Lana looked pale and fragile, the vibrant spark that normally lit her eyes not present. He noticed her shaking fingers and poured the brandy anyway. It would help settle her nerves. After handing her the glass, instead of sitting beside her, Gray took the armchair diagonal from her. He crossed one booted foot atop the other and tried to appear relaxed. She did, at least. The tension had left her shoulders now that he was a safe distance away.
Gray almost didn’t want to press her, but relenting was out of the question. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward. “Well? Who were you meeting?”
She stared at him, her green eyes dulled and shadowed. “A friend. Not who you think,” she rushed to add. “He is not a lover or a beau, or anything of that sort. He is a friend of my family in St. Petersburg.”
Gray frowned. “I thought you were from Moscow.” Her teeth worried her lower lip, and he knew she’d revealed something she hadn’t meant to. “The Countess of Langlevit said you were the daughter of a respected modiste in Moscow.”
“I have family in St. Petersburg as well,” she said softly, and then took a deep breath. “My sister and I left Moscow when…our mother died. We first went to St. Petersburg, and then our family’s friend escorted us here, to England. We wanted a better life here, but…we were forced to separate. My friend is helping me to stay in touch with her. She is with a family in the north.”
He wanted to believe her, but he sensed that she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. Even if they weren’t lovers, he still wanted to know the man’s identity.
“This friend of yours,” Gray asked. “What sort of man is he?”
Lana frowned. “What do you mean? He is a good man.”
“If he has the resources to keep you in contact with your sister in the north, I assume he is well-off? A peer of the realm, perhaps?”
She hesitated before answering with apparent caution. “Yes.”
“Then there’s a good chance I know him. Who is he?”
“I cannot say.”
His mind considered and discarded the possibilities with the speed of a possessed racehorse and then seized upon the Earl of Langlevit. It made sense—it was his mother who had referred Lana. But when he recalled the earl’s stringent and distant manner since returning from the Peninsula, Gray doubted his own logic. Coming to the aid of a mere servant who was not part of his own household seemed unlikely, even a young and beautiful one. Like Gray as of late, Langlevit was not the type who made it a habit to interact with women.
No. It had to be someone who had designs upon Lana. Someone who wanted her favors in future, he assumed. He ground his teeth in renewed frustration and eyed her. “Cannot or will not?”
“Whichever you prefer, my lord.”
Her evasive answer was to be expected, so Gray opted for another tactic to keep her talking. “Why didn’t you simply say you had a sister? We, too, would have been more than willing to keep the two of you in contact.”
Why had she relied upon this unnamed man instead?
“It was not your burden, nor that of Lord or Lady Dinsmore,” she answered with a dogged jut of her chin. “I was more than capable of arranging correspondence with her on my own.”
Yes. With the aid of this friend.
“The two of you are close? You and your sister, I mean?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Gray noticed something like pain flicker in her eyes. A number of emotions playing out at once. The same ones he suffered whenever he thought of Brynn’s illness—love, powerlessness, fear, sadness.
“Is she younger or older?”
“She is younger than I.”
“What is her name?”
She swallowed hard, her fingers winding in her skirt as if the mere thought of it was painful. “I…I cannot see how her name should concern you.”
Gray stood and crossed the space to sit on the other end of the sofa. Lana stiffened at his proximity but remained still. His gaze locked on hers. “You know my secret,” he said gently. “Why is it I cannot know yours?”
“Your secret cannot get you killed.” She shut her eyes and sealed her lips, as if her confession had surprised her.
Gray sat forward. “What do you mean?”
She half stood, weaving on unsteady feet, and then sat back down with a strangled sound. It sounded like a sob. “Lord Northridge, I must go. I shouldn’t be here.”
“Lana—” Gray placed his hands on her arms, and she froze mid-motion, her breath coming in small, short bursts. He kept his voice even and soft. “Please, if you are in trouble, I want to help.”
“You can’t help,” she said without looking at him.
He could feel her entire body shaking beneath the sleeves of her spencer. She was terrified. Of what, he did not know, but he was determined to find out.
A shuddering breath rolled through her, and an unexpected surge of protectiveness overcame him. He rubbed his hands along her upper arms, attempting to soothe her. He wanted to do more…hold her, take her into his arms. He refrained, knowing she would bolt if he came an inch closer.
“I can try,” he said.
Damp, jade green eyes rose to meet his, and Gray felt something within him come to a halt. He’d always been struck by her uncommon beauty, but now he noticed other details, like the creamy, fine-grained perfection of her skin, the delicate arch of her eyebrows, and the golden flecks in her irises. He wanted to memorize every freckle and every curve. But most of all, he wanted the defeated sadness in her eyes to disappear. “Whatever it is, we can fix it together, I promise you.”
“Why would you bother? This does not concern you. It concerns me and my sister, and involving anyone else would be…” She shook her head decisively. “No. I’m nothing to you.”
“You are not nothing. I don’t like seeing you unhappy.”
Her eyes met his. “Why?”
“Many reasons, one of them being Briannon. Sensing you are unhappy would make her unhappy, and I would do anything to protect my sister.”
Gray was unprepared for the fall of tears down Lana’s cheeks. He was desperate to comfort her, but he did not move, knowing instinctively it would be the wrong thing to do. She was far too guarded, and that stubborn pride of hers would force her to push him away. So he waited, watching as she fought valiantly to compose herself, but it was as if a dam had been broken, and her walls, now breached, were starting to crumble.
“I am sorry.” She wept in earnest now, her head dropping into her palms. “I would do anything to protect mine, too, but I can’t. I feel so powerless. So trapped.”
“I know what you mean.” And he did. He was all too familiar with the powerlessness Lana spoke of. “I gave away my daughter to protect her from the ridicule that would follow her throughout her life for being illegitimate, something she had no control over. I handed Sofia over to another family less than two days after her birth, even though she belonged with me.”
Damn society and its unyielding rules. He’d had no choice, and yet he felt as if he’d abandoned her. And Lana, he suspected, likely felt as if she had abandoned her sister when they’d been separated upon their arrival in England.
Helpless in his desire to soothe her, Gray took a risk and slid closer. He put his arm around her shoulders and tucked her body against his, fully expecting her to flee his touch. But instead, Lana leaned into him, accepting the consolation he offered. She shook as she cried, her tears dampening his waistcoat. She felt small in his arms. So small and fragile. As much as his body craved hers, it was a different kind of need that overtook him right then.
His arms curled around her as a familiar emotion gripped him. It tugged at the very center of his chest. He’d felt it countless times, usually whenever he was visiting Sofia or worrying over Brynn. Gray bent his cheek to the white cap Lana wore atop her head of dark curls. And in that moment, something shifted within him. He didn’t care about the man in the hack. He didn’t care that she had lied to him to protect her sister.
Gray’s fi
ngers brushed her wet cheek and pushed aside a few tendrils of her silky hair. “You can’t keep this all inside, Lana. You’re going to break apart if you do. I know I’ve behaved abominably with you, but you can trust me.”
Her cheek rubbed against his chest as she shook her head. “I can’t trust anyone.”
“Why?”
“I can’t put anyone else in danger.” Her words broke on another sob. “You don’t understand—I’ve already put you at risk by telling you this. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”
He gripped her arms again and held her back, so he could see into her face.
“Then help me to understand. Are you hiding from someone?” She didn’t answer aloud but nodded. “Who?” he prodded.
She shook her head, refusing to speak.
“A man from St. Petersburg?” he hedged.
Her arms tensed under his hands, and her eyes snapped to his.
Gray frowned, recalling his earlier conversation at White’s. It was too coincidental, though the surly baron had been looking for two princesses, not a maid. Still, it niggled at him, especially considering Lana had just confessed to being in St. Petersburg for a time. Perhaps she knew something of the missing princesses? Were the three of them connected somehow? There was only one way to know for sure.
He tipped her chin up with gentle fingers. “Does this have anything to do with a fellow called Zakorov?”
Chapter Nine
Lana jerked her chin out of Gray’s hand and stared up at him, the tears she’d been unable to staunch moments ago drying almost instantly. A block of ice formed in her chest at the sound of that name. She no longer felt overwrought. She only felt cold, piercing fear.
Understanding settled on the grim line of Gray’s mouth. “I can see you know him. Who is Viktor Zakorov to you?”
The name lashed at her again, cutting through Gray’s warm words and the cocoon of safety he’d managed to weave around her. She shot to her feet, furious once more at her apparent idiocy where he was concerned. Her cheeks were still wet and chilled—blast it, she’d been weeping like a babe into his waistcoat! And telling him partial secrets with the hope that he’d leave her be. Only she hadn’t bargained on how good it would feel to share some of her burden. Or to be held in those strong, comforting arms. Her fingers fisted at her sides in frustration.
She’d planned out her explanation beforehand as she’d gone from the kitchens to her room and then up the home’s main stairwell to avoid passing servants on the back staircases. Her one slip about being from St. Petersburg instead of Moscow had been the first crack in her carefully rehearsed tale. And then, admitting to Gray that her secret could kill her… How foolish could she have possibly been? She needed to fix this, and quickly.
“You’re mistaken, my lord. I don’t believe I’ve heard of this man,” Lana said, spinning on her heel and trying to move away, toward the door.
Gray’s hand on her wrist stopped her. He closed his fingers as securely as a manacle. “Do not insult my intelligence. You recognized his name, Lana. Hell, you nearly swooned.”
“Swoon?” She tried to wrest her arm from his grip, forcing a firm note into her tone. “Do not insult me. I did no such thing.”
He released her wrist, and Lana rubbed at the skin, as if he’d stung her. He hadn’t, of course. But any bodily contact with him was a dangerous thing. She’d thrown on her spencer before coming to his rooms just so he would not be tempted to…to…well, lower her dress again. Just the memory of this man’s eyes on her exposed breasts, his tongue curling around their tight peaks, made her feel lightheaded.
“Zakorov was at White’s tonight,” Gray said, slowly circling around her, blocking her access to the door. “He spoke of two Russian princesses who had fled under accusations of traitorous behavior.”
Langlevit had told her that Gray had been there, listening, but it hadn’t prepared her for being blindsided like this. And Langlevit had also not known that Gray had already caught wind of her secret activities. That he was already suspicious of her.
“What exactly are you accusing me of, Lord Northridge?” she asked, her natural pride slipping back over her shoulders and causing her to stand taller. Acting docile had been a challenge from the start, and now that he knew a sliver of her story and was on the verge of guessing the rest of it, Lana could not suffer another moment of such subservience.
Gray pulled at the cuffs of his jacket sleeves and started to take it off. He kept his eyes fastened on her. “I believe I know your secret, Lana.”
She held still as he finished removing his jacket and laid it on the back of a chair. She could disappear tonight. Send a note to Mrs. Blakely and stay holed up in an inn somewhere until Lord Langlevit could come for her. She could go north to Cumbria, fetch her sister, and then continue on to Scotland.
But then she thought of Langlevit’s meeting with the fellow who might be able to decipher the letters. She couldn’t distract him from that, not to see her up to Cumbria. It was all such terrible timing, and it was only happening because of her and her damned weakness for this man standing before her.
Gray crossed his arms over his waistcoat and stared her down.
“I believe you accompanied the princesses out of St. Petersburg,” he said.
Lana realized she hadn’t been breathing and dragged in a sharp breath. Accompanied the princesses? He didn’t know. He hadn’t guessed her secret at all. She nearly wanted to weep again.
He saw her stricken look and, likely thinking it surprise rather than relief, came forward. He didn’t touch her though. Gray kept his hands clenched at his sides.
“You arrived in England with the desire to be in service, and Countess Langlevit said you had a small amount of experience. Did you enter into service in St. Petersburg?”
Lana said nothing. She’d already destroyed her first pretext, the one Langlevit and his mother had gone to such lengths to perfect. She didn’t wish to damage this new one Gray was weaving all on his own.
“You know where the princesses are, don’t you? And you’re protecting them,” he went on. When she again said nothing, he groaned. “And what of you? How are they protecting you, Lana? By sending you away the moment they reach English soil? Separating you from your sister?” He cocked his head, suspicion flashing. “Do you even have a sister, or was that a lie?”
“I did not lie about that,” she replied. “And yes, I am protecting the princesses. They are innocent! Viktor Zakorov is the traitor. He is the one the tsar should be intent on apprehending.”
“Treason is a serious charge, Lana.”
“No more serious than the one he has made! What proof does he have? Nothing!”
Gray held up his hands and hushed her. She was losing her temper, and if she continued to shout, she’d chance being overheard and traced to Gray’s room. She swallowed her mounting frustration and turned to pace, but found herself standing next to his bed.
It was a man’s bed, dressed with a black satin counterpane and pillows. The counterpane had been turned down, exposing blue-black satin sheets. The desire to run her hand over the sumptuous material nearly overwhelmed her. As did the image of Gray sliding between these sheets, wearing nothing at all.
Lana backed away from the bed and sidestepped the viscount, needing more space between them. She’d forgotten for a moment the danger this room posed.
“What proof have you against Zakorov?” Gray asked.
She twisted her fingers together, uncertain if she should mention the letters or not. It may be a mistake, but to say she had absolutely no proof would only make him doubt her more. And that she could not risk.
“Correspondence the princesses’ father intercepted,” she whispered, leaving out any mention of her uncle. Or, the princesses’ uncle. “It is encoded, and I am not the only one who believes it is treasonous.”
She felt him approach her from behind. The floor did not creak, nor did his clothes rustle. Lana merely felt the arrival of his warmth. She sensed h
im, as if the nearness of his body was an invisible touch.
“Where is this correspondence? Perhaps I could help decipher it—”
“I do not have the letters,” she said. It was at least the truth.
“Where are the princesses hiding?”
“I cannot tell you.”
Gray took two strides to stand in front of her. His hands cupped her cheeks and angled her face up to his. She saw tenderness, edged with something inflexible, and it made her want to sink into his arms. Into him. “I want to help you, Lana.”
She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheeks against his palms. She already had Langlevit helping her expose Viktor, and their break in deciphering the letters was almost at hand. All they had to do was determine what her uncle had been saying, and to whom. What she wanted now was to know that Gray trusted her. Believed her. Even though she wasn’t being entirely truthful. It wasn’t as though she was deceiving him out of malice. It was only to protect herself and Irina. If he discerned she was the princess in question, Lana did not know what he would do. “I want you to believe me,” she whispered.
Gray’s thumb caressed her cheek, her bottom lip, the soft stroking blissfully distracting.
“I didn’t like him,” he admitted. Then clarified, “Zakorov.”
Lana peered up at him. “You didn’t?”
“There is something off-putting about him. But he’s determined. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who simply gives up the hunt.”
“That is why I did not wish to involve you,” she replied. “He’s dangerous, Gray.”
She startled at the sound of his given name—his nickname, at that—coming off her own tongue. Lana pulled back, horrified. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“Nonsense.” He dismissed her apology with a rough shake of his head. “It is my name, and it’s only fair, after all. I address you as Lana, don’t I?”
“Yes, but my position here…”
He hushed her with a firm press of his thumb against her lips. “Is secure. You have my word.”
My Darling, My Disaster (Lords of Essex) Page 12
