Melting the Snow Queen

by Mary Lancaster

  “Should you be wearing that to a genteel party?” she demanded.

  “I never travel without it. It’s part of the uniform.”

  She didn’t seem convinced, although she looked him up and down and eventually nodded. “Very handsome, sir, very smart. Though I shouldn’t be encouraging you to take our lady away from Winbourne.”

  “Sooner or later, she was bound to go.”

  Mrs. Hicks sighed. “I know. But not all the way to Russia.”

  “It’s not that far away, Mrs. H. I’ve been to England twice this year.”

  “That’s true,” Mrs. Hicks acknowledged. “And I expect you have a good family to look after her.”

  Yuri eyed her. Until now, Alba had never actually been mentioned between them, and now she was chatting like his greatest confidante. “I suppose it’s useless to beg your discretion?”

  She bridled. “My lips are sealed, sir, as always. Now, drink your brandy and get along with you.”

  He laughed, knocked back the brandy, and dropped the glass back onto her tray before surprising her with a careless hug and a kiss on her rosy cheek. “Get along with you, Mrs. H.”

  He rode over to Moreland Manor on horseback, with a lantern to guide his way. His heart was full of love, his head full of plans, so the journey passed quickly. The sudden, metallic click took him completely by surprise. On one level, it was so out of place, on another, so familiar that he acted purely from instinct, flattening himself along the horse’s neck and digging his heels into its flanks.

  It sprang forward just as the shot rang out. The horse was not his own, but a hired hack, so the sudden noise frightened it, causing it to bolt faster and resist when he pulled on the reins to hunt down the shooter. But eventually it obeyed, galloping into the trees beside the track.

  It was too late. Although Yuri could see movement weaving through the trees—one man on foot—and he could have caught him on horseback, he didn’t know who else lurked in the cover of the trees. He refused to die from stupidity. And so, he wheeled his horse around once more and galloped on toward the house.

  The coincidence of this attack happening on Bethurst land did not escape him. No wonder he had been invited.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The duke’s party was welcomed with inevitable reverence. Mrs. Bethurst, seated by the drawing room door with her companion, greeted them with obvious pleasure.

  Alba bent and kissed her cheek. “How pretty you look,” Alba said warmly, for despite the winter, the old lady did indeed seem to have taken a new lease on life, her eyes brighter, her manner livelier.

  “That’s because you and Ralph make me happy.”

  Alba’s smile froze on her lips. Beside her, her stepmother twitched nervously. Alba straightened. Refuting Ralph’s assertions was not going to be quite as simple as she had imagined.

  Surprisingly, Ralph himself stepped into the breach. Arriving to join in the greeting of his highest-ranking guests, he hastily addressed the duchess, “May I steal your daughter for a turn or two around the room, Your Grace? We have much to discuss.”

  The duchess gave her gracious permission though her glare held a warning to Alba, who ignored it.

  “No, we don’t,” she told Ralph, strolling with him and nodding to acquaintances in the large drawing room. The whole neighborhood was here, from landowners to vicars and even Dr. and Mrs. Banks and their own Mr. Harper—everyone with any claim to gentility.

  “We don’t what?” Ralph asked mildly.

  “Have much to discuss. My answer is the same, sir. I have not treated you well. My only excuse is illness. I do apologize unreservedly, but I shall not marry you. To do so would only bring misery to both of us. I would not make you happy, Ralph.”

  “You must let me be the judge of that.”

  “Then you must let me judge my own happiness, too, and mine does not lie with you.”

  He was silent a moment, then, “Forgive me, Alba, but we are old friends. You are given to obsession, to infatuation that cannot last, but will only lead to misery and disappointment. Remember Harry.”

  She blinked. “Why does everyone bring Harry up as proof of inconstancy? We did not end our engagement voluntarily. He died!”

  “But I see you repeating it with Prince Volkov.”

  In fact, although she had loved them both, the actual feelings were so different that she could not allow the remark to pass. “You are wrong. I repeat nothing. Would I still love Harry if he were alive and married to me? Yes, I believe I would. But he isn’t and I am a different person from the loss of him. It is this version of me, the person as I am now, who loves Yuri.”

  “And the person of tomorrow will love me. I guarantee it.”

  “You can’t guarantee any such thing.”

  “Give me six months,” he said, and held up one hand. “No, give me three, as my betrothed. If, by the end of that time, you still wish it, I will release you and you may have Volkov if you still want him. If he still wants you.”

  “When I have jilted him twice? Even if I didn’t love him, I could not do that to him.”

  “But you would do it to me.”

  She searched his eyes. “Yes, I would,” she admitted. “I was wrong to agree to our engagement; though, to be frank, I have no clear recollection of doing so. I was a little mad, I think…and likely to be so again without Yuri, so look on this as a lucky escape.”

  “I will let no such thing happen to you again.”

  She laughed. “My dear sir, some things you cannot control.” And I am one of them.

  “Well, for tonight, let us put our differences aside. Let us be friends. Ah, here is my cousin who is spending Christmas with us. Do you know Captain Cairnshaw?”

  “I don’t believe I do.”

  “Then allow me to present Captain Jasper Cairnshaw of the Life Guards. Jasper, Lady Alba Snowden, the daughter of our neighbor, the Duke of Ruthin.”

  The captain, very smart and handsome in his ornate uniform, bowed over her hand and pronounced himself charmed. He had twinkling eyes around which were rather deep lines that she suspected spoke of good living and dissipation.

  “How delightful to meet you, at last,” he declared. “I have heard so much about you that I didn’t see how you could live up to your description. But, by Jove, you surpass it with a vengeance. I am enchanted and will do my best to cut every other man out of your thoughts.”

  “Thank you for the warning,” she said, amused. “But I assure you, my brain has room to remember several people at once.”

  “It was not your brain I meant, but your heart.”

  “But I have none, Captain. Ask anyone.”

  “Of course, you are the snow queen. I don’t believe that for an instant.”

  She raised one brow, freezing her expression into one of cold disdain.

  “Or perhaps I do,” he said hastily. “Let us stick with your brain after all.” When she laughed, he smiled back encouragingly, leading her away from Ralph, which suited her very well. “You find me ridiculous,” he guessed.

  “Pleasantly so,” she assured him, glancing toward the door. For Yuri was not here yet and she was impatient.

  She spent the next half hour renewing old acquaintances and making light of her recent illness. No one asked her about Prince Volkov, although the rumor of his return to the area must have circulated by now.

  Then the orchestra began to play and Mrs. Bethurst’s chair was carried into the center of the room by two liveried footmen. Presumably, the normally ubiquitous Warne was not considered smart enough for the occasion.

  “I thought we could have a couple of dances for the young people,” Mrs. Bethurst announced, “and then, perhaps, we could persuade some of the young ladies to sing for us before some more dancing. For those who would rather play, a card room has been set up next door. To begin with, the orchestra will play a waltz, and I ask my son to open the dance with Lady Alba Snowden.”

  Since Ralph materialized by Alba’s side once more, there
was little she could do without being unnecessarily churlish. Besides, Yuri was not here to dance with. So, she graciously accepted Ralph’s arm and waltzed, along with five or so other couples. Rose danced with the vicar’s son, who suddenly seemed to have grown up.

  Captain Cairnshaw was not dancing, she noticed, but appeared to be making the acquaintance of her father. The next time she saw them, they were making their way into the card room.

  “You keep glancing at the door,” Ralph observed. “Are you expecting someone else?”

  She met his gaze. “Prince Volkov. I heard you had invited him.”

  “My mother invited him. But how did you know? I understood the duke had forbidden you to meet.”

  Alba merely smiled.

  “In any case, I doubt he will come where he knows he is not wanted.”

  “What a very odd idea of hospitality you have developed.”

  “Only where you are concerned.”

  Which did not explain why his mother had invited Yuri, but she supposed she could not ask.

  After the second dance, a country set which she danced with a neighbor’s somewhat tongue-tied son, she was asked by Mrs. Bethurst to sing for the company first. Alba enjoyed singing, so when Ralph and Captain Cairnshaw both pressed her, too, she gave in with grace and sat down by the pianoforte.

  “With apologies to the true musicians,” she said with a quick smile at the silent orchestra. It won her their grins and the general laughter of the company.

  “I’ll turn your music for you,” Rose offered. “Unless you’d rather—”

  “I’d rather you,” Alba said under her breath. “As you very well know.”

  It was while she sang that Yuri arrived. Her heart seemed to plunge, for he looked almost devilishly handsome. Unlike Captain Cairnshaw, he wore his sword, and seemed to sweep the excitement, even the violence, of the battlefield into the drawing room with him.

  He paused just inside the doorway, attracting most eyes in the room, including Alba’s. She smiled with welcome and at once his eyes sparked and his lips curved. But he remembered his manners, looking around for his hostess, whom he had never met.

  Although no one helped him, he went directly to Mrs. Bethurst and bowed. Alba dragged her eyes back to the music and concentrated on playing the correct notes and singing the right words. For her, at last, the evening sparkled.

  She stood as soon as her piece was finished, refusing civilly all requests for more. Instead, she called on one of the younger girls. “I would love to hear Miss Winter play.” At once, all attention turned to the blushing Miss Winter, and Alba slipped away.

  Rather than sit back down with the duchess, Alba strolled around the room, waiting impatiently for Yuri to find her. She dared not scan the room too obviously, for although most eyes were currently on the struggling Miss Winter, she knew that, as the duke’s daughter, she tended to attract attention.

  Just as she moved past the open doorway to the little antechamber where lemonade and wine could be found, Yuri emerged, bearing two glasses of champagne, one of which he presented to her with a quizzical smile.

  “Lady Alba. A pleasant evening, I trust?”

  “Most pleasant,” she managed. Their fingers touched as she accepted the glass and her skin tingled. Their eyes locked and she smiled. She couldn’t help it. His company, his very presence, made her happy. They did not even speak at first, merely stood together pretending to listen to Miss Winter’s indifferent performance. When she finished, Alba set down her glass and applauded.

  “Lady Alba, may I fetch you some refreshment?” It was Captain Cairnshaw, pausing beside them.

  “Thank you, no, I have a glass here.” Remembering her manners, she introduced the two men.

  “Ah, I thought you must be Volkov,” the captain said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Yuri raised his eyebrows. “You have? From whom?”

  “My aunt, of course. And my cousin.”

  “Captain Cairnshaw is Mrs. Bethurst’s nephew,” Alba said.

  “I am, and I’ve come specially to beg the next waltz—which,” he added, leaning closer and lowering his voice, “will be as soon as this torture stops.” He straightened. “My lady?”

  “Lady Alba is already promised to me,” Yuri said. He smiled faintly. “For the waltz.”

  Cairnshaw smiled back. “But I was not asking you.”

  Quite suddenly, the atmosphere seemed so taut between them it would tear.

  “How fortunate,” Yuri said, “for I don’t believe you and I would dance well together.”

  Involuntarily, it seemed, a breath of laughter escaped Cairnshaw. “You are funny,” he allowed. “You must be quite a favorite with the ladies.”

  “I doubt it. I am less witty than you think.”

  “You couldn’t be,” Cairnshaw said ambiguously.

  This time it was Yuri who laughed. “You intrigue me, Captain. We must talk more.”

  “Over cards, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps,” Yuri said. “After my dance with Lady Alba.”

  “I’m afraid Yuri did ask me first,” Alba interjected, for she sensed something going on between the two men that she didn’t understand. Besides, she would not be argued over like a child’s toy. “But I thank you for the honor.”

  Cairnshaw bowed and passed on. By then, another young lady was singing somewhat woodenly.

  Alba said under her breath, “What was that all about?”

  “I have no idea. Has he been here all evening?”

  “Since we came just after eight o’clock. Why?”

  “And Bethurst?”

  “Of course.” She frowned. “Yuri—”

  He smiled into her eyes, taking her breath away. “Nothing. Your father has just emerged from the card room and Her Grace is glaring at you in what I take to be a summons. We’ll talk more while we dance.”

  He bowed with a flick of his eyebrows that made her want to laugh as she whisked herself to the duchess’s side.

  ***

  Yuri, after being introduced to, and making polite conversation with, a handsome young matron, had no compunction about leaving her before the orchestra struck up again and approaching Alba.

  Although she was flanked by the duke and duchess, like bodyguards, he knew they were merely there to discourage. They would not cause a scene by refusing to allow their daughter to dance with him.

  And they didn’t. He bowed to the duke and duchess, greeting them civilly, before asking Alba to stand up with him. She stood at once and walked to the small dance floor with him. Gazing into her eyes, he took her gloved hand and placed his arm at her back. Her beauty staggered him all over again.

  Although only a few days, it seemed an age since he’d held her in his arms. Even the decorous embrace of the waltz was bliss. The new delicacy he had noticed since he had found her on the lake was still there—clearly, she had not been eating well since the summer—but there was no ice in her eyes or her heart. She shone with vitality, her soft body warm and lively as she followed his lead. This was why he had come.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, just a little breathlessly, “as you gaze at me with such intensity?”

  “That tomorrow, one way or another, you will be mine.”

  “I’m yours now.”

  “For half an hour. Not forever.”

  “Yes, forever—in any way that matters.”

  “Do you know how much I want to kiss you now?”

  She blushed adorably as he’d known she would. “I beg you won’t. Until tomorrow.”

  “I’ll do my best to regain your father’s trust tonight. But, at the moment, it doesn’t look promising.”

  She frowned. “And what of this Captain Cairnshaw? He seemed not to like you from the beginning.”

  “I expect Bethurst got to him, too. They’re cousins.”

  “I never thought Ralph would be so vindictive.”

  “I doubt he thinks he is. He genuinely seems to feel entitled to you.”
/>   “Well he isn’t,” Alba said flatly.

  At such a small party, there was no real opportunity to slip away unnoticed, so after their dance, Yuri released her with reluctance and conducted her back to her parents with a mere bow. Neither accorded him more than a cold nod in return, although there was a faintly apologetic look in the duchess’s eyes, which probably meant she was still on his side. Which might help, he thought doubtfully.

  With a last smile at Alba, he sauntered off to the card room, where he found Oscar playing piquet with Captain Cairnshaw and others.

  “Join us,” Oscar invited. “But we’re playing for pennies.”

  “My favorite,” Yuri said at once and pulled up a chair.

  Although he played with a little less focus than usual—his mind lingered too much on Alba—it seemed luck was on his side. After half an hour, and another win for Yuri, Cairnshaw pushed his cards away with irritation.

  “I have to say your cards are damned fortunate,” he growled.

  “It’s the nature of the game,” Yuri observed. “And I have to say, yours were damned unfortunate.”

  Cairnshaw narrowed his eyes. “And how do you explain that?”

  Yuri raise his eyebrows. “Do I need to?” he asked mildly.

  “Why, yes, I think you do.”

  Yuri, sweeping his winnings to the side, paused and regarded him.

  “Don’t provoke Volkov,” Oscar advised. “Trust me, it isn’t worth it.”

  “Why, does he cheat in duels, too?”

  Oscar cast his eyes to heaven. The others at the table muttered, “I say, old chap!” in a warning kind of a way.

  But Yuri was intrigued, for this was unsubtle and deliberate insult. “Do you know, I find your sense of humor increasingly unfunny.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be a joke,” Cairnshaw said.

  “Yes, it was,” Oscar said firmly. “Apologize and let’s open another bottle of wine.”

  “Why would I apologize?” Cairnshaw asked, amused. “I don’t like the fellow.”