One Night of Sin (44 page)

“Come in, what is it?” Parthenia heard her father say.

“Your Grace, we crave a moment of your time.” Out of breath and dabbing at his sweaty, bald pate, Count Lieven stepped inside with another man, unknown to Parthenia. “We have come with dire news.”

“Regarding?”

“Your protégé, Kurkov,” Lieven said grimly. “I’m just back from London. Can you tell me where he is?”

Eva glided into the Cossacks’ midst with a feline smile, dressed in her dark riding habit with a tall-brimmed hat and a long riding crop. They stared at her intrusion, halting in their tasks, some roasting their dinners over the fireplace, others cleaning their saddles.

“Does anyone speak English?” she inquired, whisking the train of her riding habit gracefully around her. “Right, then.
Parlez-vous français?
”

One of the men stood. Eva drew in her breath, eyeing the great iron hulk. “My my.”
So many men, so little time.

“I speak French,” the Cossack officer said to her in that tongue, drying his hands on a small towel.

“And you are?”

“I am Sergei, the sergeant of this company. How may I help you, my lady? His Highness is at the whist drive—”

“Yes, well, if you gentlemen will come with me, we will fetch him a little present. Interested?”

Sergei stared at her with a sudden flare of excitement in his eyes. “You’ve found the girl?”

“I may know where she is.”

Immediately, he ordered his men to their horses. Within ten minutes they were on their mounts and riding to the Knight family’s neat stuccoed house by the beach.

Eva’s heart raced as she reined in with Sergei beside her. “There,” she murmured, nodding at the darkened villa.

“You are sure?”

She nodded with a knowing half smile.

Sergei gave an order to his men. At once they were off their horses, drawing their weapons, creeping stealthily toward the house. Eva stayed back, watching in breathless excitement.

In the wavering moonlight, she could see Mikhail’s men testing windows and doors. One scaled a rose trellis silently, mounting to the second story window. Everywhere, they were swarming the house—and for a moment Eva’s heart quaked as she wondered if she had gone too far this time.

Suddenly, shots rang out—shouts broke through the night—an opening volley and return fire. She turned her face away with a frightened gasp as someone screamed. Eva steadied her horse as Mikhail’s men stormed the villa.

“May I stay, Father?” Parthenia asked, relighting the candles in the library, into which Westland had shown Count Lieven and the mysterious stranger that the Russian ambassador had brought with him.

The duke glanced at Lieven in question.

He nodded and quickly beckoned Parthenia to take a seat. “This concerns her, too, I’m afraid, if the rumors about their coming engagement are true. Lady Parthenia, Your Grace, allow me to present my associate, Alyosha Nelyudov, who arrived just last night from St. Petersburg.”

Introductions went around.

Nelyudov was a trim, unassuming man of about forty, with very correct manners, short, curly hair of a reddish-brown hue, a rather pale complexion, and piercing black eyes behind his scholarly spectacles. He did not look at all like Parthenia’s idea of a killer spy, but that, she supposed, was the point. Count Lieven termed Mr. Nelyudov a secret agent of the Czar. He spoke a dozen languages, was versed in the laws of most of the countries of Europe, and had been sent on a special assignment to England to retrieve Prince Mikhail Kurkov, who was wanted, he revealed, for his involvement in a conspiracy to overthrow the Czar.

Nelyudov pushed away from the wall where he had been leaning and prowled restlessly through the library. In a cool, soft-spoken voice, he explained: “An associate of mine, Dmitry Maximov, was one of the first of our agents to uncover the plot. The conspiracy was formed by some fourscore of our highest-ranking military officers. Their intention was to abduct the emperor and use their authority in the army to seize power.”

Parthenia gasped at the mere suggestion of such treachery.

“Much of the army rather despises the Czar, I’m afraid,” Count Lieven interjected with an apologetic look.

“When we began arresting suspects back in Russia, Kurkov’s name came up. It seemed he was using his trip to England to claim his British inheritance as his alibi. With the cooperation of your government, we put a halt on his funds to trip him up a bit. We also sent Maximov to follow Kurkov to England and quietly investigate his degree of involvement. Dmitry sent us a dispatch from Calais before crossing the Channel,” Nelyudov said. “He has not been heard from since.”

Parthenia and her father exchanged an uneasy glance. At her sire’s nod, she picked up the report from Miss Ward and handed it to Mr. Nelyudov. “I think we may know what became of your colleague, sir. I am very sorry. This letter just arrived.”

Count Lieven frowned, scanning it over his shoulder as Nelyudov skimmed the top page by candlelight. The two Russians exchanged hard glances and a few low murmurs in their native tongue.

Lieven took the report from him and quickly glanced through it. “She is a brave young woman for coming forward. Few dare to cross the prince.” He turned to Westland. “We must secure this witness. She is in great danger. Do you know where she can be found?”

“I have no idea,” the duke started, but Parthenia cleared her throat, interrupting.

“She is with Lord Alec Knight.”

“Parthenia!” Westland exclaimed. “Where does it say that?”

She took the final page of the report sheepishly out of her pocket, unfolding it from a neat square. She handed it to Mr. Nelyudov. “I didn’t think it prudent to show you that page, Father.”

“Oh, really?” he replied, raising one eyebrow.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t pay any attention if you knew Lord Alec was involved.”

The duke snorted. “Count Lieven is more right than he knows. We must see to Miss Ward’s safety ourselves if that rogue is all she’s got for protection. By Jove, who’s going to protect the chit from
him
?” he grumbled.

“Nelyudov and I have already contacted the nearby garrison,” Lieven said hurriedly. “A company of your British dragoons based here in Brighton have agreed to help us arrest Kurkov and his men. They are assembling even now.”

“Yes, well, as I’ve said, he’s on the Regent’s yacht at this moment,” Westland told them.

Count Lieven nodded. “Good. We can have our men in position, and take him at the docks.”

“No,” Nelyudov said. “Not by the waterfront. It’s too risky. He could too easily lay hold of a boat and slip away. Better to ambush him at the hotel where he’s staying. Box him in.”

They nodded as this sounded a logical strategem.

Nelyudov glanced at the wall clock. “I must go. I’ll have to meet with the captain of dragoons to discuss our plan and make sure our men are in position.”

“Poor Mikhail,” Parthenia couldn’t help murmuring, overwhelmed by his crime. Not just murder, but treason, as well! It was difficult to believe it was all happening. “What will happen to him, Count Lieven?”

“It’s possible the Czar may spare his life, due to their boyhood friendship. In that case, he’ll probably be given the usual sentence—to spend the rest of his life working the mines in Siberia.”

She shuddered and dropped her gaze.

“My dear duke,” the ambassador continued, “if you are so inclined, we may go together to fetch the girl.”

“I’m coming with you!” Parthenia said at once, rising to her feet. “Oh, please don’t protest, Father! Lord Alec is at the whist drive, too. Miss Ward will be alone, and no doubt frightened. I’m the one she contacted. I should be there.”

“Another young lady’s presence might help to reassure her,” Lieven agreed with a nod.

“Only if we bring adequate protection.” Westland took Parthenia’s hand. “I’ve put my dear girl in enough danger already with this fiend.”

Parthenia gave him a rueful smile, then glanced at the Russians. “Perhaps one of you gentlemen might have a suggestion on what is to be done about the Cossacks stationed outside.”

Nelyudov turned, his fiery stare homing in on her with lethal, sudden attention. “Cossacks? Here?”

Her father nodded. “Aye, four of them. One posted at each corner of my dashed house.”

Stalking toward the door, Nelyudov withdrew a large, curved, savage-looking knife from a sheath concealed beneath his dark coat. “I will deal with them.”

“Alone?” Parthenia murmured, her eyes widening as the Czar’s agent slipped out silently.

“Egads,” Westland said under his breath. “Best take pains not to cross that fellow, what?”

“Nelyudov,” Lieven said softly, “is the best we’ve got.”

The game stretched into the wee hours of the night.

The two teams’ scores climbed into the seventies, eighties, nineties, and even past one hundred, but still, neither had acquired the necessary five point lead.

Up four points, Drax and Alec nearly tasted victory, only to fall behind again as their opponents edged up alongside them, matched and then overtook them by one point. The grueling length of the game, however, the infuriating disappointment of nearly winning and then seeing it slip through their fingers, had begun to take its toll.

The score was now 123 to 122, in Kurkov and Colonel Tallant’s favor. This damned game was never going to end Alec thought. He feared he and his partner were becoming a trifle demoralized.

All he knew was that if he looked anywhere near as bad as the others did by now, Eva Campion herself wouldn’t have bedded him. The four of them were a bleary, sweaty, stinky, rumpled, haggard, groggy mess, with bloodshot eyes, slouched postures, and armpit circles darkening their clothes.

He shifted in his seat, his rear end sore from too much sitting. But what alarmed him most was that after so many hours of play, it became harder to remember clearly which cards in each suit had already been played. Each new hand began to run together with the last in his brain. His only solace was knowing that the others were in no better shape than he.

Most of their audience fared even worse, the previously raucous royal dukes now asleep on every piece of gilt velvet furniture in the grand saloon. Others were strewn, snoring, around the floor with cushions under their heads and the Persian carpet for a bed. A few had napped already and arisen again to watch the ongoing play.

Alec had switched from tea to coffee in the hopes it would do a better job of keeping him sharp.

And then, sometime around five
A.M
., eight hours into the game, a mysterious thing happened.

Drax shuffled; Alec cut the cards and handed them to Kurkov.

“Your deal.”

The Russian yawned and took them.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Alec waited for Kurkov to finish giving them all thirteen cards, then picked his hand up wearily—and blinked.

At first he thought he was having an hallucination brought on by fatigue.

But though he squeezed his burning eyes shut for a second, the vision did not change.

Holy Mother,
he thought, hastily masking his incredulity. It seemed his former mistress, Lady Luck, had come back one last time to say good-bye forever, but perhaps sorry for her faithlessness, had left him with one last golden kiss.

Kurkov had just dealt Alec the hand of a lifetime.

Hearts were trump yet again, and Alec held no less than seven of them, including the queen, king, and ace. He had three high diamonds, as well—jack, queen, and ace—along with the eight. Of the other suits, he held just one of each, the jack of clubs and one lousy card, the three of spades. He’d get rid of it, and then, if he used his head, he’d be in control of this game.

Immediately, his pulse began to pound, renewed vigor pouring through his veins.
Come on. This is it.
He straightened up slowly in his chair. Lifted his chin.
For Becky.
If he could win, then he need not kill Kurkov tonight. He could deal with him later, and Becky and he could still have a shot at a future together.

The stare he gave Drax alerted his friend that something was afoot. He lowered his lashes again, concealing his wild eagerness.

This time he was going in for the kill.

Since Kurkov had dealt the hand, it fell to Drax to lead. Naturally, the earl chose one of his strongest cards with which to open the round.

Ace of spades.

Nicely done,
he thought.

Tallant tossed down the two and Alec immediately got rid of the three of spades. Kurkov offered up the seven, and the trick went to Drax.

Alec gave him a narrow smile.

Tallant stuck with spades, no doubt thought he’d deal a crushing blow with the king, but Alec, out of spades, had no choice but to play the trump suit of hearts.
Hm, a calculated risk.
Willing to chance it that Kurkov still had a spade left, he played the lowest card he had in the trump suit. Two of hearts.

Irritation flicked over the prince’s face. Kurkov smirked and tossed down the nine of spades.

Whew.
Next it was his turn to lead the trick. Time to show them who was master of this table. He looked at them matter-of-factly.

Ace of hearts. That should flush a few more hearts out of the woodwork.

Drax lifted his pale-colored eyebrows, amusement beginning to dance in his ice-blue eyes.

Alec’s expression was serene.

The five, four, and eight of hearts followed. His ace clobbered them. Alec took the trick.

They now had three tricks. The fourth began with Kurkov, his chance to come booming out of the gate with another big card.

Ace of clubs.

Drax bowed out with the three of clubs. Tallant supported his partner with the six. Alec frowned, but his jack of clubs could not beat Kurkov’s ace.

At least now his hand would be composed only of the diamonds and the trump hearts. Very strong.
Hope you enjoyed taking that point, Your Highness, for you shan’t get another out of me.

Again came Drax’s turn to lead. He must have divined Alec’s strategy, for he opened the trick with the eight of spades, setting Alec up to trump. Tallant followed in the suit of spades with the five, but Alec, having none, put down the king of hearts.