Melting the Snow Queen

by Mary Lancaster

  Alba pounced. “You came back to Winbourne? So this began in London? Where did Her Grace go that day?”

  “We don’t know,” Kai admitted. “She didn’t tell anyone, even Rose, and she didn’t take the carriage so we couldn’t even ask the coachman or the footmen. Is it a mystery, Alba?”

  “I think it is,” Alba said slowly. One only the duchess could solve to her satisfaction.

  ***

  Still, during dinner, when she was again seated beside the duchess’s chaplain, she made one more effort, as subtly as she could. “I am a little worried about Her Grace, Mr. Harper. She seems troubled.”

  This appeared to come as a surprise to Mr. Harper, which was not encouraging. In truth, Alba couldn’t really imagine the self-contained, supercilious duchess confiding in this man. But if she didn’t, Alba wondered why she employed him.

  “Her Grace bears a great deal of responsibility,” Mr. Harper said with pompous vagueness.

  “Of course, she does,” Alba allowed. “But nothing in particular exercises her more than anything else?”

  “Not that she has confided to me. But it is typically kind of you to notice what no one else has.”

  Alba had no desire to turn the conversation toward compliments, as Mr. Harper was apt to do, so she said hastily, “I only wish to help her, so if you discover any way I can, I beg you will tell me.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Harper said, straightening his shoulders.

  However, Alba seriously doubted he was the best means to learn of the duchess’s troubles.

  After dinner, when the duchess retired, sweeping Alba and Rose before her, Alba knew she had little hope of piercing Her Grace’s armor again, let alone persuading her to explain her troubles. Alba’s sense of helplessness was made worse by the fact that the duchess’s mysterious visit had taken place in London while living in the same house as Alba.

  The duchess had always done her duty, dragging Alba to the parties or events the duke had insisted upon. But neither of them had enjoyed it and they had never sought out each other’s company on other occasions. Alba was forced to admit she knew nothing of her stepmother’s town life, and had merely been relieved when she had decided to go back to Winbourne, taking her daughters and Kai with her. The duke had vetoed Alba accompanying them, and instead had insisted on escorting Alba and a cousin to the theatre and parties. Until Alba had worn him down and got permission to return to Winbourne, too.

  What did the duchess do in London? Alba wasn’t even very sure what she did at the parties they attended together. Her Grace played cards a lot, gossiped with her contemporaries, introduced dancing partners to Alba. Beyond those things, Alba had no idea. On impulse, she returned to the drawing room.

  Volkov was setting out chess pieces on a board while Oscar poured generous amounts of brandy into two glasses.

  Volkov glanced at her with a lazy smile that caught at her breath. “You’re back. Play chess with me.”

  “You’re already playing with Oscar.”

  “He’s already thrashed Oscar,” her brother said cheerfully, setting a glass at Volkov’s elbow. “Let him thrash you, too, and I’ll feel better.”

  Almost mechanically, Alba sat and pushed a white pawn forward. “Oscar, what does Her Grace do in town?”

  “Takes you to parties. And other thankless tasks.”

  “Yes, but what are these other tasks? I don’t even know what she does at parties while I’m avoiding dancing.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I think it does. I think she’s unhappy.”

  Oscar shrugged. “She’s been Friday-faced since we were children.”

  “That’s just her manner,” Alba said impatiently. “I think she’s really unhappy now. And I think that’s what’s making her push Rose into society, filling her head with nonsense about a good, early marriage.”

  “Don’t like it above half myself,” Oscar said uneasily. “But you don’t know it’s nonsense.”

  “A gauche schoolgirl with a sizeable dowry, shoved onto the marriage mart at sixteen, is only going to receive offers from fortune hunters and scoundrels,” Alba said bluntly. “And getting her own way in it isn’t making Her Grace happy.”

  “If I were you, Alba, I wouldn’t interfere,” Oscar advised. “Talk to His Grace, by all means, but then leave it alone. You weren’t much older than Rose when you were mad to marry Harry. And you certainly wouldn’t have thanked me for trying to turn His Grace against that.”

  “Yes, but…” She frowned, wrestling with the only half-understood differences, as well as the surge of grief that Harry’s name always brought her. “It was Harry I wanted to marry. Rose just seems to want marriage for its own sake. And that must be Her Grace’s fault.”

  Oscar shrugged. “Wouldn’t surprise me if that wasn’t Her Grace’s attitude to her own marriage. It’s not unusual, Alba.”

  “But it makes her cry.”

  Oscar scowled. “When?”

  “This afternoon when I found her in her chamber.”

  “Well, all you know is that something made her cry. She might have turned her ankle or heard of a friend’s death. She might just have felt blue-devilled. People do, you know, without much reason.”

  Alba frowned at him, frustrated, sure he was wrong and yet quite unable to prove it.

  “Check,” Volkov observed mildly.

  Alba blinked at the board. She had been making moves almost automatically while arguing with Oscar. Moving her king back a square, she said, “I’m sorry, we shouldn’t discuss such things in front of you. I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

  He shook his head.

  “And he’s the soul of discretion, aren’t you, Volkov?” Oscar added.

  Volkov made an ironic sealed sign across his mouth. But Alba, who had blurted out far too much in front of a stranger, thought that her instincts were probably right. She wasn’t in the habit of trusting anyone and yet there was something about the Russian that inspired trust.

  She frowned in deeper concentration over his next turn before she worked out what he was up to and made her own move. Volkov smiled.

  “I met her once at Lady Harley’s,” Oscar said suddenly. “Just after I came home.”

  Alba frowned. “Is that significant?”

  “Not really. But the play tends to be pretty deep at Lady Harley’s card parties. I wouldn’t have picked her as a friend of Her Grace’s.”

  Alba mulled that over while she contemplated her next move, and the one after that.

  “Drat,” she said in surprise. “I’m in check again and this time I can’t get out of it.” She knocked down her king by way of submission.

  “You play well,” Volkov told her. “You surprised me a few times. Another?”

  She was almost shocked by the temptation. They had hardly spoken while they played, and yet being around him felt oddly…right. Where had the discomfort, the disturbance gone?

  A sudden surge of butterflies proved the disturbance had gone nowhere. Only it no longer made her uncomfortable. I like him… Stunned, she rose to her feet, murmuring almost in panic, “No, I must go to bed.”

  Volkov stood with her and held out his hand, his eyes smiling in a way that caught her breath. Only pride, which refused to let her cower, compelled her to place her hand in his. He bowed over it, brushing her fingers with his lips.

  “Good night,” she managed, and with a quick wave at the watchful Oscar, she managed to walk out of the room without any obvious signs of flight. But she ran across the hall and up the stairs, energy seeming to burst out of her.

  I’m alive, she thought in wonder. I’m truly alive.

  Chapter Five

  Alba woke early with that same pleasurable little spark of excitement in her stomach, an awareness that, she realized, had been sadly lacking in her life. And she could not be still. Reaching out to pull the bell for Siddons, she paused. It was an hour earlier than the maid usually came and Alba wanted to be alone with this new feeling for ju
st a little longer. Just like last night, she could not be still.

  So, she rose on her own. After splashing water over herself, she dried and dressed as best she could in an old walking dress, which she covered with a large shawl to hide its unlaced state. Besides, it was early enough, despite the bright sunlight, for the air to be chilly.

  She left via the side door and walked through the rose garden without stopping. At this moment, the garden felt too constricting. Instead, she strode on toward the wood, and there, where no one could see her, she abandoned her dignity and ran.

  She reveled in the stretching of her limbs, in the breathless energy impelling her onward through the wood toward the ornamental lake. As she approached the edge of the wood, she slowed, for the sound of violent splashing told her she would not be alone at the water.

  Recovering her breath, she walked more warily, peering through the thinning trees to see whether animals or humans disturbed the water.

  It was a man. From the edge of the wood, she saw him swimming like a fish toward her. Occasionally he flipped onto his back, floating for a little before striking out in a different direction. And then he plunged under the water, only to emerge a few second later, and struck out for the bank.

  Alba’s heart lurched, for she knew, suddenly, the swimmer was Volkov. She knew she should vanish back into the wood, for he was swimming almost directly toward her. But her limbs felt suddenly heavy, for there was a strange beauty in his powerful movements, in the glimpses of naked, golden skin sparkling in the morning sunshine, and she couldn’t look away.

  Then he grasped the bank and hauled himself out of the water. Water cascaded off his muscled shoulders and arms. Alba’s mouth dried. She wanted to touch his naked chest, smooth the damp skin and feel the thick muscle beneath. He wore nothing but a pair of linen drawers that left very little to the imagination.

  Paralyzed, she watched him kneel and shake his head like a dog, spraying water in all directions. And then his gaze lifted and met hers.

  She wanted the earth to swallow her whole. It was bad enough to be invading his privacy without being caught.

  His lips curved upward. “Good morning.”

  She swallowed. “Good morning. I hope the water is warm.” It was a stupid thing to say and she regretted it as soon as the words spilled out.

  But he only said, “I think bracing is more apt. Why, do you want to try?”

  She shook her head violently, poised to run, and yet she didn’t.

  He turned, sitting on the bank with his long, strong legs dangling down and his feet just touching the water. He seemed to feel no embarrassment whatsoever. “Pity. I’m not really dressed for conversation,” he said with the flash of a smile over his shoulder. “I hesitate to ask, but I seem to have left my clothes just a few yards to your left, there.”

  It seemed her legs would move after all. Surely her discomfort was silly. She had grown up seeing James and Oscar swimming here in the summer. This was no different. Only it was. The sight of Volkov’s almost naked body overwhelmed her with feelings, with desires she barely comprehended.

  And she liked them.

  Hastily, she picked up the pile of clothes and the towel he had abandoned and brought them back to him, setting them down neatly beside him. Watching a swallow diving at the lake, he reached casually for the towel and touched her hand instead. His gaze flew up to hers and she couldn’t breathe.

  His brown eyes seemed to darken impossibly, holding her captive. An instant longer, she crouched beside him, overwhelmed by his sheer maleness. Then she snatched her hand free and stumbled to her feet.

  “Wait for me,” he said. “I’ll be dressed in two seconds.”

  “Catch up with me,” she said, and strolled back into the wood as though she came across handsome, naked men every day. Only in the cover of the trees did her hand creep over her galloping heart.

  He was as good as his word, catching up with her a minute or two later. He was still damp, and supremely casual with his coat unfastened and no necktie.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought it was too early for any of the household to be up. Forgive me for appalling you.”

  “Surprising me,” she corrected, having gathered herself together. “Think nothing of it, sir. My brothers and I used to swim there as children.”

  “Not anymore?”

  “Goodness, no, I’m much too respectable. We row, sometimes. You should ask Oscar to take you. There are a few boats in the shed at the far end of the lake.”

  “What an excellent idea. Would the children like it, too?”

  “They would love it,” she said, surprised and not a little touched that he thought of them. It seemed there were many layers to Prince Volkov.

  ***

  They spent a beautiful afternoon at the lake. The children joined them, giving Miss Ellington another much-needed afternoon off to nurse the remains of her cold. Rose came, too, with her mother’s permission, and seemed much more relaxed and natural than of late, playing with the twins as though suddenly pleased to be able to indulge childhood pleasures once more. The duchess herself, while refusing all help, claimed to have far too much to do preparing for the ball and sent them away with a basket full of luncheon.

  They all took turns rowing, raced each other, and lazed in the summer sunshine. In the company of her family, Alba relaxed into Volkov’s presence, growing used to the excitement that always seemed to come with him, enjoying it rather than running from it. His conversation amused and intrigued her, and if she liked to look at him a little too much, and remembered a little too clearly the disturbing sight of his golden, naked body, well that was her secret. She just knew she had never met anyone like him before and she enjoyed hearing his entertaining tales of his own family and friends. Only sometimes when he mentioned his brother Nikolai, or certain friends, his eyelids swept down too fast and he changed the subject too quickly. Even that moved her, for it spoke of personal tragedies he had no intention of revealing.

  In the evening, it seemed quite natural to play chess with him, even to crow in a most unladylike way when she took his queen, but he only laughed and, in the end, he beat her.

  “Next time,” she said, “I will win.”

  “I rather think you will,” he agreed.

  The duchess rose decisively to her feet. “It’s time to retire, so we shall bid you goodnight.”

  Again, Alba did not want to retire so early. But she made no fuss about wishing everyone a cheerful goodnight and following Her Grace and Rose from the room. As she closed the door, Prince Volkov was inviting Mr. Harper to play.

  Alba had not forgotten her stepmother’s tears yesterday and hoped to inspire some sort of confidence as they walked upstairs together. But the duchess’s manner was, if anything, more repelling than usual, and she revealed no sign of yesterday’s weakness.

  ***

  Volkov woke with hope in his heart, his head full of visions of Alba as she had been yesterday—shocked by his almost-nakedness in the lake; laughing and cheering him on as he rowed past Oscar’s boat; smiling lazily up at the cloudless sky; in deep concentration as she had very nearly beaten him at chess.

  He hadn’t expected to like her so much. Exactly what he had expected, he was no longer sure. As he often did, he’d acted on impulse, finding out who she was and coming here. But she was no longer simply the icy beauty who had dazzled him. His few glimpses beneath the surface charm she showed the world held him in thrall. He wanted, needed, to know more.

  Since he had found her there before, Volkov sauntered into the rose garden as soon as he was washed, shaved and dressed. Although there was no sign of Alba, the twins were there. They greeted him like an old friend and confided they were hiding from Miss Ellington, their governess.

  “Splendid idea,” Volkov approved. “Only…since she found you here yesterday and the day before, don’t you think you should try a different hiding place today?”

  “We’re relying on her thinking just that,” Kai confi
ded.

  “Interesting tactic. Will she scold you?”

  “Not really,” Gerda replied, grinning. “It’s part of the morning ritual. None of our other governesses would play.”

  “I’m sure you had them wrapped round your little fingers in other ways,” Volkov said in amusement.

  “Are you looking for Alba?” Gerda asked.

  Volkov regarded her. “Would you mind if I were?”

  “No. You make her smile.”

  “Not very often,” he said ruefully.

  “She’s smiling on the inside,” Kai said. “Look.” He nodded across the garden as Alba emerged from one of the other paths.

  In a beam of sunlight, her golden hair looked like a halo. The unique beauty which had first enchanted him, now made him ache. She was even more dazzling.

  He rose and advanced to meet her. The children skipped on either side of him, hugged their sister. and ran off.

  He said, “I can’t decide whether you’re more beautiful in candlelight, moonlight or sunlight.”

  “Does it matter?”

  He smiled. “No. It doesn’t matter at all. Will you walk with me?”

  Something very like fear flashed in her eyes and yet before her golden lashes came down, he was sure he’d read eagerness there, too. “Why?”

  “Because I like your company and I would know you better.”

  Her chin lifted and she met his gaze once more. “Still flirting, Prince Volkov?”

  “The snow queen has nothing to fear from such trifles.”

  “I don’t fear,” she said at once. She laid her hand on his proffered arm and he felt as if he’d been given something precious. Not her trust, not yet. But a chance.

  His heart beat like a boy’s facing the object of his first passion. He had no idea where this was leading, but. by God. he would follow.

  And then she surprised him again.