“Do you know where that cottage is?” Yuri snapped.
Cairnshaw nodded, scowling.
“Then take me there.”
Cairnshaw spurred forward. “Only to prove you wrong,” he threw back over his shoulder.
Chapter Eighteen
Alba’s captor dragged her off the horse in front of a dark, stone building. She had been waiting for this moment, having lulled him into a false sense of security by drooping in the saddle for the last five minutes as though all the fight had gone out of her.
Now she suddenly straightened, elbowing him violently in the chest and swinging around to bring her knee up between his legs. Taken by surprise, he yelled in agony and released her. She threw herself back at the horse, who whinnied and sidled skittishly away from her, whipping the reins just out of her reach. Her captor caught up with her, seizing her by the back of her neck. Behind his furious face, his fist was raised to strike.
“Don’t dare!” uttered a furious voice. “Don’t dare strike her!”
The fist dropped away. In relief, Alba spun to face the newcomer, who stood by the door of what she saw now to be a cottage.
“Ralph,” she said shakily. “Thank God. If this is your man, he has run mad. And there are more with my parents and Rose. We lost a wheel on the road and we thought—”
“I know,” Ralph soothed, taking her hand and placing it on his arm. “Come inside and be warm and comfortable. You are quite safe.”
“But my family—”
“Will also be safe back at Winbourne directly. No one will hurt them.”
Alba frowned. “Then you know about this? Ralph, what in God’s name—” By then, she had stepped into the cottage and Ralph closed the door behind them. But they were not alone.
In the glow of several candles, stood a strange, middle-aged man with wide eyes and sparse hair that stuck straight up from his head. A lady sat languidly on a cushioned bench by the fire. She smiled at Alba, like a cat with her prey.
“Lady Harley,” Alba said slowly. “Oh, Ralph, you have not made common cause with her?”
Lady Harley laughed. “My dear, the common cause was made in the summer. I am more than happy to help again.”
“Just because you hate me for detaching Her Grace from your clutches?”
“Oh no. It was the way you did so that annoyed me most. So superior. And yet, holding on to the one man I have truly wanted in ten years.”
“Yuri…”
“Such a vigorous, yet sensitive lover.” She laughed. “But of course, now you will never know. That will teach you to be so missish.”
“Cordelia, the tone of your conversation leaves much to be desired,” Ralph scolded.
“Don’t be such a hypocrite. Get on and marry the wench.” She must have seen the horror in Alba’s face for she laughed with what seemed to be genuine amusement. “Allow me to introduce you to the Reverend Mr. Dillon, who has been invited here to marry you and Mr. Bethurst.”
“How do you do, sir,” Alba said frostily. “I regret your wasted journey, for it is quite impossible that I should marry Mr. Bethurst. There have been no banns and no—”
“We do not need banns,” Ralph interrupted, picking a document off the table beside the clergyman and waving it in the air. “We have a special license.”
“But why?” Alba asked, curiosity winning over anger, temporarily, at least. “My father was already on your side since you maligned Yuri to him.”
“I can’t risk you and the Russian changing his mind. Besides, your consent was…unreliable.”
Alba blinked. “And you believe this is the way to obtain it? I assure, my consent to this charade will be reliably withheld!”
“I doubt it,” Ralph said calmly, “when you have had time to consider that the alternative is ruin. Your family will be anything but silent as they rouse the country to find you. The world will soon know you have spent several hours alone with me at night, in the cottage that used to house my mistress.”
“Only we are not alone,” Alba retorted. “I have the chaperonage, however dubious, of a married lady and a clergyman.”
“Oh, no one knows they are here, and they will vanish if you do not marry me.”
“You are ridiculous,” Alba said coldly. “You are behaving like the villain in a very poor melodrama. What’s more, you are delusional. I have never been less inclined to consent to anything.”
“Then you wish to be debauched and ruined?” Lady Harley drawled.
“I say!” protested the clergyman.
“Hold your tongue, sirrah!” Lady Harley snapped.
“Alba,” Ralph said in much softer tones, “I act from love. There need be no debauching or ruin. Simply marry me. Stand beside me and say I will, and we shall all be comfortable again.”
Alba curled her lip. “You have a very peculiar idea of what constitutes my comfort. Or your own, for, trust me, there would be none for you either in such a situation.”
“Do you know, I would enjoy her refusal and her ruin more?” Lady Harley said. “And yet, the end result will be the same. Her father will force the marriage…in the morning.”
“Neither of you will lay a finger on me,” Alba declared with far more certainty than she felt. “And if you do, I would still not marry you, Ralph. I will never marry you.”
Anger sparked in his eyes for the first time, quickly veiled as a sneer. “Are you imagining the Russian will take my leavings? Face reality, Alba, your foolish little romance is over. Whether or not you marry me, Volkov will not touch you now. No one will, for you are already damaged goods. I am your only hope.”
The full horror of what was already upon her made her ears sing. She felt sick and dizzy but refused to give in. “Yuri would not give me up for such a reason. He knows how paltry you are. And for this, he will kill you.” A sly counter-threat took hold. “Unless you open that door now and give me a horse. In which case, I might consider talking him out of it.”
To her chagrin, Ralph and Lady Harley merely laughed.
“My dear,” Ralph said with the sort of false kindness that made her hand itch to hit him, “Volkov will be rescuing no one and killing no one.”
“Be fair, sir,” Lady Harley said. “He might prevail over your cousin. He’s quite a skilled duelist, I hear.”
Alba’s breath caught. “He’s fighting a duel with Captain Cairnshaw? When?”
“About now, if it’s not already over,” Ralph said carelessly.
She swallowed, fighting the fear for Yuri that had already overcome her dread of her own situation. “Yuri will win and come after you next.”
Ralph turned away in irritation.
“It’s possible,” Lady Harley allowed. “But if he kills Cairnshaw, he’ll need to get out of the country. The duel is a bit of a master stroke, to be honest, for whatever the outcome, we win.”
“You are both insane with petty hatreds and delusion,” Alba said with contempt. “I will never marry Ralph.”
Ralph swung around, advancing on her quickly enough to cause serious alarm, but she held her ground. “Yes, you will,” he uttered between his teeth. “Dillon does not care that you don’t say the words. I shall have the paper to prove our marriage and you will be my poor, mad wife. I will be thought to have done you a kindness.”
Seizing her by the hand, Ralph dragged her forward despite her struggles and held her in front of the clergyman. “Now,” he snapped. “Cordelia, give him the rings.”
“Your mother will be so ashamed of you!” Alba exclaimed, seizing on his frail parent as another weapon.
Ralph let out a surprising laugh. “Oh, I doubt that. We need another witness. Bring Smitty back in here.”
Lady Harley bowed exaggeratedly, clearly resenting his commanding tone. “At once, my lord.”
Ralph only snorted. Alba gave up trying to pull free. She didn’t want his touch, but it made no real difference where she stood. She would merely await her moment.
Her erstwhile captor entered the co
ttage, curling his lip in pleasure at her position. She would find no forgiveness, let alone help, from that quarter.
“The short version, Dillon,” Ralph ordered. “Quickly.”
Mr. Dillon, looking nervous, held his book in front of him and began to read the familiar words. Alba, with no respect for them in such circumstances, studied the nails of her free hand, combed her fingers through a clump of hair that had come loose from its pins, and hummed a merry song with increasing volume until Ralph barked, “Stop that!”
Then she laughed and carried on.
He lifted one hand threateningly.
“No power on earth will save you if you strike me,” Alba observed. “Not from Yuri or my brothers or my father. And neither Yuri nor I will care for whatever scandal arises from that.” She carried on singing, through Mr. Dillon’s question, “Will you, Ralph take this woman….”
“I will!” Ralph all but shouted.
“Will you, Alba…”
Alba sang louder, and in a moment of Ralph’s inattention, managed a little pirouette that brought her face to face with Lady Harley behind her. The woman did not look unamused, but at the same time, there was a malicious triumph in her eyes that did not bode well.
Ralph yanked Alba back round to face Mr. Dillon, so she carried on singing.
“…lawful wedded husband?” Mr. Dillon shouted.
Alba stopped singing and stared at him until he had the grace to look both ashamed and shifty. In total silence, she shook her head.
Ralph jerked her hand.
Lady Harley poked her in the back. “Debauchery and ruin,” she hissed in Alba’s ear.
Alba said nothing, merely continued to stare at the clergyman.
“I need an answer,” he said nervously. “I will is customary.”
Alba curled her lip in silence.
“She will,” Ralph said impatiently. “Pronounce us man and wife.”
“Sir, if the lady will not—”
“The lady is shy,” Ralph interrupted. “Pronounce us man and wife, let us sign and be done.”
“Don’t worry,” Lady Harley said kindly to Alba. “I’ll sign for you.”
Which is when Alba truly began to fear the deed was done. Could it really be so easy to fake a marriage? There was no one but Ralph’s creatures to say what had truly happened here. Only herself to deny it. Poor, mad Alba who had lain on the ice in the middle of the night. Panic overwhelmed her and with a moan of revulsion, she tugged free of Ralph’s detaining hand and staggered into the table, where she snatched up the marriage certificate from under Dillon’s hand and tore it through.
“Oh, for the love of—” Enraged, Ralph snatched the torn paper from her hand.
“It doesn’t matter.” Lady Harley sighed. “Write it out again, Mr. Dillon.”
Alba backed away until Ralph’s bully, Smitty, grabbed her arm and cast her a most unpleasant grin.
At that point, something crashed into the cottage door, making everyone jump and spin around. Alba found her arm free once more. Then, with a second crash, the door flew open and two men erupted over the threshold, side by side.
Yuri and Captain Crenshaw.
“Yuri!” Alba exclaimed, already running to him.
He seized her against him almost convulsively. “Are you hurt?” he whispered, cupping her face, his eyes wide with desperate anxiety.
She smiled, holding his hand to her cheek. “No. No, I am fine now.”
“Volkov,” Ralph said, and Yuri dragged his gaze away from Alba, gently pushing her aside.
Ralph faced him from some yards away, a little white perhaps, but still with a triumphant smile. “I must ask you to stand away from my wife.”
Yuri’s glance flickered to Alba, who shook her head vehemently.
Ralph laughed. “She can’t deny it. I have already taken her and married her in that order.”
Clearly, no one had warned him not to taunt Yuri, who leapt across the room at him. Smitty immediately ran forward to protect his master, and Ralph actually laughed. Too soon, for with one swinging foot, Yuri tripped Smitty, who dropped spread-eagled on the floor, bouncing his head off the boards. With another leap, he punched Ralph full in the face.
Ralph cried out, crashing back against the table, which broke under his weight. He landed in a heap of wood and dust, clutching his jaw in pain.
“I still had her before you!” he panted.
Yuri laughed. “With Lady Harley and the vicar to watch? I doubt it. And if by some miracle you had touched her, you would already be dead.”
“I didn’t marry him,” Alba said. “And this clergyman should be defrocked.”
“I suspect he already has been,” Yuri replied. “Either that, or Lady Harley exerts some kind of control over him.”
“Yuri, you are wasted on the snow queen,” Lady Harley said. “Call on me again when you prefer a little fire.” She began to stroll toward the door.
Ralph, no doubt fearing his other allies might desert him, too, screamed at his cousin, “Jasper! Kill the Russian. Kill him now!”
Cairnshaw, who was lounging against the open door, didn’t trouble to straighten. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ralphie. You can only play that trick on me once.” But abruptly, he did move, sprinting across the floor to knock the groggily rising Smitty back down. “Go ahead, Volkov, hit him again for me.”
Ralph swore furiously at this confirmation of his cousin’s alliance with his enemy.
Alba laughed admiringly. “That was clever of you both. Did Ralph put Captain Cairnshaw up to your duel? With the same lies he told my father?”
“More or less,” Yuri answered.
“But Volkov chose swords not pistols,” Cairnshaw said, “so it was unlikely to be as deadly as Ralph hoped. Besides, fencing gives one a chance to chat.”
“It’s lies, all lies,” Ralph roared. “Jasper, I am family! My mother is your godmother, for God’s sake.”
“I don’t acknowledge you anymore,” Cairnshaw said coldly. “You sent a man to shoot Volkov in the back. That is not the act of a gentleman.”
Ralph stared at him, scowling. “No, I didn’t.”
Cairnshaw threw his hands in the air and turned away from him. “Volkov,” he said, gazing through the still-open door. “Someone else is coming.”
As the clop of hooves and snorting horses drifted into the cottage, Ralph laughed. “The rest of my men,” he said in relief.
But it was Oscar who strode first through the door, swiftly followed by the duke and duchess.
“The rest of your men,” Oscar said with contempt, “melted away when they discovered they were tangling with the Duke of Ruthin.”
“But you’re in the tavern!” Ralph raged with blatant untruth.
“I couldn’t stay. I had a bad feeling about Volkov and duels—he gets this odd sparkle in his eye—so I followed him. Wasn’t in time to prevent the duel, but I met John Coachman on the road with their graces and brought them here.”
“Damn it, you can’t have known where we were!” Ralph exploded.
“Call it a guess. You never hid this place from the gentlemen of your acquaintance. And it would be like you—like the man I now know you to be—to give my sister this extra insult.” Oscar glared at the large shadow forming on Ralph’s swollen face. “Did you hit him already, Volkov?”
“I did.”
The duke took Alba’s hand, placed it securely on his arm and patted it profusely as if he didn’t know what else to do. “Good. I take it, since he’s still alive, that no harm was done?”
“None but insult.”
“And whatever fear he inspired in my daughter,” His Grace growled.
“None,” Alba said stoutly, though it wasn’t quite true. But with the arrival of Yuri and now her family, all her alarms seemed to have turned into a wild euphoria.
“Then,” proclaimed the duchess, “since we cannot kick the man out of his own house, I suggest we return to ours. Where he will never dare to show his face again.”
But Yuri said, “A moment.” He was rifling the documents he’d found on the floor among the pieces of broken table, including the torn marriage certificate. “I have another idea… You.” He addressed the apparently paralyzed Mr. Dillon. “Are you defrocked?”
“Of course not,” Mr. Dillon said indignantly. “I may be a frail man, but I am not an evil one. Merely, I owed Lady Harley a debt that I had to pay.”
“Well, in that case,” Yuri said, turning slowly toward Alba, “since there’s a special license here that I’m sure can be altered by his grace with impunity, I would like to suggest we make use of him.”
In spite of everything that had just happened, Alba’s heart began to thunder. “You mean…”
“Marry me. Now.” Yuri glanced at her father. “With Your Grace’s permission.”
The duke opened his mouth, clear refusal on his lips. Then he paused and coughed. “I owe you an apology. And I can’t even blame the weasel Bethurst. I’m a selfish old man. Alba, if it’s what you want, you have my blessing—here and now, or later in a church.”
“We can do both, if you like,” Yuri said. “In fact, we’ll probably have to go through another ceremony in Russia to please my mother.”
Everyone was looking at her, but Alba’s gaze fixed on Yuri’s face. His eyes sparkled with mischievous delight, but behind that, in the depths of his eyes, was an abiding care, a love that reflected her own.
She smiled. “Then let us begin here. Mr. Dillon, if you please. I will answer this time.”
Chapter Nineteen
It was, perhaps, a bizarre way for the cool and dignified snow queen to finally marry. The duchess did insist on repining her hair and brushing down her evening gown as best she could, but Alba suspected she still had a mud spatter on her cheek and couldn’t make herself care. Besides, who would see it in the dim candlelight?
Her father took her hand and placed it firmly in Yuri’s, then stepped back beside the duchess, Oscar and Captain Cairnshaw.
Melting the Snow Queen Page 18
