Compromised by the Prince's Touch

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘Of course. But what about your accountability to us?’ Nikolay argued, watching the impact settle on the men’s faces, watching it register with them that their secrecy was shattered and had been for a while. There were men outside this room who now knew they planned a palace revolt in St Petersburg, men who could exploit that information for their financial gain.

  ‘How many people know?’ Grigoriev’s jaw was tight. ‘I had no idea you were not keeping this quiet.’

  ‘The board is discreet, we don’t tell anyone who we do business with,’ Amesbury began. His eyes were narrow. He was nervous.

  ‘Except each other.’ Grigoriev put in sharply.

  ‘It hardly matters. What does matter, Your Excellency, is that you’re harbouring a man wanted in his own country for treason. His own Tsar can’t trust him and you are taking his word over mine.’ Gazes shifted around the table, people exchanging anxious whispers. The ironclad circle of secrecy was ironclad no longer. This was how rebellions failed.

  ‘I’m not the one making faulty bullets.’ Nikolay produced the two balls from his pocket and set them on the table side by side. ‘Did any of you notice the shots you missed? This would explain why. My guess is that the machines error at regular intervals. The Duke is interested in mass production and money, regardless of quality. We are putting our lives on the line with faulty products backing us up.’ The table murmured, each man imagining facing down an opponent thinking they had a shot left in their chambers only to have that shot go wide and the enemy have another chance at them.

  ‘This is ridiculous!’ the Duke growled. ‘You are deliberately attempting to blacken me because you are jealous. You wanted Klara for yourself.’

  ‘What I want is for men fighting for good principles to be safe.’

  Vasilev looked from him to the Duke. ‘I will not encourage men to fight, knowing I cannot give them the protection of their arms.’ He fixed his gaze on Grigoriev, a silent message passing between them. Nikolay braced himself. This was it; this was when they’d decide. Vasilev spoke. ‘It is my recommendation, Your Excellency, that the rebellion be set aside.’

  Nikolay stood, wary of the Duke’s malevolence even as elation poured through him. Perhaps some day he would be part of a rebellion, if it was about the cause as Grigoriev intended. ‘Reforming Russia is worth believing in. But a rebellion that is built for the sake of generating profit, for the sake of creating war, is something I want no part of. Greed betrays men as certainly as men betray each other. Gentlemen, I think I have said enough for one day. Please consider my opinion as you see fit. If you will excuse me?’

  A few minutes later, he swung up on Cossack and let the horse eat up the miles to London. He tried to focus on the victory: he had no doubts that between his and the General’s appeal the revolt would be put on hold indefinitely. He’d managed to escape without committing. He’d taken his revenge on the Duke.

  Those victories came with a tremendous price. He felt like the General who’d won the war but sacrificed his troops to do it. His history was not a secret any longer. He was a man in exile with charges hanging over him. If the Duke had his way, that news might be spread across the ton when the Season opened. He could hear the mamas whispering already. Rumour has it he murdered the Tsar’s cousin in his bedroom, but he’s rich as Croesus and easy on the eyes. Most of all, he’d lost Klara, if she’d ever been his to begin with. Stepan had been right there.

  The ache he felt when he thought of her was no better this morning. The wound she’d dealt him would be a long time in healing, if ever. But he knew how to deal with pain. He’d deal with this the way he had with Helena, with losing his father, with losing his country; by looking forward, not behind. It was time to get on with his new life. He would stop at Number Four Leicester Square before he went home.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Kubanian Prince had ruined him, in front of people that mattered. With a few sentences, the upstart Cossack had exposed him and destroyed him. Amesbury gave himself a sharp appraisal in the long glass as his valet finished brushing his coat. He still had one card left and he would play it. Desperate times called for desperate measures. After Baklanov had walked out, the munitions deal had metaphorically followed him. Vasilev had backed down from his eagerness and Grigoriev wouldn’t sign on the basis of his damn principles. Grigoriev had been polite. Perhaps another time, when things were more certain. In fifteen minutes, the Prince had destroyed everything the Duke had worked two years to achieve. Did Baklanov have any idea how much money he’d cost him?

  Amesbury dismissed his valet and took a pistol from his bureau drawer. He would have recompense in a pound of flesh if that was what it took. He understood it was not realistic to restore the rebellion. But he could make Baklanov pay and Grigoriev pay where it would hurt them the most—through Klara.

  From another bureau drawer he took a folded paper, the special licence he’d managed to procure yesterday. He’d been busy after the meeting. He’d gone straight to Lambeth Palace understanding that time was of the essence. Grigoriev had looked upon him in distaste yesterday, his high-minded principles taking precedence, making it clear the engagement was potentially in danger.

  Amesbury weighed his assets. With the rebellion called off, there was little chance he could prove a plot and implicate Grigoriev in a treasonous scheme. Without that leverage, he had less to hang over Klara’s head. She no longer had to worry about keeping her father safe. There was only Nikolay to protect now. Still, her father wanted a noble marriage for her. He had that going for him. There was no one more noble, more eligible than he. Perhaps that would be enough in the end. But why risk it? Why not turn this whirlwind marriage into an elopement? Grigoriev had already laid the grounds for that last night. They were expected to marry in haste and Society would forgive a duke anything.

  He stuffed the pistol into the waistband of his trousers, the special licence into a pocket and headed downstairs to his carriage. He was prepared for all eventualities. Klara could do this the hard way or the easy way, but either way, she would be his. ‘Has the note been sent to Baklanov?’ he asked in low tones as a footman lowered the steps to his vehicle.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace. He will receive it at half past two, as you said.’ Amesbury smiled, pleased with his machinations. He would steal her away in the broad light of day and the Prince would know the price to mess with the Duke of Amesbury. Klara would know it, too. He would not be made a fool. When he was done with Baklanov, she would be more than happy to have the Duke of Amesbury for her husband.

  * * *

  ‘Samogon can’t make you happy.’ Stepan threw back the library curtains, flooding the room with bright light.

  ‘It can try,’ Nikolay growled, wincing. ‘Damn it, shut the curtains!’

  ‘It’s been two days and you’ve done nothing but sign the Leicester Square deed and drink yourself into oblivion.’ Stepan slouched down into the winged chair across from him. ‘You’d better start talking. I assume things went poorly in Richmond?’

  Nikolay managed a stare through one eye and groaned. He ran a hand over his mouth and sat up very slowly. He felt awful and smelled worse. Stepan wasn’t going anywhere. He might as well get it over with. ‘She’s going to marry the Duke. It was announced during the last night. Out of the blue. I never saw it coming.’ It hurt just to think about it. ‘But in retrospect, I should have.’ That hurt even worse. ‘The last time we were together, she all but begged me to let her go. The whole time she was saying goodbye and I didn’t understand.’

  Stepan’s posture became more alert. ‘The last time you were together? Together how?’

  ‘How do you think?’ Nikolay pushed a hand through his hair. He was not spelling that last bit out for Stepan.

  Stepan expelled a breath. ‘I thought you weren’t going to seduce her until we were sure?’

  ‘I was sure, damn it!’ Shouting hurt but not as much
as the next words. ‘I thought I loved her and I thought she loved me. I thought it was safe.’ He cradled his head in his hands. ‘I told her about Helena and Kuban, and my father.’ He’d told her everything that was important to him. Would this rage never go away? Howling, drinking, riding like the devil, none of it ate up the rage. He looked at Stepan. ‘Are you satisfied now? You were right.’

  ‘No, I am not satisfied,’ Stepan said sternly. ‘I never wanted to be right and I never wanted to see my friend in so much pain he has to drink himself into a stupor to find peace.’ He waited a moment before continuing. ‘Sometimes it helps to know why. Do you have any ideas? If you were sure of her, perhaps something happened? I can’t believe your instincts were entirely wrong.’

  ‘That’s the problem,’ Nikolay said wryly. ‘I can’t believe I was wrong either. She begged me to believe her, she gave herself to me and then she left me, with no real warning. I keep searching for an answer.’ The pain was starting to hurt again.

  ‘Walk me through it,’ Stepan interjected patiently.

  Nikolay let all spill out; the warning at the fireworks to reject the revolt, to walk away without looking back. ‘She said there was nothing there for me, and the next night in the ballroom she denounced me. Oh, not in words—how could she, up on that stage in front of everyone?—but with her eyes. They looked right at me as if I was just another face in the crowd, as if everything we’d had together was nothing. I was nothing. Then at the factory the next day, the Duke said she’d chosen his money over my—well, never mind. It was quite a crass comparison.’ He still burned when he thought about those comments. ‘He intimated Klara would forget all about me after a few nights in his bed.’

  ‘The bastard needs to be shot,’ Stepan mused.

  ‘I thought about it. Munition factories make those fantasies quite plausible.’ Nikolay’s voice trailed off, his mind replaying that conversation with the Duke. ‘Don’t worry, your secrets are safe as long as she behaves. The question is, knowing Klara as I do, will she behave? What do you think, Baklanov?’ His eyes came up to meet Stepan’s as he repeated the words slowly, meaning coming to him. He’d been angry the first time, in the throes of new rage and desperate to control that rage with rational thought. He knew the Duke had wanted to provoke him. He’d not looked further than that. Now, he saw the Duke had given himself away, given Klara away. ‘The Duke knew about my situation in Kuban. He’d confronted me with it earlier, thinking to blackmail me for the revolution. If he threatened Klara with that...’ Klara would have sought to protect him. His Klara, who jumped into pens with wild stallions and helpless foals to save them; his Klara, who sold her jewellery to buy a mare scheduled for slaughter. His Klara, who had risked herself to come to the stable and warn him about the house party, and who had cautioned him again. ‘Don’t look back, there is nothing for you here.’ Nothing except the bravest, most courageous woman he’d ever met. ‘Stepan, she didn’t betray me. She was trying to save me.’

  Stepan nodded. ‘I do believe you’re right, old friend.’ He smiled broadly and Nikolay felt the weight he’d carried lifted from his shoulders. Klara loved him still.

  The butler entered with a note. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but this just came for you, my lord.’ Nikolay took the note, expecting a horse rescue or paperwork for the Leicester Square property. His elation faded as he read.

  ‘What is it, Nik?’ Stepan leaned forward to take the paper.

  ‘It’s a wedding invitation.’ Dear God, not now when he’d just got her back. ‘Stepan, Amesbury has her. What time is it?’

  ‘Half past two.’ Stepan rose and held out a hand to stay him. ‘Nikolay, we have to think. You can’t rush off without a plan.’

  ‘I have a plan. It’s called “Stop Amesbury”.’ He knew Stepan meant well, but he had only half an hour to reach Klara and that assumed Amesbury was waiting for him. It was entirely possible Amesbury had the note delivered too late and they were already underway.

  ‘Nik!’ Stepan called after him, but he didn’t listen. He had a wedding to stop.

  * * *

  She had to stop being maudlin. She had to find a way to be happy again. She’d saved Nikolay and her father. Surely that was enough? Klara looked down at her needlepoint and her eyes blurred with tears. She was stitching St Basil’s Cathedral, the multicoloured one with domes in Moscow for the receiving room at the embassy. Even her needlework reminded her of Nikolay. Everything reminded her of him. He haunted her sleep. She dreamed of his face, the way it had looked when she’d turned away from him and allowed Amesbury to kiss her, the utter grief she’d seen there. She worried for him—had he been able to extricate himself from the revolution? She hoped for him—had he returned to the city and purchased his riding school? How were the horses? Would she ever see the foal and the mare again? Oh, how she’d have loved to have seen the stallion come into his potential, and the thoroughbred. He would make an amazing addition to Nikolay’s schooling string. Klara swiped at her eyes. She was missing so much. She’d not counted on this when she’d given him up.

  ‘Miss, there’s a gentleman to see you.’ The butler announced. She glanced at the clock. A quarter to three. For a moment her heart thumped with the thought it could be Nikolay, then realised how foolish that would be. He would never come to her now after what she’d done. ‘Send him in.’ She wiped at her face, smoothed her skirts and sat on the edge of the chair, posed demurely. Footsteps sounded in the hall. She pasted on a smile and prepared for the worst. Only one gentleman would call.

  ‘Hello, my dear Klara.’

  Amesbury stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed in riding gear appropriate for an afternoon call. He bowed and offered her the flowers he carried, expensive yellow and white roses, an even dozen. Nikolay would never have brought an even number.

  ‘In Russia, yellow flowers are often considered bad luck,’ she said with crisp aloofness. ‘I am sorry my father is not here to see you. He is not back from Richmond yet.’

  ‘I didn’t come to see him. I came to see you.’ Amesbury grinned. Her hands were clammy where she clutched the bouquet. Who knew what he’d try if he thought they were alone? He gestured to the window. ‘I brought the carriage and the greys so we could go for a drive. The weather is quite fine.’

  She didn’t want to go anywhere with him. But how did she refuse? She gestured to the needlepoint in her lap. ‘I cannot go out. I have to finish this.’

  ‘Come with me, Klara.’ He drew back his coat to reveal the ivory butt of a pistol.

  It took a moment to digest the sight of it. ‘Are you threatening me?’ The gun flustered her. A gun in her hand was one thing, she was quite comfortable with them. A gun in the hand of a man who’d threatened her, her father and the man she loved in order to coerce her to the altar was something else altogether—something frightening. Incredulity marked her tone as she tried to fathom the Duke’s thoughts. ‘You can’t shoot me in my drawing room.’

  ‘I hope not.’ Amesbury’s hand drummed on the pistol butt. ‘If you do what you’re told, there is no threat.’ He shrugged. ‘At any rate, the threat isn’t to you directly. Surely you don’t think I mean to shoot you, my bride? I might, however, shoot Prince Baklanov if we’re still here when he arrives. I sent him a note. I told him to be here by three.’ He withdrew the pistol and sighted it through the window. ‘He must have abandoned stalking you. It’s indecent, the attention he shows another man’s fiancée. Don’t worry, I should have a perfect shot through the window. He won’t even know what hit him.’ Amesbury laughed, sounding entirely unhinged. ‘What am I saying, my dear? Of course he’ll know what hit him. He’ll figure it out before he bleeds to death on the pavement. I hope he doesn’t leave a stain.’

  Klara felt cold, immobile. But she had to move and she had to think. Fast. It was nearly three now. Did she stay and wait for Nikolay in the hopes he would rescue her? That she could warn him before the Duke fired? Nikol
ay was twenty times the warrior Amesbury would ever be, but that would be of no use if Amesbury took him by surprise. Or did she save him and leave with the Duke now? Would Nikolay come after her? Would he see through the layers of ruses, both the Duke’s and hers, and conclude the truth that lay at the bottom?

  ‘Klara,’ the Duke warned, ‘time is passing. I will ask you once more to get in the carriage. Do I need to cross the room for you? I assure you, it won’t be as pleasant as walking over to me. I have long thought a nice hard spanking would do you a world of good.’

  ‘All right. Let me put the flowers in some water and we’ll go.’ She spotted two vases and separated the flowers into bundles of white and yellow, six white in one vase, six yellow in another, and set them on the centre table where Nikolay couldn’t fail to notice them.

  Amesbury gloated. ‘I thought you might see it that way. This way, my dear.’ His hand skimmed her back as he ushered her out the door. She fought the urge to cringe at his touch as he handed her into the curricle. How amazing that a man’s touch could be so different. This was nothing like being touched by Nikolay, where every touch sent tremors of pleasure through her, where every touch created frissons of expectation. She scanned the street for Nikolay as the Duke merged into traffic, but there was no sign. The desperate, frightened part of her knew she was going to miss him by mere minutes. The brave part of her knew relief. She had kept him safe.

  They turned past the entrance to Hyde Park, eschewing the common driving area and headed towards the Thames and Parliament. ‘Where are we going?’

  He drew his pistol and laid it across his lap on the driving rug. ‘We are going to a little church I know on the Strand. Very quaint and very much in need of stained-glass windows.’ A tremor ran through her. Why would they go there? ‘You and I will be married this afternoon, and then we will take ship for a honeymoon in Paris. It will be the surprise of the Season and the Season hasn’t even started. Can you imagine the parties you’ll be able to host as the Duchess of Amesbury?’ He smiled as if he’d bestowed a great gift. ‘And the townhouse needs redecorating. You can spend whatever you need.’