by Sandra Heath
Her thoughts went unwillingly back to Stockholm and those terrifying moments before Francis had rescued her. Nikolai had made no attempt to hide his desire. ‘Don’t be foolish, Miss Clearwell, for there is so much pleasure to be had. I intend to possess you, and I will do so whether you struggle or whether you consent. Of course, it would be so much better if you consented, because it would please me to introduce you to the delights of making love.’
There was no one to save her now, no one to snatch her from his grasp. When he entered this room, he would be able to take her as he chose, and there was nothing she could do to prevent him.
Fresh tears stung her eyes and she lay down on the bed, curling up tightly and hiding her face in her hands. Her whole body shook with sobs and there was a cold band around her heart. She was at Nikolai’s mercy, and when his pleasure was done, what then? What would become of her when his desire was slaked and she was of no further interest?
At the house on English Quay all was still in confusion. Katya had tearfully explained all that had happened and Captain Merryvale had been brought in and a doctor sent for.
Natalia was so upset that she had virtually collapsed and had had to be taken to her bed to be looked after by her maid. Alison’s uncle had at last been told the full truth about Francis’s purpose in St Petersburg.
He and Francis were in the grand salon, where all the chandeliers had been lit, the brilliant light flooding out of the windows into the mist.
Wearing a blue paisley dressing gown, Mr Clearwell stood before the fireplace, his face grim. ‘I wish I’d been told from the outset, sir.’
‘It seemed wiser not to involve you, Mr Clearwell.’
‘Look where all this has brought us now! We think, but we can’t be sure, that Alison has given those damned documents to the Countess Irina, and now we have no idea at all where Alison herself is, except that it seems likely that Naryshky has abducted her. Dear God, what a scrape.’ With a sigh, he went to a table to pour himself a glass of cognac. Swirling his amply filled glass, he turned to face Francis again. ‘What do you intend to do now?’
‘Find Alison.’
‘One might as well search for a needle in a haystack. If Naryshky’s taken her, he’ll make sure his tracks are covered, you may be sure of that. And as to expecting any assistance from those you question, you might as well bay to the moon. Naryshky is a man of influence and power, and no one in St Petersburg is going to risk his displeasure by informing on him.’
‘Sir, I know from the ambassador’s secretary that the man who has been watching this house, and the man who most probably kidnapped Alison, is someone by the name of Sergei Mikhailovich Golitsin, and that he, like Naryshky, is in the Preobrazensky Regiment. If I have to tear the truth out of him, I promise you I will.’
‘The officers in that regiment are the elite, sir, and if you imagine that you can simply walk into the barracks and confront him—’
‘There must be a way, Mr Clearwell.’
‘If there is, my lord earl, I do not know it. Alison could be in any one of a thousand different places, and we may never see her again.’ The older man blinked back sudden tears. ‘I feel so utterly helpless,’ he said quietly, ‘but there is one thing of which I am certain: I hold you to blame for all that’s befallen my niece – you, Lord Buckingham, and I trust that she will forever be on your conscience.’
‘I hold myself to blame, sir,’ replied Francis. ‘For the moment, however, I can do nothing other than report to the embassy, to let them know what we think has happened to the documents.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘She must have given them to the countess, for why else would she have gone to Krestovsky Island? She mut have taken leave of her senses to give such information into the hands of Naryshky’s sister. Unless …’
‘Unless what?’ prompted Mr Clearwell, looking at him.
‘Oh, I was just thinking of something Alison said when it was suggested that the countess was as culpable as her brother in the plot with Boney. She was quite convinced that Irina was innocent, although I don’t know why.’
Mr Clearwell drew a long breath. ‘Innocent or not, I hardly think the countess is likely to hand her beloved brother over to the czar. She and Naryshky dote on each other, everyone knows that.’
Francis’s mind was racing. ‘But what if the countess dotes more on the czar?’ he murmured, crossing to the windows that faced over the Neva. His hand rested on the telescope as he stared out at the luminosity of the mist. Had Alison perceived the one certain way of seeing that Alexander received the vital information? Had she understood that Irina’s love for the czar by far outweighed her love for her brother?
As he looked, the mist seemed to thread a little, thinning so that he could see the trees on the embankment and then the river beyond. The pale light of early morning shone on the water, and he could make out the white hull of the Irina, still lying at anchor in midriver. A rowing boat was coming alongside and there was a familiar uniformed figure seated in the stern.
Francis bent to train the telescope on the rowing boat. Yes, it was Prince Nikolai, and he was just getting to his feet to step out of the boat on to the wooden staircase that was against the side of the schooner. As the prince went swiftly up to the deck, Francis moved the telescope along the vessel. A pale, tearstained face was peeping out of a window near the stem. It was Alison, her hair in disarray, her eyes frightened. Then she’d gone.
Francis straightened and turned quickly to Mr Clearwell. ‘Alison’s on the Irina. I’ve just seen her.’
‘The Irina? Man, it’s thick mist out there, you can’t possibly see the—’
‘The mist thinned for a moment and I saw her looking out of a cabin. I also saw Naryshky going on board. There isn’t any time to be lost, I have to get to her before he has time to …’ Francis didn’t finish the sentence, but ran from the room.
In the entrance hall he saw Captain Merryvale seated on the sofa by the fire, his head bandaged because he had struck it as he fell. He was sipping a tot of Mackay’s precious Scottish whiskey, and the butler was waiting to replenish the glass.
Both men turned as Francis hurried down the staircase, and Captain Merryvale rose to his feet. ‘Is something up, my lord?’
‘How fit are you, Captain? Are you well enough to help me get Miss Clearwell off the Irina?’
The captain’s eyes were hard and bright. ‘I’m game to do anything you wish, my lord, for I don’t take kindly to being set upon, nor do I take kindly to those who mistreat ladies. I’m your man if you want me.’
‘I want you, sir. We’ll take a boat.’
Mackay spoke up quickly. ‘Just one minute, my lord, I beg of you.’ The butler hurried away, returning in a very short while with a pistol, which he pressed into Francis’s hands. ‘You may have need of this, my lord,’ he said quietly.
Francis nodded and looked at the captain. ‘Let’s get on with it then.’
Mackay hastened to open the doors for them and they hurried out into the misty morning. English Quay was deserted as they ran downstream to the next jetty and then swiftly descended the stone steps to where a number of rowing boats and barges were moored. A moment later they were rowing out on the mist-covered Neva, pulling strongly in the direction of the Irina.
Alison backed slowly away from the door as she heard footsteps approaching. She could hear the soft jingle of spurs and knew to whom those steps belonged. Her pulse had quickened and she could hear her terrified heartbeats as the key turned in the lock. She could press no farther away, for she had reached the wall. A choked sob rose in her throat as the door swung open and Nikolai stood there.
His dark glance raked her from head to toe and then he entered the room, closing the door behind him. ‘Good morning, Alison,’ he murmured.
She didn’t reply, but remained pressed against the wall, her gray eyes huge and afraid.
He came toward her. ‘We have some unfinished business, do we not?’ he said softly, halting a foot or so away.
She was so frightened that she couldn’t move even an inch away from him. She felt like a fly, trapped in the web of a clever, hungry spider, and her heart was thudding so loudly now that she was sure he must be able to hear it.
He put a hand out, taking a lock of her hair and parting the strands between his fingers. ‘You are so very beautiful, my dear,’ he said. ‘Even now, when you are so very pale and afraid, you are quite the most lovely of creatures. I won’t be denied my pleasure this time, you may be sure of that, and even though you’ve been so very elusive and difficult, I still offer you the choice.’
‘Choice?’ she whispered.
‘Yes. Either you come to me of your own volition, or I take you by force. Which is it to be?’
‘I’ll never come to you,’ she breathed.
‘As you wish. It’s really of no importance, for in the end I will possess you anyway.’ He came closer, suddenly taking her face in his hands and bending his head forward to force his lips over hers. He could smell the lavender she wore.
She began to struggle then, beating her fists against him and trying to kick. He gave a low laugh, as if her resistance excited him more, and he lifted her from her feet, carrying her toward the bed.
Her struggles redoubled, but he was far too strong for her. He flung her on to the bed and then almost leapt upon her, pinning her down before she could even think of scrambling away. He pressed his body against hers, his hands sliding over her. His lips were hungry, kissing her so demandingly that he hurt her. As she writhed beneath him, striving with all her might to pull free, he became more and more aroused. He tore at her gown, and as the delicate gray velvet ripped, his fingers slid to cup her breast. With his other hand he pulled up her skirt, his hand caressing her thigh, and all the time he was kissing her, his mouth stopping her breath.
She refused to surrender and continued to struggle, but she was growing weaker because his strength was so great, made greater by the force of his lust. Her cheeks were tearstained and her lips bruised. She couldn’t cry out and she couldn’t prevent him from violating her. A silent scream rang through her.
Someone help me, please. Oh, dear God, someone help me!
19
At last the rowing boat came alongside the steps that led up to the Irina’s deck. Francis got out and made the boat fast, and then he and Captain Merryvale went quietly up on to the schooner. They paused at the top, glancing both ways along the deck. Everything was misty and deserted.
Beckoning to the captain to follow him, Francis went softly toward the stern of the vessel. Halfway along, they came upon an open door giving on to a hatchway that led down into a hold. Lamplight shone out and they heard laughter and voices. Looking inside, Francis saw what appeared to be most of the schooner’s crew indulging in the Russian passion for gambling. Some were playing cards, others throwing dice, and another group was laying odds on a race between some cockroaches.
Francis drew back out on to the deck, closing the door very quietly. Casting around, he saw a broom resting discreetly in a corner, and quickly he wedged the handle silently through the handle on the door. When it was firmly in place, he gave the captain a quick smile.
‘That would keep them contained for a while if the alarm is raised,’ he said. ‘Come on.’
They continued to make their way toward the stern of the Irina, listening all the while for any sound that might tell them Alison was in immediate danger, but all remained quiet.
They reached the door that gave on to the sandalwood-scented passageway. Francis pushed the door softly open, and it swung away at his touch, revealing the passage to be quite as deserted as the deck behind them. Francis led the way inside toward the beautiful door of the stateroom. As they reached it, it suddenly opened and the dwarf came out. His jaw dropped as he saw them, and he turned to scuttle back inside, but Francis seized him by the collar. His companion, the black man, who had been following him with the lynx, was so taken by surprise that he released Khan’s collar.
With a snarl the big cat leapt forward. Francis let go of the dwarf and pressed hastily behind the stateroom door, dragging the startled captain with him.
The dwarf gave a squeal and ran along the passage toward the deck, the lynx in pursuit. Once outside, the dwarf could think only of complete escape, and he dashed down the steps to the rowing boat, fumbling with a rope in his haste to get away from Khan, who was hesitating at the top of the steps, putting a tentative paw down to test the way. Pushing the rowing boat away, the dwarf scrambled to take up the oars, and he was still attempting to put them into the rowlocks as the boat slid away into the all-enveloping mist. Khan remained on the deck, padding impatiently up and down, his amber eyes eager, for he wasn’t used to being free.
Meanwhile, in the stateroom, the black man had lost his footing, stumbling back as he released the lynx and falling heavily to the floor. With the danger from the lynx past for the time being, Francis wasted no time but leapt upon the fallen man, knocking him out with a sharp upper cut to the jaw. Captain Merryvale wisely hurried back along the passage, closing the outer door so that Khan could not make an unwelcome reappearance.
In the bedroom, Nikolai Ivanovich had frozen at the first squeal from the dwarf, and as he heard the ensuing sounds from the adjoining stateroom, he leapt away from Alison, who lay bruised and silently weeping on the bed.
The door burst open suddenly and Francis came in, followed by Captain Merryvale. Nikolai reached immediately for the pistol he always carried, but the one in Francis’s hand was already leveled at him. The prince’s face drained of color and his tongue passed nervously over his lips as he began to back away from Francis, his hands raised in swift and craven submission. Like so many bullies, he was a coward who could never take on his victims face to face, unless they were weaker than he.
Francis’s glance flickered toward Alison and his eyes darkened with anger as he saw what had been done. He pressed the pistol into the captain’s hand. ‘Keep an eye on him,’ he said briefly, nodding at Nikoali, then he went to Alison.
She lay with her head turned away, her face hidden by her tangled hair. Her body trembled with stifled sobs and she had curled up defensively, her arms across the torn bodice of her gray velvet gown to hide her breasts. Her skin was bruised and scratched from the violence of Nikolai’s assault and her skirt had been wrenched up to reveal her thighs.
Francis felt close to tears himself to see her like this, and he reached out gently to smooth her hair away from her face. She flinched at his touch, giving a frightened whimper, and he rested his fingertips against her tearstained cheek. ‘It’s all right, Alison. It’s me, Francis. You’re safe now.’ He took off his coat, placing it gently over her, and then he pulled her gown down to hide her legs. ‘Alison, did he…?’ He couldn’t say the words.
Fresh tears welled from her closed eyes and she shook her head. She felt so ashamed and defiled that she couldn’t look at him, but kept her face averted.
A deep rage swept through Francis and he turned sharply about, striding across to seize Nikolai around the throat. ‘You damned animal,’ he breathed, his voice shaking with loathing.
‘She wanted me. She invited me,’ cried Nikolai.
Francis’s fingers tightened their grip. ‘One more word and I’ll put an end to your foul life right here and now,’ he said in a menacing whisper that struck abject terror through Nikolai.
‘Don’t hurt me. Please, don’t hurt me.’
‘Hurt you? I’d like to tear your bestial throat out with my bare hands for what you’ve done to her.’
Suddenly there were shouts from the deck and Nikolai’s terrified eyes brightened with a glimmer of hope. His crew! There were too many of them for these two. But almost immediately his hope was extinguished, for men burst into the stateroom, and they weren’t his crew, but wore the czar’s scarlet livery.
Dread seized Nikolai Ivanovich then, and he broke free from Francis, whose attention was momentarily diverted. Dashing toward the do
or in a vain attempt to rush past the new arrivals, Nikolai very swiftly found himself seized and thrust against the wall.
‘Unhand me immediately,’ he cried, trying to force some authority into his terrified voice. ‘Do you know who I am? I’ll have your necks for this.’
The man in charge stepped forward. ‘Nikolai Ivanovich Naryshky, you are under arrest and are to be taken immediately to the Peter-Paul Fortress.’
Nikolai’s face was ashen. ‘The Peter-Paul Fortress?’ he whispered. ‘There must be some mistake, for I have done nothing. With what am I to be charged?’
‘High treason against His Imperial Majesty Czar Alexander, and against Russia. You have been an agent for France and will now pay the penalty.’
‘No! I’m innocent,’ cried Nikolai, his knees giving in beneath him.
The czar’s men held him, and the officer in charge looked at him with contempt before nodding for him to be removed. Then he turned toward Francis and Captain Merryvale, not seeing Alison on the bed.
‘Identify yourselves, gentlemen,’ he commanded.
Francis bowed low. ‘Francis, Lord Buckingham.’
Captain Merryvale bowed as well and gave his name.
The officer’s eyes cleared. ‘Lord Buckingham? Ah, how very fortunate that I should find you like this, for my orders are that as soon as Prince Naryshky has been arrested, I am to call upon you at English Quay to tell you that his imperial majesty is very grateful and appreciative of the great service you and Miss Clearwell have done him and Russia, and he wishes you both to call upon him at the Winter Palace at midday.’
Francis inclined his head. ‘I am more than pleased to obey such a command, sir, but I doubt very much if Miss Clearwell will be able to do the same.’ So saying, he went to the bed again, sitting on the edge of it and taking Alison’s hand.