To Love a Horseguard

by Sheffield, Killarney

  He finished his drink and placed his glass beside the bottle on the trunk. Folding his arms across his chest he shifted in his chair to get more comfortable, yawned and closed his eyes.

  Chapter Five

  Muted sounds drifted through her dreams. Men’s voices, the whinny of a horse and someone snoring. She groaned and put a hand to her throbbing forehead. Her fingers brushed a coarse fabric. Frowning she tried to place it; then ran her hand down the side of her face and flinched. With a moan she shifted her weight from her stiff back to her side and opened her eyes.

  A large man sat in a chair next to her, eyes closed, chin to his chest, snoring. A small shaft of light shone on his face. His black hair was mussed with a thick lock lying just above his heavy brows. The nostrils on his straight nose flared as he breathed. He was clean shaven with just a hint of stubble on his strong square jaw. The soiled white shirt he wore lay open at the neck exposing a patch of dark hair. The man shifted in his sleep causing his shirt to bunch across his broad shoulders, and one of his large tanned hands to slide from his lap and dangle by his thigh. Her gaze traveled down his long muscular legs stretched out in front of him, the upper part of which was clad in skin hugging, black riding breeches. Mud-splattered black boots encased his lower legs which were crossed at the ankles.

  She licked her dry lips and looked around at what appeared to be a tent. Her gaze fell upon a bottle of amber colored liquid and an empty glass on a trunk beside the sleeping man. Sitting up, she reached for the glass, crying out as a jolt of excruciating pain shot through her head. She clutched her head with both hands as the pain intensified. The stranger awoke with a start and jumped to his feet, knocking over the chair with a dull thud. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit her and she clapped a hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to quell it. The man grabbed an empty wash basin from beside the cot and held it under her chin. She retched, humiliated as he held her hair back and spoke in a soothing tone, in a language she couldn't understand. When her stomach was empty she lay back a small sob escaping her lips.

  The man handed her his handkerchief. “Here,” he said, in fluent English this time. “Lie still and the nausea will pass.”

  She wiped her mouth and clutched the blanket to her chest. The man got up, crossed the tent and spoke to a soldier outside in Russian. To her dismay he handed him the used basin, dropped the flap and returned to her bedside. She licked her dry lips as he picked up the bottle from the trunk and poured some of the amber colored liquid into a glass. Reaching over her head he lifted a canteen from a wooden peg, added some water to the glass and then hung it back up. After righting the chair, he pulled it close to the bed, sitting so his knees were scant inches from her side.

  He held the glass to her lips. “Easy now, if you drink too fast you will be sick again.”

  She sipped the sweet contents quelling the urge to gulp it down.

  When she was done he set down the glass, ran a hand through his hair and stood up.

  Despite her raw throat she forced herself to speak. “Where am I?”

  The man sat back down. “You are in my tent. Do you remember what happened?”

  She shook her head which made her dizzy and then squeezed her eyes shut until the sensation subsided. When she reopened them he was staring at her, his blue-eyed gaze intense and uncomfortable. “I do not remember.”

  He blinked. “You do not remember falling off your horse?”

  Icy fingers of panic griped her. Why couldn’t she remember anything? “No. Where am I?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You are just outside of St. Petersburg.”

  She tried to place the name but it was not familiar to her. “St. Petersburg… I have no notion as to where that is.”

  “St. Petersburg, Russia,” he supplied. “How is it you come to be in a place you have never even heard of before?”

  She frowned, confused, and more than a little frightened. “I do not know. I cannot remember.”

  “You must remember something.”

  Blurred images floated through her mind. “I remember being at a party and then I was on a ship. I think I was trying to get away from someone. His name…I cannot recall.”

  “Sergi.”

  “Yes, that is it.” She moaned, squeezing her eyes shut as the throbbing in her head grew worse.

  “Your maid, is she a little red-headed girl?”

  The jumbled pictures in her head failed to connect to a maid. “My maid?”

  “There is a red-headed girl who said she is your maid and that you are Princess Elizabeth. Is that your name?”

  “I do not know.” She opened her eyes.

  The muscle in his jaw twitched and his lips pressed into a thin line. He leaned forward. “Why are you here?”

  She put a shaky hand to her throbbing head. Tears welled up in her eyes and she fought to keep them in check. “I am not sure. I mean, I do not remember. Oh please, stop asking me questions. It hurts my head.”

  He frowned again. “You will have to talk to me eventually, but for now I will leave you to rest.”

  She sniffed as he stood and left the tent. Not knowing what else to do, she closed her eyes and focused on the sounds of men and horses moving about outside. Her head ached as questions bombarded her brain. Where am I? Who is that man? How did he find me? Why am I fleeing from the man named Sergi? She fought the sense of panic threatening to overwhelm her. Dear God, am I Princess Elizabeth? The name was familiar but didn't seem to fit. The name Rose came to mind. Is that me? Yes, my name is Rose. Why am I here, wherever here is? Perhaps she should let the man think she was Elizabeth until she could figure out what happened. The tent flap rustled and she opened her eyes. The man was back. He crossed to her bedside dressed in a clean white shirt, black breeches and a gold and red uniform coat. She gasped in recognition. He is the one who ran into my horse! Before she could say anything he swept her up into his arms, blankets and all. Her head swam from the sudden movement and she leaned into his chest. He smelled of horses and brandy. He carried her from the tent out into the bright sunlight. She closed her eyes to shield them from the glare. He walked a short distance and then lowered her to a soft surface. Opening her eyes, she squinted to adjust to the light.

  His head blocked the sun, his face lined in shadow. “I had my men pad the cart with their blankets so it would be more comfortable for you.” He walked away without waiting for a thank you and mounted a large gray horse.

  Another uniformed soldier vaulted onto the small shaggy horse harnessed to the cart and they began to move. She closed her eyes against the surge of pain and nausea the bumpy movement caused, as the cart rolled forward.

  * * * *

  Something roused from her slumber. The rattling of the cart had ceased. Opening her eyes, she discovered they were in front of a large imposing stone palace. It was two stories high and topped with beautiful domed towers. The man who had slept by her bedside reached into the cart and picked her up. He carried her without a word up the steps into an impressive pale pink marble foyer.

  “Anya,” he called.

  She grimaced as the unwelcome noise pierced her foggy head like a shard of glass. “Please.”

  He glanced down at her, his features softening. “Sorry.”

  They crossed the shiny tiled floor and up a long curved staircase. The man paused at the top to call again, softer this time. “Anya.”

  A short plump woman emerged from a room at the end of the hallway and answered him in Russian. When he started toward her she turned and went back into the room. He followed. She pulled back the blue velvet cover on a massive bed in the chamber and he laid her on it.

  He stepped back. “This is Anya. She is the head of the servants here and is in charge of the domestic running of my home. She is the only one of the servants who speaks English so I will leave you in her care.”

  Before she could think of anything to say, he turned and left without a backward glance. “Who is that man?” she asked the servant.

  �
�Oh my.” The woman frowned. “It is just like Dimitry to forget his manners and not introduce himself.” She sighed and called out to a passing maid speaking to her for a moment in her native tongue. When the maid left and shut the door behind her, she turned back. “Well, shall we start by getting you cleaned up?”

  “Where am I?”

  The housekeeper smiled. “You are in Prince Dimitry Peterlovsky’s summer home. Your maid has been taken to the servant’s quarters.” She patted her hand. “Now let’s get those soiled clothes off.”

  Chapter Six

  Dimitry went to his bedchamber after he left the princess in Anya’s capable hands, ordered a bath be sent up and poured himself a glass of vodka. Sitting on the edge of the bed he took a sip from the glass, frowning at the taste of the strong liquor—too early in the day—before slamming it down on the nightstand. It is time I caught that damned rebel Cossack leader. He brooded over different plans to trap the man as he bathed, shaved and dressed. Clean and back in control, he ordered a meal be sent to his study and retreated there to await Victor’s report. He was only halfway through when the man arrived.

  Victor dropped into a chair across from Dimitry and helped himself to a slice of buttered rye bread off his cousin’s plate. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

  Dimitry groaned. “You might as well start with the good news.”

  Victor propped his shiny black boots up on the edge of the desk, leaned back and popped a piece of bread into his mouth. “Well.” He paused to chew and swallow. “Most of what the informant said was confirmed by the maid. Sergi staged a shipwreck. When Nicoli came to his aid the Cossacks ambushed him. Sergi killed Nicoli himself. He had his crew throw Nicoli’s body and those of his men overboard. They took the ship and sailed to England. Posing as Nicoli he tried to solicit British funds and aid to over throw the tsar.”

  Victor paused while he poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the desk. Dimitry passed his cup which his cousin filled and then placed the pot back on the desk. He leaned back in his chair and continued. “Anyway, he saw a chance to kidnap Princess Elizabeth and took it. He planned on blackmailing her family. By now, there are probably a dozen British war ships on their way here. However, we foiled Sergi’s plan when we unwittingly rescued her.” He took a sip of his coffee and grinned.

  Dimitry stared at his cousin slaw jawed for a moment. “That is the good news? What could be worse than an army of angry British invading Russia?”

  Victor cleared his throat, refusing to meet Dimitry’s gaze. “Ah, well it seems that your current house guest is, according to her maid, engaged to the French Emperor or something of that nature. A ransom letter was also sent to him.”

  Dimitry dropped his fork and let loose a string of obscenities. “Not only do I have the British to deal with, but I have the French too? Relations with France have not been exactly friendly since Napoleon tried to take over our country, if you recall.”

  “Then you will get a crash course in diplomacy,” Victor joked. Dimitry scowled at him as he stood and brushed the crumbs from his embroidered waistcoat. “That reminds me, how is our patient doing?”

  “Our patient awoke this morning so why not go see for yourself,” Dimitry grumbled.

  “Wonderful! What did she have to say?”

  “Not much.” Dimitry stood and opened the study door. “She certainly did not mention she was engaged.” He stomped out the door and down the hall calling for his horse to be saddled.

  * * * *

  Dimitry put his elbow on the desk and rested his head on his hand. He couldn’t make any sense of the ship’s log book in front of him. There didn’t seem to be any mention of the shipwreck Nicoli was killed in. There should have been some sort of notation of the date, time, and geographical location when the wreck was first sighted. He flipped through the last few pages and then pushed the book away from him. One of the sailors in Nicoli’s crew had to have been a spy. There was no other explanation for the lack of documentation. He glanced at the clock. It was fast approaching dinner time. He stood up and left the vessel with a brief nod to the few sailors that looked up from repairing the splintered railing.

  He had barely set foot on the dock when one of his personal guards rushed forward with his horse. He mounted the frisky animal and galloped from the shipyard without pause, knowing the annoying convoy of guards would be scrambling to catch up. If he had to put up with being followed twenty-four hours a day he certainly wasn’t about to make it easy on them, although he supposed that was the price one had to pay when they served the tsar.

  He was almost back to the house before the edge had been taken off his horse enough that it would trot. Taking a deep breath he savored the blossoming trees and thought about his estate in the country. He hadn’t been back there since this time last year. His mares would be foaling right about now. A smile crept to his lips as he remembered how animated the new babies looked as they frisked along beside their dams. Things were so much simpler back then. Maybe he should just decline the tsar’s request and hand over the job of trying to catch Sergi to Victor, and be done with the whole thing. After all, he hadn't achieved any success so far. He reined in his horse at the foot of the steps to his home as the physician was coming down them. Dismounting he greeted the man. “Doctor.”

  The man nodded. “I was just checking on our patient.”

  “Why does everyone keep calling her our patient? It seems to me she is more my problem,” Dimitry complained. When the doctor scowled he sighed. “How is she?”

  The doctor beamed. “Fine, fine. She is still a bit dizzy and sore, but that will pass.”

  “Good.” Dimitry handed his reins to a groom and started up the steps.

  “Prince Peterlovsky?”

  Dimitry turned back.

  The physician frowned. “Try not to terrify the poor girl with your constant glowering. I would hate for her to have a relapse in her recovery.”

  Dimitry gave him a black look and continued on his way up the steps. Once inside he headed for the tranquility of his study. Victor was seated at his desk when he stalked in and poured himself a drink. “Do you not have a home of your own?” he groused, leaning against the desk.

  His cousin grinned and cast a critical eye over Dimitry’s dusty riding attire. “Your home is so much more entertaining than my empty one. You had better hurry and change for dinner.”

  Dimitry snorted. “Why? Did you invite the tsar to dine with me?”

  Victor chuckled. “No, but a certain lovely hazel-eyed lady is going to be there.”

  “What?”

  Victor grinned. “Anya and the doctor think the princess would benefit from some entertaining company this evening.”

  Dimitry drained his glass and set it down on the table. “You are the entertaining one, you dine with her.”

  “It does not work that way and you know it. How would it look if you failed to show up for dinner?” Victor pointed out.

  “It would look like I was busy, which I am.” To emphasize his claim he began leafing through the documents on his desk.

  “She is not trolling for a husband you know.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Come on. It is time you got over this ridiculous fear of women.”

  Dimitry glared up at his cousin. “I am not afraid of women. I just do not like them. There is a difference you know.”

  Victor raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

  Dimitry straightened his hands on his hips. “What is that supposed to mean?” His cousin rose and ambled to the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob and looked back over his shoulder. “You cannot let one bad experience with that ‘she cat’ Tatiana ruin all chances of any happiness you might have.”

  Dimitry’s anger flared at the mention of his former unfaithful mistress. “I am not.”

  “Yes you are,” Victor fired back.

  Dimitry crossed to the door. “Why are we even talking about that? What has it got to do with
the lady upstairs? I am just having dinner with her not courting her.”

  Victor grinned and clapped him on the back. “Exactly! Now go and get changed.” He turned and strolled off toward the dining room whistling a merry tune.

  Dimitry trudged up stairs. Damn Victor. He has done it again. One day I will figure out how he always manages to turn things around without me realizing it. I know better than to discuss women with him. It seems every time, before I know what is happening, I am enlisted into service of some conniving female who is looking for a way into my pocket book. He arrived at his bedchamber and found his valet had already laid out clean clothes for the occasion. On the bed lay attire suitable for a formal dinner party: black trousers, starched white shirt with a matching cravat, red cummerbund, black coat with tails and his red formal sash. “Is all this finery really necessary for a simple dinner in?”

  “Your Grace, you want to look nice for your guest don’t you?” The manservant regarded him with feigned innocence.

  “No! I do not,” he grumbled, but stripped off his dusty attire and washed. He pulled on the clean clothes and fussed with the collar on the shirt. “I hate formal dinners,” he mumbled.

  The valet grinned and handed him his dinner jacket.

  Dimitry shrugged into the coat and tugged at his sash. “I feel like a penguin.” The valet smiled and placed freshly shined dress boots in front of him. He pulled them on and took one last look at himself in the mirror frowning at the suave gentleman who gazed back at him. “Might as well get this over with.” He headed down the hall to the stairs, but the valet stopped him at the guest wing.

  “The physician has requested you carry the princess down to the dining room as she is still quite weak.”

  “Me?” Dimitry glared at the man. “You are the valet.” The man stood there and grinned. Foolish servants, always trying to harness me with any available upper-crust lady who happens across my path. Dimitry stomped down to the guest wing and stopped outside the woman’s room. “First I get tricked into dining with her, now I have to carry her as well,” he grumbled tapping on the door.