Falling Stars

by Anita Mills

  He grinned. “That was a prime kick, Kate.” The grin faded as his gaze dropped. “Damn.”

  She could barely see him in the moonlight, and she was grateful. Her hand found the torn chemise and pulled it up over her breast.

  “Damned fortunate it’s not cold out,” he observed, struggling out of his coat. “Here—you are more in need than I.”

  Blood rushed to her face. Alexei would never understand, she knew it. And Mama—well, that did not bear thinking either. “I—I cannot go home like this—I cannot.”

  “Put it on backwards, and it will cover more. Come on—then I’ll get you home.”

  “With your reputation?” she asked incredulously. “Thank you, but I should rather make the attempt myself.”

  “Look, you do not have anything I have not seen, but I rather doubt your mother will understand it if you arrive half-unclothed.”

  “I have always known you were not a gentleman,” she muttered, struggling into his evening coat. “Where are we?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “We’ve got to get to Alexei’s carriage—we’ve got to find him, lest he think the worst,” she insisted.

  “I’m not going back into that mob—if you were Prinny himself, I wouldn’t do it for you.”

  “But he will not know where I am! And what if something has happened to him—or to Madame Malenkov?”

  “If they have any sense, they’ll manage. By now, they are probably halfway to the Pulteney.”

  “I should rather think he looked for me,” she told him shortly. “Please, Bell—”

  “I’m not going back.” He moved closer and tried to button his jacket over her back. “There—more than half-crooked, my dear, but it will suffice.”

  He started walking, leaving her no choice but to follow. Struggling to keep up, she nearly tripped. “Will you wait for me?” When he slowed down, she added, “And do you know where we are?”

  “I think so. And it’s a devil of a long walk.”

  “Can we not hail someone?”

  “And risk a scandal?” he countered. “I’d think you’d rather go on foot.”

  “Perhaps a hackney?”

  “I left my purse in the street. Unless you are an exceptional female and carry money in your reticule, I’d say we are without luck.”

  “I lost my reticule in the crowd.”

  “Then we are even, aren’t we, Kate?”

  “Not quite.” She fell in beside him, trying to match his stride in her narrow-skirted chemise. “I suppose you are going to Russia to dangle after Sofia Sherkova, aren’t you?” she asked sourly.

  “No.”

  “Alexei will not like your attentions to his sister.”

  “As much as it may surprise you, Kate Winstead, it is not my intention to dangle after anyone.”

  “And everyone knows that for a hum!” she scoffed.

  “Let us just say I am in need of a bit of distance between myself and England.”

  “A repairing lease?”

  “Something like that,” he admitted grimly.

  “You’ve lost your fortune,” she hazarded.

  “No.” For a moment, he was silent, then he sighed. “I don’t want to kill anybody.”

  She started to tell him he ought to expect such things if he insisted on seducing other men’s wives, but she managed to hold her tongue. Finally, she suggested practically, “Well, I expect you could elope, couldn’t you?”

  He stopped abruptly, and as he turned to her, the smoky light from a street lamp reflected in his eyes. “You really despise me, don’t you? If I fire into the air, you know damned well he’ll put a ball into me.”

  “I don’t suppose you could blame him.”

  “I ought to have left you back there,” he muttered.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. Because you are Harry Winstead’s sister, I suppose.” He began walking again. “Watch where you step, will you? If you sprain your ankle, I won’t carry you,” he warned her when she caught up to him. “I’m not quite as big as Harry—or Volsky. I only show to advantage in my own milieu, I’m afraid.”

  “Reclining?” she asked sweetly.

  “Now that, Kate, was unworthy of you.” But even as he said it, the corners of his mouth twitched. “You haven’t spared me since you were a little chit, have you?”

  “No—not since Beckwood,” she reminded him. Yet there was something within her that wanted reassurance from a premier buck of the ton. “Townsend,” she asked suddenly, “why do you think he offered for me?”

  “Thurgood? Or Volsky?”

  “Thankfully, Mr. Thurgood never came up to scratch.”

  “Well, it wasn’t your manner or your clothes. You had no color and no style, Kate.”

  She wished she hadn’t asked.

  He could see he’d hurt her, and he stopped again. “Look, I’m not Volsky, so what does it matter? You are not plain, but you’ve got no town bronze. I don’t know how you can be Harry Winstead’s sister and be as green as they come, but you are. Utterly green,” he declared flatly.

  “You think I am fortunate to have snared him, don’t you?”

  “Actually, I haven’t thought about it at all.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “But if you want the truth, I cannot think you are a match for Volsky.”

  “What an awful thing to say! And I am not green!”

  “Green,” he repeated definitely.

  “Just because I don’t want a gentleman fawning all over me, and—”

  He stopped at that, and his gray eyes gleamed wickedly. Without warning, he caught her shoulders, and before she knew what he meant to do, his arms slid around her, and he kissed her thoroughly. For a moment, she caught at his waist to steady herself, savoring the first real kiss of her life. It was a heady, powerful feeling to be in a man’s arms. Finally, he released her.

  “There is more life in you than I thought,” he murmured, releasing her.

  Mortified by her response to him, she spat out, “You are disgusting! I did not give you leave to kiss me!”

  “Am I? My dear Kate, that is precisely what you ought to want from a man. Otherwise, you will have a passionless marriage, and Volsky will be looking elsewhere for his amusements.”

  Shaking, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as though she could clean it. “If Harry even thought you had touched me, he—”

  “He’d understand the lesson, Kate—and you do need lessons, I can tell you. But you liked it, and that’s a beginning,” he added, smiling broadly at her.

  “Bell Townsend, you are no gentleman!” she choked. “And I did not like it!”

  He shrugged. “I don’t need to be—and believe me, no matter what a female says, the last thing she wants is a namby-pamby gentleman.” As he spoke, one of his eyebrows lifted skeptically. “And if you did not like it, you are one hell of an actress, Kate Winstead.”

  “Oh, of all the conceit! Thankfully, Alexei’s not like you, not at all. He’s kind and—and I think he loves me,” she finished definitely.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he offered for me—and because he has never attempted to maul me!”

  “Remember the lesson, Kate,” he advised softly. “No man wants a piece of wood in his bed.”

  “I don’t know how you would know what a decent man wishes,” she retorted. “All you have ever done is chase cyprians and immoral women.” She started walking quickly, leaving him behind.

  “Proper wives ought to ask themselves why there are cyprians and immoral women,” he said, catching up to her. “If there are no buyers, there are no wares.”

  “I am sure Alexei does not share your utterly disgusting views,” she muttered, walking even faster.

  But truth to tell, she wasn’t sure what Volsky thought. And the closer she got to her home, the more she worried about what he would say when he saw her. Hopefully, he would not be there, and he would never have to know.


  Count Volsky’s rented carriage was at the curb, and the portico was lit by lanterns. Kate stopped beneath a smoking street lamp and took stock of herself, and what she saw did nothing to bolster her waning courage. Bell Townsend eyed her critically.

  “I’d better go in with you.”

  “As if that should help,” she muttered. “But I daresay you will wish me to return your coat.”

  “It is Weston’s finest, you know.”

  “I hate a dandy,” she muttered.

  She looked like the veriest street urchin. Her hair straggled, her nose was smudged, the rose satin chemise dirty and torn, her stockings rent. She reminded him of the grubby hoyden who’d fished with him and Harry years ago at Monk’s End. Her dark eyes met his for a moment, then she squared her small shoulders, and started toward the house. He’d give her one thing—plain and shy or not, she was pluck to the bone.

  Bell reached for her hand, then dropped it. The last thing either of them needed was for Volsky or Lady Winstead to see that. It was his turn to settle his own shoulders manfully and prepare for the worst. Under the circumstances, if Volsky cried off, he knew he’d be expected to marry her. And he wouldn’t do it.

  The Winstead butler opened the door and stared, his mouth agape. “ ’Pon my word” was all he could manage to say.

  “It is all right, Dawes,” Katherine said, her voice low.

  “Kate!” Her mother nearly swooned when she saw her. For an awful moment, her eyes raked the backward coat, the torn chemise, and her lips flattened into a straight line. Then she saw Bellamy Townsend. “Claire, my salts!” she wailed. “Oh, you foolish girl—whatever is Count Volsky to think?”

  “I don’t know, Mama,” Kate answered tiredly, “but Lord Townsend and I have walked all the way from King’s Theatre.”

  “Walked!”

  “Lady Winstead, I can explain,” Bell assured her. “We were set upon by footpads after we were separated from you. Indeed, but I possibly owe my life to Kate.” He grinned boyishly, but to no effect. Katherine’s mother continued to regard him balefully.

  “Mama, I cannot find—” Claire stopped to stare at her sister. “What have you got on? Well, of all the indecent—Mama, just look at her!”

  Two red spots rose in Katherine’s cheeks, but she managed to keep her voice even. “I should be very much more indecent without it, I’m afraid. Please—if you would excuse me, I am going up to bathe and go to bed.” Turning to Bell, she extended her hand. “Thank you, my lord, for seeing me safely home. If you wish to wait, I shall have Peg bring your coat down to you shortly.”

  Volsky had come into the foyer and was standing behind her. For an awful moment, Bell half expected to be called out. But it was Madame Malenkov who spoke.

  “Ah, cherie, but we have been so very worried!” the Russian woman said, hurrying to embrace Katherine. “You poor child—Lexy, do you see? What she must have been through!”

  “You are all right, Ekaterina?” he said solicitously.

  “Yes.”

  “When the people charged the princes, we could not see you, and when we reached the carriage, we waited, hoping you would find us.” Alexei turned to Lady Winstead. “Someone must find the baron, I think.”

  Kate frowned. “Harry? Whatever for?”

  “He saw everything, but he could not reach us,” her mother explained. “And now he is gone searching for you.”

  “Mama, are you going to let her stand there like a shameless hussy?” Claire demanded.

  “I am more covered than you are,” Kate retorted. “Please, I should like to retire.” She looked down at her bare feet. “I do not think I can stand any longer.”

  “Ma pauvre petite,” Galena crooned. “Lexy, you must help her up the stairs.” As she spoke, she slipped a small box into his hand. “He has a surprise for you, I think.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Alexei viewed her awkwardly for a moment, then he put his hand under Katherine’s elbow. “It must have been terrible for you, Ekaterina,” he told her as he guided her up the stairs. “When you are in Russia, you will not have to worry for your safety. We do not let such things happen in my country.”

  Bell exhaled his relief. “Well, no harm done, really, is there? Lady Winstead, tell Kate to direct my coat home, will you? Madame Malenkov, your servant.”

  “But how do you get there, cher Bellamy?”

  “It isn’t terribly far.”

  “Oh, Lord Townsend—your hand!” Rushing to his side, Claire pointed to a scrape on his wrist. “You must have gotten that defending our Kate! Mama, look!”

  Embarrassed, he shook his head. “It is nothing—I daresay I scraped it when I fell.” Before she could touch him, he added ruefully, “But you are mistaken, Miss Clarissa—it was Miss Winstead who defended me.”

  “You were used to call me Claire,” she reminded him. “And,” she added slyly, “she was always the hoyden.”

  “Clarissa!”

  “Well, she was, Mama.”

  “Ah,” he said lightly, “but that was when you were a little chit in the schoolroom, wasn’t it? Now that you are grown, I should not presume.”

  He was in his shirtsleeves, his cravat askew, his pantaloons soiled with street dirt, and his blond hair rumpled from losing his hat. But he was still almost too beautiful for his sex; he was still Adonis. It was not fair that Kate should have been the one to have spent more than an hour alone with him.

  For a moment, Claire considered making more mischief, then decided against it. It was bad enough that Kate was marrying Alexei Volsky, but at least she would be going to Russia with him. The worst thing possible would be for the count to discard her, forcing Viscount Townsend to make an offer. Claire bit back words she knew she would regret bitterly.

  “Well, I expect that Kate must seem younger to you, for she never knows how to comport herself,” she said instead. “And she is such a brown little thing.”

  He didn’t answer her. Alexei Volsky was coming back down the stairs, and once again the hackles rose on Bell’s neck. The Russian smiled. “The maid tends her, so everything is well, n ’est-ce pas? She will have a bath and sleep, and in the morning, it will not seem so bad.” He looked to his sister. “It is done,” he said low to her.

  “We owe Lord Townsend our gratitude, Lexy,” Galena reminded her brother. “Poor Bellamy, he is forced to walk home. You should take him, I think.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Volsky passed a hand over his eyes. “It has been a very tiring day for me also, but it is nothing to set him down at his house.”

  “I should be grateful,” Bell murmured.

  “Yes, well, then naught’s more to be done, is there?” Lady Winstead asked, trying not to betray her own relief. She held out her hand for Volsky to kiss, then turned to Bell. “This has been a terrible blow to my nerves.”

  “I understand.”

  “Yes, well, I expect we shall sleep late after this. Claire, you’d best get on up to bed. Good night, Madame Malenkov.”

  “Oh, but I shall stay with Ekaterina,” Galena announced. “For Lexy’s sake, I must see that she has the best of care.”

  Affronted by the implication, Lady Winstead started to protest, then held her tongue also. “As you wish, madame,” she replied frostily. “I am sure a bedchamber can be found for you.”

  “It is not necessary. I shall sleep on the chaise in Ekaterina’s room. I do not think she will mind.” Galena’s gaze found her brother, and she frowned. “I expect she is terribly overset now that Lexy has told her the czar demands his attendance most of the time. I would be there for her.”

  “Really, madame—”

  “I am unused to it, but I will manage, I am sure. I must tend to Alexei’s interests, you know.”

  Once outside in the cool summer night air, Bell drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I hope you do not think that Miss Winstead and I—”

  “Of course not,” Volsky cut him off abruptly. “One has but to look upon Ekaterina to know she is an
innocent.”

  “Very.”

  Volsky said nothing to that. Silence descended as they mounted the carriage and continued for several blocks. Finally, Bell spoke up. “If you do not mind it, I should rather return to King’s Theatre. Hopefully, my own conveyance is still there.”

  “Not at all.”

  “I’ll look for her brother.”

  “He was most distraught, but what could I say? She was torn from us by that mob.” Another long silence, then Alexei Volsky leaned forward to look out his window. “We are there. Is that your carriage?”

  “I cannot tell for certain in the dark, but I expect so. And if it is, my driver will be asleep in it.”

  They drew close enough to see the Townsend coat of arms blazoned on the door, one of the last self-aggrandizing acts of his late mother. Bell opened his door and started to jump down, but Alexei Volsky touched his arm.

  “If you are coming to Russia for Galena, I should not advise it, my friend.”

  “No.”

  “And if it is Sofia, I warn you—Gregori Sherkov can be a cruel man.”

  “Kind of you to tell me,” Bell murmured.

  “Good night, Townsend.”

  Bell walked the several steps to his coach. Wrenching his own carriage door open, he was surprised. As the driver hastily got out of his way, he could see that Winstead waited for him. Harry stared at Bell’s shirtsleeves for a moment, then demanded, “Where’s Kate?”

  “At home. I walked her there.” Bell slid into the vacated seat. “She’s quite safe, and Volsky is not in a taking over it.”

  Obviously relieved, Harry sank back. “We were all in a taking, I can tell you. When I saw that crowd, and then she wasn’t with Volsky, I half expected the worst. By the time I could get across the street, everything was nigh over, and she was nowhere to be seen. I’ve been up and down these blocks a dozen times and more, looking for her.” He looked at the darkened theater, then sighed. “Sometimes I forget how small, how frail she is.”

  “I wouldn’t call her frail, old fellow.” Leaning forward, Bell reached under the seat for his flask. “Kicked a fellow where it hurts.”

  “She wouldn’t even know that.”