To Wed a Wicked Prince

by Jane Feather

  Spying was a dirty business, assassination even more so, but Livia was no innocent ingénue. She could understand the hold that patriotism had on some men. She could look at the hard facts even if she didn’t like them, and Alex’s safety was all that mattered.

  She heard footsteps beyond the lean-to and moved away from Daphne to the front of the ramshackle shelter. Alex was alone, limping, wincing with every step, his cut and bruised face looking even worse as the first streaks of light appeared in the east.

  She ran forward as he stumbled slightly. “Put your hand on my shoulder, love. Daphne will carry both of us back to London.”

  “We’ll not ride all the way to London immediately,” he stated, resting his hand on her shoulder for a moment. “We’ll get away from here and find an inn on the road. I’m done in and you’ve done enough for one night. You need to rest.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” she declared. “I’m the only one among you all who is whole. I’ve done almost nothing.”

  He looked at her then and raised an eyebrow. “Somehow, my love, judging by your appearance, I rather doubt that.”

  “I was playing the whore,” she said, hastily rebuttoning her shirt. She thrust her arms into the sleeves of her jacket. It would do something to hide the strategically placed rip. “I had to look the part.”

  “Yes, of course,” he agreed with mock solemnity. “But was it really necessary to smother yourself in tar to achieve the desired effect?”

  “If you weren’t already hurt, Alexander Prokov, I’d be very tempted to kick you,” she said with feeling. “That’s all the gratitude I get.” But her heart sang. Despite it all, he was himself.

  “Where are the others?” she asked, looking back along the quay. “Are we waiting for them?”

  “No,” he said shortly. “They have something to do when the tide comes in.”

  “What?” she asked. “I need to know, Alex.”

  He looked at her with a frown. “They will take the Caspar out into the North Sea and scuttle her,” he stated, taking his hand from her shoulder.

  “How will they get back?”

  “She carries a sailing dinghy. Tatarinov is a good sailor.” He moved past her into the lean-to. “We’ll take their horses. They won’t return here; there are plenty of small coves and villages along the North Sea coast where they can make landfall safely.”

  “And all knowledge of the events of tonight, of Alexander Prokov and his plans, will go down with the Caspar,” she said, stating the grim truth.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “And that’s enough of this for now. Mount up. You’ll need to lead one of them; I’ll manage the other two.”

  Livia led Daphne out and scrambled inelegantly but without assistance onto her back, sitting astride, taking the reins of one of the ponies. “Can you ride, Alex?” she asked with concern as he mounted Tatarinov’s rawboned gelding. “If you fall…”

  “I won’t fall,” he said. “But we won’t ride far. We’ll go away from the river and find an inn.”

  “But Alex, how will we explain the state you’re in, not to mention me.” She gestured to her torn and disordered garments. “And why do we have three extra horses?”

  “Just follow my lead,” he said. “In fact it would be better if you say not a word. Shock has deprived you of speech. Just do as I tell you.”

  “You’re very dictatorial for a man whose wife has just rescued him from certain death,” Livia declared. “I would have thought some of that Russian authoritarianism would be blunted by now.”

  He laughed, although it was clearly painful for him to do so. “I’m still the same man you married, sweeting. But that’s something we should perhaps talk about later, when we’ve had time to collect ourselves and you’ve had time to reflect on a great many things.” His voice was serious, the laughter gone, and she knew what he meant.

  And it was true. She did need to reflect on a great many things. And that most important question of all: Was love enough to get them and their marriage through this and out the other side?

  They rode out of Greenwich village and headed further inland, while keeping parallel to the river. Alex clearly needed all his remaining strength to stay mounted and Livia didn’t speak, just watched him with growing concern. As the sun rose they began to have company on the road. A farmer with a wagonload of cabbages passed them on his way to Covent Garden market, and a young girl herding a gaggle of geese stared at them from the hedge as they rode by.

  “There’s an inn up there,” Livia said, seeing a sign outside a thatched-roof building ahead of them. “I think we’d better stop now, Alex.”

  He gave no sign of having heard her—his face was a mask of pain—but he directed the horses around the back of the building to a rough-and-ready stable yard. An ostler was currycombing a shire horse as they rode in. He looked at the two disheveled riders, and his eyes widened as he took in Alex’s battered countenance.

  “Eh, what ’appened to you then, sir?”

  “Footpads,” Alex said curtly, dismounting. He staggered as he reached the ground and grabbed the gelding’s stirrup to steady himself. “See to the horses. They need watering and a bran mash. You’ll be paid well.”

  The ostler looked rather doubtful about that, but even weak, injured, and disreputable in appearance as he was, Alex conveyed an absolute authority. The man put down his currycomb and went to take the gelding’s reins.

  Livia swung off the mare and went to Alex, offering her arm. He shook his head carefully and murmured, “You’re in shock. Just lean against me as if you’re about to collapse and keep quiet. This will be over in a very short time.”

  She closed her lips firmly but refused to add her weight to his burdens, walking upright beside him as he made his way to the back door of the inn.

  The landlord emerged from the taproom as they entered a narrow, dark hallway. “What can I do for ye?” he asked, peering suspiciously at them in the gloom of the passage.

  “A bedchamber and hot water,” Alex said. “We were set upon by footpads a while back. They killed my groom and took four of our horses. I managed to beat them off in the end, but my wife is hurt and in shock.”

  The man examined them closely. “Eh, right bad you look,” he observed. “Shall I send for the sawbones?”

  “No…no.” Alex waved aside the suggestion. “My wife will tend to me. She’s suffered nothing worse than a fall from her horse and a bad fright.”

  The landlord was still looking suspicious. “I’ll fetch the wife,” he said, and disappeared through a door behind him. Several minutes later he returned with an angular woman whose iron-gray hair was severely pinned back. Her eyes were hard and sharp and every bit as suspicious as her mate’s.

  “What’s all this, then?” she demanded. “Footpads hereabouts? Never ’ad any trouble afore.”

  “Be that as it may,” Alex said, “my wife and I were set upon. We were taking a train of horses to a horse coper in Southwark. We left our stables outside Greenwich at dawn and they were lying in wait for us.” His voice hardened. “If you can’t be of service just say so and we’ll be on our way.”

  “That’s all well and good,” the woman declared. “But how’ll we be paid? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “In coin,” Alex said shortly.

  “I thought you said you was robbed?” she demanded.

  “Of my horses,” Alex said. “Not of my purse.” He put a hand on Livia’s shoulder.

  She could feel what little strength he had ebbing from him as his weight bore down upon her but she kept her silence, her gaze firmly fixed upon the floor.

  “Eh, woman, you can see they’re done in,” the innkeeper said. “If they can pay, what’s the ’arm in givin’ ’em a room?”

  “None, I suppose,” she said. “Come along a’ me, then.” She turned to the foot of the stairs and they followed her up to a small, ill-furnished chamber under the eaves. “This’ll ’ave to do,” she stated.

  Alex had eyes only for th
e bed. He staggered forward and dropped onto the straw mattress.

  Livia decided it was time she took the initiative. She spoke in a very soft, subdued voice. “Please, mistress, could you supply us with water? I need to wash his wounds.”

  “Oh, aye,” she said. “Thought the cat ’ad got yer tongue.”

  “And witch hazel if you please,” Livia pleaded in the same subdued tone.

  “Aye” was the only response and the landlady went off, leaving them alone.

  “Do we have money?” Livia asked.

  “Take my boots off,” Alex replied.

  Livia decided he wasn’t capable of being questioned about anything. She hurried over to the bed and bent to pull off his top boots.

  “Inside the left one,” he muttered, his eyes closing against the pounding in his head. “Under the inner sole.”

  She reached inside and felt over the inner sole. It felt normal enough, but the leather lifted easily at the side and to her astonishment she felt a small depression in the heel of the boot. Her fingers encountered a chamois pouch nestling snugly into the depression.

  “Another trick of the spy’s trade,” she murmured, lifting out the pouch, opening the drawstring to peer inside at the glitter of gold. “Do you always carry an emergency fund in your boot?”

  “It has its uses,” he said. “For the love of God, Livia, don’t talk to me anymore. I have to sleep.”

  She looked helplessly at him. He was the color of dead ashes, the bruises livid against his normally taut skin, which now seemed to sag off the bones of his face. His brow was furrowed in pain and his eyes when they flickered open for a minute were bloodshot.

  She paced the small chamber, waiting impatiently for the landlady to return with water. It wasn’t the landlady, however, but a young scullery maid carrying a ewer of tepid water, a jar of witch hazel, and a skimpy towel. She set them on a rickety washstand. “Mistress says d’you want to break your fast, ma’am?”

  Livia glanced at Alex. There was no possibility of his eating anything at this point and she didn’t feel hungry herself, merely desperately weary. “No, but please thank your mistress. Maybe later when we’ve slept a little.”

  The girl curtsied and disappeared, leaving them at last in blessed isolation.

  Livia swiftly went to work. She washed Alex’s cuts gently with a corner of the towel and dabbed witch hazel on the bruises. When she opened his shirt she gasped a little at the mass of purple bruising on his ribs. “Bastards,” she muttered under her breath, smoothing the witch hazel over the discoloration.

  Alex’s eyelids flickered, but he barely moved as she went about her work. She took off his stockings and loosened his britches, then eased the coverlet from beneath him. She put it over him and he gave a little sigh of relaxation as his body sank into the crackling straw.

  Livia did what she could to clean herself up of the worst of the carefully applied grime; the tar, as she’d expected, was utterly resistant to tepid water without the aid of soap, and she needed needle and thread to sew the tear in her shirt, but her jacket was still intact and would cover the worst of it.

  Satisfied that she’d done all she could, she slipped beneath the coverlet beside Alex, snuggling close to his warmth as her own fatigue and the aftermath of the long night took its toll and she began to shiver. At last her body warmed and she fell into a dreamless sleep, curled up against his side.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  THE SUN WAS HIGH WHEN Livia awoke. At first she had no idea where she was and lay bemused for a minute, wondering why she appeared to be fully dressed. Then she became aware of Alex beside her and everything made sense once again.

  Carefully she sat up and looked down at him. He was still asleep but she was relieved to see that the ashen pallor had gone. The cuts and bruises were still very much in evidence but his skin had a healthier tinge to it. She leaned down and kissed his brow.

  “Is there an angel in my bed or am I dreaming?” Alex murmured dopily, his eyes still closed, but a tiny smile on his swollen lips.

  “This is certainly not an angel’s bed,” Livia said. “I’m sure this straw is full of livestock. I’m beginning to itch.” She slid off the mattress and shook out her skirts, glad that she hadn’t taken anything off before climbing into bed. “How do you feel?”

  “As if I’ve been run over by the entire field at New-market races,” he said with a groan, at last opening his eyes. “What’s the time?”

  “Late morning I would guess,” she said. “But there’s no clock in here and I don’t have a timepiece. What happened to yours?”

  “One of Arakcheyev’s henchmen took a fancy to it,” he said, sitting up gingerly. His head swam and he closed his eyes again until the spinning stopped.

  “What is it?” Livia asked, unable to conceal her anxiety. “Is it your head? Do you have a headache?”

  “Yes to both,” he said, opening his eyes again. “That bastard Igor concussed me when he knocked me out.”

  “Lie down again,” she said urgently. “We’ll stay here until it’s better.”

  “No, thank you,” he said, swinging his legs carefully off the mattress. “God knows what’s living in this straw, but I can hear them moving.” He stood up, resting a steadying hand on the bedpost. “Help me with my boots, sweeting. I don’t think I can bend my head.”

  “No, no, you mustn’t,” she said, fetching his boots. “Sit down.” She gave him a little push in her anxiety. “I’m sure we shouldn’t go anywhere until you feel a little better.” She dropped to her knees by the bed.

  “We’re going home,” he said grimly, lifting a foot for her.

  Livia struggled with the tight-fitting boot. They had no shoe horn and the boots were made to fit like gloves. Alex reached down, trying to keep his head up, and pulled the leather top up his leg, while she fought with the second one.

  “There.” She sat back on her heels. “Should you eat something, or drink something, Alex?”

  “No, I’ll throw it up,” he said firmly. “But you should get something. Go down to the kitchen and see what that poker-faced landlady can produce.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m as anxious to get out of here as you are. The sooner you’re home and I can send for the physician the better I’ll feel.” She stood up and held his coat for him. “Stay here and I’ll pay mine host and get the ostler to saddle the horses. We’re still taking the others back?”

  “Yes, I’ll keep them safe in the mews until our men come for them.” He followed her downstairs, ignoring her protestations that he should wait on the bed until they were ready to move.

  The landlady, her husband on her heels, emerged rapidly from the taproom as they reached the bottom step, and Livia had the distinct impression they’d been lying in wait for them, presumably to make sure they didn’t do a moonlight flit.

  “How much do I owe you?” Alex asked, opening the chamois pouch.

  The landlord’s eyes widened at the sight of gold, but his wife, unimpressed, said curtly, “Half a sovereign. There’s the care for the horses as well.”

  Alex gave her a sovereign and said, “Let me give you this. I thank you for your courtesy and consideration, madam.”

  For the first time a look of uncertainty crossed her hard eyes as she took the sovereign. Then she sniffed and turned back to the taproom.

  Livia gave a choke of laughter. “She didn’t know what to make of that. But you shouldn’t have been so generous, Alex.”

  “It was a gesture that gave me great pleasure,” he declared. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  They rode back to London much more slowly than Livia and Tatarinov on the way out, but Alex was still not strong enough to keep up a fast pace, particularly when he was controlling the two ponies he was leading. It was early afternoon before they crossed London Bridge and almost an hour later when they reached Cavendish Square.

  “I’ll take some of the horses to the mews, I can manage mine and two others,” Livia said. “A
nd Jemmy can come and fetch the others. You go on inside.”

  Alex didn’t argue. He gave her the reins of Tatarinov’s gelding, tethered the other two to the rails, and went up the stairs to the front door. Boris opened it before he reached it and exclaimed in horror. “What’s happened, Prince…have you been in an accident? I’ve been in despair, no one knew where you were, and the princess just told young Jemmy that everything was fine and she’d be back in the morning, and—”

  “Yes, I know, Boris,” Alex said soothingly as he stepped into the welcome haven of his own hall. His head ached abominably but he couldn’t rest yet. “But I’m home now. I need you to send messages to Count Constantine Fedorovsky and Leo Fedotov. Ask them to come immediately.”

  He didn’t know whether Sperskov had been forced to give them up as well; it seemed unlikely since as far as he knew they hadn’t been picked up, but they needed to be warned and the entire situation had to be reassessed. Sperskov, poor devil, was presumably floating somewhere in the river Thames.

  “Bring a bath up to my bedchamber, Boris, and have Ethel do the same for the princess.”

  Boris bowed. “I’ll attend you, Prince. Should I send for the physician?”

  “No, I don’t need a sawbones.” Alex set foot on the stairs, grasping the banister rail firmly.

  Morecombe was manning the front door when Livia entered the house twenty minutes later. “Eh, my lady, what’ve you been an’ gone an’ done?” he demanded, staring at her. “Runnin’ off in the middle o’ the night like that…an’ just look at you.”

  Livia gave him a weary smile. “It was an emergency, Morecombe. I’m sorry if I alarmed you.”

  “Right worried we were,” he declared. “Our Mavis was beside ’erself when we found you gone this morning. Couldn’t think what ’ad ’appened to you.”

  “Oh, dear,” Livia said, wishing she could have slipped in undetected. “I had to leave in a hurry, Morecombe. The prince sent for me,” she improvised. “I couldn’t wake you, it was the middle of the night.”