by Gayle Buck
Prince Kirov left the town house with mixed feelings. He knew that Megan was strongly attracted to him. He was too experienced not to recognize what was in a woman’s eyes. He would have liked to have swept her off her feet and carried her back to Russia that very day. But he knew that was an impossibility. Megan was resisting her feelings for him.
“This I do not understand,” he stated to the sunlit air. He, Mikhail Sergei Alexsander Kirov, had never found it difficult to charm his way into a woman’s heart. Indeed, he had enjoyed many satisfying relationships. He had toyed with the thought of marriage more than once since becoming head of his family, but there had always been another woman whose eyes promised more than the last and ...
Prince Kirov’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt, as did his long strides. He stood still on the walkway, a huge handsome rock in the stream of saunterers. Prince Kirov had complete disregard for the passersby and their curious glances. He thought over his interview with Megan again, carefully. He began to smile. “Ah, my wise little dove! Now I know what is in your mind. You fear that you are not my last love. But I shall prove it to you.”
With renewed purpose, Prince Kirov strode to the curb to signal his carriage. He had ordered the driver to walk the horses up and down the street while he was visiting at the town house. Then he had chosen to walk while he sorted out his thoughts. Now the time for reflection was over.
The driver had been awaiting the prince’s signal and handily negotiated passage through the oncoming traffic. The carriage slipped over to the curb.
“Take me to the hotel!” Prince Kirov pulled open the door and sprang inside. When he was seated, he began to plan in his mind almost a military strategy. He would lay siege to Megan’s heart and woo her and win her. She would surrender to him before many weeks were gone. He was confident enough of that. In the meantime, there was much to be done.
When Prince Kirov reached the hotel, he at once rang for his maitre’d, the head of the huge retinue that he had brought with him to London, and his faithful companion, Fedor. He questioned the maitre’d first. “Has a suitable residence been acquired?”
The maitre’d answered in the affirmative. “The house is even now being made ready for you, your highness. I estimate that in two days’ time you shall be able to remove from this place.”
“Very good, Frederick. I wish to begin entertaining immediately, in the manner to which I am accustomed. I know that I may rely upon you in all things. Spare no expense. You may go,” said Prince Kirov. The maitre’d bowed himself out, armed with a directive worthy of the scope of his talents. Prince Kirov turned to his remaining companion. He threw himself into a chair, one leg slung over the arm. He addressed the dwarf in Russian. “Well, Fedor? We are returned to London. Is it to your liking?”
The dwarf looked at the prince. He shrugged. “It is better at home, your highness.”
Prince Kirov flashed a smile. “I, too, shall be glad to return to Russia. But I do not return without a bride, Fedor.”
“No, my lord,” said the dwarf, his black eyes never leaving his master’s face. He was completely and utterly loyal to the prince. If he had been ordered to plunge his long dagger into the heart of an enemy, he would have done so without hesitation or regret.
“Fedor, there are things that I wish to know about Miss O’Connell’s family. You know the sort of things that I mean. I wish to make a very good impression. I charge you with the task of gathering that information for me,” said Prince Kirov. “Also, when the jewels that I commissioned have arrived, I wish to be notified at once.”
“Consider it done, my lord,” said Fedor quietly. He bowed and went to the door. Without sound he exited, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Prince Kirov stood up and stretched. The first concerns had been dealt with to his satisfaction. He could trust his household to do all that was necessary. He need not think of those matters again.
Restlessly, he paced the drawing room while he turned over in his mind his next steps. At last he went over to the desk and pulled out the chair. Seating himself, he pulled a sheet of paper to him and dipped a sharpened pen in the inkwell. He had not brought his secretary with him because the man had had the audacity to fall ill just hours before they were to leave St. Petersburg, so he was reduced to writing his own correspondence. It was a task that he viewed with impatience. However, it was necessary until his maitre’d had engaged the services of an English secretary.
Prince Kirov grunted and set pen to paper. In the short time that he had been in London, he had already established his presence in English society to a limited extent. Now it was time to enlarge his exposure.
The first letter that he penned was to Lady O’Connell, expressing regret that he had missed her when he had called at the town house. Prince Kirov made known his intention to wait on her ladyship at her earliest convenience, hinting that he had something of moment to convey to her ladyship. He confidently relied upon the friendship between her ladyship and his mother, Princess Elizaveta Kirov, to smooth his path.
Prince Kirov sanded the sheet. He fully intended to insert himself firmly into Lady O’Connell’s good graces. Her ladyship would then naturally grant him favor when he made known to her that he wished to court her daughter. He had already won over Mrs. Tyler. The first rule in war was to subvert any possible support which the enemy might rely upon. By the time he was finished, thought the prince, his lovely Megan would be unable to hide from his overtures behind either her mother’s authority or her chaperone. And that was just where he wanted her.
The other letters that he wrote were to various hostesses and acquaintances he had met during his previous visit to England or whom he had met abroad. Soon there would be a deluge of invitations coming to him and he would become a prominent figure on the social rounds. In this way, he could make himself available to Megan as her faithful escort. Also, and his fingers clenched a little as he thought it, he would be in a position to frighten off those impudent dogs who might challenge his own claim to her hand.
Prince Kirov had no intention of losing Megan by default. She might not know her own mind and heart. She might doubt his loyalty and steadfastness. However, she would be left in no doubt of whose hand commanded her destiny.
Prince Kirov was utterly convinced that he was head and shoulders above any other gentleman worthy of the name. As such, he meant to constitute himself as Megan’s protector. Any gentleman who dared to pronounce himself a suitor for Megan’s hand would have him, Mikhail Kirov, to deal with.
He also wrote out a lengthy list of names for the first entertainment that he planned to host. It was necessary to acquire the services of a hostess, of course, since no function was complete without one. However, Prince Kirov anticipated no difficulty in overcoming the handicap of his bachelorhood. He knew a handful of respectable widows, any one of which would be delighted to fill this position for him. This lady would also be able to write out the invitations for him and make any last-minute adjustments to the guest list that might be required. He need not concern himself further.
When he was done, Prince Kirov shouted for a servant. He gave the sealed letters into the man’s hands with instructions for delivery. When the servant had bowed himself out, the prince leaned back in his chair, feeling very well satisfied with himself. He smiled, thinking of his coming triumph. Megan was already his. Shortly he would claim her.
It was just as well that Prince Kirov was not aware of his lady’s own designs or he would not have been so complacent. Megan was equally determined that Prince Kirov would not have things all his way. She wanted above all things to be utterly convinced that he was in love with her and no one else. To that end, she devised a plan that was guaranteed to throw as many rubs in the prince’s way as possible.
The first salvo in her campaign was a note sent around to her brother, Captain O’Connell. Megan requested that he get up a small party of accomplished equestrians from his fellow officers at his earl
iest convenience.
It chanced that Captain O’Connell was returned from his duties when the note was delivered. He read it with mingled surprise and curiosity. His sister had rarely importuned him for anything, the last time being when she had asked him to lengthen his stay in Ireland for her sake and he had refused. He still felt a twinge of guilt for his refusal to oblige her and that, coupled with his curiosity, was enough to cause him to answer her in the affirmative. He suggested that very afternoon. After all, it would cost him nothing but an hour or two to comply with his sister’s request and the time would be spent in the company of convivial friends.
Megan received the captain’s scribbled reply with satisfaction. Even if she was unable to drum up enough ladies to make up a respectable party, her purpose would still be accomplished. Prince Kirov would be given the opportunity that very day to see that she was already acquainted with several gentlemen. Megan at once dashed off another note to her sister-in-law, begging her to procure Lady Stallcroft’s permission for the Stallcroft girls to go riding. She also asked that Mrs. O’Connell solicit Miss Bancroft and whomever else her sister-in-law might interest in the impromptu outing, ending with the assurance that the ladies would have adequate escort.
She was interrupted in her task by the sounds of an arrival. Curious, Megan laid down her pen. She opened the library door and looked out into the hall. She was astonished by the sight of her eldest brother giving over his beaver and gloves to a footman. The butler was directing another footman where to take Mr. O’Connell’s portmanteau and valise. Megan stepped into the hall. “Lionel?”
Mr. O’Connell turned. “Megan!”
The ludicrous look of astonishment on his face made Megan chuckle. She advanced on him with her hand out. “Good morning, Lionel. I trust that your journey was comfortable and uneventful?”
“Megan, what on earth are you doing here?” Mr. O’Connell took her hand and continued to stare at her. “You are supposed to be in St. Petersburg.”
“That is what everyone has been telling me,” said Megan with a small laugh. “Have you come to London to see Sophronia? You will be greatly surprised by the change in her. She is become quite the social creature, I assure you.”
“Yes. That is, I came to—I cannot believe, however—” Breaking off, Mr. O’Connell frowned and, realizing that he was still holding his sister’s hand, abruptly let it go. “I am not here to see Sophronia. I came to see our mother. Is her ladyship at home?”
“She is still in her apartments, I believe,” said Megan, glancing toward the butler for confirmation. Digby gave the smallest of nods. She looked again at her brother. “I should perhaps warn you that her ladyship is not in best form at present. However, I am certain that your arrival must gladden her spirits.”
“Meaning precisely what?” asked Mr. O’Connell suspiciously.
“Mother has been rather preoccupied with Sophronia’s dashing popularity. She has taken it in rather bad part, I am afraid. And, of course, she has grave qualms over my come-out,” said Megan calmly.
Mr. O’Connell’s frown deepened at his sister’s description of the situation, particularly in regard to his wife, but he seized upon the other information that she had given to him. “Your come-out! I know nothing of this.”
“How could you, indeed, when you thought me to still be in St. Petersburg?” asked Megan. “Now do go up and see our mother, Lionel. I know that she will be utterly delighted to tell you all about it!”
The butler gave a discreet cough. “Her ladyship has been informed of your arrival, sir. She is most desirous of seeing you and requests that you step up directly.”
“I shall talk with you again later, Megan, for I mean to get to the bottom of all this,” said Mr. O’Connell as he started toward the stairs.
“Just as you wish, Lionel,” said Megan, already making up her mind that the less she saw of her brother the better she would like it. She really did not understand why she had come out of the library to greet him at all. Lionel’s belligerence was distasteful to her and aroused some very unkind thoughts toward him. It was a pity that they could not seem to get along, but always seemed to come to loggerheads.
Megan turned back into the library and added a postscript to the note to her sister-in-law. Sophronia would want to be informed that Lionel had indeed come to London. As Megan sanded the sheet, she wondered what would come of it all, for Lionel had not seemed to be in a particularly conciliatory mood. However, that was not her concern, but Sophronia’s business. She gave the note to a footman with directions that it was to be delivered directly into Mrs. O’Connell’s hands.
Then she returned to the sitting room, where she was reasonably certain of still finding Mrs. Tyler. “Gwyneth, the most extraordinary thing! Lionel has arrived and is closeted with my mother at this moment,” she announced.
“My word! Lionel here, in London! But what does it mean?” said Mrs. Tyler, looking up from her embroidery.
“Do you recall that I related to you that my mother wrote to him about Sophronia?” asked Megan. “He has come up because of that. He is staying here, I think.”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Tyler with dismay. “We shall see some unpleasantness, then.”
“So I should suppose. But it is Sophronia’s business, after all. And I suspect that she is well able to handle Lionel,” said Megan.
“That may be,” retorted Mrs. Tyler. “Nevertheless, I do not care to be caught in the crossfire when those two meet, as inevitably they must. Nor do I wish to look across the breakfast table at your brother’s black-browed face each morning. It is too bad that Lionel is not putting up at a hotel!”
“You are hard, indeed, Gwyneth!” said Megan, her eyes gleaming with amusement. She was not at all surprised by her companion’s blunt opinion, for her eldest brother had at best treated Mrs. Tyler with indifference and at worst with a sort of bullying condescension.
“You must forgive me, Megan. However, I intend to make every effort I can to avoid Lionel while he is with us,” said Mrs. Tyler. “I am enjoying the Season and I do not wish it to be marred by unpleasantness. Fortunately, I am pledged to Lady Mansfield for a drive in the park this afternoon, so I need not hide in my rooms until dinner for fear of running foul of Lionel’s surliness.”
“I do not blame you in the least, for it is very much what I have decided, too,” said Megan. “I am myself going out riding with Colin and some others. I have sent a note to Sophronia begging her company, as well.”
“That is a very good program,” approved Mrs. Tyler. “I cannot be said to be shirking my duties as your chaperone when you are with your brother and Sophronia.”
Megan did not reveal to her friend the true motive behind the outing, instead agreeing that it was all very unexceptional. “I suppose that since you are going out with Lady Mansfield you might possibly run into her nephew, Mr. Bretton?”
Mrs. Tyler pinkened becomingly. She gave a rather vigorous tug of her embroidering needle. “It is not outside the realm of possibility,” she said. “Lady Mansfield is most sincerely attached to the gentleman. And for his part, Mr. Bretton is very kind and considerate toward her ladyship. He visits her nearly every day. It is wonderful, indeed, to see the affection between them.”
Megan hid a smile. She knew that from the moment of introduction to the gentleman some days previously, Mrs. Tyler had been at great pains to cover her interest in him. “Well, I shall leave you now. I suspect that if I do not leave the house quite soon that I shall receive a summons from Lionel. He told me that he means to get to the bottom of everything that has been happening. He is particularly exercised by astonishment at my come-out.”
“Why did you not say so at the outset!” exclaimed Mrs. Tyler, setting aside her embroidery. “We must both make ourselves scarce at once, Megan. I have no wish to be called upon to explain my part in your come-out. And it would be just like Lionel to do so, too.”
“Yes, he is rather officious, isn’t h
e?” agreed Megan. “I thought I would call on Annabelle Stallcroft and Maria Bancroft to see if I might persuade them to go shopping. Do you wish to go with us, Gwyneth?”
“That will suit admirably. Then you may set me down at Lady Mansfield’s before your return here,” said Mrs. Tyler, rising with energy. “I shall be ready in ten minutes, Megan. Have you requested a carriage already?”
“Yes, when I sent the note off to Sophronia. I shall meet you belowstairs,” said Megan as she followed her companion out of the sitting room.
Megan managed to avoid her brother Lionel for the rest of the morning with the shopping expedition. When she returned shortly before the agreed-upon time for the afternoon ride, she quietly repaired to her rooms until she was informed that her party had arrived.
She returned downstairs dressed in one of her most becoming riding habits. It was cut from green velvet with a tight-fitting bodice and sleeves, a flowing lace cravat, and a sweeping skirt. On her head was a matching beaver, decorated with a black curling feather. The ensemble was in striking contrast to her pale coloring and bright burnished locks. She pulled on her supple riding gloves, her whip under her arm, and left a message with the butler. “Pray tell Mrs. Tyler when she returns from her drive where I have gone.”
“And her ladyship, miss?” asked Digby suggestively.
Megan looked up quickly, meeting the butler’s gaze. She suddenly chuckled. “Yes, if her ladyship should inquire!”
Hearing Megan’s voice, Mr. O’Connell emerged from the drawing room just as she turned to the front door. “Megan! I should like a word with you.”
Megan raised her brows at her brother’s peremptory tone. “Do you, Lionel? I am so sorry! It is not convenient just now, for my friends are waiting for me. Perhaps when I return.” She swept out of the front door.
Behind her, Mr. O’Connell turned back into the drawing room, his expression one of exasperated temper.
* * *
Chapter 15
