Splendor (14 page)

"They say," she said suddenly, very softly, not glancing up, "that you leave a trail of broken hearts wherever you

go-He regarded her as she slowly lifted her eyes. His heart

lurched oddly. "That is nonsense."

"Is it?"

"If any heart is broken in my wake, I am quite unaware of it."

"Yes, I imagine that would be the case," she said very somberly.

Their gazes locked, Nicholas could not look away. Suddenly she seemed so fragile and vulnerable, as well as innocent and naive, and terribly feminine and alluring—in spite of the garish disguise. As suddenly, he had the overwhelming urge to make love to her, and to hell with the future consequences. He looked away, thinking that this

momentary madness would pass. "We are here."

The coach had heaved to a halt. Booted steps sounded outside as the footmen leapt to the ground from the rear runners. The door opened.

She remained seated, her eyes holding his, the tension between them as thick as before—if not thicker. "It was a very ... interesting evening."

He did not smile. Nor did she. "Good night, Sverayov." Pausing before stepping down, she looked back at him. And she stepped out of the coach.

"I look forward to seeing you again, Charles," he said. Meaning it.

She stared up at him from the sidewalk.

And he rapped on the roof once and the coach started forward. He did not look back. It took an immense effort. And his smile was gone. Nicholas brooded.

A few hours later, Nicholas paused outside of Browne's Books, drenched in morning sunshine. It was the next morning. He could not resist temptation. After last night, he knew Carolyn would not be expecting him.

He pushed open the door to the shop, the bell ringing overhead. A stocky man with graying hair was behind the counter, scribbling in a ledger. Carolyn was nowhere to be seen, but then, it was not yet ten o'clock. He had not dropped her off last night until almost two o'clock in the morning.

The elderly man looked up with a smile as Nicholas sauntered forward. Nicholas assumed that he was George Browne, but found little resemblance between father and daughter. He paused in front of the counter. "Good morning. George Browne, I presume?"

George snapped the ledger closed and shoved it into a drawer underneath the wooden counter. "Yes." He smiled, but it was forced and did not reach his eyes. "Do I know you, sir?"

"Prince Nicholas Ivanovitch Sverayov, at your service, sir." Nicholas bowed, remarking the frisson of alarm which

sparked the other man's eyes. Why was the bookseller disturbed?

"Ah, yes. Your order was taken the other day by my daughter." George turned away quickly. When he faced Nicholas again, he had a sheaf of paper slips in hand, and he filed through them intently.

Nicholas saw the slight tremor in his hands and frowned. Something was wrong, but what? It was easy to draw the conclusion that George was involved in his daughter's intrigues, except Nicholas had decided last night that there was a sensible explanation for Carolyn's disguise which had nothing to do with spying and warfare. And George surely did not know about Nicholas's recent involvement with his daughter.

*'I am interested in the original version of Abelard's Sic et Non, '' Nicholas drawled. He glanced briefly at the stairs, but there was no sign of Carolyn. He assumed both father and daughter lived in the apartment above. "And a copy of Bartholomew's encyclopedia."

"Yes, now I recall." George set the papers aside. "Ab-elard may be impossible to find. I am contacting my clients on the Continent, as well as here at home. I have seen Bartholomew in Prague. I do believe it can be purchased, for a dear sum."

Nicholas leaned on the counter. "How dear?"

"Perhaps a thousand pounds."

He nodded. "Notify your chent of my offer. I am prepared to double that if need be."

George's eyes widened.

A noise made them both look toward the stairs. Carolyn paused halfway down them, one hand on the banister. Nicholas forgot all about George.

He turned, staring. She was clad in a pale blue mushn gown with long sleeves and a high neckline. It was simple yet so very feminine—a glaring contrast to her disguise last night. For one moment, as he stared at her, reahzing that she was far more than pretty, that she was lovely, very

lovely, he felt as if he had been kicked in the chest by a good-sized mule.

And then his heart resumed its normal beat again. Nicholas felt the tension riddling his body, was aware that he stared as her smile faded and she began to come down the stairs, her expression uncertain. The stain had been scrubbed from her face, which was once again as pale and delicate as the finest English porcelain. Charles was gone. In his place was a beautiful young woman with huge green eyes and golden curls.

"Carolyn, good morning," George said brusquely.

Nicholas did not even try to remove his regard as she stepped onto the landing, approaching the two men. Her eyes had locked with his and a pink flush colored her high cheekbones. Was she also remembering all that had transpired last night? He certainly was.

"Father, I am sorry I overslept." Carolyn kissed her father's cheek before facing Nicholas with a brief curtsy. "Prince Sverayov. How good to see you again." She did not smile. Anxiety seemed to fill her eyes. How vulnerable she appeared.

He bowed over her hand. "How could I stay away? I do not think the lure of rare manuscripts brought me back here today," he said softly.

Her color increased.

"We have been discussing the prince's requests," George said quickly, his gaze going back and forth between Carolyn and Nicholas. "And we have just concluded our business," he added. "I have just assured the prince that he need not pay for Bartholomew in advance."

Nicholas had no intention of taking the hint that he should leave, and he opened his wallet. "Please, do keep these funds as a deposit on the business we shall transact." He faced Carolyn, ignoring George as if the older man had left the room. "Miss Browne. Would you help me choose a book for my sister?"

She smiled in surprise. Nicholas smiled back blandly at her. He had told Charles that he did not have a sister, but

Carolyn was not supposed to be aware of that. "Of course," she finally said. "What does your sister enjoy reading?" Her tone was both tremulous and tart.

"She is very romantic. Perhaps poetry? Love poems? All women dream of love."

She stared at him, wetting her lips. Was she remembering their conversation last night? And as he had thought, she could not resist the bait.

' 'Love is an essential ingredient of life for both men and women, Your Excellency. Surely you must agree?"

"I think," he said, enjoying himself vastly, "that it is far more essential for women than for men. Is it not the rage nowadays for women to try to marry for love? An absurd notion, you must admit."

"I do not find it absurd. My parents actually married for love," she said, her chin shooting up.

"But you are a woman, Carolyn," he said.

"My father married for love." She turned to George. "Did you not. Papa?"

"Of course I loved your mother, Carolyn. That was a long time ago."

Carolyn smiled at Nicholas.

Nicholas decided not to tell her that George had not admitted to marrying for love. "And you, Miss Browne? Will you seek to marry for love?"

Her eyes widened. Before she could reply—if indeed she would—George interrupted. "Carolyn, I have an eleven-thirty appointment."

"Well, then you should run along," she said, obviously relieved. "I am, apparently, about to search for romantic poetry for the prince's sister''

Nicholas smiled, regarding both father and daughter, impatient for George to depart.

"I can wait a few more minutes," George said, his glance hovering on both Carolyn and Nicholas.

"E>o not linger on my account," Nicholas said with a cool smile.

George did not speak, but Carolyn frowned. "Of course

he is not lingering on your account. Papa, feel free." She turned and walked over to a stack of books labeled "Poetry." She pulled down a volume. "This is Wordsworth." She smiled at Nicholas, but it was fleeting. ' 'We have such a vast selection. There aie Thomas Moore, Lord Byron, and numerous others. Perhaps you should describe your sister to me."

"What is your preference?" Nicholas asked instead. "I think my sister would enjoy anything you recommend. I know that I would." His smile flashed. "You never answered my question. Will you marry for love?"

She hesitated. "Actually, I am not sure I will ever wed."

"Really?" He doubted that.

"You are mocking. I am sincere."

"You are a beautiful woman. Sensible and intelligent— although overly romantic. You will hardly live your life as a spinster."

"I will if that is what I choose to do," she said firmly.

"But you just told me that love is an essential ingredient for women and men. Yet you would deny yourself?"

"One does not snap one's fingers and summon love," Carolyn said. "I see no need to tie myself down to some hardheaded gentleman with a base male nature who will think to entrap me in a role I do not wish to play. I am an enlightened woman who has much to do." She smiled as if that explained everything.

Was she referring to his base nature last night? He could not help but think so. "I am impressed. But what will you do if you experience le coup de foudreT ' He stared.

She returned his gaze, her eyes wide. "I do not know," she finally said.

"I know," he heard himself say, his tone far lower and more intimate than before.

She inhaled, motionless.

"You will embrace this hero with all of the passion you have thus far embraced your books," he said firmly. And he did not have a doubt. Perhaps he was even—the slightest bit—^jealous of this man who would one day enter her life

and turn her head and win her heart. What wonderful debates they would have.

"I do not know what you are speaking of," she said, flushing. "Now, are we not trying to locate a volume of poetry for your sister?"

"Yes. What is your preference?"

She hesitated.

"Are you trying to hide something?" he asked, amused.

"You are a very good judge of human nature, are you not? Actually, I am particularly fond of Shakespeare's sonnets." She waited for his reaction.

He smiled, trying not to laugh. "Shakespeare? I should not be surprised. There is Httle predictable about you, Miss Browne. Shakespeare." He shook his head. "And this from the woman who reads Abelard and Bentham?"

"We all have multiple facets to our natures. Excellency," Carolyn said pointedly.

He leaned one shoulder on the shelf of books. Images from last night flitted through his mind. He knew she was also recalling it. "Find me Shakespeare," he said abruptly.

She nodded, returned Wordsworth to its place, and extracted a volume of sonnets. She handed it to him. "I think your sister will enjoy this."

Their gazes coUided. "Actually," he said, "I am going to read it myself." He stared at her.

She did not look away.

A cough sounded behind them. Carolyn started. Nicholas turned slowly. George stood there, having donned his coat and hat. "I must go," he said very grimly. Clearly he did not want to leave them alone. "Shall I give you a receipt for your purchase?" he asked Nicholas.

Nicholas smiled slowly. "I am not finished."

George nodded with dismay. "I will return within an hour and a half," he told Carolyn anxiously.

"Do not worry so. Papa." She kissed his cheek. Reluctantly, George turned and left the store.

Nicholas studied Carolyn, who stared after her father.

She tore her gaze from the closed door, wet her lips, smiled briefly. "What else would you like?"

"Actually," he said, low, "what I would like has little to do with poetry or books."

She was motionless.

He smiled. "I know you must tend the store now. But perhaps, later, I can take you for a drive in the park? Say, tomorrow at three?"

Her eyes were wide. Surprised. "I... I don't know."

He smiled slightly, his gaze intent, and touched his heart very briefly with his right hand. "You cannot disappoint me," he said.

She swallowed. "I do not understand this. Your intentions ..."

"It is really quite simple. I wish to further our friendship, that is all."

She stared. "Perhaps your wife might object."

"To an innocent acquaintance?" he asked. "I think not. Surely you are not afraid?"

Her chin tilted. "I am no meek mouse. Excellency."

His mouth curved. "Good, then I shall not be denied."

"Have you ever been denied. Excellency?"

"No."

She smiled. "I did not think so. Perhaps this shall be the first time."

"But we can debate Bentham, if you wish."

And she laughed.

He laid his hand on his heart. "As an officer and a gentleman, I promise to return you home untouched and unhurt. If that is what you are afraid of?'' he challenged her.

And her eyes flashed. "Did I say I was afraid. Excellency?"

"But it was a natural assumption," he rebutted.

"Well. It has been some time since I have driven in the park." She smiled slightly. "At three then. Excellency, on the morrow."

He bowed. "I look forward to it," he said softly.

^ Eleven ^

"Lost Ladies of the Night." Just how popular is the bordello amongst today's most fashionable set? Why, the answer is, quite popular, for on an early weekday night there were no less than a dozen gentlemen present at one very nondescript brick town house not far from Delancey Square whose female proprietor proved most eager to please her clients. (Lady loves are hand-chosen to meet a gentleman's specific requirements.) And these dozen gentlemen were the ones in the public rooms; this reporter has no idea of how many more gentlemen were behind closed doors with their lady friends. But how does one justify the presence of a certain member of the Commons, Sir T s W n? Perhaps Sir W n was also investigating the popularity of illicit love in order to render a more fervent speech in the Conmions on one of his favorite subjects, the evils inherent in today's society. Or should we recall the old adage that "he who protests overmuch ... ?" Unfortunately, this illustrious member of Parliament was not the only renowned nobleman and member of our government who was present. A certain member of Liverpool's cabinet is clearly not the type to linger at home in the wee hours of the morning. Or is Madam's establishment a particularly fashionable gathering place