To Wed a Wicked Prince (22 page)

Alex turned back to the house, the man at his heels.

“Is there an answer, Highness?” The man was half running to keep up with him.

“No,” Alex said. There would be nothing to connect him to this messenger or to the message. “Return to your master as soon as you’re fed and rested. You have no further business here.”

He walked back into the kitchen without giving the messenger another glance. He could not afford the slightest taint. He would put no words of his in another’s mouth, there was no knowing whose ears they’d find.

“Everything in order, Highness?” Boris turned from the Welsh dresser where he was arranging silver chargers.

“Yes, but I have new instructions for you,” Alex said.

Livia was coming down the stairs as he emerged from the kitchen into the hall. She was wearing the muslin checked in pink and gray squares, a darker pink ribbon confining the material beneath her breasts. Her hair was loose, still a little damp, and as a result curlier than usual. Lavender and verbena scented the air around her.

“How wonderful it is to feel so fresh,” she said, jumping down the last two steps. “After such a rank and tumbling orgy.” She flung her arms around him and kissed his neck. “Oh, and you smell of frost and lemon. Lovely. Which way to the dining room? I’m famished.”

“This way.” How he loved this innocent exuberance, the natural warmth of her nature. And sometimes it sent a cold shiver through his heart at how easily such openness could be hurt. He put an arm over her shoulders and ushered her into the dining parlor.

“Oh, what a pretty room,” Livia declared, going to the big bay window that overlooked the gravel sweep at the front of the house. “Just where are we in the Forest?”

“I believe it’s called Sway,” he said. “Come and sit down, Livia, before I faint away from lack of sustenance.”

She laughed. “More of your dramatic exaggeration.” She took the chair he held out for her. “What do we have?”

Alex went to the sideboard and lifted the lids of the chafing dishes. “Eggs, bacon, mushrooms, kidneys. But also caviar, pickled herring, smoked trout, and meat dumplings. What may I bring you?”

“Would you mind dreadfully if I just ate what I’m used to, just for this morning?” she asked. “It’s just that I’m so hungry I don’t think I’m ready to branch out yet.”

He laughed and began to spoon food onto a plate. “You may eat whatever you please, dear girl. Boris will always provide for me. But one day, I recommend you try the caviar.”

“I’ve only had it once or twice, and I think I liked it,” Livia said a little doubtfully. “But I’m not sure about breakfast.”

“Try that.” He set a laden plate in front of her and returned to the sideboard to help himself.

Livia poured coffee for them both and then attacked her breakfast. She glanced once in astonishment at the plate Alex brought to the table, wondering how on earth anyone could eat pickled herring at the best of times, let alone first thing in the morning. But she would get used to it, she supposed, watching as he sliced a loaf of black bread and piled it with herring.

“You would prefer this, I’m sure,” Alex said, catching her glance. He passed her a rack of wheat toast. “Don’t worry, my dear, I don’t expect you to turn Russian overnight. I’d like you to try some of our delicacies once in a while, but only in the interests of experiment.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of the advantages of trying Russian delicacies once in a while,” she said with a mischievous up-from-under look. “One of them I find particularly delicious…a little salty…a little—”

“
Enough,
” he stated, his dancing eyes belying the ferocity of his tone. “If you continue in this incorrigible fashion, I’ll not be able to take you into polite society. You’re supposed to be a vicar’s daughter.”

“I am a vicar’s daughter,” Livia said, spreading jam on her toast. “But I don’t have to be a prude as part of the bargain.”

“That you are most definitely not,” he said. “But, my love, I think it’s time to bring this interlude to a close. Are you ready to return to London?”

Livia looked at him curiously. “It’s rather sudden, isn’t it?”

He gave an easy shrug. “I’m anxious to see how the work on the house has progressed. The architect promised it would all be finished two days ago, but you can’t be sure unless you’re there to crack the whip…so…?” He raised an eyebrow in query.

Livia chewed her toast. Returning to London need not bring the idyll to an end. And in all truth, she knew they couldn’t continue to live as they had been for the last three days. And in truth she was eager to see her house, to see it in its finished state. And in truth she was more than eager to start her married life in good earnest.

“When do you wish to leave?”

“Would noon be too soon?”

Livia nearly dropped her fork. “But it’s already eleven o’clock. How could we possibly be ready to leave in an hour? There’s packing to do and—”

“Boris is already taking care of those details,” Alex said calmly, spearing a fillet of smoked trout. He squeezed lemon on it, seemingly quite unperturbed by the host of details that loomed in front of Livia. “If we change horses every hour we’ll be in Cavendish Square before midnight.”

He looked up from his plate. “In Russia, my dear, we’re accustomed to moving entire households on a whim and at the drop of a bonnet. Boris knows exactly what to do and he’ll be waiting for us when we arrive.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t come up with a more expansive comment.

“So, can you be ready by noon?”

Livia opened her hands in a gesture of acceptance. “I don’t see why not,” she said. If a Russian could do it, she could.

T
HEY ARRIVED IN
C
AVENDISH
S
QUARE
late that night, changing horses every hour. The post chaise carrying Boris, the cook, and the maid, Ethel, with the luggage piled on its roof, had started ahead of them and when, at close to midnight, Livia climbed stiffly out of the chaise, Boris, as Alex had promised, opened the front door to them. In order to make such good time they too must have changed horses at least every hour, Livia reflected, and unlike herself and Alex could not have stopped to stretch their legs and take refreshment at the various changing posts. She couldn’t help reflecting on the expense of such a hasty journey, taken on what seemed like a mere whim. But then she was her father’s daughter when all was said and done.

“Your bedchamber is prepared, Princess, and Ethel is waiting for you.” Despite his long journey and the lateness of the hour, Boris was as immaculate and dignified as ever.

“Thank you,” she responded with automatic courtesy, but her eyes swept the hall, noting the changes, all changes she had authorized, but somehow the house felt alien. It was too perfect.

Castigating herself for being nonsensical, Livia walked into the salon. It was gorgeous, absolute perfection. The portrait of Sophia Lacey had been cleaned and stood out above the mantelpiece, her blue eyes dominating the room.

Livia walked back into the hall and across to the dining room. It was the same there. Perfect, beautiful, too much so. Until she looked up at the fresco and her sense of humor returned. Nothing had really changed. The neglected old lady in Cavendish Square had been beautified, that was all. The essential spirit of the house was still there.

“Is something wrong?” Alex spoke quietly behind her. He had been watching her, a puzzled frown in his eye.

“No, no, nothing at all,” she said. “I’m just not used to seeing the house so radiantly flawless. It doesn’t feel lived in at all, more like a museum.” She shrugged out of her pelisse. “Let’s go into my parlor.”

Alex followed her into the parlor and watched as she looked around almost warily and then visibly relaxed. This room, at least, was exactly as she had left it, and it welcomed her with a fire in the hearth and lit lamps.

“Where are Morecombe and the twins?” She asked the question casually, but she realized that what was missing in the welcome of this house were its ancient retainers.

“In their apartments I expect; it’s very late.” He went over to the console table, where a trio of decanters stood. “Boris knows I enjoy a glass of port at the end of the evening.” He lifted one of the decanters. “Will you join me?”

“Yes, please,” Livia said. “But why would Boris put port for you in
my
parlor?”

He turned in surprise. “Do you object?”

“I don’t know,” she said candidly. “This is my house, my parlor…it feels strange having someone else order things in it. You have the library as your particular room. I supposed I assumed that Boris would arrange things there to your liking…I didn’t think he’d come in here…somehow,” she finished with a rather feeble shrug. It sounded so grudging and ungrateful, and she was neither of those things, but she couldn’t lose this strange sense of violation.

She wanted Morecombe and the twins to make everything seem normal, but of course it was far too late for them to be up. They’d be in their usual places in the morning, and once she’d had a good night’s sleep she’d stop feeling so strange. Or so Livia told herself.

Alex poured port and handed her a glass before responding. “I’m sorry if Boris trod on your toes, Livia. He was only following my orders. I had not thought any part of this house would be barred to me.”

“But it’s not,” she said, taking the glass. “Indeed, it’s not, Alex. Of course you’re welcome in this room any time you wish, it’s just that it’s always been mine…mine and Ellie’s and Nell’s,” she added miserably. “I need time to get used to the idea that things have changed.”

“Used to the idea of being married?” He raised his eyebrows.

“No, not that. Used to the idea of sharing my house with you,” she stated flatly. “You and your servants. It feels strange, but I will grow accustomed to it, Alex.” She put a hand on his arm. “Forgive me, it sounds irrational, and indeed I can’t explain…just give me a few days,
please,
love.”

“Of course,” he said, placing a hand over hers as it tightened anxiously on his arm. “I hadn’t realized the house meant so much to you.” He had, of course, but he hadn’t expected this resistance, hadn’t expected her to see him as an invader. “Go up to bed now. You’re tired. We’ll sort all this out in the morning.”

Livia felt a sudden chill. “Are you not coming to bed too?”

“I’ll follow shortly, but I have a few things to attend to first.” He tipped her chin with a forefinger. “Have no fear, sweeting. You’ll not sleep without me.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, then took the empty glass from her. “Go now, it’s been a long day. Ethel is waiting for you.”

And where were Hester and Jemmy? Daisy, of course, was at Mount Street with Aurelia and Franny, but why did she have this feeling of being in someone else’s house? Accepting someone else’s hospitality? She had left Morecombe and the twins, Jemmy and Hester with the dogs…and where were they? Why hadn’t they hurled themselves at her in a barking frenzy when she’d walked through the door?

“What have you done with Tristan and Isolde?” she demanded, suddenly afraid of the answer.

“I instructed Boris to bed them down in the mews for tonight,” Alex told her. “I couldn’t endure their yapping…not after such a long journey. You may let them in tomorrow, Livia. Bear with me, please.” His eyes were grave, but there was a flicker in them that Livia recognized from once before. A hint of flint, of resolution. It had chilled her the first time she’d seen it, and it had the same effect now.

But she was too tired to deal with confrontation tonight. The dogs would be quite safe and comfortable in the mews. In the morning she would be renewed and she would tackle these issues before they became too contentious.

“I’ll go up, then. You’ll come soon?” She turned to the door.

“Quite soon.”

Alone, Alex drank his port and swore softly.
What had upset her so much?
The house had been refurbished exactly according to Livia’s instructions. She’d made all the decisions and to a large extent supervised the work. But perhaps it was inevitable that she’d have a proprietorial feeling for the house. Unfortunately so did he, and he needed to establish his position, draw the lines in the sand immediately, otherwise matters would become very confused.

He refilled his glass and made his way to the salon. The elegant room settled around him as he stood in the double doorway. Sophia Lacey’s amazing blue eyes looked directly at him. He raised his glass in a silent toast and an equally silent promise.
One of these days he would learn her secrets.
He was convinced that the house would have something to tell him. There was too much of Sophia’s spirit in its very fabric for it not to reveal something of the kind of woman she was.

“I’ll lock up for the night, sir?” Boris spoke softly behind him.

“Oh, yes…do so, thank you.” Alex turned away from the searching eyes. “Did you talk to the old man?”

“He was already abed when we arrived, sir. He came out in his nightshirt waving a blunderbuss as soon as I’d opened the front door.” Boris looked a trifle pained at the memory of this reception. “And those noisy terriers too.” He shook his head. “But the old man didn’t fuss once he knew the princess was on her way here. He went back to bed.”

“And the terriers are in the mews?”

“Aye, sir. Quite snug they are. The lad Jemmy took them off, says he’ll sleep there with them.”

“Good. The princess is very fond of them, she wouldn’t want them upset and uncomfortable. Good night then, Boris.” He nodded a farewell and took his glass into the library, which Livia had designated as his own private apartment.

It was a pleasant room dominated by a massive oak desk, on which were laid invitingly a leather blotting pad, a tray of quills, a fine leather inkpot. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were filled with volumes that Livia had told him she and her friends hadn’t had a chance to examine. In fact, this particular apartment had been left in its original neglect until the recent renovation. Heavy velvet curtains now hung at the long windows that looked onto the small walled garden at the rear of the house, and matching velvet cushions were scattered with apparent randomness on the leather chairs and sofa. A small fire burned in the grate, and fresh candles glowed from the wall sconces.

In the short time he’d had before their arrival Boris had somehow managed to make it seem as if the house’s inhabitants had merely been out for the evening.

Alex went to the desk, the one piece of furniture he had chosen carefully for himself. He’d supervised its installation one afternoon after Livia had gone down to Ringwood to prepare for their wedding. One side of the desk held a series of small drawers and one key opened them all. He took the key from his inside pocket and sat down in the leather desk chair. He opened the top drawer. At first sight it was empty, but when he reached inside and pressed a small spring the back of the drawer slid back to reveal a hidden space.

Alex took out the velvet pouches it contained and poured the contents on the blotter. Each drawer revealed its hidden space and the contents of the pouches glittered on the desk as he sorted through them, reassuring himself that the treasure was intact. The work that had brought him to London was an expensive proposition.

He replaced the gems in their pouches and locked them away again, then he leaned back in his chair, staring into the fire. The czar had told him after the Treaty of Tilsit that Bonaparte had suggested to him that he should turn his territorial ambitions towards the Baltic. What had Bonaparte said exactly? Something about the lovely ladies of St. Petersburg must not hear from their palaces the cannons of the Swedes. Something along those lines, and it had certainly galvanized the Russian emperor into this foray against the Swedish province of Finland.

A victory over the Swedes would be as cold and barren a triumph as the country itself, Alex thought with a flicker of derision. If the czar thought such a victory would appease his detractors in St. Petersburg, he was very much mistaken. And for those who were prepared to go further than mere talk of revolt, it would provide opportunity.

He drummed his fingers on the desk for a minute, lost in thought. Then he pushed back his chair and rose wearily to his feet. He snuffed the candles and left the library. Boris had left an oil lamp lit on the hall table together with a carrying candle. Alex lit the latter before turning out the lamp and trod softly up the stairs, the light throwing his shadow on the wall ahead of him.

He went first into his own bedchamber, where fresh candles burned on the mantelpiece and a fire glowed in the hearth. Livia had given much thought to the redecorating of this apartment and the blue and silver bed hangings were certainly handsome. He set his carrying candle on the mantel and stood still, absorbing the atmosphere of the room.

His father, as the master of the house, would surely have occupied this chamber. Was there a hint of that austere and distant man? Some breath of his spirit lurking in the shadows? And just how had that vibrant woman in the salon connected with the lean aesthete that Alex had known?

Had they made love in this room? Tumbled in the great canopied bed? Laughed and tickled and teased?

Alex shook his head impatiently. The father that he knew could not possibly have indulged in such lusty romping. And the woman who had a lewd fresco above her dining room table surely couldn’t have found anything to please her in the stiff arms of his father.

He undressed and put on a brocade dressing gown, then softly opened the door that led into his wife’s bedchamber. A candle was guttering on the night table and the ashy embers of the fire threw off a little warmth. But Livia was a small, motionless shape buried in the feather mattress beneath a thick quilted coverlet.

He trod softly to the bed and stood for a moment listening to her deep, even breathing. She was sound asleep, her lashes dark half-moons on her faintly flushed cheeks, and he thought she looked much younger in sleep. He wouldn’t risk waking her. He turned away and went back to his own room, but he left the adjoining door ajar.

He awoke in the morning to whispering caresses, his body stirring beneath the coverlets under unmistakable stimulation. He lay still, trying to keep his breathing even as if he was still asleep, while Livia worked her magic. She chuckled softly and murmured indistinctly, “Don’t pretend to be asleep, my prince.”

He pushed a hand beneath the covers and twined his fingers in the curls spread across his belly. “Come up before you suffocate.”

“I’m unlikely to do that,” she responded in the same muffled tones. “And I’m enjoying myself. Unless I much mistake the matter, so are you.”

“Indubitably,” he agreed, and ceased his halfhearted protest.

“By the way, you broke your promise,” Livia declared as she emerged rumpled and flushed from her exertions in the warm dark of the bedclothes. “Why did you sleep in here last night?”

“Oh, my love, you were sleeping so soundly,” he said, seizing her under the arms and pulling her up so that she lay across his chest. “I was afraid to wake you.”

“I doubt you would have done,” she said, kissing the point of his chin. “But I wouldn’t have minded anyway.”

“Maybe not.” He took her face in his hands, pushing his fingers into the tangle of her hair. “I’ll not make the same mistake again.”

“You had better not if you value your pleasure,” she declared, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Is that a threat, madam?” He rolled her onto her back beside him. “I don’t take kindly to threats.” He moved over her, propping himself on his elbows as he looked down at her countenance. Light danced in her eyes and she stretched her arms above her head, grasping the bed rail.

“Do your worst, my prince.”