A Husband's Wicked Ways (29 page)

Aurelia chuckled as she and Lyra followed him up. Fatherhood hadn’t changed Alexander Prokov. He still swept all before him.

“I have a key.” She produced it. “But Morecombe doesn’t answer the door very often. He leaves it to Jemmy…much speedier, as you might imagine.” She fitted the key in the lock and swung open the door.

Morecombe, as it happened, was shuffling his way
across the hall as they went in. “All this bangin’ an’ thumpin’,” he grumbled. Then he stopped, peered myopically, and declared with something akin to pleasure, “Eh, ’tis you, Lady Sophia’s boy.”

“It is, Morecombe. How are you? And Ada…Mavis…they’re well?” Alex took the old man’s gnarled hands gently in his. Neither of them would ever forget that Morecombe had given him the last push to put his father’s history behind him and to forge his own future with Livia.

“Pleased enow to see ye, they’ll be,” Morecombe said. “I’ll bring summat to the salon fer ye, an’ the lassies’ll be in t’ greet ye shortly. ’Ow’s our lady Liv then? An’ the babby. The lassies can’t ’ardly wait to set eyes on ’im.”

“Soon enough,” Alex reassured. “Livia and the baby will be returning to London in two weeks.”

“Oh, in time for Cornelia’s ball,” Aurelia said, leading the way into the salon. “That’s splendid. Nell will be so pleased.”

“Livia wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Alex looked around the room. “This is a pleasant house.”

“Not as grand as Cavendish Square,” she responded with a smile. “But I do like it. It has a good feeling about it, and Franny has settled well.”

Alex sat down without an invitation as befitted an old friend. He said with a hint of a rueful smile, “You do understand that I am expressly charged with taking a complete description of your husband back to Livia?”

Aurelia laughed. “Of course. Although I’m sure she’s had plenty of detail from Nell. And I’ve not been un-forthcoming myself.” She’d left a lot out, however, and Livia would certainly have noticed the lacks.

“But Cornelia’s eyes are not mine,” Alex said, letting Aurelia’s latter statement lie unchallenged.

“True enough.” Aurelia rose to her feet to help Morecombe with the tray as he staggered slightly entering the room. “Let me take that, Morecombe.”

“Put it down over there then,” he said, “an’ I’ll pour for ye. ’Tis not a bad sherry, sir.”

“It’s as good as any Prince Prokov has in his cellars, Morecombe,” Aurelia protested, hearing faint damns in the comment. Alex merely smiled and accepted the glass before the old man’s shaking fingers spilled it.

“So, where is Sir Greville?” Alex inquired, sipping his sherry as Morecombe closed the door behind himself.

“He had some business.” Greville was at the ministry, but she wasn’t going to divulge that. If Greville felt comfortable taking Alex into his confidence in some part, then that was his business. It wasn’t hers.

“I see.” Alex leaned back in his chair and regarded her. “He’s one of us, I gather.”

“You’ll have to ask him,” she said with a half smile.

Alex nodded without further comment. “I have a miniature of little Alexander.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a tiny portrait in a pearl-encrusted frame. He squinted at it before saying with a half smile, “Much as
I adore my wife, I don’t think portrait painting is really her forte.”

Aurelia went into a peal of laughter as she took the picture. “Liv did this?”

“Insisted upon it.”

She examined the splodge of an infant in the jeweled frame. “Is it really a baby?” she asked doubtfully. “It could be one of Liv’s silly pink dogs.”

“Trust me, Aurelia, it is my son.”

She nodded and held it to the light. “A bonny babe. I can’t wait to see him in the flesh.”

“I think you might get a better impression of his charms when you do,” his fond papa declared.

At the sound of the front door, Aurelia jumped up. “Ah, that’s Greville.” She hurried to the door. “Greville. Come and meet Prince Prokov.”

Greville knew Aurelia had been expecting her friend’s husband for the last three days. He put aside the thoughts that had been occupying him since he’d left the ministry and entered the salon, hand outstretched in welcome. Lyra moved to greet him with a nudge of her head against his thigh, before sitting down again at Aurelia’s feet.

Aurelia watched as the two men shook hands and offered the ritual phrases of greeting. But she could sense something beneath the conventional pleasantries. They were sizing each other up, too.

“I must congratulate you on the birth of your son,” Greville said, moving to the sideboard. “All went well, I understand.”

“Very well.” Alex beamed and reached for the miniature in his pocket. “This is not a very good likeness, I’m afraid.” He offered the little jeweled frame.

Greville studied it diligently and despite his obvious puzzlement said all the right things, until Aurelia laughed and said, “Alex isn’t going to mind if you say it doesn’t really look like a baby, Greville. It’s Liv’s attempt at painting a miniature. She’s very good at a lot of things, but I don’t think even she would say she’s much of an artist.”

“Oh…well, nevertheless, he looks a most handsome child,” Greville said, handing back the miniature with barely concealed relief and changing the subject. “When did you arrive in London, Prokov?” He refilled his guest’s sherry glass before pouring himself one.

“Yesterday. South Audley Street is my first port of call.” Alex settled back into his chair. “My wife insisted that I waste no time in paying a wedding visit to Aurelia. Which reminds me…” He reached into his pocket and took out a fat letter. “This is for you, Aurelia. It will have all her news, much more fully described than I could manage.”

“I doubt you’d even think of half the things Liv would consider vitally important to share,” Aurelia said with a chuckle.

“I’m sure you’re right, dear girl. Women do have different priorities,” Alex agreed with a rather complacent smile. “So, Colonel Falconer, you’ve only recently returned to these shores, I understand.”

Greville nodded easily. It was hardly a secret. “I’ve been in Spain and Portugal for most of the last two years.”

“And you’re enjoying some well-earned leisure, I trust.” Alex smiled over his glass, raising an eyebrow in slight question.

“Up to a point,” Greville agreed, taking a seat opposite Prince Prokov. “I’m sure your country sojourn affords you a little leisure also?” The question mark was clear in his voice, and Aurelia thought it contained a hint of a challenge, too.

“True enough.” Alex seemed to hesitate, as if debating whether to respond to the challenge and open the subject up a little, but the door opened and Ada and Mavis came in, bearing plates of savory tartlets and honey cakes.

“Eh, we thought as ’ow ye might like a bite wi’ yer sherry,” Ada announced, setting the plates on a low table. “An’ ’ow are ye, sir…an’ ’ow’s Lady Livia an’ the babby?”

“Very well, both of them,” Alex said, rising to shake hands. “I’ve a picture here painted by his mother.” Once again he proffered the miniature, and the twins exclaimed over it, holding it up to the light.

“Why, the little lad’s the image of ’is ma,” Mavis pronounced. “Look at ’is nose there…just like our Lady Liv’s.”

“The very image,” Ada agreed. “But the eyes are Lady Sophia’s.”

“Aye, that they are, just like ’is pa. When’s Lady Liv and the babby comin’ to town, sir?”

“In two weeks,” Alex said, slipping the miniature back into his pocket.

“Oh, aye, well, we’d best be gettin’ the nursery set up,” Mavis said. “Or is that there Boris doin’ it?” Disapproval was heavy in her tone.

“I think Boris would be more than pleased to leave such details up to you,” Alex said diplomatically. “But now that you’re working for Lady Falconer, how will you find time?”

“Oh, never ye mind about that, sir. We’ve plenty of time on our ’ands,” Mavis said with a nod at her sister.

“Oh, aye, time on our ’ands.” Ada nodded her agreement. “Won’t take but an hour or two, anywise.” Then, as if by silent communication, the two elderly women turned in unison and left the salon.

“I wonder how they saw the likeness to Livia,” Alex said, peering closely at the miniature. “For the life of me, I can’t even see his nose.”

“And one would never accuse either Morecombe or the twins of being adept at the tactful white lie,” Aurelia said, laughing. “I think their fondness for Liv probably colors their vision.”

“Probably.” Alex took a tartlet and savored it with a little sigh of bliss. “I’d forgotten how good these are. Is it all right with you if they do some work in Cavendish Square as well as here?”

“Perfectly,” Aurelia stated.

“As long as we don’t lose their culinary skills,” Greville said, helping himself to a tartlet and consuming it
with much the same expression as his guest’s.

“Oh, Alex has his own French cook,” Aurelia said. “He and the twins are chalk and cheese. But I’m sure if Liv expresses a desire for one of their specialties, they’ll manage to produce it without depriving us of anything.”

“Whatever you say, my dear. I leave all such matters in your more than capable hands.” Greville reached for the sherry decanter again, then paused, his hand in midair, as the sound of the doorknocker reached them. “Are you expecting someone, Aurelia?”

“No, but I am home to
visitors
in the morning.” The faint emphasis on the word and the look she gave Greville conveyed her message. Somehow she knew who her visitor was. Don Antonio Vasquez was paying his promised call, and her body was suddenly as taut as a bowstring.

Lyra rose to her feet and stood with ears pricked facing the door.

“Of course,” Greville said calmly. “Is Jemmy around, or should we let our visitor wait on the doorstep until Morecombe gets there?”

Alex laughed. “Oh, that’s such a familiar dilemma. Shall I go and play butler?”

“No,”
Aurelia said, laughing herself. “Of course not. Jemmy will get it.”

She was right. A minute or two later, Jemmy opened the door and announced proudly, “A gentleman to see you, my lady.” He came in ahead of the visitor and proffered the card.

“Thank you, Jemmy.” Clearly the lad couldn’t quite manage to pronounce the name inscribed upon it, and she couldn’t really blame him. He was hardly an experienced butler.

Aurelia took the card and went to the door, hand outstretched to greet her visitor, who was standing on the threshold of the salon with an air of impatience and a hint of incredulity at his unusually clumsy reception.

“Don Antonio, how delightful. I didn’t dare hope you would honor me with a visit so soon.” She gave him her hand with the slightly simpering smile she’d practiced at the countess’s soiree.

The Spaniard bowed with a snap of his heels and raised her hand to his lips. “The honor is all mine, Lady Falconer.” His black eyes met hers as he smiled, and once again the smile on his lips came nowhere near his eyes.

He turned to greet Greville, who stood now by the fireplace, one arm resting along the mantel, his sherry glass in his hand. He acknowledged his guest’s greeting with a nod of a bow and a murmured “Don Antonio, welcome.”

“Allow me to present Prince Prokov,” Aurelia said, turning to Alex, who had risen from his chair and stood waiting expectantly. “Alex, this is a newcomer to our country, Don Antonio Vasquez.”

“I know what it’s like to be a newcomer to London society,” Alex said amiably, shaking hands with a courteous bow. “How long have you been here, Don Antonio?”

“Several weeks only. Thank you, Sir Greville.” Don Antonio accepted a glass of sherry from his host.

“Won’t you sit down, sir.” Aurelia sat on the sofa and patted the seat beside her in invitation.

He took the offered seat, and Lyra, who until now had not changed position or posture, came forward and sat at Aurelia’s feet. Her ears remained pricked, and her head was lifted, her eyes alert. Don Antonio reached out a hand to touch her and a low growl came from deep in her throat. He took his hand back swiftly. “Not the friendliest of hounds. I would never have guessed, having caught sight of her playing so well with your daughter.”

“She was trained as a guard dog,” Aurelia said. “Of course, we have no need of such protection here in London.” She gave a little self-deprecating laugh. “But my husband likes to have her around.”

“How interesting,” Don Antonio said in a tone that indicated he found it not in the least interesting.

Greville offered his bluff laugh. “I’m a country man, and I’m not comfortable without a dog at my side. I feel my wife and stepdaughter should have the same comfort.”

Alex gave no indication of how interesting he was finding this exchange. Aurelia was behaving in a manner quite unfamiliar to him. In all the time he’d known her, he’d never encountered either the simper or the artificial little laugh. And unless his instincts were way off course, his host was up to something, too.

Alex knew from Harry that Aurelia’s husband was connected to the War Ministry. And he knew that Harry assumed the colonel was working on something for their chief. But Harry had known nothing beyond this assumption and, of course, had followed protocol and not broached the subject with Falconer. Now Alex wondered if this Spaniard could be a part of whatever it was. It would be logical, given that the colonel by his own admission had spent the better part of the last two years in Spain and Portugal.

But none of that explained why Aurelia was behaving so oddly. She couldn’t know anything of Falconer’s business. An honorable man didn’t involve his wife in his own dangerous missions. He himself had kept Livia as far away as it was humanly possible from his own mission.

And where had that got him?
If it hadn’t been for his wife, he’d have spent his last days in Arakcheyev’s torture chambers.

He sat back, idly twirling his glass by the stem, and watched closely. After five minutes he was incredulously convinced that Aurelia and her husband were operating as a team and the Spaniard was their quarry.

At an appropriate moment Alex said casually, “Forgive me, Aurelia, but I must go. I have yet to visit Cornelia. I have a letter for her and she won’t take kindly to it being too delayed.” He rose to his feet.