A Dangerous Disguise (4 page)

As she thought of her forthcoming meeting with the Duke, she could not help feeling a thrill go through her.

'It's because I'm so excited at seeing England,' she told herself.

At the same time she knew that the Duke was, without exception, the most charming and handsome man she had ever met, and the thought of spending an evening alone with him made her eyes shine.

At last a message arrived to say that His Grace, the Duke of Camborne was downstairs.

Because she did not want to seem too eager, she kept him waiting for almost ten minutes before she descended the stairs, accompanied by a grim-faced Greta.

She saw him before he saw her, and had a few moments to contemplate him. He was sitting next to an elderly lady, engaging her in conversation. Now and then he smiled, and Ola drew in her breath at how handsome he was, and how his smile seemed to fill the room.

Then he saw her and instantly rose to his feet. He was splendid in evening attire, with a black cloak over his shoulder, and a gleaming black top hat ready to be put onto his head. He smiled again, but this time it was just for her, and her heart leapt for she knew that he admired her.

He bowed low as she approached.

"Your Royal Highness," he said.

"I am sorry I was not ready," she apologised, "but I was working hard to look my best for you."

The Duke laughed.

"You are fishing for compliments," he teased. "You know you look lovely. I only hope the dinner will be worthy of you."

Ola thought that it would be difficult to think of anything during the meal, but the man who was with her. However she knew that such thoughts were unbecoming in a young lady, so she concealed them, and merely said,

"I'm looking forward to eating English food in an English restaurant. That in itself will be a treat I have not enjoyed before."

She spoke carefully, remembering to use the Coburg accent she had learnt from her mother and Greta.

"Then come along, my carriage is waiting for you," the Duke replied. "I will be very disappointed if this is not one of the special evenings which you remember of the Royal Jubilee."

"I am sure that will happen," Ola said. She smiled at Greta, who bobbed a curtsey.

Then the Duke gave her his arm and they swept out together.

This was it, she thought. This was the moment of glory that she had promised herself when she planned this venture.

The Duke's carriage was extremely grand, with a coat of arms on the sides, and two men on the box wearing the Camborne livery.

As they travelled along Piccadilly Ola looked eagerly out of the windows at the crowds thronging the street. So many lights. So much bustle and excitement. After her dull life this was like stepping into a dream.

"It's so thrilling," she murmured.

"But surely the capital city of Oltenitza is much the same?" enquired the Duke.

She saw the pit at her feet and quickly avoided it.

"No capital is the same as London," she declared. "Everyone knows that it is the biggest, brightest city in the world. It has art, science, music, theatre. My own little capital is a village by comparison."

She hoped he would not ask what her 'little capital' was called, because for the moment her inspiration had dried up. Luckily he did not pursue the subject.

"I will admit that London is at its best just now," he agreed, "putting on its finest feathers to impress visitors. But I like it at other times too, when it's just itself. Tonight I'm not taking you to one of the big, glittering restaurants, but a small one, in a side street, where only really knowledgeable people go.

"We can be very private, unless of course you would feel nervous about that. Would it be more proper if there were many people around, watching us."

Ola gave a merry little laugh. "But sir, it's well known that all English gentlemen are honourable. What could I have to fear?"

"I suppose even an English gentleman might get carried away by his feelings?" he said lightly.

"But what feelings? We have only just met," she teased him. "I know I have nothing to fear."

In saying this she knew she was slightly avoiding the truth. They might have only just met, but she was already in danger of being carried away by her own feelings, and very much hoped that he was too.

At last the carriage stopped in a narrow street, with poor lighting. Heads turned as the footman jumped down to open the door, bowing as she stepped down.

At first she thought the restaurant was no different to the rustic places in villages around her home, but then the Duke led her through the building and to a garden at the rear, hung with fairy lamps.

"Oh, how beautiful," Ola exclaimed.

Their table was under the trees, in view of the other diners, but sufficiently apart that she could almost feel that they were alone. As they walked together she knew that people were looking at them and thinking what a splendid couple they made.

'And we do,' she thought. 'Oh, if only this could go on forever!'

When he asked her what she liked to eat, she replied that she would leave everything to him. He spoke to the head waiter in strong, masterful accents, and ordered a bottle of the best champagne.

"To toast our meeting," he said.

Ola had never tasted champagne before, and she thought she had gone to paradise. But real paradise was the smile in his eyes as they met hers over the rim of the glass.

"Your Royal Highness," he said.

"You mustn't call me that. Someone might hear."

"What shall I call you?" he asked.

"Ola."

"Not Relola?"

"I prefer Ola from my friends. But now you must tell me your name."

"John," he said. "John Sedgewick, Duke of Camborne."

"Is that all?" she laughed. "Don't English Dukes always have lots of titles?"

"How well informed you are. Viscount Allan lee, Baron Frensham, Baron Lockton, and some others that I can't remember. And you? I'm sure you have a host of minor titles too."

"Of course, but I can never remember even one or two of mine. I think I forget them on purpose. They make me forget about who I really am inside."

"And who is that?"

She shook her head.

"I don't know. I'm still trying to discover. It may take a long time."

A sudden alert look came into his eyes.

"Do you feel like that too?" he asked.

"Oh yes. You also, it seems."

He nodded, still looking at her as though trying to discover something.

"I've always felt like that," he said. "Right from the moment I realised that I was going to be buried under all those titles, none of which seemed to have anything to do with me. I'm sure you understand that."

He meant that she understood from experience, but the fact was that she had looked into his heart and seen everything by instinct.

"When you hear them spoken it is like listening to a story about somebody else," she said. "Not you at all. You think, who is this person, and why do people look at me when they speak about her?"

"Yes, yes," he said urgently. In his eagerness he seized her hands. "That's exactly how I feel, but I never found anyone else who could follow my thoughts. It's like coming out of a dark wood into the light, and finding a sweet presence waiting for me."

A cough from over their heads brought them out of the spell that had enclosed them, making them look up hastily to see the waiter standing there with the first course.

They recollected themselves and concentrated on the food, both a little dazed by what had happened without warning.

Later Ola had to admit to herself that she could hardly remember what she had eaten.

But she could recall almost every word he had spoken.

She urged him to talk about his life, and he did so, almost as if there was safety in such personal topics.

"You don't live in London all the time, of course," she asked him.

"No, just part of the year, for the season. That's the social season which starts in May. Debutantes are presented at court, there are balls, parties, regattas on the Thames. It goes on until early August, and then everyone goes north to shoot grouse, starting on the twelfth."

"To Scotland, yes," she murmured, thinking of the many grouse shooting parties she had seen arriving.

"You know Scotland?" he asked in some surprise.

"Only by repute," she said hurriedly. "I know about the 'glorious twelfth' and the hunting, shooting and fishing. Do you enjoy 'the season'?"

He sighed ruefully.

"Not a great deal, I must admit. I like to be out in the country, riding my favourite horses, walking with my dogs."

She had often heard her father talk like that. It was enchanting to hear the same sentiments from the man who was weaving spells about her heart.

"So you don't like the formality of London?" she said. "People bowing and scraping because you're so important?"

"They only think I'm important because I have a great title," the Duke replied. "But as a man I am happier in the country because I'm alone with my animals, and they are not concerned whether I am a Duke or the pantry boy."

Ola laughed.

"That's what you say, but I'll wager they are taught to bow from the moment they come into this world," she said.

"You wouldn't say that if you could see my dogs," the Duke said, grinning. "They think they own me, rather than the other way around. I have five, four pedigree and one mongrel, and the mongrel is the loftiest of them all."

"I like that," Ola said, delighted. "I once had a dog who was just the same. I loved him so much, he was my best friend. We used to go walking together, and as he had rather a long coat all the thistles would stick to it, and it would take me an hour to get them out."

"You did that? Not a footman?"

"I couldn't have let a servant do it," she said with an air of horror. "Joey wouldn't have liked that at all. It had to be me."

"Joey? You gave your dog an English name?"

"He was a gift from an English friend," she said quickly. To get off dangerous ground she said, "You must miss your country home."

"Yes, I love the place. It's very old and has been in my family for many years. It is exactly like the houses you read about in story books and I have, although I say it, an outstanding collection of horses."

Ola gave a cry.

"I love riding," she said. "My favourite horse can jump higher than any other horse in the royal stable. I take him out every morning before breakfast."

"I will certainly show you my horses," the Duke promised.

"I would love to see them, but I suppose they are not in London."

"Most of them are in the country." A thought seemed to strike him. "Your Highness – "

"Ola," she corrected him. She wanted to hear her name from his mouth.

"Ola," he said. "I must compliment you on your English accent."

"Oh no!" she disclaimed. "In Oltenitza I am held to speak English well, but in England I know that my deficiencies must be very apparent."

"Not at all. In fact, your accent has grown more naturally English as we have talked."

He was right. She had been so absorbed in his company that she had forgotten to maintain her Coburg accent.

"Ah, but I am a great mimic," she said quickly. "My accent improves because I am talking with you."

"That must be it," he agreed.

"Go on telling me about your horses."

"I have one in London, which I ride in the Row every morning – "

"Excuse me? Row? You all ride in rows?" she asked, trying to look as puzzled as possible. She needed to show a little ignorance to put him off the scent.

"The Row is Rotten Row, in Hyde Park."

"It is rotten? Then how do you ride there?"

He laughed. "It isn't really rotten. Nearly two hundred years ago we had a king called William III, who used it as a short cut to get to Kensington Palace. So it became known as 'the king's road', which, in French, is 'route de roi'.

"And as no Englishman has ever been able to speak French without mangling it, it became corrupted to 'Rotten Row'."

"So, this William III – he was French?"

"No, he was Dutch."

"So why did they not name the road in Dutch?"

"Because the English are even worse at Dutch than they are at French," said the Duke grinning.

"Gott in Himmel!" said Ola, feeling that a touch of German would serve her well at this moment.

"Exactly!" he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"You English are all wahnsinnig."

"I have a horrid feeling that that means stupid."

"No, no, it means crazy."

"Oh yes, crazy. I agree to that."

"I think I should leave quickly before my brain explodes."

"No!"

He took her hand in a firm grip.

"You must not leave," he said, and there was a strange, intense light in his eyes. "You must not."

Ola could not have left at that moment for anything in the world. While he held her hand in his so powerfully and looked at her with that disturbing light in his eyes, she knew herself to be helpless.

She had a wild impulse to say, "I will do whatever you wish. You have only to command me."

But she must fight it, remembering that she was a Princess, and he was a commoner. It was hard because everything inside her was saying that this was a man she could admire, even adore. She longed to yield to that feeling, but she dared not.

Fear made her behave imperiously, looking down at his hand grasping hers, then giving him an amazed stare.

"Forgive me," he said. "I had no right to touch you against your will."

She wanted to cry out, 'But it isn't against my will. I want to touch you back. I want to be in your arms, feeling your lips on mine. I shall always want that.'

But she only said,

"Why are you so abrupt and hasty?"

"Because it's very important that you don't leave. More important than I can say."

"Why is it so important?" she asked.

"For reasons which – which I cannot explain. Please – stay with me. And do not be offended."

Her heart swelled with joy because she was sure she understood him. He would not let her go because he was as drawn to her as she was to him. But, of course, he could not say so.