A Magnificent Match

by Gayle Buck

  Megan chuckled ruefully. “Quite true! I ran foul of her dis­pleasure less than a fortnight ago when I returned from shop­ping with Irena. Her frown did not lift until we had each offered an abject apology.” She rose from her chair and started across the thick Persian carpets toward the door, remarking, as she exited, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Princess Kirov has called me to inform me that my efforts to acquire an Orlov or Kabardian have been successful?”

  “Lord O’Connell would be very well pleased by that, cer­tainly. Perhaps that is what it is all about,” said Mrs. Tyler hopefully.

  Megan traversed the marble-tiled, magnificently ornate halls to Princess Kirov’s private apartments. She was expected and therefore ushered at once into her hostess’s august presence.

  Megan curtsied. “You wished to speak with me, your high­ness?”

  Princess Kirov was enjoying a cup of extremely hot tea from the samovar, the ubiquitous wood-burning appliance that was to be found in every room of the house. She motioned for Megan to join her. “Ah, Megan! Thank you for being so prompt. You will take tea with me?”

  “Of course, your highness.”

  Princess Kirov snapped her fingers at a servant to pour an­other cup of the heavily sweetened brew. When Megan had sat down and had been served. Princess Kirov said, “My dear Megan, I have requested you to visit with me because I have been giving much reflection to your situation. In a few months the snow and ice of winter will begin to warm and our roads will become impassable mires and pits. You will be unable to travel except with the greatest difficulty. Therefore I judge that it is nearly time for you to return to your homeland.”

  “I shall regret the necessity of leaving St. Petersburg, your highness,” said Megan with sincerity.

  Princess Kirov gave a thin smile. There was approval in her dark eyes. “You are gracious, Megan. I, too, shall have cause to regret our parting. But perhaps it need not be so.”

  “How do you mean, ma’am?” asked Megan, wondering if the princess meant to ask her to remain with her through an­other winter. These things were not unheard of in Russia, where the daughters and sons of minor European nobility were often made to feel themselves to be extensions of a Russian family.

  If that was in Princess Kirov’s mind, it would mean that Megan would not return to her homeland for a total of two years. She did not know how she felt about that. On the one hand, it would be very pleasant to stay where she was a highly regarded guest. Yet it was not the same as waking up in one’s own bed of a morning. And then there was Mrs. Tyler to think of, as well as Simpkins. Megan thought that it would scarcely be fair to make such a far-reaching decision without first con­sulting their wishes, if such a decision was to be asked of her.

  “In her letter, your mother, Lady O’Connell, confided to me her hopes for you when she gave her consent for you to come to Russia to stay with me,” said Princess Kirov. “Did you know this?”

  “Yes, your highness, I knew it. My mother discussed it with me before I left Ireland. And I am truly grateful for your gen­erous hospitality and your efforts on my behalf,” said Megan. “I do not believe that I could have met such a cosmopolitan set of gentlemen in any other capital.”

  “That is true. St. Petersburg is the richest, most glittering capital in all the world,” said Princess Kirov matter-of-factly, certain in her arrogance of that truth. “But now we speak not of St. Petersburg, but of you, Megan. I would like you to re­main in Russia, for I consider you almost like one of my own nieces. There is a way to possibly accomplish this purpose.”

  “Yes, your highness?”

  “I do not wish to disappoint my dear friend Lady O’Con­nell,” said Princess Kirov. “There have been several unexcep­tional offers made for your hand. Among them have been a number of good Russians. I wish you to consider well and de­cide which one you will accept.”

  “I have considered, ma’am. I shall accept none of them,” said Megan quietly.

  Princess Kirov’s request had come unexpectedly, but it was not entirely a surprise. After all, Lady O’Connell had ex­pressed her desire that her daughter make an alliance. With a gleam of humor as she thought swiftly of all of her suitors, Megan added, “It is no doubt because they are all so unexcep­tional.”

  “Nonsense. Of course you will accept one of these flattering offers. It is your clear duty, my child,” said Princess Kirov. Her dark slanting eyes held a determined expression.

  “I beg to differ with you, ma’am. My duty is to accept that which is most beneficial to myself and my future, and none of these offers are acceptable in that sense,” said Megan. She saw that Princess Kirov was very perturbed and she smiled. “I apologize, ma’am. It is not my intent to anger you. However, in this matter I must speak my honest thoughts. I do not love any of these obliging gentlemen and—”

  “Love!” Princess Kirov threw up her hands. “It is all one hears from the young. Even my Misha begins to prate of wed­ding for love. It is all nonsense!”

  “You surprise me, ma’am,” said Megan, recalling her con­versation with the prince. “I had thought Prince Kirov too well-trained in the discharge of his duty to the Kirov family in­terests to consider an emotion such as love of any true impor­tance.”

  “My son is a man of grand passion. Like all such men, there are times that he foolishly succumbs to it. But an ideal such as love is not practical, as Misha also knows,” said Princess Kirov dismissively.

  “Whereas I do not believe that such an ideal is impractical,” said Megan.

  “Megan, you must set aside this notion that love is of such importance,” said Princess Kirov. “Look instead at what a man will give you: position, riches, a respected name. These are what are secure and important to a woman, for her and any children to come.”

  “But what of happiness, ma’am? Is that not important?” Megan asked curiously.

  Princess Kirov shrugged. “Happiness is what you make of it. If it is love you want, attach a good lover. If it is style, then patronize a good modiste.”

  Even though Megan had learned much in the freer atmos­phere prevailing in the Russian capital, she was shocked by her hostess’ crude insensitivity. “You are cynical, ma’am.”

  “I am practical,” corrected Princess Kirov. She folded her hands. “Now, you will tell me which offer you will accept.”

  “I have not altered my mind,” said Megan. “I will not accept any of the offers which I have received thus far.”

  “You are an obstinate foolish girl. If you were my daughter, you would swiftly feel my wrath for your impertinence,” said Princess Kirov harshly. “As it is, you are the daughter of my dear friend and so my responsibility toward you is limited. I cannot coerce you to fulfill your duty.”

  Megan smiled sympathetically and shook her head. “Even my own mother could not coerce me in this, nor would she wish to do so. Her ladyship is quite content to allow me to pick my own path. Believe me, my mother will not blame you for my sad lack of cooperation.”

  “That is well, for I have done all that is possible. From this moment, I wash my hands of you,” said Princess Kirov, suit­ing action to words in a symbolic manner. “I will instruct the maids to begin packing your things at once. You are dis­missed.”

  Megan was startled. “I beg your pardon?”

  Princess Kirov regarded her out of dark fathomless eyes. A small smile curved her thin mouth. “Surely you do not expect to continue to enjoy my hospitality when you have so adamantly rejected the efforts I have made on your behalf? No, it is time for you to return to your homeland.”

  The humor of the situation suddenly struck Megan. Lady O’Connell had sent her to Russia so that she would be relieved of all responsibility of her daughter. Princess Kirov was send­ing Megan back for the same reason. Megan chuckled. “No, I suppose not. I shall begin preparations for my journey at once. I will send out my regrets for those functions for which I am already engaged.”

  Megan rose and curtsied to Princess Kirov. “Thank y
ou, ma’am, for an enjoyable stay in St. Petersburg. I shall re­member it, and you, fondly all of my life. I assure you, I have learned much during my visit. Naturally I shall give your regards to my mother.” Megan gracefully left the sitting room.

  Princess Kirov stared at the closed door, her expression un­readable. Then a slight grimace crossed her face. “She is strong-willed, that one. It is a pity that she is not Russian.”

  Upon leaving the princess’s apartments, Megan chanced to meet Prince Kirov. He stopped her with a broad smile and ap­propriated her hand. Ceremoniously he bowed over her fin­gers. “My dear sister, you are ravishingly lovely today,” he said.

  “You are very kind, as usual, your highness,” said Megan. She smiled up at the big man. Prince Mikhail Kirov was not dark and small like his mother. He was very tall, a blond giant of solid muscle. He had ice-blue eyes that could be disconcert­ingly penetrating or alight with admiration, as they were now.

  Megan knew very well that the prince found her attractive. He had not hidden the fact. He had always treated her with fa­miliarity, claiming a closer relationship than was accurate sim­ply because she had resided in his house for these several months.

  Prince Kirov frowned down at her. He retained her hand. “My name is Mikhail. Have I not told you before? You are a guest in Kirov House and part of our family. I insist that you address me by my name.”

  “And I have told you that it would be an impertinence on my part to take such gross advantage of my position,” said Megan firmly. She did not deny to herself that she was drawn to Prince Kirov. It would actually give her great pleasure to address him by his given name. But she knew to succumb to the temptation would make it very hard to keep what distance remained between them. She had no desire for a greater inti­macy with Prince Mikhail Kirov than what she already en­joyed as a favored guest.

  “Still so cold, mademoiselle,” sighed Prince Kirov. He lifted his hand and brushed the curve of her cheek and her hair. “Fire and ice. How is it possible that they exist together?”

  Megan regained possession of her hand. She stepped back the merest pace. “I do not know, your highness. You must di­rect your question to one better trained in philosophy than my­self.”

  Prince Kirov’s ice-blue eyes gleamed. “Ah, I perceive that you intend to shuffle me off with such a neat setdown. But it will not do, Miss O’Connell. I have seen the depths of your soul in your eyes. I have known these several weeks past that you are attracted to me.”

  Megan felt herself blush. “Your highness, that is a highly improper statement and completely untrue, besides. One can­not read another’s soul in their eyes.”

  “But one can, dear sister. I have done so. Shall I prove it to you?” asked Prince Kirov.

  Megan retreated another step, eyeing the prince warily. “I am not interested in your proof, your highness. It is highly ir­relevant, I am certain.”

  Prince Kirov followed her, coming so close that she felt al­most swallowed up in his nearness. “But it is not irrelevant at all, Miss O’Connell,” he whispered softly. “I shall kiss you, here. And then we shall see if what I have said is not true.” He touched her lips lightly with his finger.

  Megan drew back. Her heart was pounding, but she did not drop her gaze from his. “Pray do not be ridiculous, your high­ness. I do not scheme for your kisses, nor, indeed, for any man’s.”

  Prince Kirov smiled. “No, I know it well. I have watched you. You are toasted. Your fantastical beauty is celebrated. You are made love to with flowery compliments and poetical flights of fancy. You receive it all with smiling grace, yet your heart remains untouched. But I think, if I kissed you now, the sleeping passion would awaken. And I think that you would marry me.”

  Megan felt stifled by her own heartbeats. There was danger here, but heady excitement, too. “Are you making an offer for me, Prince Kirov?” she asked quietly, only the faintest tremor in her voice.

  He smiled down at her with a peculiar tenderness. “No, I am not so gauche or crude, mademoiselle. You are one who de­sires courtship, the dance of the birds or the flight of mating butterflies. I do not charge in where delicacy is required. No, I do not offer for you today. Perhaps next week, or next month.”

  “Or perhaps not at all,” said Megan, tilting up her head.

  “That is what you will wonder from now on, mademoi­selle,” said Prince Kirov.

  Megan shook her head. “No, your highness. I shall not won­der at all, for I shall be far too busy. I shall be making my debut in London this spring.”

  “What!” Prince Kirov laughed. He shook his head. “No, no, you think to tease me, mademoiselle. But I shall not suc­cumb.”

  “As you will, your highness,” said Megan with a shrug and a smile. “Now let me pass, please.”

  Prince Kirov moved aside, bowing. As she brushed past him, however, he suddenly caught her arm. Megan looked up, surprised.

  Prince Kirov stared frowningly down into her face. “You do not tease, do you, mademoiselle?”

  Megan shook her head. “No, I do not. I shall be leaving Russia in a few short hours.”

  “But this is nonsense. I have heard nothing before of this,” said Prince Kirov. He glanced down the hall suddenly, realiz­ing for the first time the possible significance of the fact that she had come out of his mother’s sitting room. “Have you quarreled with my mother? Is that why you have decided to leave Russia? No, it is wrong that you should leave like this. I shall not allow you to leave in a fit of pique. I shall go to my mother at once and force her to apologize to you!”

  “Your highness, I have not quarreled with Princess Kirov. We have simply come to a mutual agreement that I have over­stayed my visit,” said Megan. “Now it is time for me to return to my own country.”

  “That is utterly ridiculous!” exclaimed Prince Kirov.

  “Not at all. Will you please unhand me, your highness? I have my packing to oversee,” said Megan coolly.

  Instead of doing as she asked, Prince Kirov shoved open a door behind them. He strode into the room, pulling Megan with him. It was the conservatory. Plants hung everywhere and there was the attractive sound of water falling into a pool. The prince shut the door. He laid his shoulder to it and crossed his arms. “Now, mademoiselle, we shall get to the bottom of this matter.”

  “Do you intend to keep me here against my will?” de­manded Megan.

  “If I must,” said Prince Kirov.

  “What if I scream?” asked Megan.

  “My faithful Fedor saw me bring you in here. He will warn the servants away. I do not think that anyone will dare to enter until I open the door myself,” said Prince Kirov arrogantly.

  Megan had not seen the prince’s shadow, the devoted dwarf Fedor, in the hall; but that meant nothing. The small man could practically make himself invisible if he so wished.

  Megan regarded the prince for a moment. Very quietly, she said, “I do not answer well to blackmail or to brute force, your highness. You may lean up against that door until doomsday for all the ground it will gain you.” She turned on her heel and started slowly up the path, pausing now and again to sniff at an orchid blossom. She heard his bootstep on the walk behind her.

  Megan half-smiled to herself. She had thought rightly. The prince was an impatient man. He would not be able to hold his pose of determined jailer for long. She turned, lifting her brows. “Yes, your highness? Was there something that you wished of me?”

  “You know well that there is. Miss O’Connell,” he replied, frowning.

  “A civil question will gain you a civil reply, your highness,” said Megan.

  Prince Kirov smiled slightly. “Ah, you play me like a violin, mademoiselle. I do not believe that I have ever met your equal.”

  Megan almost snorted. She had heard the stories of his women and his duels. Prince Mikhail Sergei Alexsander Kirov was a well-known heartbreaker. It was why she insisted upon the formality between them. “Have you not, indeed!”

  “You do not be
lieve me?” asked Prince Kirov. He placed a hand over his heart. “My whole heart is yours, mademoiselle.”

  “I possess naught but a piece of it, surely,” said Megan dar­ingly. “For there have been many women who have been given bits and pieces until there is little of it left.”

  “Who dares to say so?” demanded Prince Kirov, drawing himself up.

  “Why, it is your reputation that shouts it, your highness,” said Megan.

  Prince Kirov looked thoughtful. He slid a glance at her. “It is true. I have known many women. But none ever dazzled me as you have, Miss O’Connell.”

  Once again, Megan felt her heart thumping. There was a sheer magnetism about Prince Mikhail Kirov that was very hard to resist. She turned out her hands in a curious gesture. “So you say, your highness. But you make love so charmingly to everyone. Is it possible for a woman to trust your words? Or should I listen even more closely to the warning given me by your reputation?”

  Prince Kirov closed the distance between them. “Believe this, mademoiselle.” He caught up her hand and placed it firmly against his breast. She could feel the strength of his heartbeat beneath her palm. Her fingers trembled. He looked deeply into her startled eyes. “And believe this.” He gathered her very gently into his arms.

  Megan lifted her head to meet his kiss. She had been kissed many times since she had come to St. Petersburg, with every­thing from an avuncular smack to a passionate salute. But she had never been kissed by a man whom she found so compellingly attractive. His lips were firm and possessive, tasting of cinnamon and wine.

  “Now, mademoiselle, I shall ask you a civil question,” said Prince Kirov softly. His thumb traced her sensitized lips. “Why are you leaving Russia?”

  “Your mother is displeased with me. I have refused to ac­cept any of the offers that have been made for my hand,” said Megan quietly. She felt the queerest light-headedness. She thought that if she moved she might fall.

  “Ah.” There was a wealth of satisfaction in his voice.