“He’s a capable man.” Catherine grimaced and shot Antonia a sharp glance. “Just don’t tell him I said that or I’ll never hear the end of it. Despite our differences, he’s grown on me over the past year.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
There are no secrets that time does not reveal.
- Jean Racine
When they turned onto LeCompte’s street thirty minutes later, Antonia’s nose was numb from the cold. Her ears were better off, protected as they were by her top hat. But she barely registered her discomfort.
She tried to inspect the street surreptitiously, but the farther along it the carriage moved, the tighter the ball of tension knotted in her chest.
Robert was nowhere in sight.
As their carriage pulled to a stop in front of a brick townhouse with a bright blue door, Antonia tried to convince herself he was simply being cautious by remaining out of sight. Surely he’d appear now.
The coachman slowly clambered down from his perch behind them, unfastened their door latch, and helped them out of the cab.
“Wait for us,” Antonia said. Her voice was gruff and her breath emerged in little bursts of white mist. “We’ll be here about twenty minutes and then you’ll need to drive us home.”
“Yes, sir,” the coachman mumbled as he turned to his horse. He seemed oblivious to the cold as he leaned over, pushed his shoulder against the animal’s side, and then lifted the hoof. With a grunt of disapproval, he reached into his pocket and extracted a hoof pick, slid it against the inner part of the horse’s hoof, and knocked a stone loose so that it clattered to the ground.
Antonia glanced around the street once more as she murmured to Catherine, “Why isn’t Robert here? He said he’d arrive before we did.”
Catherine pursed her lips. “Perhaps it proved more difficult to lose those men than he anticipated.”
Antonia stared down the street, hoping to see him round the corner. When he didn’t appear, she forced herself to approach the bright blue door and twist the bell.
The servant who opened it couldn’t hide his surprise at seeing them there. His eyes widened even more as Antonia sensed movement behind them. She spun around to see what it was, and saw a man rushing toward them.
She opened her mouth to shout a warning. But even before the man managed to tug down his scarf and reveal his face, she recognized him. She’d recognize Robert anywhere.
The butler looked at them sternly. Robert’s sudden appearance must have startled him as well. Would he be so irritated with them that he’d refuse to let them enter? She watched his face as he decided whether or not to send them away.
Fortunately, the butler’s sense of propriety overcame his momentary lapse of decorum and he ushered everyone inside.
He accepted Robert, Antonia, and Catherine’s calling cards without bothering to glance at them and left the trio standing in the entryway while he disappeared into the back of the townhouse.
“You made it.” Antonia grinned at Robert in relief.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I was worried when I didn’t see you waiting outside.” His cheeks were ruddy from the cold winter’s day and she almost reached up to touch his face. Her fingers twitched in response to the half-formed thought.
“At least the butler didn’t make us stand in the street,” Catherine muttered. “For a moment, he had me worried.”
“I imagine that leaving the three of us waiting outside on such a cold day would draw a fair amount of speculation from the neighbors,” Antonia said. “Monsieur LeCompte is the sort who hates gossip— when it concerns him.”
Catherine grinned. “I see you know him well. I’ve never come across a better informed man when it comes to the latest scandal.”
“It’s difficult to think of LeCompte as a French agent,” Robert commented. “I’ve always found him to be a man of shallow interests.”
“I suppose that shows how good he is at hiding in plain sight,” Catherine said. “It would be counterproductive for him to appear overly competent. People would be less likely to let their secrets slip.”
A moment later, the butler returned looking much more welcoming. “This way, please,” he said, and then ushered them into the drawing room.
Monsieur LeCompte stood near the fireplace, his slim, lean form silhouetted by the flames.
“Lord Wentworth,” LeCompte said, bowing gracefully.
Robert dipped his head.
“And Mademoiselle Winter,” he said, turning to her with a delighted smile as he took in her appearance. “This is quite a surprise. Just look at you,” he stepped forward and lifted her hands, holding them outstretched. “Why are you dressed in such a fashion? I heard you were no longer playing the leading role in Anne Blake. Is it because you’ve found a new role where you must dress as a man?”
His reminder that she’d lost her position in the show left her speechless for an instant, but she quickly recovered. “Do I look the part?” Antonia performed a pirouette. “I borrowed these clothes to avoid being followed.” She paused and then approached LeCompte. “You won’t believe what’s been happening. Ambassador Revnik seems to have lost all caution. First he tried to have Lord Wentworth kidnapped off the street, and then last night he sent his men to the theater to abduct me. If Lord Wentworth hadn’t been there, I might not have escaped them.”
“Merde. That is bad.” LeCompte’s face appeared blank of expression for a moment, and then he narrowed his eyes. “Is that why you’re no longer in the show? Because of the kidnappers?”
He seemed to take her silence as agreement. “How is it that the three of you have come to know one another?” LeCompte’s tone sounded casual, but his eyes were sharp as he watched them.
Antonia tensed. Despite knowing LeCompte wasn’t the gossip monger he pretended to be and was instead a shrewd and intelligent man, she still treated him with a great deal of caution— or perhaps it was because she knew there was far more to this man than there appeared to be.
She’d seen him eviscerate men and women alike with his sharp tongue, but he’d never turned it on her. Looking at him now, she had a feeling that was about to change. She’d seen that expression before. LeCompte was about to maneuver them into an embarrassing situation.
She wouldn’t make it easy for him.
Antonia decided to explain as succinctly as possible. “The night I took the church register from Lord Wentworth, he’d been helping his brother. They were stealing it at Queen Victoria’s request. Since then, they’ve been desperate to recover it. They’re afraid it could fall into the wrong hands, and the information it contains could push England and Russia into an immediate declaration of war.”
She paused to let LeCompte respond, but he said nothing. Why didn’t he react to her announcement? “Now that I’m aware of the British government’s involvement, I feel obliged to alter my plans. I’m arranging matters so my personal needs can align with those of my country. Lord Wentworth and Lady Huntley offered to help me. They accompanied me here today so I could retrieve the book from you.”
Monsieur LeCompte stared first at Robert and then at Catherine. He tugged at his ear and peered down at the rug beneath his feet as though it might hold the answers he needed.
He raised his eyes to peer at Antonia. “Are you certain that’s wise?” he finally asked. His gaze seemed to pierce her. “Based on last night’s events, it seems obvious the Russians already believe you have the book. What’s to prevent them from stealing it from you?”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Robert’s help.”
LeCompte narrowed his eyes and glanced at Robert, who shifted his feet. Then he glanced back at Antonia with a scowl. “And what are you offering Robert in exchange for this— help?” His gaze swept over her again, and his scorn almost scalded her. “I saw the way he watched you at the soirée. I imagine he could be quite convincing to one such as yourself. So desperate. So innocent. So unprotected.”
Heat swept up the back of Anton
ia’s neck and across her face and scalp. How could she have been so careless as to use Robert’s given name? Even so, LeCompte’s accusations infuriated her. How dare he make such lewd allegations?
Fury wrapped its fingers around her, tightening its grip until she knew she couldn’t resist it. Not only had LeCompte disparaged her, he’d also maligned Robert.
Robert, who’d been nothing but kind to her ever since they’d met.
Robert, who’d saved her twice, who’d given her a place to stay.
Robert, who’d kissed her….
Antonia pulled her arm back and lurched forward, unleashing a powerful slap across LeCompte’s cheek. The sting of her palm felt good. Felt right. Felt cleansing.
Catherine darted forward. “Stop.”
LeCompte stepped back and lifted his palms in a quelling gesture one might use with a skittish horse. “Non,” he said. “C'est de ma faute.” It’s my fault. “I should never have suggested such a thing.”
“You certainly shouldn’t have. I’ll thank you to keep your insinuations to yourself, Monsieur. I refuse to become another morsel of gossip for you to feed upon.”
LeCompte pressed his palm against his cheek. “I apologize. I spend so much of my life playing the troublemaker that I sometimes forget when to stop, even when I no longer need to pretend.”
The original insinuation still stung, but Antonia decided to give him a nod of tacit forgiveness. “Then you’ll return the book to me?”
“Oui. If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll fetch it.” He waited until she nodded, and then slipped out the door, closing it behind him.
Antonia felt Robert step up behind her, and then he placed his hands on her shoulders. He leaned down so his lips were next to her ear. “Thank you for defending my honor,” he murmured.
Blood rushed to Antonia’s face. She glanced at him over her shoulder and gave him a chagrined smile. “I know that was foolish, but I couldn’t let him think— that you— that I—”
Robert gave her shoulders a squeeze and then released her. She immediately missed his touch.
“You were brilliant,” he murmured. “I think your reaction is what swayed him.”
“I was afraid he’d refuse to give it to you,” Catherine said.
“Why?” Antonia asked.
“Why not?” Catherine replied. “It sounds as though the church register is valuable. Why simply hand it over to you?”
“You don’t understand. He’s been helping me all along. If not for him, I never would have been able to recover it at all.”
The door opened and LeCompte came back into the room with the book in his hand. It was such a small thing to have caused so much trouble. Its stained and tattered cover made it appear worthless.
LeCompte held it out to her.
“Do you know why it’s so important?” Antonia asked, as she reached out to accept it.
LeCompte pulled the book back, just out of her grasp. He scrutinized her. “Are you telling me you don’t know?”
“I know why I want it. I already told you. It proves that my parents were married in Russia.”
“Is that all you know?”
Antonia tilted her head to one side. “Apparently there’s something more in there. Much more. Whatever it is, it’s something both Queen Victoria and Czar Nicholas care about.”
LeCompte nodded slowly and stepped to a side table, where he laid down the book. “I believe I need to tell you why it is so important. You see, it has something to do with you. And with your grandfather.”
Startled, Antonia stepped closer to him. “How could my family be involved? Why would a queen and a czar care about us?”
“You have more in common with at least one of them than you could ever imagine.”
Robert moved forward to stand next to Antonia. She sidled closer to him, thankful to no longer be facing LeCompte alone.
“And what would that be?” Antonia asked, in a voice barely above that of a whisper.
“Why, your grandfather, of course.” LeCompte seemed to enjoy his cryptic answers.
Antonia shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Did you know that your grandmother wasn’t his first love?”
The irrelevancy of the question threw Antonia off balance. “Of course I know. When he was a young man, he fell in love with Tatianna Kozinski. She appears in so many of his paintings that I would have to have been blind not to notice her. Mother told me all about her.”
“And do you know how she died?”
“In childbirth. She and her baby were buried together. Grandfather didn’t find out about it until months later.”
LeCompte shook his head. “That’s only partially correct.”
Antonia’s brows drew together. “Of course it’s correct.”
“No. The baby. He didn’t die. He lived.”
“He did? But how can you know that?”
“Because everything is in that book,” LeCompte said, gesturing toward the tattered volume. “The baby’s birth. The mother’s death. Even the new family who adopted the infant as their own.”
“He lived? Why would that be a secret? Why would everyone say the baby was dead?” She pressed her fingers to her temples. This made no sense.
“Because that’s what the czar wanted them to believe.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why should the czar care about some illegitimate orphan?” No one cared about bastards. She and her sisters were proof of that.
“Did you know that your grandfather’s village was along a travel route?”
She dropped her hands to her sides and let out a sharp sigh, thrown off by his abrupt change in topic. “I suppose so. There was an inn there, and grandfather often painted travelers. But why—?”
“Did you know the former czar and his family stopped in your grandfather’s village many times during their travels?”
Antonia furrowed her brow. “That would have been Czar Paul, right? Catherine the Great’s son?”
“Exactement. The village inn used to be a regular resting place for his entourage when they traveled through that region, but the last time they were there, they were obliged to stay for a month because Czaritsa Maria and her infant son Nicholas became very sick.”
“Mother never mentioned that. I wonder if she knew?”
LeCompte ignored her comment. “Czaritsa Maria was quite ill. So ill, in fact, that many believed she would die. Fortunately, she survived, but her baby was not so lucky. The illness carried him away during a time when Czaritsa Maria was unconscious and close to death.”
“That’s so sad. How terrible for them. But wait— you said her baby’s name was Nicholas—” Antonia stared at him, her eyes growing wide. LeCompte couldn’t be suggesting— it wasn’t possible—
LeCompte stared into her eyes. “Czaritsa Maria’s baby died shortly after Tatianna Kozinski did.”
A cold chill ran up Antonia’s back and over her shoulders, leaving ice in its wake. “What are you saying?” Antonia’s breath came shorter. “Are you saying that the baby— that my grandfather’s baby— that he became the—” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
LeCompte nodded. “That baby— your mother’s half-brother— replaced the child Czaritsa Maria lost. She was so sick that Czar Paul refused to tell her. He was convinced the shock would kill her.” He shook his head. “I know it sounds unlikely, but you need to understand that up until the day she died, Catherine the Great remained Czaritsa of Russia. She controlled everything, and she used her power to manipulate every aspect of her son’s life. She and Paul hated one another.”
Antonia nodded blankly, trying to make sense of everything LeCompte was telling her.
“Catherine had whisked away Maria’s two older sons not long after their births so she could raise them herself. Maria rarely saw her own children. For some reason, Catherine allowed Maria to keep Nicholas. Perhaps it was because he had two older brothers. Perhaps for some other reason, but Nicholas was the first son Mari
a and Paul were permitted to keep and raise. Paul believed that losing this child would have crushed Maria, perhaps even have killed her.”
“So they replaced her dead baby with Tatianna’s motherless one,” Antonia said through numb lips.
“Oui. Exactement.”
“So, my illegitimate uncle is the Czar of Russia.”
“Oui.”
“Merde.”
“Oui.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The friend in my adversity I shall always cherish most. I can better trust those who helped to relieve the gloom of my dark hours than those who are so ready to enjoy with me the sunshine of my prosperity.
- Ulysses S. Grant
Robert was astounded by the revelation. He watched Antonia as her emotions flitted across her face. Stunned disbelief. Shock. Dismay. But he also identified the moment she moved beyond them and began analyzing the situation. She seemed to process LeCompte’s revelation with startling speed, but then again, she’d made an astonishing number of adjustments over the past year. He’d never met a more resilient woman.
“What, precisely, is recorded in the church register?” Antonia asked the Frenchman.
“Father Sergey was conscientious in recording information regarding the people and events in his village,” LeCompte replied. “Every birth, marriage, and death is there. He also listed every child fostered with another family and every child who was adopted. Your uncle’s adoption was no exception.”
“And Nicholas’s father, Czar Paul, was the only person in the family who knew what the book contained,” she stated flatly. “That’s why he sent soldiers to find it when he believed it was stolen.”
“I suspect that when Father Sergey informed him the register was missing, he also told him of its contents. If the czar had known what it revealed, he never would have left it unguarded. Father Sergey fled Russia after it disappeared— he was afraid someone would attempt to suppress the information by eliminating him.”
Antonia’s face went white. “Murder a priest?”
Once Upon a Spy: A Secrets and Seduction Book Page 27