by Jane Feather
Alex shook his head. “Not for a fortune.”
“Pity,” the broker said. “I could get you a fortune for him too.”
“Doubtless,” Alex said. “But I’m buying today, Mr. Tattersall. It is Mr. Tattersall?”
The man nodded. “Aye, that it is, sir. What can I do for you?”
Alex explained his needs and Tattersall listened intently, nodding from time to time. “I think I’ve got just what you’re looking for coming onto the block tomorrow. If you like, I’ll take a preemptive bid. Have to be sight unseen, though. She’s not coming in until the morning.”
Alex frowned. It went against the grain, but this man was a prime judge of horseflesh and he wouldn’t risk his trade and reputation with a fraudulent claim. “Give me details.”
“Right, sir. If you’d like to come into the office.”
Alex followed him into the small building that was stuffy with the heat thrown off by a charcoal brazier. He perched on the end of a deal table and listened to Tattersall’s description of the horse. “She’ll do,” he said with decision at the end of the detailed description. “Deliver her to my stables when you receive her tomorrow.” He reached into his pocket for a bank draft.
The broker waved it away. “No need, sir. Settle next quarter day.”
Alex shook his head. “No, I like to settle my bills at once.”
Tattersall looked at him as if he had descended from the moon. In his wide experience, no gentleman of leisure settled his bills until he had to. However, he accepted the more than sizeable draft on Hoares bank with something approaching a smile on his dour countenance and locked it into a drawer in the table. “If you’ll give me the address of the mews, sir, I’ll have her delivered bright and early in the morning.”
Alex obliged and then left the premises well pleased with his purchase. It was the opening salvo in his siege of castle Livia after the preliminary skirmishes. He thought he had come out of those on the winning side, but he had to admit it was not an open-and-shut conclusion.
He returned to Bruton Street and went straight to his inner sanctum, a small windowless chamber between the salon and his bedchamber. More of a closet than a real room. He lit the oil lamp and opened the desk. There were twelve drawers in the rear of the desk, one for every month of the year, originally intended for the organization of household accounts. These drawers, however, were not used for such a mundane purpose. A tiny gold key opened them all.
Alex took the key from a pocket sewn into the lining of his coat and opened one of the top drawers. Blue sapphires, a small heap of them, winked at him in the low lamplight. He took out a handful and laid them on a soft leather pad on the desktop. They were magnificent stones, perfectly cut and faceted.
Sapphires or diamonds? Which would complement gray eyes the best?
He opened another drawer and took out a handful of diamonds, letting them run through his fingers in a glittering white cascade to form a heap beside the sapphires.
Alex took up a jeweler’s magnifying glass and examined each gem in turn, selecting from both piles. Of course he didn’t need to buy his way into the house in Cavendish Square, it was legally his anyway. He didn’t need to lay siege to Livia Lacey. She had no legal rights to anything.
As soon as he’d received the necessary reports on her from his informants and it seemed she would suit his purposes as well as any other eligible woman, he’d come to London intending to present her with a business proposition that she would have been a fool to reject, given that she was an unmarried lady of no particular fortune. If, however, she refused the offer that conscience obliged him to make, then he would simply take possession of his house and find the wife he needed elsewhere.
But from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her at the Clarington ball he had discovered another and unexpected dimension to the matter: a strange but powerful compulsion to pursue Livia Lacey for reasons quite outside the practical. And if he chose to go about the pursuit in this fashion, well, there was no one to tell him how to spend his own fortune.
He took the gems he’d selected, three sapphires and three diamonds, and dropped them into a small velvet pouch. Rundell and Bridge, the jewelers, would be able to do what he wanted done with them.
He was replacing the other stones in their drawers when he heard the knocker sound. He cursed softly. Like his father, he detested chance visitors, but it seemed to be a commonplace social event in this city. He dropped the pouch into his britches’ pocket, locked the drawers of the desk, and tucked the key away, turning casually as Boris opened the door that led into his bedchamber.
“Prince Michael Michaelovitch, Your Highness. In the salon.”
“I’ll be there immediately.” Alex was still in riding dress, hardly suitable attire for town visitors, but Michael would not relish being kept waiting. He went into the salon.
“Michael, such a pleasure.” He held out his hand in greeting. “What may I offer you?”
“Vodka, just a tincture,” his visitor said, taking the proffered hand. “Pleasant apartments these.” He gestured expansively around the room. “Lucky to find them.”
“So I gather.” Alex went to the sideboard to pour his guest a drink. “But I have a suitable house in mind and will take up residence as soon as possible. Lodgings can’t help but be cramped and I like to entertain.”
“Ah.” His guest nodded sagely as he took the glass. “Yes…yes…well, one can entertain as well here as Moscow or St. Petersburg, or even Paris, I daresay.”
“I confess to a fondness for Paris,” Alex said, pouring himself a glass of rather more innocuous madeira.
“Yes, well, who knows. If the czar’s friendship with Bonaparte continues to progress, we could all be dancing again in the ballrooms of Paris before long.” The prince nodded again with the same sagacity. He tossed back the contents of his glass in one deep swallow and nodded again, this time with approval. “Excellent…so what do you think of this business, Alex?”
Alex brought the vodka bottle over to refill his glass. “What aspect of the business exactly, Michael?”
“This business of breaking off diplomatic relations with the Court of St. James, of course,” the older man said. “The ambassador told me himself he expects to be recalled any day now. How’re we to know what’s goin’ on over here when we have no one in place? The English are tricky bastards. They lie through their teeth even as they embrace you as their truest ally. Who’s supposed to be watchin’ this pot? That’s what I want to know.” He regarded his host ferociously over the lip of his glass.
Alex shrugged easily. “Come on, Michael, you’re not here to ask the question. You’re here to have your suspicions confirmed…yes?”
“So are you here on the czar’s business?” The prince cut to the chase.
“And if I am?” Alex took a seat on the sofa and gestured an invitation to the opposing sofa.
His visitor took the seat and glared at him. “You’re a soldier, not a diplomat, Alex.”
Alex raised his eyebrows. “Oddly enough, my friend, I believe I can do both. And so, it would appear, does our emperor.”
“But the English don’t know that’s why you’re here?”
Alex laughed. “Hardly, Michael. That would defeat the purpose. I am a social butterfly, a dilettante with nothing on my mind but cards and dice, flirtation, maybe even a little discreet seduction, the theatre, opera, concerts, balls, and rout parties. A man, in short, with nothing but frivol on his mind…and who knows, I may even find myself a nice, respectable English wife. The perfect hostess for all the entertaining that will bring London’s social and political elite to my drawing room.” His clear blue eyes met his visitor’s darker gaze with nothing but amusement. “How would that be for a cover?”
The prince nodded slowly. “It would certainly give you impeccable social credentials. Do you have a contact at court as yet?”
Alex’s amusement seemed to deepen. “If I had, mon ami, I would not be telling you.”
&nb
sp; Michael glowered for a second and then threw his head back with a deep rumble of laughter. “No…no, of course you wouldn’t. Foolish of me to try to catch you out.” He drained his glass again and set it down as he rose to his feet. “Well, I won’t trespass any further on your time, Alex. Bear in mind that if you need the counsel of an elder statesman, I’m here.” He held out his hand.
Alex saw him to the door and closed it softly behind him. He stood in the dimly lit hallway for a minute. So the czar, who supposedly trusted Alexander Prokov as his best friend and most intimate confidant, had put Michael on to watch him. Trust only went so far, apparently.
In truth he couldn’t blame the czar. It was a safe assumption that it was the Committee for General Security who’d set the oversight in motion. It didn’t make his job any easier, though. Michael was a blustering old fool a lot of the time, which made him hard to second-guess. His loyalty to the emperor was absolute, as was his loyalty to Mother Russia, but for him the two were inextricably intertwined. Czar Alexander was Mother Russia and neither could do wrong.
But he had pleasanter matters to occupy him for the rest of the day. Alex called for Boris to fetch his hat and gloves, and a few minutes later he was strolling in the direction of Piccadilly and the business of Rundell and Bridge.
Within the hushed portals of that business a discreet gentleman, on hearing his identity, swiftly ushered him into a paneled chamber behind the shop, where he was introduced to Mr. Bridge, a dignified gentleman in black coat and waistcoat, who rose to greet him from behind a massive desk. “An honor, Prince Prokov. How may we be of service?”
Alex tipped the gems into the palm of his hand and then set them on the pouch on the desk. “I have a design in mind for these,” he said without preamble. “But I am also open to suggestions.”
The gentleman appraised the gems with one sweeping glance and said almost reverently, “Allow me to fetch our master jeweler, sir.” He slipped away as soundlessly as a black wraith and was back in seconds with a tall, impossibly thin man, whose hunched back indicated hours of labor bent over a workbench.
“This is Mr. Arkwright, sir,” the first gentleman said. “He is a master craftsman.”
Alex acknowledged the new arrival with a nod and gestured to the glittering pile of stones on the desk. “I have in mind a ring and a pendant. If you have paper and pen, Mr. Arkwright, I will sketch the designs I had in mind.”
The jeweler regarded Alex’s efforts with something akin to respect, then took the pen. “If I might make a suggestion, sir.” He made a few adjustments.
“I take it these are for a lady, not…how shall I put it…not a debutante, sir?” Mr. Bridge murmured. “Sapphires and diamonds, sir…not entirely suitable for the very young.”
“I am aware of that,” Alex said, and then wished he hadn’t sounded so dismissive, as Mr. Bridge hummed and huffed apologies for an interminable length of time. “You weren’t to know, Mr. Bridge,” he said, interrupting the murmur. “But as it happens, the lady is no longer a debutante and is well up to wearing such stones.”
“Yes…yes, of course, sir. Forgive me…”
“Let us dispense with that now, Mr. Bridge,” Alex said, waving a hand. “It’s a matter of no further concern.” He turned back to the jeweler who was weighing the stones. “So, Arkwright, will these stones do?”
“These stones are flawless, sir,” Mr. Arkwright said. He glanced up at the customer. “If you had more, I would suggest diamond ear drops with a sapphire center would be an admirable addition to the set.”
Alex smiled. “Yes, they would, but I don’t wish to run before I can walk, Mr. Arkwright. When the time comes, I will return with that commission.”
“Of course, sir. May I take them now?”
“Please.” Alex gestured to the stones in invitation. “How long do you think?”
“A month.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed, his fair brows drawing together. He had to carry the castle before then if he was to keep to his timetable. “Three weeks,” he stated.
Mr. Arkwright looked at his employer, who nodded at him. He scooped the gems into the pouch. “Three weeks it shall be, sir.”
“Thank you.” Alex picked up his hat from the chair where he’d deposited it on his entrance. “I’ll be back three weeks today.”
Mr. Arkwright gave him a nodding bow and hurried away. Mr. Bridge bowed more deeply. “Such a pleasure to do business with you, Prince Prokov.” He escorted his customer to the street and stood bowing until he’d disappeared into the throng.
Chapter Four
LIVIA DESCENDED THE STAIRS THE following morning, her eyes on the sheet of vellum she was reading, and then her progress halted. She stared openmouthed at the hall below her and wondered if she’d somehow been transported to the botanic gardens. Flowers of every hue spilled from baskets, were massed in great copper jugs, covering the parquet floor.
“Good Lord, where did all these come from?”
“I’m trying to find out.” Aurelia popped up from behind an enormous basket of deep crimson dahlias. “I can’t find a card anywhere here. Come and help.”
Livia took the last few steps with a skip and a jump and plunged into the tropical garden. The mingled scents were almost overpowering. “There must be some mistake. Who brought them?”
“Some carrier, according to Morecombe.” Aurelia shook her head in bemusement. “Of course it didn’t occur to him to ask the man anything about the delivery, he just let them pile everything here and went off about his business in usual Morecombe fashion. I found all this when I came down five minutes ago.”
Livia gazed around her. She ran distracted hands through her curls. “What are we to do with them?”
“I don’t know. Let’s find out who they’re from first. It might well be a mistake. You start on the right and I’ll take the left.” Aurelia began a methodical search of the containers.
“This is ridiculous,” Livia said after a few futile minutes. “Morecombe.” She raised her voice and yelled in the general direction of the kitchen regions.
“You’ll be lucky,” Aurelia observed with a grin. But to her surprise the elderly retainer shuffled into the hall a few minutes later.
“You want summat, m’lady?”
“Yes,” Livia said, straightening from a basket of roses. “Did the carrier say anything at all when he unloaded these?”
The butler shook his head. “Nowt that I ’eard, mum. Said as ’ow they were fer Lady Livia Lacey, an’ dumped the lot ’ere an’ went about ’is business, like any other God-fearing fellow.” He turned at the sound of the door knocker and grumbled, “Anyone would think we was a coachin’ inn.”
Livia exchanged a look with Aurelia as Morecombe plodded to the door and fiddled with the latch before finally opening the door a crack.
“Good morning,” a familiar voice said. “Is your mistress within?”
“Seems t’be,” Morecombe responded.
“Then would you announce me?” The prince’s voice was patient and pleasant.
Livia went to the door. “It’s all right, Morecombe.” She took the door from him and opened it wide.
Prince Prokov, hat in hand, bowed, the sun catching golden glints in his fair head. His eyes seemed particularly blue this morning, Livia thought somewhat distractedly, and his teeth gleamed very white as he smiled.
“My dear lady, what a great pleasure it is to see you.” She did look enchanting, he thought. She wore an informal morning gown of apple-green cambric and her curly hair was rather unruly, as if she’d been trawling her fingers through it, giving her the appearance of dishabille. Her complexion had a delicate pink flush to it as if she’d been exerting herself more than usual.
Livia wasn’t sure whether he was teasing her or not. It was a ridiculously flowery greeting, but there was something in his smiling gaze that flustered her a little. She said as firmly as she could, “Good morning, Prince Prokov. You’re paying calls rather early…unfortunately this is not
the most convenient moment for us.”
“Oh, I don’t mind, please continue with what you were doing,” he said blithely. “I won’t be in the way, I promise.” He took a step up to the door and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, good, the flowers have arrived. Do they please you?”
“You sent them?” She stared at him, and then realized that she should have guessed all along. It was just the kind of flamboyant, overwhelming gesture she should have expected from this Russian prince.
“Yes. Didn’t you find my card?” He took advantage of her momentary disarmament to step past her into the hall.
“Good morning, Prince Prokov.” Aurelia emerged from a garden of hothouse tulips and regarded him with a cool smile and clear mistrust in her steady gaze. “Am I to understand we have you to thank for this…this largesse.” She made an expansive gesture encompassing the massed blooms behind her.
“I thought they might brighten your day, ma’am,” he said with a bow, his eyes searching her expression with a little frown in their depths. “Was I mistaken?”
“We don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Livia said quickly, “and indeed they are most beautiful…but what are we to do with them all?”
“Arrange them,” he suggested. “Isn’t that what ladies usually do with flowers?”
“A bunch at a time perhaps,” Livia said, unable to keep a chuckle from her voice. It really was absurd. “But not an entire botanical garden. Where did you get them all?”
“I have my sources,” he said. “But if they’re too much of a nuisance I shall have them taken away at once.”
“Oh, no, you mustn’t do that,” Livia exclaimed. “I don’t mean to be ungracious. It’s…it’s just that such a quantity is rather overwhelming.”
“Then allow me to help you arrange them.” He tossed his hat onto the Jacobean bench by the door and followed it with his cane and gloves. Then he bent and lifted a woven basket of lilies. “Now, where would you like me to take these?”
“In the salon, I think, don’t you, Ellie? They have the most wonderful scent.” Livia cast a helpless glance towards her friend.