Melting the Snow Queen

by Mary Lancaster

  “I don’t see why not,” Oscar retorted, springing to his feet. “He’s been damned patient with your jibes all evening. No doubt because he’s too well bred to challenge you at your aunt’s party. Volkov.”

  Although the others followed Oscar’s lead, Yuri sat where he was. “In a minute.” He held Cairnshaw’s unwavering gaze until the others were clear. In fact, everyone else seemed to have cleared off for supper. And in privacy, Cairnshaw didn’t trouble to hide his contempt. Which was interesting.

  “I don’t know you from Adam,” Yuri observed. “Your baseless dislike does not trouble me in the slightest, so your chances of provoking me are not high. If you want to fight, you must issue the challenge.” He rose to his feet. “Until then—”

  “I do so challenge.”

  Yuri blinked. “On the grounds that I beat you at piquet?”

  “On the grounds that you offended my friend. Tomorrow at dawn will be good enough for me.”

  “Sadly, it won’t do for me. I am busy tomorrow. It will have to be tonight.”

  Cairnshaw blinked, but remained, apparently, undeterred. “Very well. Shall we say midnight? On the strip of common land on the northern limit of Moreland. You’ll excuse the lack of seconds. I don’t want this to get to the ears of my aunt.”

  “I imagine you don’t.”

  “And it happens I have a brace of decent dueling pistols in my bedchamber.”

  “Felicitations. But as the challenged party, I believe the choice of weapons is mine.”

  Cairnshaw frowned. “You have your own pistols?”

  “I have my own sword,” Yuri said mildly, placing his hand on the hilt.

  Cairnshaw blinked. “You want to fight with swords?”

  “I don’t want to fight at all. You forced the quarrel from nothing. Apologize or find a sword from somewhere.” Without another word, Yuri walked away.

  ***

  He was helping a laughing Alba to fill her supper plate when Oscar seized his arm and hauled him off to a quiet corner of the room.

  “Have you made peace with Cairnshaw?” Oscar demanded.

  “Not precisely. I left him with something to think about.”

  “Don’t be drawn in. The man’s a brawler and a crack shot. Yours wouldn’t be his first duel.”

  “Wouldn’t be mine, either.”

  “I’m trying to tell you the man’s dangerous,” Oscar said impatiently. “But if you want to annoy my father even more—if you live—by all means, go ahead!”

  Yuri ignored that. “What does he have against me? Just Bethurst’s lies?”

  “Maybe,” Oscar said reluctantly. “I don’t honestly know. I never heard the man was a scoundrel, just that he never refuses a challenge. Or an insult. Why?”

  “Oh, I was just wondering.” He grinned in the face of Oscar’s scowl and clapped him on the back. “Cheer up. I fully expect us to be friends before the night is done.” Or, at least, one way or another, no longer living enemies.

  Chapter Seventeen

  On her way to the cloakroom, some distance ahead of her stepmother and sister, Alba suddenly found herself yanked by the arm into another room entirely. Her hand swung for an instinctive, if unladylike, buffet to her attacker’s head, for the room was in darkness.

  “It’s me,” Yuri whispered, catching her fist and pressing it to his cheek while he kissed her.

  Eagerly, she flung her free arm around his neck.

  “Yuri,” she murmured against his lips, “have you quarreled with Captain Cairnshaw? You’re not going to do anything silly, are you?”

  “Of course not. What do you take me for?”

  “Remembering how we first met, I take you for an occasionally reckless—”

  He stopped the rest of her words with a kiss, and she allowed herself to be distracted until the murmur of approaching voices made him release her. “Go, and remember I love you,” he said hoarsely. “Send me word at the inn tomorrow.”

  “I will!” And then she was back in the passage, rushing into the cloakroom to change her shoes before the duchess walked in.

  Mrs. Bethurst looked tired as they said their farewells to her and to Ralph. She was going to be very disappointed when she discovered Alba was not really going to marry Ralph. But in truth, no one could be expected to marry just to please a potential mother-in-law, so Alba refused to feel guilty.

  She was encouraged that Ralph had behaved like a perfect gentleman all evening and never once brought up the subject of their engagement in public. As a result, Alba had done him the courtesy of not mentioning her own resumed engagement to Yuri. People would find out soon enough after they were married.

  Ralph bowed over the duchess’s hand, then Alba’s and Rose’s, before personally handing them into their carriage. “I gather, since Oscar does not accompany you, that he is going down to the tavern with some of the other young men,” he said as the duke appeared behind them.

  “Wastrels,” pronounced the duke, and Ralph laughed.

  It was a good way to remember Ralph, Alba thought, following him with her gaze. He did not go back into the house but round the side. Perhaps he, too, was one of the wastrels going to the tavern. She wished she knew if Yuri would be there. If Captain Cairnshaw would be.

  “That was a surprisingly pleasant party,” Alba observed after the coach had trundled down the drive to the road.

  “Nothing surprising about it,” the duke retorted. “Very fine people, the Bethursts.”

  “Indeed,” Alba said. She leaned forward and took her father’s hand. “But you know I cannot marry Ralph. I don’t love him.”

  “You will in time.”

  “I won’t,” Alba said without heat. “I have known him all my life without loving him in that way. Truly, we are not suited. It is Yuri I wish to marry. And you gave your blessing to that match.”

  “Before he abducted Gerda and—”

  “Papa,” Alba said with quiet reproof. “You know that is not true. He is a good man, Papa. You know he is.”

  Her father jerked as though he would pull his hand free, then gave up and glared out of the window instead. “He is a Russian.”

  She peered at him through the shadows. “The Russians are heroes and our allies, who helped us defeat Bonaparte.”

  “But they live in Russia!” the duke exploded. Turning his head once more, he glared at Alba. “Damn it, I don’t want you to go.”

  She stared at him. Was this the true reason he had grasped so desperately at Ralph’s lies? She swallowed. “I will always come back, Papa,” she whispered.

  His hand turned, grasping hers, and she knew, with relief, that she and Yuri had won.

  But unexpectedly, the carriage lurched and the horses whinnied. Rose squealed as she landed on the floor and Alba fell against the duchess.

  “What the devil?” the duke demanded, thumping his cane on the roof. “John! What’s happening?”

  “Wheel’s come off, sir,” John shouted. “I think the axel’s broken.” He wrenched open the door. “Anyone hurt in there?”

  “No, we’re fine,” the duchess said impatiently. “But how are we to get home now?”

  “John must ride back to Moreland Manor and borrow a carriage of the Bethursts,” the duke said impatiently.

  “Aye, sir, I will… Wait, though, someone’s coming! This might be quicker.”

  Someone was indeed coming, several people, in fact, judging by the thudding of hooves on the road. Lanterns bobbed as they drew closer. Alba heard them slow, and then the sound of them talking to John.

  “Of course, we can help,” one said in rough but friendly accents. “Let’s get ‘em out of there first. They’ll be sitting piled on top of each other.” A face, heavily muffled against the cold, peered into the carriage. “Who’s first then? You, miss, out you come.”

  Since she was nearest, Alba obeyed, grasping the hand that pulled her up and over the door before helping her jump down.

  “There she is,” one of the men said with an air
of triumph that Alba was at a loss to account for. But she was given no time to work it out, for the man who’d rescued her suddenly swung her across the road and up onto a saddle, and powerful arms closed around her.

  Before she could draw breath, the horse sprang forward, hurtling off the road and into the trees.

  “Wait!” Alba shouted. “What do you think you’re doing? You must wait for my family!”

  “Oh, they’ll be fine, m’lady, don’t you worry. The others will look after them and they’ll join you soon enough. Just taking you somewhere warm and safe.”

  Although the words were comforting, Alba didn’t like them. “No, stop now, if you please. I need to be with my father.”

  “Now, now, just hold on, we won’t be long.”

  “I’ll scream,” Alba warned. Which was a mistake, for a none-too-clean, gloved hand, slapped over her mouth at once, muffling her attempt to cry out and holding her still when she tried to wriggle and jump free.

  “Don’t be foolish,” her captor admonished. “You’ll hurt yourself if you fall at this speed.”

  It was true, but Alba was frightened enough to believe this the lesser of two evils. However, if she did manage to jump free, whether or not she was hurt, he would surely grab her again before she could get back to the carriage…where at least two more men were last seen with her family.

  Fear flooded her and she struggled now with genuine panic.

  ***

  By the light of his lantern, Yuri urged his horse on through the night toward the northern edge of Bethurst land. After being shot at on his way to the party—he discounted any possibility of that shot being accidental—the hair on his neck stood up in constant alarm. But his straining ears could pick up no untoward sounds. Nor could his eyes find any glint of steel or weapon.

  But if Cairnshaw hadn’t fired the earlier shot himself, he could have been responsible for someone else doing so. He had certainly forced a fight and had clearly wanted the duel to be with pistols, which were much more likely to kill.

  Cairnshaw had found a clear patch of meadow and stood in the middle of it. Yuri didn’t slow his horse, but galloped right up to him. The man didn’t flinch or threaten. A worthy opponent and, it seemed, a gentleman. Yuri’s heart began to leap at the prospect of a good, exciting fight.

  “Well met,” Cairnshaw greeted him.

  “Well met, indeed.” Yuri dismounted and tied his horse to the tree beside his opponent’s.

  “Never fought without seconds before,” Cairnshaw remarked. “How do we do this? Just agree to the rules in advance?”

  “Better than no rules. I don’t want to kill you.”

  “How very restrained for a black-hearted scoundrel.”

  Yuri took off his coat and fixed it to the saddle. “I thought we had finished the period of insults.” He unfastened the lantern. “Though I would be interested to know what harm I have done you to inspire such enmity.”

  “Put the lantern over there,” Cairnshaw advised, indicating a spot evenly distant from both the lanterns he had already placed. “It gives us a good-sized triangle of light. As to what you have done, do you really not know how you have wronged my cousin? To say nothing of that beautiful lady at whose feet you are not even fit to wallow.”

  Yuri walked across the uneven and damp ground. “I’ll grant you my lack of fitness, though I deny your cousin has any more. Less, in fact, if he hires you to fight his battles.”

  Walking beside him, Cairnshaw narrowed his suddenly furious eyes. “I am a gentleman, not some hired bravo! I do this from friendship because my cousin cannot without risking the name of the lady for whom he would fight.”

  “And you are, besides, more likely to win.” Yuri set down the lantern and straightened. “Having won, I gather, several duels already.”

  Cairnshaw almost smirked. “We are both soldiers. We know how to kill and to die.”

  Yuri raised his brows. “Then you reject first blood as a measure of satisfaction?” He drew his sword, holding it straight up in the light.

  “I do.” Cairnshaw drew his own weapon and held it up beside Yuri’s. Silently agreeing they were well enough matched, they let them fall to their sides and began to walk to the center of the triangle of light they had created. “Unless,” Cairnshaw added, “you agree that first blood to me means you renounce any claim to the Lady Alba.”

  “I couldn’t agree to that if I wanted to. I have made prior promises to the lady, which I will not break.”

  Cairnshaw regarded him with a hint of curiosity. “Then you are prepared to fight to the death?”

  “If I have to. Are you?”

  “Of course,” Cairnshaw said haughtily, coming to a halt and saluting Yuri with his sword.

  Yuri returned the salute. “For a deceitful cousin and a lady you spoke to for five minutes?”

  “The lady my cousin will marry.” Cairnshaw lunged at him, but Yuri parried easily.

  They circled, testing each other with a few sudden attacks.

  “The lady,” Yuri observed, “does not wish to marry your cousin.”

  “Of course, she does!”

  “Have you asked her?” Yuri broke under his guard, forcing Cairnshaw to fall back. But the man recovered quickly, surprising him in turn with a series of swift, deadly attacks that Yuri needed all his skill to survive.

  “Certainly not!” Cairnshaw said breathlessly.

  “What did he tell you about me?” Yuri asked, circling warily once more.

  “That you tried to seduce her for a wager, then left her disconsolate and are now back to torment her father, using her sister and brother to worm your way back into the Winbourne household. That you want her land and her fortune.”

  Yuri laughed, instinctively parrying Cairnshaw’s cuts and thrusts. “I am not a poor man. Even after the war. I don’t need any woman’s money, and the land I already have is vastly bigger than the whole of the Winbourne estate.”

  “You would boast of wealth?” Cairnshaw said with contempt.

  “I merely point out that the acquisition of more is of no interest—to me.” He took advantage of Cairnshaw’s instant of inattention, thrusting and nicking his opponent’s arm before falling back. “First blood to me. Shall we call it satisfaction and talk instead?”

  “By no means.” Cairnshaw lunged furiously, forcing Yuri back and back.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you want it.”

  “You are childish,” Yuri observed. A sudden zing of Cairnshaw’s sword forced him to leap aside, and he tripped, sprawling on the ground. Cairnshaw leapt on him, sword raised, but Yuri rolled, allowing the momentum to carry him forward, and leapt back to his feet in time to parry the next series of attacks.

  “You fight well,” Cairnshaw allowed grudgingly.

  “I’ve had to.”

  Cairnshaw sneered. “With all your duels?”

  “No, war mainly. Duels are more for fun.”

  “Fun?” Cairnshaw exclaimed in surprise, letting down his guard again and allowing Yuri to cut him again in the same arm. “Damn you, does honor mean nothing to you?”

  “Where’s the honor in cutting a friend to pieces in a drunken brawl?”

  “You must have fought some very odd duels,” Cairnshaw said grimly.

  “First blood only. I never killed a man in a duel.”

  “Well, you never will now.” Cairnshaw’s sword whipped toward Yuri’s stomach and he only just managed to knock it up with his own weapon. Even so, he felt the cold cut on his wrist.

  “I hope not, for of the two of you, I believe you are a better man than your cousin.”

  “You know nothing of either of us!”

  “I know enough. Let’s end this.” Totally concentrated now, Yuri drove him backward, pressing relentlessly until their swords drove together so hard that he imagined sparks flying from the blades. Both tried to twist the other’s weapon from their hand, but it was stalemate. Until Yuri simply shoved Cairnshaw with his knee, and as he stumbled, k
nocked him to the ground with the hilt of his sword. As he fell, Yuri kicked his hand. Cairnshaw cried out in pain and his sword flew through the air.

  Yuri stuck his sword point to Cairnshaw’s throat, panting. “Did he also tell you that the talk of engagement to him was the last straw for her? That she lay down on the ice in the middle of the night to die rather than marry anyone but me? Pride kept me from her, but it never will again. Nothing will. Not you and certainly not your paltry cousin. Did he send an assassin to kill me on my way to the party?”

  Cairnshaw stared, unable to move in case the sword pierced his windpipe. “No!” he said hoarsely.

  “Someone did.” Yuri lifted his sword and sheathed it, scowling down at his erstwhile opponent. “This is too elaborate. Bethurst put you up to this. You and I are here so you can, hopefully, kill me. Oscar has gone drinking… Both he and I out of the way. Why? He’s up to something. Tonight! I know he is. Damn it, I have to go.”

  “Go where?” Cairnshaw asked, bewildered, rising to his feet and rubbing his neck.

  Yuri was already striding toward the horses. Sudden fear for Alba’s safety churning his insides. “Did you tell him? Did you tell him where and when we would fight?”

  “Yes, but—for God’s sake, you are not seriously concerned my cousin would harm her? He’s a gentleman! He loves her!”

  “I don’t believe either is true,” Yuri said grimly. “Not of anyone who would wed a girl against her wishes.”

  “Well if he wants to wed her, he will hardly hurt her,” Cairnshaw said reasonably, snatching up his sword as they passed it.

  “Forced marriage is hurt.” Yuri dragged his coat off his stamping horse and flung it on before swinging himself up into the saddle.

  Cairnshaw scowled but untied his own horse. “You mean you really think he would do such a thing tonight? How?”

  “I don’t know and I’m so far behind their carriage now that—” Yuri broke off. “He has a mistress, does he not? Or had. One who lived in a cottage on the Moreland estate whom he recently sent away.”

  “That’s hardly our business,” Cairnshaw said uncomfortably.

  But to Yuri it suddenly made perfect sense. Bethurst never did anything without a reason. And if he had dismissed a convenient mistress of longstanding, there was more involved that simply not humiliating his bride-to-be.