Truth about Leo (9 page)

Leo laughed, a warm, rumbly sound that sent little shivers of delight down her arms. “I can't imagine you prostrate with penitence before anyone, Princess.”

“You may call me Dagmar, you know. What were you doing in Denmark if you weren't on your way from Russia to England?”

He stilled, making her think of a stag freezing as a hunter approached. “What makes you think I was in Russia?”

“You told me so. At least I think you did. It was the first night that we found you. You were raving with your fever, and you said something about being in Russia. Or did you? It seems so long ago. I can ask Julia. She might remember.”

“Who exactly is this Julia woman? Is she your maidservant?”

“Not really. Her husband was an equerry with the British ambassador, but he died suddenly, and she was left without anyone in Copenhagen, so my mother took her on as a companion. I more or less inherited her when Dearest Papa died. Julia isn't the least bit sensible, you see, so I have to take care of her. That's why we thought we'd set up a shop in England.”

“That, I believe, is a subject we shall set aside for the time being, lest we ruin the
détente
.”

“I think,” Dagmar said slowly, guiding Leo over to the bed. For some inexplicable reason, she had a need to touch him, and this was the only way she could think to do so without him making reference harlots again. Until she was sure of just how married people were supposed to behave with each other, she'd limit her contact with him to situations that appeared anything but lascivious. “I think that I would like to see to rebandaging your arm, and then we can discuss why you don't want to go back to England.” A horrible thought struck her. “Has your father exiled you from your family and stripped you of all your inheritance too?”

“No. My father has been dead since I was four, and my bandages are fine. The surgeon saw to them earlier, while you were sleeping.” He eyed her but allowed her to push him gently down onto the bed. “Why did you choose to turn your back on your illustrious connections in Denmark? It seems to me that it would have been far easier to allow the crown prince to see to your welfare than wed a stranger.”

“Why were you in Russia but you don't want me to know about it?” she countered.

“Why didn't you apply to your mother's family for aid in getting to England if that's what you wanted so badly?”

“Who's Amadelle, and why did you have her kitten?”

“That was amusing,” he said agreeably, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back against the pillow. “Shall we go around again?”

“If you insist. Why did you have a piece of paper in your boot that contains mostly numbers and a few words in English?”

His hand twitched as if he was reaching for his foot.

“It's in the chest,” Dagmar said, nodding toward that object. “We put it there with your other belongings, not that you had much with you. What
were
you doing out in my back garden?”

“Being attacked by someone wielding a saber if the surgeon is anyone to go by, and I'm assuming he recognizes a saber wound when he sees one. Why didn't you go to the British ambassador if you needed assistance? Or the king?”

“The king, as you most likely know, is not quite himself, hence Frederick being named the regent. And I did go to the ambassador. He refused to help me because of the Sonderburg-Beck connection. Feelings appear to be running somewhat hot right now between Prussia and England.”

“Mmm. So I was your only opportunity for leaving Copenhagen? Why didn't you simply go out to the country if the navy's attack was too much for you?”

“Oh, my need to leave had nothing to do with your navy arriving to sink all the ships.”

“I doubt if they sank them all,” he said gently.

“No, but they sank enough that I have no doubt the navy will conscript any merchant's ships available until new warships can be built. I thought we were going to forgo recapping the events of the past few weeks?”

He smiled. “You want to avoid it; I have no such desire.”

Her lips tightened. She stood before him by turns frustrated, angry, frightened, and guilty, wanting to lash out, but knowing it would do no good. He wasn't to blame for the situation; this was clearly a case of the odious adage about sleeping in a bed she'd made.

She didn't have to like it, though. And since a cranky princess is not a princess whose company is to be enjoyed, she walked out of the cabin without a look or a word.

Docility, humility, and modesty are the princess's bywords. A docile, humble, and modest princess is not a princess who angers the reigning monarch (or his eldest son appointed to rule in his stead) by filling said eldest son's favorite riding gloves with wood lice.

—Princess Christian of Sonderburg-Beck's Guide for Her Daughter's Illumination and Betterment

Leo had planned on speaking with the captain after seeing Dagmar, but as irritated as he was, he felt in need of a few minutes to calm his raging emotions. On the one hand, he had a delicious, tempting woman to whom he was legally married, one who fired his blood as no woman had done for a very long time. Just the memory of the heat of her breasts in his hands, the sweetness of her mouth, and the way she touched him had him hard and aching.

And wishing he hadn't been so quick to anger her. Even now, she could be in his bunk kissing him and touching him and allowing him free rein to do all those things that he suddenly wanted to do to her.

But a man had his pride, and she had ruffled his. At least his rage about being used for selfish purposes had passed. Her eyes had been utterly without guile when she admitted the truth behind their marriage. Given that and the evidence of his own body, he was quite prepared to believe that he truly had one foot over death's threshold, and given her desperate situation—what he knew of it—he supposed that were he in her shoes, he might have acted the same way.

“What I know of it,” he mused to himself, one arm behind his head as he stretched out on the bunk. “There's something you aren't telling me, my innocent, gentle wife. What could it be, I wonder?”

He had a very good sense when it came to secrets, and Dagmar was clearly trying to conceal something from him. But what could it be? A scandal? That was entirely likely, given her madcap ways and apparently nontraditional upbringing, but it wasn't a thought that particularly distressed him. Whatever scandal there might be would be left behind in Denmark.

Perhaps it was gambling debts? That was also possible, but again, it didn't overly concern him. He had enough wealth to support them both, and he would simply put his foot down about anything above a modest wager.

A word snuck around the edges of his mind.

What if she had to leave town because of a lover?

He sat up, frowning furiously at nothing. “No,” he told the empty cabin. “That I will not accept. She didn't know how to kiss at all when we first started.” Although Lord knew she learned fast enough. By the time he had managed to tear himself away from her, she had him shaking with need to possess her. All of her.

The thought that any other man might have stirred the desire he saw in her eyes was unthinkable. Impossible and unthinkable.

He made immediate plans to find someone who would know of all the romantic scuttlebutt in the Danish court, and then instantly felt ashamed of his suspicions. Dagmar had said repeatedly that she was innocent, and he had no reason to disbelieve her.

Which still left unanswered the question of what she was hiding. He was stretched out on his bunk, mulling over that question and what he was going to do upon his unexpected return to England, when the captain tapped on the door, a second man accompanying him.

“Maltheson tells me ye'll live to see another day.” The captain, a grizzled man with skin like a tanned hide, eyed him with accurate assessment.

“For which I have the good doctor to thank,” Leo answered.

“From what I be understandin', ye should be thankin' your wife more than the doctor. I'm told she refused all help with ye until she knew ye'd survive.” The captain gestured to the other man. “This is Mr. Philip Dalton. Thought you might like to have someone to talk to who ain't a woman.”

The captain retired from the room before Leo could protest that he wasn't in need of any company.

The man named Dalton looked embarrassed and rubbed his jaw. “My apologies for intruding on you when I'm sure you'd prefer to be resting, but as we are running out of time, I felt it vital to speak to you before we reach London.”

“In what way are we running out of time?” Leo was intrigued despite himself, damn his overdeveloped curiosity. “I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you in Copenhagen, have I?”

“No, although I was told that you were expected to pass that way.” Dalton sat in the one available chair at Leo's gesture. “I had no idea that you were going to make an appearance in such a dramatic fashion, however.”

“No more so did I,” Leo said, grimacing and moving his shoulder slightly to a more comfortable position.

Dalton laughed. “I'm sure not. I simply wanted to speak with you before the ship docked, which I'm told will be very shortly.”

“Ah. I'm curious that you were informed that I was in the vicinity,” Leo said casually, watching the man out of the corner of his eye. He wanted very much to know just who this man was and how he became privy to knowledge that shouldn't have been bandied about. Leo's business in Russia had been very hush-hush and only a few men outside of England knew of it.

“Lord Salter gave me your name and said that you might be of some service to me should I find you in Copenhagen, where he said you would be stopping en route to Berlin. Alas, I was unable to find you until my sister and I boarded this ship for a return to our home in London.”

Leo sat up straight. The man was entirely too knowledgeable about his business. Just who the devil was he? “You know Lord Salter?”

“He's my godfather.” Dalton smiled. “I will say that you are a difficult man to find. I had a hell of a time running you to earth. Lord Bexley, who is acting as ambassador, tried to find you and had no luck. I went to the crown prince, but he'd never heard of you. I realize that this is probably the last thing you wish to hear during your recovery, but Lord Salter urged me to lay my problem at your feet and beg for your help.”

Leo felt as if hundreds of ants were crawling over him at the thought of so many people trying to locate him. Dammit, his job frequently depended on him keeping out of the sight of people, not having everyone hunting for him.

“It wasn't until I ran into the admiral that my luck turned.”

“The admiral?” Leo scratched at his shoulder. The wound was starting to itch, which he hoped was a good sign and not one that fleas had set up habitation. “Which admiral?”

“Nelson.”

“Dagmar mentioned that Nelson was in Copenhagen. What I'd like to know is why I wasn't told of those plans before I arrived in Denmark.”

“As to that, I cannot guess. My godfather didn't tell me any of what his plans were. I ran into Nelson at the palace; he was in Copenhagen shortly before we sailed, but last I heard, he was off to Karlskrona to deal with the Swedes.”

“I see. And in what manner did Lord Salter wish for me to help you?”

Dalton pulled out a cigar case and offered it to Leo, taking one for himself when the former shook his head. “It has to do with my nephew's death. We are unsatisfied that the person responsible has eluded capture.”

“Dalton?” Leo searched his memory for anyone of that name out in Scandinavia or Russia. “I don't believe I know of any Dalton other than you. Was your nephew with the admiralty or the foreign office?”

“Neither.” Dalton took a deep breath. “He was a very pious young man, one who desperately wished to take orders and become a priest. Given that a riding accident early on left him unable to sire children, it certainly would have been a good occupation for him, but until his father died, he was unable to pursue that calling.”

Ah, it was simply a case of nepotism at work. That he could deal with. “Lord Salter's opinion aside, I'm afraid that I can be of little help in finding out who killed your nephew. I haven't been in England in several months and would be at a loss as to investigating his death. I have a friend, however, who might be able to help you if he's not busy with his own work for the Home Office.”

“My godfather was adamant that you were the man to help us,” Dalton said quickly. “And I don't need help in finding who murdered Algernon; that, at least, I know. What I need help with is finding her.”

“Would it not be easier to simply turn this information over to the authorities?”

“We have. They can do little since the woman disappeared twenty-one years ago.”

“I'm sorry, but there's no way I could possibly help with something that occurred so long ago—”

“She was in Copenhagen a few months ago,” Dalton interrupted. “A letter from her to a cousin, who is in the employ of a neighbor, was discovered and turned over to me. That is why we made the journey to Denmark. And that is why my godfather thought you could help find her—he knew you were bound to be in the area, and given your area of expertise, you might reasonably be able to find the woman where we could not. Louisa and I set sail immediately for Copenhagen.”

“Where I was lying insensible and near death.”

“Exactly.” Dalton puffed his cigar for a few moments. “When we couldn't find you, or even word of your whereabouts, we gave up hope and convinced Admiral Nelson to allow us to sail home on this ship. We were flabbergasted to find out that you were on board as well.”

“Frustrating on all accounts, but I don't see what I can do to help you now,” Leo said, his curiosity piqued despite common sense warning him there was little he could do. He had always had a taste for mystery, and tracking down a murderer appealed greatly to his sense of justice.

“I understand that your wife is Danish.” Dalton made a gesture with his cigar. “In fact, my sister and I met her briefly at the palace a few weeks ago, but we did not know then who she was. It is our hope that perhaps the princess might be able to tell us something about the woman we seek.”

Leo was a little surprised by that. “Is this murderess someone gently born?”

“Not to my knowledge. She was employed as governess for my two daughters. Her name was Margaret Prothero.”

The name meant nothing to Leo, but he made a mental note to ask Dagmar if it was familiar.

He rubbed his chin. “I will speak to my wife, of course, but I hesitate to give you any hope. I gather from what Dagmar has told me of her parents that they did not go out in society much, and she has been in deep mourning for the last year. Then there's the amount of time that's passed—Dagmar would have been a babe in arms when this Prothero woman left England for Copenhagen.”

“Unfortunately, I don't know when she fled to Denmark; it could be anytime during the last twenty-one years. The letter handed to me made no mention of her arrival; it simply said that she was quite comfortable in Copenhagen.”

“It's not very likely that Dagmar would have met her,” Leo answered with gentle regret.

“Perhaps not, but I will appreciate all the help you can give me. And in consideration of that, I will give you a bit of news that should brighten your spirits. The captain told me after we had set sail that your horse had been found just a few days before running wild through the streets of Copenhagen and that the admiral felt you would be happier if he was shipped home with you.”

Leo closed his eyes for a moment in order to remember the last time he had seen the beastly animal. He had a vague recollection of Galahad disappearing into the distance but had no idea why the horse had bolted. All things considered, he was pleased Galahad was on board the ship and made a promise to visit him that evening and make sure he was being attended to properly. “That was kindness indeed.”

“Would you mind if I ask—I hate to be nosy, but my sister is much fascinated by the admiral's tale that the captain related to us—is it true that you wed Princess Dagmar after you had been so grievously wounded? We were agog to hear the trials your wife went through keeping you alive, and her subsequent bravery in taking on the entire British Royal Navy to get you home to England so that you might die in peace, an eventuality which happily for all did not occur. It's said that the princess found you in her back garden, near to death and unable to speak.”

Leo wondered just who the captain was that Nelson felt so chummy as to tell him so much, and added to his mental list of things to do that of having a chat with the captain about telling everyone his business. “Princess Dagmar did indeed find me and evidently married me under the assumption that I was going to die immediately thereafter. Of her bravery in getting me on board the ship, I have no comment save that I'm sure she moved heaven and earth. She is a very single-minded woman, and I have no doubt that Nelson fell like a tower of sugar before her force.”

“I haven't had the chance to speak to her, but from our brief meeting in Copenhagen, I agree that the Admiral likely didn't stand a chance against her. You are to be congratulated for making an advantageous marriage out of such a poor beginning.”

Leo made a face. “Poor beginning is an understatement. I don't even remember seeing her until I came out of the fever a few days ago.”

“Now that is a shame. The princess is quite worth looking upon, and had I been younger, I would have made much of my initial meeting with her.”

Leo's gaze shot swiftly to the other man, but it was evident by the amusement on Dalton's face that the latter was teasing him.

“She is a beauty,” Leo agreed, spending a few moments thinking over just how pleasing Dagmar was on a physical level. His body had absolutely no trouble appreciating her appearance, but it was her mind that troubled him. The very fact that she'd wed herself to a man who was near death left him floundering between gratitude and annoyance. “What if she is disappointed that she isn't a widow?”

He wasn't aware he had spoken the thought aloud until Dalton, with due consideration, answered, “There's something in that, you know. My own late wife, rest her soul, often told me that there were days when she would have happily pushed me off a cliff. I've always felt that no woman would wish to be on her own without any menfolk to take care of her, but my sister, Louisa, has often declared just the opposite, and in truth, she appears quite contented to be on her own. Perhaps the princess would be happier likewise, although the point is moot now, isn't it? There's not much she can do even if she would have preferred that you not survive the journey home.”