To Wed a Wicked Prince (23 page)

“You might regret that invitation,” he said, pushing her thighs apart with his knee.

“Oh, I doubt that,” she murmured.

Livia was still in a lighthearted mood when she came downstairs, dressed for the day, an hour later. She headed directly to the kitchen, intent on finding Morecombe and the twins, and pushed open the door onto a scene that bore little or no resemblance to the kitchen she was used to.

Alex’s cook was at the range, stirring pots; two minions were chopping vegetables; an unknown scullery maid was scrubbing pots at the deep sink. Of Morecombe, Ada, and Mavis there was no sign.

Livia had not formally met the cook. There hadn’t been the opportunity in the lodge. They had not starved themselves in their three days of seclusion, however, so she’d eaten his food, and she certainly had no complaints. Although privately she considered Ada and Mavis to be at least as accomplished if not more so.

“Good morning,” she said loudly when it seemed that no one was going to pay her any attention. And then she remembered that Alex had said the cook was half French and half Russian, so perhaps he didn’t speak English. “
Bonjour,
” she said.

The cook turned from his stirring and looked at her as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “
Bonjour, princesse,
” he said after a second’s hesitation. There was a distinct question mark to the greeting and Livia began to feel unwelcome in her own kitchen. Before she could say anything further, however, Boris came into the kitchen behind her. He looked about as flustered as the unflappable Boris could ever look and she guessed he had come running at the possibility of a disturbance to his smoothly run household.

“Princess, good morning,” he said, bowing low. “How may I help you?”

“You can tell me where I’ll find my staff,” she said, keeping her tone moderate. Boris would have been obeying his master’s orders, he didn’t act unilaterally.

“They’re keeping to their apartments, Your Highness,” he said. “As I understand it, Morecombe and the women feel that they should take orders only from you.”

“I see.” Livia could feel her temper rising. “Did you perhaps presume to give them orders this morning, Boris?”

“I am the majordomo, Princess,” he said, seemingly unperturbed by the flash in her eye. “It is my job to see to the running of the household and the ordering of the staff.”

“Not in this instance, Boris,” she said crisply. “Morecombe, Ada, and Mavis are not subject to your authority. I want that understood right now.”

“I would need to talk to Prince Prokov—”

“That will not be necessary,” she interrupted him. “I will talk to him myself.” She turned on her heel. At the door she said, “I would like my dogs returned to the house, please. And I am assuming that Hester and Jemmy are still employed under this roof?”

“The lad’s with the dogs, madam. The girl’s working with the laundress.”

Livia could see nothing to complain about there, at least not at the moment; there were bigger battles to fight and at least they hadn’t been turned off. “See that Jemmy brings my dogs back without delay,” she said, and left the kitchen.

In the hall she paused. Where was Alex likely to be? He hadn’t said he was going out this morning, so she made her way to the library and opened the door. “Alex, are you here? I need to talk to you.” She came into the room and then stopped. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had a visitor.”

Alex felt a stab of irritation. He was not accustomed to being walked in upon without so much as a knock. But he controlled his annoyance and said pleasantly, “My dear, may I introduce Paul Tatarinov. Tatarinov, my wife, Princess Prokov.”

Livia offered the nod of a bow. Instinctively she didn’t care for the man. He had a rough edge to him. His clothes were fine enough, but they sat ill on his bulky frame. His lips moved in the semblance of a smile as he bowed to her, revealing crooked and yellowing teeth. The skin of his hands looked chapped and rough. He was the very antithesis of her husband, so elegant in an olive-green coat, dove-gray britches, an emerald pin in his immaculately tied snowy cravat. His hands as her body knew full well were smooth as silk.

“When you have a moment, I’d like to talk to you,” she said, and slipped quietly from the room. She had seen the flash of irritation in his eyes even though it had been quickly disguised.

He had the right to expect his privacy, she acknowledged, going into the parlor. She would grow accustomed to the idea that not every room in the house was hers to enter at will, but it galled her nevertheless. She reached for the bell pull to ask for coffee and then hesitated. Who would answer the bell?

With sudden decision, she stalked out of the parlor and made her way to the back stairs. Morecombe, his wife, and her sister had a small apartment tucked away on the second floor. She and her friends had never ventured anywhere near it before; it had always seemed sacrosanct. But now she had no qualms. She knocked vigorously on the door.

“Who be there?” Morecombe’s voice rasped from within.

“It’s me, Morecombe. Lady Livia.”

The door opened the merest crack. “Oh, ’tis you,” he said as he always did when he opened a door to her. His rheumy old eyes were suspicious, however, and he kept the opening at a mere crack.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Oh, let the lass in, Morecombe.” Ada took the door and pulled it wide. “Come you in. We’ve a need to talk to you.”

“Yes, I can understand that,” Livia said, stepping into the room. It was a parlor, hot as Hades, with a huge fire blazing up the chimney. A lug pole hung over the fire with a kettle hooked to it. The room was crammed with pieces of furniture, knickknacks, overstuffed cushions, and china figurines. It was such an unlikely space to be inhabited by the angular, pallid twins and the monosyllabic Morecombe that she was taken aback.

“What a pleasant room,” she managed finally.

“Looks like you could do with a cup o’ tea,” Mavis said from a shadowy corner where she’d been sitting with Puss, the house cat, who jumped up from her lap with an indignant yowl as she stood up, brushing off her apron.

“Thank you,” Livia said gratefully. She bent to stroke the cat who was now twisting herself around her ankles. “How are you, Puss?”

“She’s right enough,” Ada said shortly, going to a Welsh dresser and taking down cups from the hooks. Mavis was pouring water from the kettle into a pot.

“I’m sorry,” Livia said, “but I don’t know what you’ve been told…what’s happened since I left.”

“We’re not wanted no more,” Morecombe declared. “That Boris fellow told me straight, not an hour past. Too old, not suited to the new master’s way…out to grass. That’s us.”

“And it ain’t right, Lady Livia,” Ada said. “Lady Sophia, she made it all clear in that will of ’ers. We was to stay an’ work as long as it suited us.”

“Yes, I know.” Livia perched on a chair. “Thank you, Mavis.” She took the offered cup. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to Prince Prokov as yet, but I will straighten it out, I promise.” She sipped the tea.

“Well, I’m not cookin’ along a that Frenchie,” Ada declared. “’Tis my kitchen. Always ’as been…mine an’ our Mavis’s.”

“Aye,” Mavis agreed. “’Twas good enow fer Lady Sophia, I reckon ’tis good enow for the likes o’ some foreigner.”

And that foreigner happens to be my husband.
But Livia held her tongue. “I don’t think my husband fully understands the situation…the history…” she said. “I’ll talk with him as soon as he’s free and I’m sure we can sort this out to everyone’s satisfaction.” She finished her tea and set the cup on the table. “Are Jemmy and Hester all right?”

“Oh, aye, daft as brushes, the pair of ’em,” Morecombe said, rumbling from his chair, where he was blowing on the tea in his cup. “Don’t know up from down. They do as they’re told.”

“Well, that’s good then.” Livia stood up. “We’ll discuss this when I’ve talked to my husband. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“I doubt that,” Mavis said. “But if you can sort it, lass, we’ll be right glad.” She gave one of her rare smiles. “An’ ’ow’s the babbies doin’? That young Stevie’s all right now?”

“Oh, yes, they’re all well,” Livia said. “And Stevie doesn’t seem to remember anything about his ordeal.”

“Well, thanks be.” Ada went to open the door for her. “We’ll hear from you later, then?”

“Yes, of course.” Livia managed a smile that she hoped was reassuring and turned back to the main part of the house. She was angry and also confused. How could Alex have given such orders without consulting her? They hadn’t even discussed the disposition of their various servants. He’d agreed that they needed to, but it seemed he’d acted unilaterally anyway.

Well, it had to stop.

She was halfway down the stairs to the hall when an ecstatic frenzy of yapping came from the kitchen and then Tristan and Isolde burst into the hall. They hurled themselves at the stairs and raced up to her, nearly knocking her over. She sat on the stairs rather than risk falling and let them climb into her lap. They curled and licked in a frenzy of welcome.

Alex heard the noise from the library and sighed. Tatarinov looked startled.

“My wife’s dogs,” Alex explained. “They haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Oh.” His visitor didn’t look as if he found the explanation reasonable. “Nevertheless, I must congratulate you on your arrangement.” He swept an arm in a gesture that encompassed the room. “A wife and such a house…and all so easily and expeditiously accomplished. It’s an honor to work with you, Prince Prokov. I have no doubt that we shall succeed in our endeavors.” Tatarinov rose from his chair. “I’ll be about our business, then. The others need to know that you’re back in town.”

“Word will get around soon enough.” Alex got up from behind his desk. “But you might hasten it along.”

“Of course. And your army contact will be easy to reach.”

“Good. Have you sufficient funds for the present?”

“For the present,” Tatarinov said.

Alex nodded. “Come to me when you’re in need.” His role as paymaster was the easiest of his many roles in this hydra-headed business. He frowned suddenly. “What news of Arakcheyev’s surveillance? I’ll lay odds no one was watching me while I was in the country. Have they given up yet?”

The other man shrugged. “As far as you’re concerned, yes. Michael Michaelovitch vouches for you.”

Alex whistled softly. “I knew Michael was looking to make sure I was diligent in the czar’s service, but I didn’t think he would actually be in contact with Arakcheyev’s secret police.”

Tatarinov nodded. “I don’t think he likes getting his soft white hands dirty with such company, quite frankly, but he’s under orders from the czar to cooperate with the police, and he’s nothing if not an obedient subject.” This last was accompanied by a derisive curl of his lip.

Alex nodded. “That’s certainly true. I’ll keep him sweet, then. It’ll be easy enough to keep him convinced that I’m doing my assigned task for the czar. Are they watching any of the others?”

Another shrug and Tatarinov said, “Sperskov interested them for a while. His fondness for the ladies is thought to be rather suspect, but I don’t think they seriously think he’s anything more than a libertine. And he’s certainly doing his best to reinforce that assumption. As for the others…they’re keeping an eye on them, but I don’t think there’s much to worry about, at least at the moment. But if that changes, you’ll be the first to know, Prince.”

“That is indeed a comfort.” Alex pulled the bell rope for Boris.

The dogs renewed their frantic barking as Boris escorted the visitor across the hall to the front door. Frowning, Alex went into the hall. Livia was sitting on the stairs halfway down, smothered in wriggling dogs. She was holding them securely, however, as they struggled to free themselves.

“Livia, for God’s sake, get off the stairs. It’s so indecorous. And do try to quieten those damn dogs.”

Livia stood up, tucking a terrier under each arm. “You and I need to talk, Alexander Prokov.”

To Alex’s puzzlement she was radiating outrage as she came down the stairs, still clutching Tristan and Isolde. Her voice was cold and the soft contours of her countenance had hardened in some way. The sensual lover of the dawn was gone as surely as the night that had ushered it in.

“Whatever’s the matter?” he asked.

“You know quite well,” she declared. “Shall we go into the library or the parlor?”

He shook his head. “I don’t mind in the least. Since I have no idea what this is all about, I’ll leave it to you to choose the most suitable venue.”

Livia looked at him sharply. Could he genuinely be unaware of what was upsetting her? She turned to the parlor, opened the door, and sent the dogs into the room, closing the door firmly behind them. “We’ll talk in the library.”

“As you please,” he said with a courteous bow. “Please…” He gestured she should precede him.

Livia stalked into the room, the flounce of her green crepe morning gown swirling at her ankles. She turned to face him as he closed the door quietly. “I understood we had agreed to discuss the disposition of the staff,” she said without preamble. “And yet I find that on your instructions Boris has told
my
people that their services are no longer required. They’re too old to fit into the new regime.” Her voice shook a little as her outrage grew. “You didn’t have the elementary courtesy even to
pretend
to consult me.”

“Oh, dear,” Alex murmured. “If Boris did indeed say such a thing to Morecombe, and I am by no means convinced he did, then he was exceeding my instructions. I assumed it would come much better from you.”

“You expect me to turn off Sophia’s servants?” She stared at him. “But I explained to you, Alex, that I would not go against Sophia’s will.”

He sighed. “I don’t expect you to turn them off, exactly. But I do expect you to find some satisfactory compromise that will enable them to stay on here if they wish but that will keep them from interfering in the work of my household.”

“
Your
household?” She took a deep breath, trying to hold on to a temper that she rarely lost. “And what of mine, Alex? I am the mistress of this house.”