Splendor (6 page)

Katya remained still. Nicholas finally bent and touched

her cheek with his hand. He thought he ghmpsed a single tear in her eye. He went to the door, summoned Leeza, the nurse she'd had since the day of her birth—the nurse he had had, as well. The old woman was ancient, ageless, nearly blind. Yet sometimes she looked at him as if she could read his mind—as if she knew every one of his secrets.

She looked into his eyes just then with her oddly vacant silver ones. "I will take care of her. Excellency. Do not fear."

"Thank you,", he said, feeling relieved.

And then she caused him to misstep. "She is sleeping, my lord, and out of danger. God has decided that she will live."

^ Four q^

CAROLYN felt uncomfortable—and it had nothing to do with her disguise.

She crouched in the shrubs outside the brick Mayfair town house which had been leased by Sverayov, her short hair slicked back behind her ears and covered with a bi-come hat, a sparse goatee pasted onto her chin. She was clad in a man's coat, waistcoat, shirtwaist, breeches, stockings, and buckled shoes. Her pulse was racing wildly. She was accustomed to wearing a disguise—how else could she discover the activities of those she wished to write about in her column for the Morning Chroniclel Men, unfortunately, had far better access to the news than women.

She was also accustomed to investigating those she pursued, but somehow, now, crouched outside of Sverayov's residence, two days later, she felt uncertain, uneasy, almost as if she were in danger—which was absolute nonsense. Yet she could not still her racing heart. An odd premonition haunted her, one she could not quite identify.

Carolyn did not even know if Sverayov was at home. She assumed that he was because it was only mid-morning. Perhaps, once again, he had carried on with Lady Carradine last night till dawn. The mere recollection of his flagrant illicit behavior in front of his pregnant wife was enough to disturb her pulse all over again. Two nights ago, Carolyn had been disguised as a footman so that she might ''attend"

Prinny's ball. It was amazing, truly, the gossip amongst the servants—and the actual information to be gleaned there.

Carolyn peered hard at the front door of the brick town house. Hopefully he would appear at any moment, perhaps for a ride in Hyde Park. Carolyn intended to familiarize herself with his daily routine and habits being as she was now going to include him in her colunms. For he was exactly the kind of self-absorbed aristocrat she sought to expose.

She had been writing the column for a year and a half. At first, she had started her commentary strictly to amuse herself and her father. But George had thought her writing so insightful—and so witty—that Carolyn had approached several newspapers. The Morning Chronicle had eagerly snatched her work up, in spite of the fact that she was a woman. Her editor asked only that her gender be kept a secret, while Carolyn asked for anonymity in return.

She could not help wondering what her grandmother would think if she knew how Carolyn portrayed her class. But Carolyn did not write out of spite or malevolence. She wished to expose the utter moral corruption of those peers who thought themselves above the rest of society. Her aim was to shame those who deserved it, and perhaps, in the future, men like Sverayov and women like Lady Carradine might think less about their own pleasure and more about the misfortunes of others less mighty than they—and how to attend to those in need.

Carolyn carried a small sketchbook with her at all times, in a satchel on her back. She pulled it out and wrote down "S-routine" at the top of one clean page. Then, thinking a bit, she added "Background, personal and otherwise" to the very same page, feeling a quite delicious tingling along her spine and at the nape of her neck.

The front door opened and male voices could be heard. Carolyn stiffened with expectation as two men came into view, carrying on a conversation in low tones. And getting a clear view of them, she froze.

One of the men was Sverayov. Tall, disheveled, bronzed—it could be no one else but him.

Her heart had actually skipped an entire series of beats. She could not inhale, could not move. More frozen than a block of ice, Carolyn stared.

The prince came to a halt only a few dozen feet from her hiding place beside the walk. He was bareheaded, his hair a tawny, sun-streaked gold, worn slightly longer than the current fashion allowed. He was not in uniform. He wore a simple lawn shirt, a pale vest, and gray trousers. He was extremely tall and powerfully built, both broad-shouldered and slim of hip. His legs were very long. It was possible that his physical charms had not been exaggerated. But there was far more to the man than that. He moved like one who had been bom to power and wealth. There was a sense of dominance about him, and arrogance, that no one could miss. This man had no doubt about who and what he was.

Trembling, Carolyn looked again at his impossibly arresting face. This time, she dissected his features one by one—the darker, slashing eyebrows, the high, sculpted cheekbones, his hard jaw and straight, aristocratic nose. His mouth, even at this distance, appeared somewhat cruel and blatantly sensual.

He reeked of power and sensuality. For the first time in her hfe, Carolyn did not have a coherent thought in her head. Briefly she closed her eyes. And when she could think, she recalled her father's warning, and wondered if, this time, she might be getting in over her head.

And when she opened her eyes, the two men were bowing. Carolyn realized she was perspiring, and now she gulped air. She had, in her amazement, dropped her pad. She picked it up and began to draw with feverish strokes.

Quickly, first the prince, a lion of a man. Her swift pen strokes were hard and slashing, and there he stood, towering over the other, smaller gentleman, but disheveled, as if from the debauchery of the last evening, his vest wrinkled, his shirt unbuttoned—Carolyn portrayed it open right down

to the waistband of his trousers—his posture careless and arrogant, his mouth far too sensuous and far too bold. As she drew the other, smaller gentleman, she realized he was a physician, for he carried a doctor's bag. Out of breath, Carolyn closed the pad and slipped it into the satchel. Trembling.

Sverayov began walking with the doctor down the front walk—his strides taking him closer and closer to her as she hid. For the first time in her life, Carolyn was terrified of discovery. She did not move, did not dare to even breathe. Her eyes were wide, riveted on the two men.

Sverayov and the doctor drew abreast of her. Sverayov was saying, his voice husky, "You will be amply rewarded for all that you have done."

"Excellency, I shall send you a fair bill for my services."

"No. You will be rewarded," he said flatly, and there was little doubt that he would have his way. "Thank you for coming again."

"Thank you. Excellency," the doctor said. "I am just glad she has survived her ordeal."

The two men paused a few feet past Carolyn, now on the sidewalk. The Sverayov coach was coming round the block, obviously summoned for the doctor from the carriage house.

"As am I. I cannot thank you enough for saving her life," the prince said. Carolyn started. His expression was drawn and grim. But whose life had been in jeopardy? Surely not his wife's?

"I did little," the doctor said. He smiled. "Your wife is stronger than she appears.".

Carolyn jerked. His wife had almost died? But it was very hard to focus on the questions arising from her natural curiosity, because Sverayov was almost facing her. She swallowed, unable not to admit to herself that he was the most devastating man she had ever seen. Carolyn understood now why four ladies had fainted merely upon being introduced to him.

She almost felt like fainting, too.

His gaze suddenly shifted, toward the bushes where she hid. Carolyn wanted to sink down, lower, but was afraid he might detect the movement, so she held her breath and prayed.

The huge town coach halted in front of the men. A snarling red wolf crouched with bared fangs atop crossed silver swords and a gold banner which, in Latin, read "My Own." How arrogant was that motto, Carolyn thought. Footmen appeared to open the carriage door and hand the doctor in. Sverayov nodded to the pair of liveried drivers. The team of six took off. Sverayov watched for a moment, his back to Carolyn, then turned suddenly, his gaze darting over the sidewalk—and the bushes where Carolyn hid. Carolyn thought her heart had stopped, thought she had been discovered. But he ducked his head and strode decisively back up the walk, disappearing into the house. The front door closed solidly behind him.

Carolyn sank to the ground in a heap, her clothes damp with sweat, her pulse racing even more erratically than before. Oh, God. She closed her eyes, trying to regain her equilibrium. Nothing could have prepared her for her first glimpse of this man and her reaction to him.

Carolyn took a few deep breaths, her mind beginning to function again. She shoved her pad in the satchel, reminding herself very firmly that Sverayov was debauched, depraved, amoral—all that she despised in either a man or a woman. She began to feel better. He might look like some ancient Roman god of war-come down to Earth to avenge the weak, the needy, the poor, and the abused, to right wrongs, to fight evil, to create justice, but he was no immortal. How deceiving appearances could be.

And his poor wife had almost died. Of course, she could not quit the premises now. Not without learning what, exactly, had transpired that night.

Carolyn gathered her belongings, looking now across the small garden to the house—trying to decide just how to

cross those gardens without being detected by anyone, either manservant or master.

Nicholas hunched over his desk, frowning, a quill in hand. Outside his closed library doors, a courier was waiting to speed his missive to Alexander, who remained with the Russian army at their new headquarters in Drissa. Barclay was there with the Russian First Army—and Nicholas was acutely aware that, had he not been sent to London after the invasion, he would be there too with his own battalion.

He sighed, laying the quill aside. It was hard to concentrate, for many reasons, and Nicholas had no good news to relay to the tsar. He was extremely frustrated, but he would not allow Alexander to comprehend just how difficult the talks were. Castlereagh was as stubborn as his reputation made him out to be. But then, so was Nicholas. There was, possibly, some hope of a treaty that would officially end the war between the two countries—and, he hoped, grant the Russians some financial aid. Nicholas still wondered who was secretly and adamantly opposed to the alliance inside of the British government.

He finally scribbled a brief note, cautioning Alexander against hoping for an early outcome to their talks—and once again requesting he be remmed to his command under Barclay. Nicholas was signing his name to the missive when the door to the library opened abruptly—the intruder had not knocked. Nicholas jerked his gaze upward, immediately furious, a reprimand forming on his lips.

The tall, disheveled, dark-haired man standing on the threshold grinned. His clothing was stained with dust and dirt from travel. "Hello, Niki. Am I interrupting?"

Nicholas stood, crossed the room with long strides, and embraced his younger brother. "Alexi! This is a surprise! I thought you were in Vienna—playing cat and mouse with the Hapsburgs."

"Cat and dog is more like it." Alexi grinned, his teeth white in his dark, swarthy face. "My job is done. We have

obtained certain paltry guarantees from the Austrians. I,requested a brief leave of absence. It's been a long time since I strolled down Oxford Street."

Nicholas smiled still. "You haven't been to London since you were a boy."

"I am aware of that." Alexi sauntered into the room, tossing his narrow-brimmed hat onto the sofa. It was as dirty and dusty as the rest of him. "Actually, I thought you might need me here."

"What I need," Nicholas said, "is to find out who is really working so furiously against this treaty inside Cas-tlereagh's government. What guarantees did the Austrians give?"

"They will not do very much to aid Napoleon when he invades our country," Alexi said, plopping down on the sofa and stretching out his long, long legs. "But they have no intention of declaring war on Bonaparte. They are as afraid of him as ever."

Nicholas made no comment—it could have been worse. He walked to the sideboard and poured two vodkas and returned to his brother, handing him one. Alexi grunted his thanks and quaffed half of the glass. Nicholas took one sip and said, "Marie-Elena is here. She came with Katya."

Alexi's face changed before he could hide it. Briefly, disgust was mirrored on his unusually striking face. "How pleased you must .be—to have her here with you. I think you should know the latest gossip about your wife."

Nicholas sipped the vodka again, its heat searing the inside of his abdomen. "I do not pay much attention to gossips, and neither should you."

"Usually I don't. But this is important, Niki." Alexi stared.

"What are they saying now?"

' 'That Vorontsky is the father of the child she is carry-mg.

Nicholas refused to allow his shock to show. He steeled his face into an impassive mask. But he stood up, setting

his glass down. "You would not tell me this if you did not believe it yourself."

"You are too kind to her."

"She has many problems."

"And Vorontsky? Our cousin and our friend? Does he have problems, too? Is that his excuse for betraying you this way?" Alexi asked savagely.

Nicholas remained stunned. He recalled too many moments shared with himself, his brother, and their cousin since they were all children running wild through the streets of St. Petersburg. And even though Sasha knew that he and Marie-Elena shared nothing but a name and a child, if this was true, it was a betrayal. Another cruel betrayal. Anger flooded him.

"Why not ask her?" Alexi said rather snidely. "Of course, she will cry, quite prettily, and deny it, while begging for your love."

"I will ask Sasha," Nicholas said tightly.