m’lady?” Doris had opened the armoire and was examining its contents.

“Gown?” Livia realized with a shock that she had no idea what the armoire contained apart from the red driving habit she’d worn here. She didn’t remember packing a portmanteau before leaving the vicarage. Perhaps that could be excused, but surely Ellie or Nell would have reminded her. But maybe they’d done it for her. Wrapping the towel securely around her, she stepped over to the armoire. No familiar garments met her eye.

“This one’s pretty, m’lady.” Doris drew out a checked muslin.

“It certainly is,” Livia agreed, appreciating the elegant cut. “But unfortunately it’s not mine.”

“Yes, it is.” Alex appeared in the doorway to the dressing room, dressed himself now in riding britches and top boots. “Your friends and some seamstress, a Miss Claire, they tell me, put the wardrobe together for you.” He came into the room. “Another wedding present. I think…at least, I hope, you will find everything to your liking. I thought Aurelia and Cornelia would know your tastes.”

How many wedding presents did this extraordinary husband of hers consider enough?
At some point she would feel at a disadvantage if this outpouring of largesse went on for much longer. “It’s true, they would,” she said, turning to him with a rueful smile. “But…forgive me, Alex, I think you’ve given me enough.”

“Why?” He took her hands, swinging them gently. “I am your husband, am I not allowed now to give you presents?”

“Oh, yes…yes, of course you are,” she said with a flood of warmth. He obviously couldn’t be reformed. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “You are the most generous man. Let’s see what we have here.” She turned and dived into the armoire to examine its contents for herself. “Oh, I love velvet.” She drew out a dressing gown of rich tawny velvet. “I could wear this.”

“No,” he said firmly. “This evening, yes. But it’s the middle of the morning, sweeting, and I would have you dressed. Wear the checked muslin.” He leaned in and kissed her. “Come downstairs for breakfast when you’re ready.”

He strode from the room before she could waylay him and went rapidly downstairs, making his way directly to the kitchen. The man he’d seen ride in earlier was sitting at the table, eating his way through a platter of sirloin.

He jumped to his feet at the prince’s appearance, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Your pardon, Highness.” He spoke in Russian.

“I’m sorry to disturb your breakfast,” Alex said pleasantly. “Walk with me outside.” He strode to the kitchen door, opening it onto the beautiful but frigid morning. The man followed him into the kitchen yard. Alex walked away from the house and through a small gate into a deserted pasture. Frost crackled beneath his boots.

“Give me your message.”

The man looked around, tightening his muffler around his neck against the cold, and blew on his hands before speaking in Russian. “I’m to tell you that our little father is preparing to leave his nest. He is sending his army against Finland and then on to occupy Sweden. It is said he will accompany the army on its initial foray.” He had to walk quickly to keep up with the prince, who was striding around the perimeter of the meadow.

Only Tatarinov would have sent such a message, and it was typical of the man that he would not risk committing his words to paper, even though on the surface they seemed innocuous enough. But only on the surface. If the czar was going out with the army, even though he would not lead his troops on the battlefield, then he would be accessible, vulnerable to an accident. Much more so than in the palaces of St. Petersburg. Tatarinov was telling him that if they were going to act, then this was the opportunity.