by Gaelen Foley
“What is it, Misha?”
“Nothing,” he rumbled, sitting on the edge of her bed. He laid his hand appreciatively on the curve of her naked hip.
“What did your men want?”
“To see if I had any further orders before the changing of the guard.”
“Why do you need so many bodyguards, anyway?”
“To protect me from women like you,” he said, clapping her soundly on the rear end and causing her to squeal.
“You mean old hairy monster, Kurkov!” she scolded, then sat up and gazed deeply into his steely eyes. She could see the dark thoughts churning in his brain. “You look troubled.” It took considerable courage, but she lifted her hand and caressed his head. “Why don’t you tell Eva what is wrong? Maybe I can help.”
“Help me?”
“Yes,” she answered, lifting her chin. “Don’t underestimate me, darling. Men have done so in the past, to their folly.”
Mikhail considered her words and chewed upon her offer, studying her.
He could not help but smile faintly at this she-wolf he had found. If Lady Parthenia was ice, Eva Campion was pure deadly fire. She was the most enticing female he had ever encountered, and if she possessed a single inhibition, he had yet to find it. She had started as a mere distraction for him, a bit of recreation to take his mind off his missing cousin as well as the worrisome fact that he had not had any communication from his co-conspirators back in Russia for some weeks.
But now as he dragged her across his lap, he knew he had found a possible ally. Unlike most people, including Parthenia and all fourteen of his concubines at home, this scheming harlot understood him. He raked his hand in uneasy but possessive affection through her short, dark curls, which he had already tousled thoroughly. He owned her, he knew, every inch.
Eva closed her dark eyes, reveling in his touch. Her eager submission pleased him, hard won as it had been. “Tell me your troubles, Mikhail,” she murmured. “I only wish to serve you.”
His eyes flickered with gratification, and he felt his loins grow heavy yet again with want of her. He still didn’t trust the bitch, but at least now he was satisfied he could control her. “Shall I?” he whispered more to himself than to her.
“Yes.” She dragged her eyes open and stared into his. “Let me prove myself worthy of you.”
Mikhail considered her offer cautiously. Perhaps she could be of use. God knew, nothing else had worked so far. He had men scouring London and Brighton for the girl, men posted along the main routes back to Yorkshire, men watching the Westlands’ house around the clock, but no one had seen hide nor hair of Rebecca Ward. This had led Mikhail to suspect that someone must be hiding her. Perhaps this single, crafty woman could succeed where all his men had failed.
As a fixed presence in the ton and a woman privy to the rich mine of Society women’s gossip, the baroness no doubt had means of learning secrets that he could not tap into. Perhaps she could learn for him who might be hiding the girl, or at least find some new lead for him to follow in his maddeningly fruitless hunt for her.
Confiding in a woman was a risk he would not normally take, but Rebecca had been missing for nearly a month now and he was getting downright nervous. Besides, he needn’t tell Eva everything. He could tell her just enough to give her the scent, and then let her track the quarry by her own devices.
“Perhaps there is something you could do for me.”
“Name it,” she whispered, straddling his lap with her arms wrapped around his neck.
“When my grandfather died, I was made the guardian of a young cousin of mine, an orphaned girl of about twenty. Well, the foolish chit rebelled at having been placed under my authority; until I came along, her caretakers had let her run wild. When I tried to impose some discipline, she threw a tantrum and ran away.” Mikhail spilled her off his lap and got up to crush out the stump of his finished cheroot. “I don’t know where she is or who may have her,” he said while Eva watched his every move. “I suspect she is entirely ruined by now. She had little money when she left, and her youth and beauty would have made her easy prey.”
Eva flinched at the words “her youth and beauty.” The fleeting jealousy she betrayed amused Mikhail, but since he wanted her help, he gave her a soothing glance.
“For myself, I don’t give a damn what becomes of Rebecca at this point,” he lied. “What concerns me is that the girl has shown a nasty habit of going around telling lies about me.”
“Really?” she murmured.
“Yes. Lies of a most shocking and serious nature. Enough to cause me considerable trouble unless she is brought to heel. Unfortunately, my men have had no success in finding her to date. She was last spotted in London a few weeks ago. Since then, it’s as if she’s simply vanished.”
“Perhaps she’s dead.”
“No. I have a man in London keeping an eye on the obituaries for just that possibility, but so far, nothing.”
“Have you contacted her close friends?”
“She has none that I know of. She knew no one outside her village. I think it’s possible she may have fled to one of my grandfather’s old cronies for help, using the Talbot name to gain entry.”
“Someone in Society?” Eva murmured, intrigued.
“Yes. She could be with anyone, saying any manner of filth against me. I have been restricted from making inquiries myself because of,” he said delicately, “the situation with Lady Parthenia.”
“Right.” Slipping into her red silk dressing gown, Eva tied it and went to him. “Perhaps I can help you find her.” She tilted her head a bit, studying him with a distinct, wicked gleam in the depths of her coal-black eyes. “What does she look like?”
“Well, as I said, she is about twenty years old. About this high.” He held his hand up to about the level of his breastbone. “Shapely girl, quite pretty. She has wavy, dark hair to her waist and bluish-colored eyes.”
“Why, she sounds beautiful,” Eva said sourly, then eyed him skeptically. “Are you quite sure she ran away because of your . . . discipline, Mikhail?”
“What are you implying?” he demanded with an indignant lift of his chin.
She just smiled at him like a cat with cream. “Oh, nothing. So, what is this ravishing young thing’s name?” She turned to put out the nearby candle as the dawn’s light grew.
“Rebecca. Rebecca Ward. She more commonly goes by Becky.”
For a fleeting second Eva went very still. “There wouldn’t happen to be . . . any other names she goes by?”
He shook his head. “None that I know of.”
“Aha.”
“You will make a few discreet inquiries among the ton? Subtlety is paramount, loobeemaya.”
“Why, yes. And I suspect I can produce her for you like a—a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat!” she exclaimed in a sinister purr. “But first I have just one small condition, if I am to give you my help.”
“Now, why am I not surprised?” Mikhail murmured. He could not help smiling, bewitched by her scheming when he probably should have been outraged. She was as brazen as she was beautiful. “What is this condition I must grant you, Baroness?”
She slipped her arms around his neck and offered up a coy smile, flames in her eyes. “If I find her for you, then you must forget Parthenia Westland and marry me.”
He put her hand against his cock. “Find her for me, and I’ll let you have this again.”
“We’ll see.”
They exchanged a slightly diabolical smile, and then Mikhail turned and got dressed. “I’m leaving,” he said. “I require sleep before the final round of the whist drive tonight. Some wicked sorceress kept me awake half the bloody night.”
With the wheels in her mind already turning, Eva folded her arms beneath her breasts and gave him a wary nod of farewell as he slipped out of her chamber and went marching off with his private army.
How delightful! she thought in wicked anticipation, tickled by her extreme good fortune. No wonder Knig
ht had looked so queasy when she demanded an introduction to Mikhail at the ball. Mikhail was searching for this Becky girl, and Alec was the one trying to conceal her. Well! It seemed now that she could kill two birds with one stone—revenge on Alec, and an act of fealty that would show Mikhail what an excellent pairing the two of them made.
She was not naive enough to believe Mikhail’s obviously whitewashed version of the story concerning his cousin. Men were men. No doubt he had behaved inappropriately with the young beauty, driving her to run away.
But, given her own less than pristine past, Eva frankly didn’t care. She required revenge on Alec Knight and she wanted to be a princess. She was bent on marrying Mikhail, and when she delivered little Precious to him by the end of the whist drive, accomplishing for him what he and all his Cossacks had been unable to do, he would have to see that they belonged together.
Oh, yes, she mused with a sly smile curving her lips, I’ll wear that jeweled tiara soon. Alec would be at the final round of the whist drive with Mikhail, nowhere on hand to protect the girl.
Tonight.
As sunset faded to indigo twilight, a final burning-vivid pink streak on the western horizon refused to be extinguished by the encroaching night. Stars peeked out from their secret places in the great dome of the firmament, like the eyes of innumerable cupids come to spy on the match they had made.
Alec and Becky stood together on the beach, staring in silence at the ocean. In moments, she knew, he must go. He was dressed in formal black-and-white attire to visit the Regent’s yacht; to show her certainty that they would have much to celebrate when he returned, Becky had donned an evening gown of pale jade-colored silk, the picture of elegant simplicity.
Lord Draxinger stood some twenty yards away, restlessly skipping stones into the waves as he waited for Alec to go with him to the final round of the whist drive. Fort and Rush stood at a respectful distance near the foot of the garden, waiting to escort Becky back to the villa. They had been assigned to protect her again while Alec and Drax went off to battle.
No more than a quarter hour ago Becky’s deposition had been dispatched to Parthenia, tucked away in a slim bandbox from one of the local modiste’s shops. The duke’s daughter would be receiving the “delivery” momentarily, and if all went according to plan, Westland should be reading Becky’s testimony while Mikhail was playing cards on the Regent’s yacht—separated from his Cossacks, trapped out at sea, and unable to get away. Becky had strongly suggested in her dispatch to Westland that His Grace rouse the local constabulary and have men waiting on the docks to arrest the prince the moment he stepped off Prinny’s yacht.
She was confident that was how it would happen.
Alec had his doubts.
Down the beach, Drax waved to get his attention and pointed to his fob watch.
Alec sent him an answering gesture. “I have to go,” he murmured.
They turned to each other.
“Well, then. I suppose this is it,” Becky replied, mustering up a brave smile despite her raw nerves. She rested both of her hands in Alec’s white-gloved ones.
He shook his head, staring at her, then he raised her hands to his lips and kissed both of them in turn. “You look so beautiful,” he said softly. “You make it hard to leave.”
She smiled, looking deeply into his eyes. She saw courage there, and steadfastness, despite his edgy impatience to have the thing done. Though his words were sweet, his face was set with grim resolve.
She lifted her hand and cupped his tense jaw. “Alec, I want you to know that whatever happens tonight, it won’t change the way I feel about you.”
“Er, yes. About that . . .” He moved closer and enfolded her in his arms, then pressed a lingering kiss to her brow. “Since we promised no more secrets, there’s something I should probably tell you.”
She tilted her head back and searched his deep blue eyes worriedly. “What is it, my love?” How troubled he looked, she thought with growing uneasiness.
“Becky.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “There’s a small but real possibility that I won’t be . . . coming back.”
She furrowed her brow. “What? What do you mean?”
“If I lose at the tables tonight,” he said slowly, his tender gaze hardening, “I shall kill Kurkov while I have him out there on the boat.”
Her eyes widened. “Alec!”
“It’s the simplest way. He won’t have all his damned Cossacks on hand to protect him—”
“No!” She backed away from him, aghast. “Alec, you mustn’t! The Regent is always surrounded by soldiers and bodyguards, is he not? They’ll arrest you! You could be killed—”
“Becky, if your cousin wins tonight, he’ll be unstoppable, and we’ll have nothing. If I should fail to win your house back for you, at least by doing this I shall have made sure for once and for all that you won’t be in any more danger. With Kurkov dead, the Cossacks will have no further cause to chase you. Without his orders, their main concern will be getting back to Russia.”
She shook her head dazedly. “Alec, this is madness! No! I will not hear of it! If they don’t kill you on the spot, they’ll send you straight to the hangman—”
“I cannot leave this undone. Don’t you understand that by now?” he exclaimed. “Whatever the cost, I gave you my word I’d see this through to the end, and I will. I must. Becky.” He reached for her. “Try to understand.”
She pulled away, her face ashen. “What does anything matter if I lose you?” she cried.
For a long moment, they held each other in a searing stare.
“I know why you’re saying this,” she forced out shakily. “You just don’t want to have to face me if you lose, but that’s what I’m trying to tell you, Alec—you’re what matters—not the house, not the money!” She cast about for words. “When we started all of this, getting my home back was paramount, because—well, because it’s the only place I ever belonged. But that’s changed since I found you. I belong with you. Alec, please don’t run from me now by doing something so outrageously rash—”
“God, Becky.” He turned away with an angry exhalation, raking his hand through his hair. “I’m not running from you,” he said in a taut voice.
“Aren’t you?” She reached out and touched his arm pleadingly, trying to make him look at her. “Alec, I promise I’m not going to stop loving you if you lose tonight. That’s what you’re really afraid of, isn’t it? Didn’t you hear what I just said? Whatever happens tonight, it won’t change the way I feel about you. Even if you do lose, we’ll still have each other, and that’s worth more than all the houses and fortunes in the world.”
He slanted her a guarded look askance. “No, Becky, what matters is your safety. One way or the other, the nightmare you’ve suffered through will all be over by morning.” He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek ever so gently. “If I have to kill him, so be it. You will be safe, and that’s all that matters to me.”
It was fortunate that he steadied her, for a wave of sickening dizziness washed over her as it sank in that her attempts to reason with him were having no effect. His mind was made up, and no one could be as stubborn as Alec Knight when he had settled on a thing. “Be strong for me, Becky. I need you to be strong for me now.” He stared hard into her stricken, welling eyes.
No words came. Her world was reeling.
“I’ve already made the arrangements for you if the worst should come to pass. If I do not return, you are to marry either Rushford or Fort.”
“What?”
“It’s your choice. Don’t argue, Becky—you could be with child even now. I won’t have you left pregnant and husbandless, nor my babe raised without a father. I’ve already discussed it with the lads, and either of them will take good care of you. They’ve both given me their word that if there is a child, they will care for it and raise it as their own. You must go along with the pretense, for my sake. Promise me. I don’t want a child of mine being raised as I was, with the whole worl
d knowing he’s a bastard.”
She just stared at him, shattered by what he was suggesting. How could he speak so calmly of his own death? Of their never seeing each other again? Of her giving birth to a son or daughter who would never know their real father?
Somehow she strove to scrape her wits together in a desperate effort to dissuade him. “Alec—please. You mustn’t do this. You mustn’t even speak of it. Put it out of your mind! I need you with me.”
He looked away. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Of course you should.” She realized in astonishment that he was only telling her this at all because of his oath to keep no more secrets. His blasted word of honor, that might now be the death of him. Her fault. If it weren’t for that promise, he’d have left her in the dark.
She thrust the shocking thought aside and struggled to focus on the problem at hand, her whole body shaking. She couldn’t let him do this. “Haven’t I been saying from the start that I would not have you give your life for me? I’ve already got one man’s blood on my hands—”
“I do this freely,” he ground out, then his jaw clenched as he struggled for calm. He took her face gently between his hands and kissed her forehead. “You’ve got to trust me, my sweetest darling. Trust me now to take care of you. It’s for the best. There is no other way.”
“Of course there is! Mikhail will be arrested when he gets off the boat!”
He pulled back angrily, releasing her. “You have so much faith in Westland? He’s a bloody politician, for one thing! For another, he’s been duped by Kurkov before.”
“But when he reads my report, he’ll understand—”
“What if he doesn’t believe it? This is no time for your naÏveté! What if he calls for some long endless bureaucratic investigation? You could be dead while we wait for justice. I’m tired of waiting, risking you day after day! What if Westland ignores your report altogether? Sweeps it under the carpet? What if he chooses to protect his new protégé? After all, it’s your word against Kurkov’s, and though you may be a goddess to me, why should anyone outside ourselves take the word of a Yorkshire lass over that of a war hero, a prince, the darling of the Whigs, bosom friend of the Czar?”