by Sandra Heath
“Oh, a little while yet. I must be sure mother and daughter are definitely all right.”
“Gwilym will stay with them, won’t you, Gwilym?” Fleur said firmly, at the same time trying to draw Athan toward the stable door, but to her annoyance he would not come.
“I know Gwilym will remain here, Fleur, but I prefer to stay too. I was away far too long, and need to reacquaint myself with absolutely everything.”
“But you were away from me too,” she pointed out, finding it all she could do not stamp her foot with frustration. She had been trying to keep him at her side ever since his return, but it was no easy matter. The reassurance he’d given when she’d gone so unsuccessfully to his bed was no longer a comfort, because today he seemed to have cooled so much toward her that he was almost a different man.
He remembered his promise to Ellie. “Yes, I was away, and it so happens I encountered an old friend of yours. Freddie Forrester-Phipps.”
Somehow Fleur managed not to react unduly. “Mr. Forrester-Phipps? Well, I’d hardly say he was a friend, exactly ... more an acquaintance.”
“I think he believes himself to be a little more than that.”
Color rushed into her cheeks. “Why? What on earth has he been saying?”
Athan saw the flush, and the start of fear that suddenly changed her eyes. Ellie’s judgment was right. There was indeed something to be discovered here. “He merely asked to be remembered to you. He is obviously enamored.”
“Indeed? Well, I am not similarly taken with him.”
Athan smiled. “Of course not.”
Her glance darted uneasily to his face again, uncertain whether or not he meant anything by the bland answer, but she couldn’t read him at all. Again she changed the subject.
“Athan, Mr. Forrester-Phipps is of no interest whatsoever, for I am too concerned with being with you. You have been away a long time, and you are soon to go away again. Sometime in May, as I understand it. Am I never to be with you?”
“I know I will be going away again,” he replied, “but nevertheless—”
“You could take Mama and me to St. Petersburg with you,” she broke in, wondering why such a thing had not occurred to her before.
“It would hardly be practicable,” he replied. Her suggestion did not suit him at all, because the return to St. Petersburg was his chance to be with Ellie again. He knew his motives were ignoble, but he really couldn’t help himself.
“But, Athan, if it is considered practicable for Miss Rutherford to go, then surely—”
“Your reputation would be jeopardized, Fleur.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother finds the journey from here to London a severe trial, so will be completely unable to countenance a distance as great as from here to St. Petersburg. Your reputation would be worthless if it became known you’d traveled alone with me.” That at least was true, and owed nothing to his private reluctance.
“If Mama were not there, Miss Rutherford would be my chaperone,” Fleur said then.
“I hardly think so, given the intense dislike you have for each other.”
Fleur’s green eyes took on a confrontational glint. “Very well, I accept that she and I are not exactly bosom friends, but I really would like to see St. Petersburg. How can you deny me such a chance, Athan? Especially when there is an obvious and happy solution to the problem.”
“Solution?”
“We could be married before we leave.”
Silence descended. In his mind’s eye he could see the special license that had been put away out of sight in his desk—the special license of which Fleur knew nothing because he could not bring himself to take any step at all that would finalize his understanding with her. At last he found his tongue. “There would be too much to arrange,” he said.
“Too much? Athan, the journey is months away.”
“I do not want a hasty marriage. Fleur, this business in St. Petersburg is important to me, and should be out of the way before we contemplate a wedding. Better a bridegroom who is free to put his entire endeavors into such a matter than one whose mind is constantly elsewhere.”
Yours is constantly elsewhere anyway, Fleur thought, thinking of Nantgarth House. But still she managed to smile. “I do not need a grand wedding, Athan, just a simple ceremony will do. St. Dwynwen’s, not St. George’s, Hanover Square, that’s all I ask. Please, my darling, for you know how much I have come to love you.”
“Do not press me in this, Fleur, for the matter is closed. I will not hear of any wedding plans until after St. Petersburg.”
She pulled petulantly away from him. “You do not care if you hurt me!” she cried.
He was already uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken in front of Gwilym; now he became appalled and nodded quickly at the youth. “Leave us for a moment, if you please.”
“My lord.”
As Gwilym slipped out into the night, Athan faced Fleur. “This is poorly done, Fleur. Such matters should be conducted in private, not in a stable with someone else present, a servant, at that.”
“You leave me no choice, for I’ve found it impossible to spend time with you today.”
“I’m just back from a long absence and have many things to do,” he replied.
“How am I expected to feel?” she demanded. “You returned yesterday, full of promises that all is well and we will be married come what may; then today you behave as if you despise the very sight of me.”
“You are wrong,” he answered, but knew she wasn’t. If this conversation had been conducted yesterday, he would have repented his treatment of her, but today was very different.
“Then prove it. Let me come to St. Petersburg with you, and let Miss Rutherford and I be each other’s chaperone, whether or not we like it.”
“Why should she put herself out for you, who have been no friend to her since she arrived? It would be totally outrageous to request her to enter such an arrangement, especially as her uncle provides her with protection.”
“Protection? Is that what you think?” There was a sudden edge in Fleur’s voice.
Athan turned to face her fully. “Yes, that’s what I think,” he said levelly.
“Well, local whispers have it very differently.”
“Oh?”
Everything about him should have warned Fleur not to proceed, but she hated Ellie too much to be sensible. “Yes, Athan, they do. It would seem that Mr. Bailey and his niece do not behave as properly as they should. In fact, they behave most improperly.”
Athan gazed at her, for the first time actually disliking her. It just did not seem possible that she was General Tudor’s flesh and blood, for she appeared to lack all nobility of character, kindness, or even amiability. She was self-centered and malignant, and the more he was with her, the more he doubted his ability to ever honor his word to marry her.
“That is a monstrous calumny, Fleur,” he said after a moment, “and I am saddened you should think fit to repeat it.”
“It is only calumny if untrue.”
“But it is untrue.”
This wasn’t at all the reaction she’d expected, and her chin rose defensively. “Well, I suppose you would say that, wouldn’t you?” she cried. “Anything that touches unfavorably upon Miss Rutherford has to be untrue! Heaven forfend that she should have a fault!”
“You’ve said more than enough, Fleur,” he replied quietly. “It is vile to use the names of John Bailey and Miss Rutherford in such a way, and I forbid you to utter another word on the matter. I have already spoken with my agent, who tells me he hasn’t heard these rumors except from you, so I wonder greatly about their origin. Do I make my position clear? If you mention such things again, you will not only incur my considerable wrath, but make an utter fool of yourself in the process. Why? Because your abhorrence of Miss Rutherford is written too plain, and because you clearly know nothing whatsoever of John Bailey’s character. Now, I think you had better go back inside, before the night co
ld becomes too much.”
Fleur gazed at him, shaken to the very core. Was there nothing, nothing she could say or do to loosen Ellie Rutherford’s hold upon him?
“Please go, Fleur, before this meeting deteriorates any further.”
“Athan—”
“Good night, Fleur.”
Chapter Twenty-two
The overnight frost still lay in the hollows as Athan dismounted by St. Dwynwen’s well, tethered his horse to an iron loop in the churchyard wall, and walked swiftly up the path toward the porch. It was midmorning, the vibrancy of spring was beginning to cloak the mountains, and in the distance to the south he could see the sparkle of the sea.
He didn’t know what he expected to find up there, but just knew he had to come. His boots rang on the stone flags as he strode down the aisle toward the sanctuary, where he inspected every inch of the ceiling’s edge.
There was nothing. It would have been too much to hope that he’d find an incriminating note linking Fleur with Freddie Forrester-Phipps, but that was what had lurked at the back of his mind as he’d set off on a ride before breakfast.
The harsh words he’d exchanged with Fleur had left him feeling far too troubled to face her across the table. The aspect of her character that he’d seen in the stable had repelled him, and he knew that he had to consider very seriously indeed the damned and damnable duty of making her his wife. And so here he was, prying like a spy, hoping to find evidence that would release him from his obligation. But there was nothing.
With a sigh he quit the church again, but just as he’d untethered his horse at the gate, there was a splash in the well. He turned in time to see a shaft of silver. An eel! Damn it all, eels might be able to make their way for miles along almost waterless ditches, but they couldn’t climb mountains! He went closer to the well. The water was still rippling, but that was all. The eel, if that was what it had been, had disappeared.
Then some sixth sense made him turn to look along the mountain track in the opposite direction from the way he’d come. A rider appeared over a brow, a woman in mustard yellow on a sturdy black cob. Ellie! He gathered the reins, mounted, and urged the horse toward her.
She realized it was he, reined in, and then began to turn Tomos to ride back the way she’d come, but the cob was no match for his much faster horse. He caught up with her just as she was about to ride down into the draw, and when she ignored his calls, he rode alongside her and leaned over to grab Tomos’s reins.
“Let me go, Athan!” she cried, trying to urge the cob on.
“All I want is to talk to you, Ellie,” he answered, keeping a tight grip until Tomos had halted completely and there was nothing further Ellie could do.
She looked accusingly at him. “There is no more to be said between us.”
“Are you going to ignore me all the way to St. Petersburg?”
She didn’t answer.
His gray eyes pleaded. “Just a few minutes of your time, Ellie. Please, I beg of you.”
Reluctantly she gave in. “As you wish,” she said, hoping he could not hear in her voice how very much she wanted to be with him.
He stretched out a gloved hand to hers, but she pulled away. “No, please, Athan. Your decision has been made, and I know it was the only decision that was possible in the circumstances, so it is unfair of you to waylay me like this.”
“Have you written to Lady Brecon?”
She avoided his eyes. “Not yet.”
“Then don’t write at all. Ellie, hope is not yet lost.”
“Are you still betrothed to Miss Tudor?”
He drew a long breath. “Yes, but—”
“How can there be buts, Athan? A betrothal is binding, and that is all that matters. She has a claim upon you; I do not.”
“You have every claim in the truest sense of the word,” he said softly.
“You do not play by the rules, sir,” she replied.
“I love you, Ellie, and I begin to despise the woman to whom I am engaged.”
“I may not like Miss Tudor, but it is hardly her fault that you and I have met, so it ill becomes you to—”
“You were right when you said she would tell me about the rumors concerning you and your uncle. She did, last night, and there was something in the way she did it that I found utterly detestable. If I had seen her in that light before, nothing on this earth would have made me ask for her hand. But now I have this betrothal that is utterly abhorrent to me, and I still have a love for you that breaks my heart with its intensity. I cannot marry her, Ellie.”
“That is between you and she.”
He searched her eyes. “Do you still love me, Ellie?”
She looked away. “It makes no difference if I do or not.”
“It makes every difference. Look at me, Ellie. Look at me and deny you love me.” He stretched across to take her chin in his hand and make her meet his eyes. “Deny your love for me, Ellie, and I will accept what you say.”
“Please, Athan ...”
“Deny it, if you can.”
Tears shone in her blue eyes. “You know that I love you,” she whispered.
“And if I were free ... would you be my wife?”
An incredulous nuance lit her eyes, and her lips moved, as if she sought words, but then she nodded. “Yes.”
His breath escaped on a triumphant note. “Then all is far from lost after all,” he said gently, and before she knew it he stood in his stirrups to lean right over and gather her close to kiss her on the lips. It was a moment charged with emotion, and he never wanted it to end, but he tore himself away and turned his horse to ride away.
Ellie gazed after him, her heart bruised by her love, her lips bruised by his. She whispered his name, and it seemed the air took up the sound, breathing it across the mountain and carrying it up to the very sky.
* * *
As Ellie and Athan confessed their feelings anew on the slopes high above the valley, a travel-stained post chaise was approaching Nantgarth House from the direction of the turnpike. The slightly built postilion was tired after traveling overnight, and tired too of dealing with his unpleasantly high-handed foreign passenger. He didn’t care how important Prince Valentin Andreyev was in his own godforsaken land; here, he was just another fancy cove with too many airs and graces.
But the postilion knew how to make such graceless, disagreeable passengers suffer for their arrogance, and there hadn’t been a rut or pothole between here and the capital that remained unexplored. With luck Prince High-and-Mighty would have found the journey one of the most uncomfortable he’d ever encountered. Of course, what the disgruntled little Englishman didn’t know was that Russian roads were ten times worse, and therefore the loathed passenger hardly noticed a bump.
Valentin was splendid in his uniform again, no longer feeling the need for anonymity. He knew the diamond’s theft had been discovered almost straightaway, but was confident that his name hadn’t been connected with the crime, except inasmuch as he was Russian, and anyone of that nationality was viewed with suspicion by the British populace, who were, in general, suspicious of all foreigners anyway.
It felt good to be in military trappings again, he thought as he stretched his long legs, encased in tight white breeches, upon the seat opposite. The gold braid on his blue dolman jacket was by far richer than any he had observed upon a British army officer, and the quality of the fur trimming on his pelisse was superior in every way.
His white-plumed shako was on the seat beside him, and the miniature icon of St. Valentine around his neck glittered in the March sunlight. He was conscious of his good looks and virility and hoped that one of Athan’s maidservants would be amenable, for he was not a man to spend the night alone if it could be avoided.
Perhaps he could improve upon a mere maidservant, and enjoy the charms and redheaded beauty of the ambitiously obliging Miss Tudor, who had been so eager to become Princess Dalmatsky that she had answered any and every question put to her. She had unknowingly confirmed
that John Bailey of Nantgarth House was in fact John Arbuthnot Billersley.
The fact that the lady was now betrothed to Athan made no difference to a man like Valentin, who was quite prepared to seduce her under the very roof of her husband-to-be. In fact, Valentin thought it would be amusing to do so, if only because he knew that behind the polite smiles and courtesy, Athan, Lord Griffin, disliked him intensely. Well, Valentin Andreyev cordially despised the entire British nation, so had no scruples about anything he did on British soil.
He glanced at his fob watch, a handsome ruby-studded timepiece of French manufacture, given to him by his uncle. It was eleven o’clock exactly, but he was hungry enough for it to be time for dinner at the very least. He hoped that at Castle Griffin it was the custom to eat well at midday.
The chaise passed over the humpbacked bridge at the canal, and Valentin saw the china works and screen of evergreens. The whereabouts of the manufactory had been ascertained from Huw Jenkin at the turnpike gate, and now a note was to be given to the postilion to deliver into John Bailey’s hand. It had been written before Valentin left Berkeley Square, and its content was brief and to the point, the intention being to alarm the recipient into submission from the outset:
John Bailey. If you wish to remain free and without blood on your conscience, admit me at midnight tonight. Be alone. Andreyev
* * *
The chaise jolted to a standstill at the gate of Nantgarth House, upon which residence Valentin looked with utter disdain. Why was his uncle concerning himself with a man who lived in such a humble abode? Then something drew his attention to the holly tree that spread over the garden wall.
A tall, lanky, redheaded youth was standing beneath the branches, arms folded, lips smiling in a way that made Valentin feel oddly uncomfortable. From nowhere, a savage Dalmatian dog leapt up at the carriage door, barking and growling, and scratching furiously at the handle as if it would get at the horrified passenger.