A Magnificent Match

by Gayle Buck

  “You will say just what you ought. I have every confidence in your good sense,” said Mrs. Tyler comfortably. She was pri­vately delighted by Megan’s reaction. “Er—it might be best if you were to compose yourself on the settee. You do not wish to appear too eager.”

  “No, no, of course not!”

  Megan hastily seated herself, arranging her skirts with a slightly trembling hand. She was glad that she was wearing one of her prettiest gowns, a simple muslin day dress trimmed with knots of blue satin ribbons. Her thoughts were in a whirl, at once chaotic and strangely focused. Fear and pleasure warred within her breast. Why had Prince Kirov come to Lon­don? It could not be just because he had vowed to follow her. But what if he had? What if that was the sole reason that he had come here today? But no, he could have planned all along to come to London on business and this would be no more than a polite courtesy call.

  By the time the door was opened, Megan’s nerves were stretched taut. However, she managed to school her expression so that there was no hint of her inner turmoil. When Prince Kirov strode into the room, she looked up at him and was at once struck by his appearance. He was dressed in a tailored coat and buckskins, his boots shined to a mirror finish. Megan had almost forgotten how large he was, how magnificent his physique. She offered a pleasant smile of greeting. “Your highness! This is a welcome surprise. I had not looked for you in London.”

  “Had you not, Miss O’Connell?” There was a glint in Prince Kirov’s blue eyes as he raised her fingers to his lips.

  Megan’s breath caught. That simple question, uttered with intimate disbelieving amusement, had put her already agitated mind into complete disarray.

  Prince Kirov turned from her to greet Mrs. Tyler, leaving Megan feeling that she had been spared a second or two to re­cover. “Dear Mrs. Tyler! You appear delightfully English, like a fragrant, delicate rose. I salute you, ma’am.” And he did so, bussing her on both cheeks.

  Mrs. Tyler emerged from the prince’s embrace, blushing and slightly disheveled. “My goodness! I had forgotten how demonstrative you Russians can be. How very gratifying, to be sure! But it will not do, your highness. You will shock all of our acquaintances if that is how you mean to go on.”

  Prince Kirov snapped his fingers. “That for the stiff English proprieties! Am I to withhold a gesture of affection for my friends for fear of offending some personage I do not know and do not wish to know? I am a Kirov and I define mine own honor.”

  The prince’s arrogant declaration settled Megan’s compo­sure as nothing else could have done. “Just so, your highness. Who could argue the point?” she said, lightly teasing.

  He flashed a smile at her. His blue eyes were twinkling. Prince Kirov spoke amiably to the two ladies for a few minutes, describing portions of his journey to them and also his impres­sions of London since he had arrived. He had particularly high praises for the park, which he declared to be delightful.

  “I have already developed the habit of riding there each af­ternoon, for I do not like to be idle. I have been very busy, as you may imagine, in establishing myself comfortably. My maitre’d is at this moment negotiating terms for a suitable resi­dence,” he said.

  “I wish we had known earlier of your arrival, your highness. It is so disagreeable for you to be obliged to put up at a hotel,” said Mrs. Tyler. “I am positive that Lady O’Connell would have asked you to stay here if she had but known.”

  Prince Kirov bowed his appreciation. “That would have taken quite an unfair advantage of her ladyship, however. Nat­urally I would have waited upon you sooner, but it was not convenient until today.”

  “Then I am glad that we were at home when you chanced to call,” said Megan, unaccountably piqued. She had gathered the impression that he had been in London long enough to have called on them several days earlier. Perhaps he had come to England on a business matter, after all. “We might possibly have missed you otherwise, for we are not usually so quiet.”

  Mrs. Tyler did not dare to turn her head, for fear of directing such a look of reproach at Megan that it could not possibly have been misinterpreted by their guest.

  “I do not doubt that you have many social commitments. It was to be expected,” said Prince Kirov.

  “How was dear Princess Kirov when you left? My, it seems ages ago since we were in St. Petersburg,” said Mrs. Tyler.

  “Yes, it does indeed,” agreed Megan. “No doubt that is be­cause we have been so very busy also. Did Fedor accompany you?” She ignored Mrs. Tyler’s quick reproving glance and in­stead smiled brightly at their guest.

  Prince Kirov gravely responded. “My mother was well, though she was angry that I left her so soon after your own de­parture. I thank you for your inquiry, Mrs. Tyler. As for my good Fedor, I left him at the hotel today to oversee my per­sonal affairs.” He turned to Mrs. Tyler with a winning smile. “I know that it is a forward request in England, but for the sake of the friendship forged among us in Russia, I ask your permission to speak to Miss O’Connell in privacy.”

  Mrs. Tyler rose immediately from her chair. “We became such good friends while in your house that I confess to stand on ceremony now seems absurd. I am confident that I may en­trust my dear Megan to you for a few moments, your high­ness.”

  “Gwyneth!” exclaimed Megan, at once annoyed and amused. There was a shiver of anticipation, too, for she had seen a flash of deep satisfaction in Prince Kirov’s eyes.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Tyler,” said Prince Kirov, bowing over the lady’s hand before he escorted her gallantly to the door.

  Mrs. Tyler directed a meaningful smile at Megan before she left the room.

  Megan turned away and moved toward the pianoforte. She well knew that her companion thought a budding romance was being well-served. However, Megan was uncertain what she wanted Prince Kirov to say to her. He had uttered his undying devotion to her, but Megan hoped that she was not setting too much store by that. Yet it would be very pleasant to be told that she was indeed the reason that he had come to London.

  Megan heard the door shut and then the prince’s quick step. She did not turn around but waited until she knew that he had drawn close. Megan slipped onto the pianoforte seat and began softly pressing the keys

  “Allow me to turn your music, mademoiselle.” The prince’s large well-kept hand came into her view and opened the sheets.

  Megan felt heat in her face. She had no need of the sheet music and she knew that he was well aware of it. The pi­anoforte had simply been used as a stratagem to avoid looking at him. He obviously knew it and was amused by it. Megan wanted to retain a polite constraint between them, afraid that if she did not, something that she was unprepared for might hap­pen. “Thank you, your highness.”

  “In St. Petersburg you began to call me Misha,” he said quietly.

  Megan’s color heightened. So much for keeping matters on a formal footing. She had not taken into account the prince’s regrettable lack of convention. “A slip of the tongue, surely.”

  “Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not.” He turned the next sheet of music. The sweet notes of the air filled the moment of silence.

  “You also kissed me,” he said softly.

  Megan turned swiftly on the seat, abandoning the keyboard. Her smoke-gray eyes flashed up at him. “Ungentlemanly of you, sir! You took that kiss by overcoming my resistance.”

  “Oh, the conservatory! No, dear Megan, I was referring to the ice slide,” said Prince Kirov with a slight smile.

  Megan’s face flamed. She quickly rose from the pianoforte and retreated from him. “Oh! I had forgotten. But that was be­cause you caught me unawares. It was such a silly moment. The exhilaration of the sledding and—and—the moon!”

  Prince Kirov caught one of her hands. He turned it over and pressed a kiss into her warm palm. “Forgotten, mademoiselle? No, not forgotten. Not by me; nor by you. I can feel the flutter­ing of your heart in your wrist.”

  Megan snatched her hand away. She put her hands behind he
r back. She managed a breathless laugh. “You are nonsensi­cal, Mikhail!”

  He reached out and caressed her cheek with a feather touch. “You see? I read the mysteries of your soul in your eyes. I awakened the passion in you. It is impossible to pretend that you have turned cold toward me.”

  Megan was fast losing perspective. “You go too fast for me,” she whispered.

  He nodded in reluctant agreement. “Yes, you are one who deserves all the extravagances of elegant courtship.” He gave the flicker of a smile. There was a banked heat in the expres­sion in his eyes. “Do not fear, my dove. Though you are mine to possess, I shall not rob you of that homage which every beautiful woman desires.” He possessed himself of her hands and bent to kiss her fingers in a formal salute.

  Megan pulled her hands free. “How dare you?” she choked.

  Prince Kirov straightened in surprise. He was startled at the infuriated expression on her face. He took another step toward her. “Megan—”

  “No! Do not come near me,” commanded Megan, throwing up her hands.

  The prince stopped, his heavily marked brows lowered a fraction. “What is this nonsense? I do not find it amusing.”

  “You are quite right, your highness. It is not at all amus­ing!” Megan’s eyes were alight with sparks. “I am not a mare to be possessed at your whim, your highness!”

  “Come, Megan, this is ridiculous. I told you in Russia that I love you more than any other woman,” began Prince Kirov.

  “And just how many women do you presently love, your highness?” asked Megan, her voice dripping ice.

  “None! You have my heart and no other! Did I not swear to it and give you the ring from off my own finger? Did I not vow to follow you to London? Have I not proven my love for you?” asked Prince Kirov, his voice rising with each question. His expression was one of virtuous outrage.

  “Do not dare to yell at me, Misha,” said Megan.

  “No, you are right! I should not yell. I should shake you in­stead!” He started to close the distance between them. His in­tent was evident in his expression.

  Megan whisked herself behind the settee. “I do not believe you. You only say that you love me. You think that I am a ripe plum ready to fall into your hand whenever you should hold it out to me. But I am not! I do not belong to you, sir!”

  “I do not think that you are a plum! You do not resemble any fruit at all, for you are too thin,” said Prince Kirov unthinkingly.

  “Too thin? How dare you insult me in such a fashion!” gasped Megan.

  Prince Kirov raked a heavy hand threw his blond locks, roaring his frustration. “Megan, I say it again! I love you! I love you! Why do you deny me?”

  “I received eleven requests for my hand. Not one of those honorable proposals was from you, Misha. Instead you snatched kisses from me in the conservatory and seduced me with the ice hills. And now you announce that I am yours to take whenever it should suit you!” said Megan.

  There was a short silence. Prince Kirov stared at her, his eyes narrowed beneath his heavy brows. “Not once did it cross my mind to make you my mistress,” he said stiffly.

  “Liar,” said Megan softly.

  He was startled. Then, slowly, he began to grin. “Yes, I am a liar. I thought it many times. But you held me at arm’s length all those months. You insisted upon a formal address even when I made you free of my name. You would not allow any familiarity. Is it any wonder that I should begin to think of you in my arms?”

  Megan’s face was flaming. “You are a wicked, wicked crea­ture.”

  He threw his head back and bellowed in laughter. When he had expended it, he looked at her with warm amusement. “Not so wicked, after all. My thoughts changed, my dear delight. That night on the ice hill, when you kissed me of your own will, I wanted to catch you up and carry you off into the night. But I did not. Do you know why, Megan?”

  Megan shook her head, her heart beating remarkably fast.

  “I did not wish anyone to speak evil about the woman that I would take to wife,” he said.

  “Oh!” Megan did not know what else to say. She could scarcely breathe. She felt confused, about his feelings for her and about her own.

  Suddenly fear rose up. If she melted into his arms now, would she ever know whether he truly loved her? She had heard enough from Princess Kirov to know that her son had an obligation to marry well. Megan did not believe that an Irish miss of minor nobility and modest portion was exactly what Princess Kirov had in mind as a daughter-in-law. That is, if he actually married her. It was one thing to say that one was thinking of marriage, but Prince Kirov had never actually voiced a proposal to her. And if he did marry her, would she be able to depend upon his fidelity? His reputation, as well as his own mother’s observations concerning her son’s passionate nature, shook Megan’s confidence.

  Prince Kirov seemed to be able to read something of her thoughts, for he smiled and shook his head. “I shall not press you now, Megan. I see that I have been unbelievably clumsy—”

  “Arrogant,” corrected Megan.

  Prince Kirov lowered his brows and finished, “—in my dealings with you. You are a woman. Naturally you do not think clearly, for a woman thinks with her heart. I will give you time. When your head and your heart have come together, you will be willing to accept me.”

  “I am situated in London for the Season,” said Megan.

  “Of course,” said Prince Kirov in surprise. “Where else would you be?”

  Megan smiled. She could have told him, but he knew little of the life she had led before her arrival in St. Petersburg. “I shall have many engagements.”

  “I shall escort you,” said Prince Kirov, waving his hand as though it was a matter of little moment.

  “I shall have many admirers and entertain their suits,” warned Megan.

  “I shall kill them all,” said Prince Kirov amiably, but with a somewhat wolfish grin.

  Megan laughed and came out from behind the settee. She held out her hand to the prince and he took it, clasping it loosely as he smiled down at her. “We have reached an under­standing, Misha. I am glad. I have missed you, my dear friend.” She stressed the words.

  Prince Kirov grimaced. “You are hard, Megan. That is not the relationship that I would claim, as you know.”

  “No, I know well that it isn’t,” agreed Megan, her eyes gleaming. “But I think it wisest for my peace of mind.”

  “Then I bow to your wishes, mademoiselle,” said Prince Kirov, suiting action to his words and making a formal bow over her hand.

  The door opened and Mrs. Tyler entered. When Prince Kirov straightened and turned, she said, “Oh, are you taking your leave so soon, your highness? I had hoped to offer you tea.”

  Prince Kirov shook his head. “Thank you, but no, Mrs. Tyler. I have outstayed my time and I have other engagements. Perhaps I shall call again later in the week.”

  “Pray do so,” said Mrs. Tyler cordially, offering her hand to the prince. She slid a glance at Megan, attempting to read something in her expression. “Our doors, or rather Lady O’Connell’s, will always be open to you.”

  Prince Kirov gravely expressed his appreciation and left.

  Mrs. Tyler at once turned back to Megan. “Well, my dear? What did he say?” she asked in highest hopes.

  “Prince Kirov said that I was his to possess whenever he chose to do so and that I was too thin to be a proper fruit,” said Megan baldly.

  Mrs. Tyler stared at her, nonplussed. “Well! How very odd of him, I must say. What—what did you say?”

  “I raked him over the coals, naturally. Prince Kirov is far too self-assured and charming. He is a danger to the female, whomever she might be. But I hope that I am too sensible to lose my head over an accomplished flirt,” said Megan.

  “Quite frankly, my dear, it does not sound to me that the prince is any hand at all at flirtation,” said Mrs. Tyler roundly.

  Megan laughed. “No, he is not quite like your romantic he­roes who a
re all perfection, Gwyneth. He says stupid things. He does not understand me. And I am not certain that I en­tirely trust him.”

  “My dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Tyler, shocked.

  Megan flushed. “But it is true, Gwyneth! Prince Kirov vows that he loves me, but does he really? I am sure you heard as much about his celebrated reputation as I did while in St. Pe­tersburg.”

  “He followed you all the way to London,” said Mrs. Tyler.

  “Oh, Gwyneth! I might be only one of so many other rea­sons why he chose to come to London this spring. I know, for instance, that the Kirovs have always had business interests in England,” said Megan. “Until I know for certain what is in his heart, I do not know whether I can trust my own heart. Can you not understand that?”

  “Yes, I suppose that I can.” Mrs. Tyler looked at her with mingled sympathy and perplexity. “But, my dear, what will you do?”

  “Sophronia said something to me once. She said that if Li­onel were ever to come to London for her, she would lead him a dance. I wonder whether that might not be the answer in my own situation,” said Megan slowly.

  Mrs. Tyler regarded her with strong misgivings. “What are you thinking, Megan? I’ve seen that expression before! Oh, I should so dislike it if you were to do anything that you might regret!”

  “Never fear, Gwyneth. I am an excellent rider,” said Megan, turning to the door.

  “Whatever are you talking about?” asked Mrs. Tyler, com­pletely bewildered.

  “Only that I am going riding, Gwyneth. I am getting up a party with Colin and as many of his friends as can be per­suaded to join us,” said Megan cheerfully. “I am going to the library now to write a note to Colin.”

  “Oh. Well, I am certain that there is nothing untoward in that,” said Mrs. Tyler, somewhat relieved. She picked up her embroidery hoop as Megan left the sitting room. However, there was something about Megan’s last glance, brimful of mischief, that Mrs. Tyler could not quite put out of her mind.

  * * *

  Chapter 14