Her lips parted, still in disbelief that Konstantin had walked out of her life. “Did he say anything when he left?” She could scarcely say it aloud. “Anything at all?”
He sighed. “He said it was an honor and nothing more. He wanted to leave and even asked I not wake you.”
Her heart sank straight down to her booted feet. For him to have left without telling her good-bye meant she’d hurt him. She had said all of the wrong things. Things she wished she had never said. She paused. Maybe he hadn’t gone far. Maybe—
Cecilia scrambled past John. Gathering her skirts, she stumbled down the iron steps and onto the pavement. She spun toward her left and right, scanning all of the faces and buildings blurring into shadows and fog and gas lamps. “Which way did he go, John? I have to find him!”
John sat in the carriage, clearly astounded.
She jerked toward him, her heart pounding. “John, for heaven’s sake, I have to find him!”
He rose from the seat. Jumping out of the stagecoach with a solid thud of his boots, he adjusted his coat and rounded toward her. “He left well over ten minutes ago.”
Oh, God. She clasped a shaky hand against her mouth, realizing Konstantin, her Konstantin, was gone. Forever. Because of her.
John softened his tone. “’Tis better this way.”
She closed her eyes in disbelief. “No,” she whispered, eventually re-opening her eyes. “This isn’t what I wanted. It feels wrong. Letting him disappear from my life feels wrong.”
He gaped. “Wrong? He allowed your good name to be tainted by permitting an association that could have destroyed you both.”
“So says the man who wanted to marry a Russian actress twenty some years older than himself,” she tossed back. “Do you think I came out here to celebrate with you? I came to stop the wedding. Only to find there is none!”
He winced and scrubbed his head. “I know, I know, I wanted more for myself than what London had to offer and tried to…” He grabbed her and pressed her against himself. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t come here, if I hadn’t met Tatiana, you wouldn’t have…” He pressed her harder against himself. “Try not to let this Russian hurt you. He wasn’t worthy of you. Christ, he wasn’t even properly dressed or—”
She flung away his arms in disbelief. “For shame, John, to be judging a man based on his appearance. For shame. Need I remind you, your father was well dressed. He was so well dressed he couldn’t even bring himself to wrinkle his thirty pound trousers in the name of putting his own children onto his lap when they came to him. He was so well dressed that when you fell into that lake as a boy and were drowning, he yelled for the governess to jump in. The governess! She and I were the ones who jumped in after you first before he realized two women in the water made him look the fool that he was.”
Tears blinded her, remembering that day. “I don’t want or need that sort of refinement, John. What I want and need is someone willing to save me. I need someone willing to sleep in a wooden chair for me. I need someone willing to give me his food even when he has none. That is what I need. And this man did that, John. He put my needs before his own every single time. He did more for me these past two days than your father did his entire life!”
John grew quiet.
A tear unexpectedly spilled down her cheek. She swiped it away with a quaking hand, knowing people were weaving around them. Fortunately, it was Russia and nobody understood a word of what she said. “As frightening as it was to have been robbed and left stranded in a random coach in the middle of Russia, it was the best thing to have ever happened to me. He was the best thing to have happened to me.” Her voice cracked with emotion, knowing she would never get the chance to tell Konstantin that.
Turning toward the crowds around them, she almost sobbed. Running down empty streets at night would yield nothing but the reality that he was gone. “I’m not ready to let him go,” she choked out, tears stinging her eyes. “I told him I was, but I’m not. I’m not.”
John searched her face and slowly dragged a rigid hand across his mouth. “Are you telling me you’re in love with him?”
She sniffed miserably. “I haven’t known him long enough to say that, but he was amazing, John. As a person and as a man. He was amazing.”
John dropped his hand to his side. “How amazing?”
“Amazing enough to hang my name on.”
“Christ.” He blew out a breath. “I…he gave me an address of where he’d be staying in London. I insisted on it before he left.”
Her heart almost stopped. “What? You got an address?”
“Yes. I got an address.”
She grabbed his face and kissed him twice. “Oh, thank God for you! Thank God you—”
“Mother.” He rigidly pulled away and searched her face.
She paused, sensing he was about to announce something she wasn’t ready to hear. “What? What is it?”
“The address he gave me is 32 Belgrave Square. Did you not know that?”
Every inch of her skin prickled with gooseflesh as Konstantin’s words chimed in her head. ‘As my father always used to say, even if you do not believe in destiny, you will in time. Because everything happens for a reason. Which means, we will not be able to escape whatever destiny has planned. Even if we want to.’
“Dearest Lord,” she rasped. “Destiny is real.”
John drew his brows together. “What?”
She set a trembling hand to her throat. “Heaven keep me from fainting, John. What are the odds that Mr. Levin would give an address that is right next door to my own home? I knew the grand old house had been let to someone before I left for Russia, I simply never inquired as to who it was.”
Lord above. There was no saving them now.
August 28th 1830, early evening
London, England - 32 Belgrave Square
Steady footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. His footsteps.
Konstantin rose from the walnut encased burgundy sofa, his eyes darting to the closed doors of the study he’d been ushered into twenty minutes earlier. Konstantin blew out an exhausted breath, praying to God the man didn’t announce he had changed his mind and that Konstantin should get back on a coach and boat and go back to Russia.
The doors of the study slammed open against the oak paneled walls, shaking the large portraits and mirrors hanging throughout the room. The lit candles flickered, sending disfigured shadows wavering across the high, crown molded ceilings.
A tall figure with silvery-steel colored hair dressed in black, right down to leather riding boots, stood motionless in the doorway. It was Duc de Andelot. His face was, as last time, hidden beneath a well-fitted black velvet mask. Only piercing blue eyes and the lower portion of his mouth and shaven jaw peered through. The visible marring of puckered skin on the left side of that aging jaw below the tied mask hinted at the damage hidden.
“We meet again, my Russian friend,” Andelot rumbled out in English. As before, there was a slight French accent but it was barely detectable. “How is your shoulder?”
Konstantin thudded his left shoulder. “It healed well.”
“I am infinitely pleased to hear it and I am infinitely pleased you came. Although it took you long enough.” The duc smirked. “Did the boat sink and leave you to swim?”
Konstantin smiled and inclined his head. “It might as well have. Russia is not exactly next door, Your Grace. I stayed in Saint Petersburg a bit longer than I had planned.” It had been some time since he had laid wreaths on the graves of his parents. He made certain to do that before he left Russia. He had also lingered across the street one night outside Lord Stone’s theatre during a performance, hoping to see Cecilia. If only one last time. He never saw her.
A part of him was glad for it.
The yearning had to stop.
The duc entered the room, his movements smooth and ghost-like. A raw, contained power rolled off of those limbs hidden beneath well fitting evening clothes that hinted the older man had spent most of
his life boxing and fencing and dueling. “Might I offer you a drink, Levin? Sherry? Cognac? Or are you hungry? Shall I have the chef prepare something for you? Is there anything you wanted? Name it and it is yours.”
Anything he wanted? How about Cecilia? He refrained from asking. Konstantin shook his head. “No, thank you. I ate at an inn before coming into London. But I would like to take this moment to thank you for inviting me into a city I have always wanted to see. I only wish I had not arrived at night. I could hardly see anything.”
“There will be plenty of time for that. But I should probably warn you London is a bit quiet this time of year. The Season is long over and most homes are vacated by now. I personally prefer it. A man cannot think with crowds of people around him. So tell me. How was your journey?”
“I spent most of my time hanging over the railing of the boat, releasing my innards through my nose and my mouth. Other than that…it was pleasant.” Konstantin hesitated and cleared his throat. “I also wish to thank you, Your Grace. I really do. I am still a bit overwhelmed and still do not believe I deserve it. I am asking that you reduce the amount. I hardly think—”
Andelot snapped up a scarred hand. “There is no need for us to discuss this. It is done. The money will be in your hands by the end of this week and all I ask is that you not let others know where the money came from. We are merely good comrades and nothing more.”
“But the amount is—”
“The amount is respectable. Are you telling me my life is worth less?”
Konstantin blinked. “No, I—”
“I am a generous man, Levin. Let us leave it at that. I have endured a lot and never give any less than what I believe a man deserves.” He paused before Konstantin and lingered, staring him down through the slits of his mask. He gestured rigidly toward Konstantin’s throat that was exposed. “What is this? Where is your cravat? You did this last time.”
Konstantin’s hand jumped to his bare throat, grazing his linen shirt. “I never wear cravats. Unless I am required to.”
The duc glared. “You cannot step out into public looking like you have lived in a cave all your life. ’Tis an insult to those who are forced to look upon you. Tomorrow, you are going straight to my tailor to conduct measurements for the sort of clothing a man like you should be wearing. Because if it looks cheap, it is cheap. And no one bows to cheap.”
Andelot leaned in, the scent of leather and cologne wafting toward the air between them and adjusted the lapel of Konstantin’s coat. The duc sighed. “I regret not giving you money sooner. When you awake tomorrow, my valet will properly shave you. With the amount of money going into your pocket, Levin, ’tis your duty to represent yourself well. Or no one will take you seriously.”
Konstantin swiped his hand across his now ten-day-old beard. He knew he should have shaved at the last inn. “Forgive me. I get lazy sometimes.”
“I can see that.” Andelot glanced toward the clock on the mantelpiece. “I do not wish to be rude, but I have an appointment to keep. Are you tired? Or are you up for joining me?”
“I would not be imposing?”
“No.” Andelot turned and strode toward one of the bookshelves. He ran a hand across the bindings of all the leather books before stopping and yanking one out. He carried it over and held it out. “Take this for me.”
Konstantin hesitated and slid the book from the man’s scarred hand. It was Voltaire. The gold lettering on the leather binding read in English Candide: or The Optimist. Turning it toward himself, Konstantin’s brows came together. The leather binding was warped and appeared to be heavily damaged by age. “This has certainly seen a lot of use.”
“Good books usually do.” The duc strode by. “Come. And bring Voltaire with you.”
“Where are we going?”
Duc de Andelot paused, as if the question had affected him. He lingered, not looking at anything in particular. “I usually go alone, but I trust you. And truth be told, I would rather not be alone tonight.”
When their carriage paused in the shadows outside a very respectable-looking townhome, outside the light of surrounding gaslights, the duc gestured toward the book with his cane. “Read.”
Konstantin shifted against the leather upholstered seat of the carriage and swiped up the book beside him. He hesitated. What happened to the so-called appointment? They were stationed alone on the side of a road somewhere in London at ten o’clock at night. It didn’t feel right. “Uh…is there a reason you want me to—”
“Start at part two on page one hundred and three. And above all, handle it with care. That is an original English printing.”
Maybe the man’s eyes were getting old.
Konstantin cleared his throat, carefully paged to what appeared to be half the book. He found the page and tilted the book toward the dim light of the lantern. “Part Two. Chapter One. How Candid quitted his companions and what happened to him.” Interesting. He’d never read Voltaire. He read on, “We soon became tired of everything in life; riches fatigue the possessor; ambition when satisfied, leaves only remorse behind it; the joys of love are but transient joys; and Candid, made to experience all the vicissitudes of fortune was soon disgusted with cultivating his garden.”
The duc unlatched the window of the carriage and leaned out, staring up at one of the windows.
Konstantin paused from his reading, realizing the man was no longer listening. Konstantin inched forward to see what the man was actually looking at.
A silver-haired lady draped in an ivory robe sat beside the window reading by a brightly lit lamp that illuminated her pale face. She adjusted her silver braid over her shoulder.
The duc continued to intently watch her. Almost never blinking.
Konstantin eyed the man and then the silver-haired lady in the window. “Should we be doing this?”
The duc tapped his lips with a finger and gestured toward the book again, without looking away from the lady. “Read.”
Oho. This had trouble smeared all over it. And he wanted no part of it. Konstantin shut the book, slid over to the window and leaned toward the duc. “Let me give you some advice. I have no idea how the English conduct themselves here, but in Russia, men are arrested for such things.” He was being serious.
The duc continued to watch the window of the townhouse. “Since when is love a crime, Levin?” he asked, his voice reverberating in the darkness of the carriage.
Konstantin glanced back up to the window. This just got good. He shifted closer. “Who is she?”
The duc gripped his cane tighter, his black leather glove creaking. His eyes had a burning, faraway look. “A whisper of everything I could have had but never will.”
Konstantin knew the feeling. “Did she marry someone else?”
“She married every damn man in sight.”
Ooo. She was one of those. At least Cecilia hadn’t been that. “I am very sorry to hear it.”
Andelot hit the end of the cane on the floor of the carriage. “I used to blame her for the path she took. But I have long since come to recognize that it is I who destroyed her by not making an honorable woman of her. I was the one to drape her with her first set of diamonds.” Andelot glanced back toward her window again and paused, his cane stilling. An exasperated breath escaped him. Re-latching the carriage window with an agitated swipe of his gloved hand, he settled back against the seat and muttered, “She has retired for the night.”
Konstantin surveyed the now dark window.
Andelot lifted his cane and hit the roof of the carriage, commanding the driver to leave.
The driver snapped the reins and the carriage rolled forward, causing Konstantin to sway forward then back as he returned his gaze to the duc.
The man grudgingly lowered his eyes to the gold head of his cane and rigidly tapped the palm of his gloved hand against it. “Next time, I come alone. You talk too much.”
Konstantin quirked a brow. “Do you mean to tell me, since coming into London, you have been doing this eve
ry night?”
Andelot grunted. “I would never admit to such a thing.”
“Which means you have been.”
The duc shifted his jaw beneath the mask. “What of it?”
And he thought he was a feather short when it came to women. “Is she the reason why you came to London?”
“Yes.”
Konstantin smoothed a hand over the damaged leather binding of the book. “Have you called on her?”
The duc’s blue eyes looked piercingly sharp in the light of the moon that drifted in through the window. “I would never.”
“Why?”
Lifting his cane up toward his face, Duc de Andelot edged the gold handle across the left side of his tied mask, causing it to shift. “This.”
Konstantin couldn’t imagine living a life behind a mask and genuinely felt angst for the man.
The duc lowered the cane from his mask.
Konstantin gripped the book hard. “Forgive me for prying, but what actually happened between you and her?”
“Too much.” The duc paused, clearly drifting to another place and another time. Those eyes became flat. Unreadable. “When I was much younger, even younger than you are now, I was living two separate lives. One for my father and one for myself. Thérèse was the woman I wanted to marry but couldn’t. And when she became pregnant, everything fell apart.”
The duc leaned back against the seat, his voice growing ragged, “She refused to accept what our relationship really was. She wanted to be more than a mistress. She wanted us to marry. If I had been anyone else, anyone but third cousin to the King, I would have. But I knew what her life would have turned into and I was trying to keep her safe from my father. She, of course, did not see it that way and not only kept me from seeing my own son, but allowed herself to become the most sought after woman in all of France. God help me, I was so angry with her for becoming the desire of every man. So angry. I did not want my son raised in the world she had involved herself in and even tried to reason with her about what I could offer him, but she was done with me. I wanted to take our son, but I could not rip the boy out of the arms of his mother. She loved him.”
Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella) Page 11