by Kate Pearce
“We would greatly appreciate…” Rex stepped forward. Taller and broader than Chase, he commanded the woman’s attention by his physical presence alone. “…if you could rustle up some whiskey.” Then he pressed several more coins in her hand.
She dipped into a curtsey. “Of course, my lords.” Rising, she made her way to the door and was gone.
Chase rounded on Max, his face set in hard lines. “I am bedding her.”
“Over my dead body,” Max ground out. “I want to sleep. It’s been a long damn day where I had to listen to your snores, I don’t want to hear any more of your…noises.”
The other men laughed, slapping Chase on the back.
Chase, however, was studying Max again as he addressed the others. “Our friend the duke was discussing debutantes as we rode.”
There was coughing and clearing of throats among the group. While they were men who held little regard for the rules, they did still abide by a code of sorts. Honorable men did not tangle with virtuous ladies.
“I only said that they avoided me.”
“As do they us,” Si gave a nod.
Key shook his head, his overlong dark hair falling about his face. “As they should.”
Max looked over at Key. He recognized the tenor of his friend’s voice. Almost sad, remorseful.
The door opened and Vadoma returned holding two bottles of rot-gut whiskey. One of which Chase gratefully took and pulled the cork out with his teeth. Pressing the bottle to his lips, he took a generous swallow.
“Vadoma,” Max watched Chase take another healthy swig. “Is there any chance we might find something to eat?”
“I’m sure I can get something,” she answered, her eyes sliding down him in a calculated assessment. “But there are a great many staying here tonight. Even now, they are sitting around the Yule tree telling stories.”
His lips pressed together. He doubled the number of coin in his hand and passed the pile to her.
With a wink, she disappeared again.
They made themselves as comfortable as they could around the grate of the fire and passed the bottle between them. Max was careful to keep his sips small. Soon Vadoma returned with several bowls of stew and a half loaf of stale bread.
The meal looked divine. As food hit his stomach, Max relaxed for the first time all day.
Vadoma had taken up residence in her window seat and she began dealing out cards as the men ate. She clucked softly to herself as she slowly turned them over.
Chase had leaned against the wall next to the fireplace. “You know, Maximillian, you might have a point.”
Max’s fist tightened. It was nearly time to knock Chase’s teeth in. “And what is that?”
“It has gotten rather dull, chasing the same women. They are so…willing to be caught.” Chase gave a little chuckle. “Perhaps it is time to up the ante.”
Rex sat up straighter. “A bet?”
Clapping his hands together, Chase pointed to the ceiling. “Exactly like a bet.”
“What kind of bet?” Si’s hesitation mirrored Max’s own feelings.
“Most respectable women are more difficult to pursue but there are ladies among the ton that are more challenging than others—” Chase started
“No,” Max slashed his hand through the air. “We are not trifling with ladies. It’s dangerous and dishonest.”
“Relax, Your Grumpiness,” Chase gave him an eye roll. “You are not yourself today. I was going to wager on collecting a simple kiss.”
Si narrowed his gaze, his arms crossing. “Even that could end up landing one of us in the marriage noose.”
Rex ran his hand through his hair. “That certainly does up the ante now, doesn’t it?”
Key leaned forward. “Which ladies?”
“Excellent question.” Chase placed his hand over his heart. “I have a second cousin, Lady Ethel Standish that might—”
“No family,” Rex shook his head. “Too complicated.”
Bloody hell, it sounded as though they were actually considering this farce.
“The ladies can’t be related to us?” Si asked. “But can they be related to one another?”
Key chuckled. “This is getting interesting. What did you have in mind, Sirius?”
Sirius ran his hand through his hair, his eyebrows wagging. Then he grabbed the whiskey from Key and taking a swig, held out his arms. “The Ducat sisters.”
The room went silent.
Even Max paused. One time he had met two of the Ducat sisters at a pastry shop on Pleasant Street. Lady Lily Ducat had hardly said a word as introductions had been made and yet she had completely captivated his attention.
He’d thanked the saints her three older sisters had yet to marry. If she were an official debutante, he was sure her mama would be chasing him. He’d been that obvious.
He’d stared at her, for starters, unable to look away. But there was something about her, she was beautiful to be sure but it was more than that. She’d had this warmth and an innocence. He’d dreamed about her for days afterward when he was awake and asleep.
He’d managed to trip over his words too. Him. He hadn’t done that since the age of twelve. Now at twenty and nine years of age, he was a man who commanded respect. Well, except from Chase of course. But Chase didn’t respect anyone or anything.
How long ago had that been? He ticked back in his mind and realized that he’d met her in early May and it was now December. How long had it been since he’d been with a woman? At least that long.
Shaking his head, he dismissed these thoughts and returned to the conversation.
“Isn’t one of the sisters ruined?” Key asked.
“Aye.” Chase scrubbed his chin. “She was engaged and called the arrangement off.”
Key shrugged. “In many ways the Ducats are perfect for this arrangement. Five of them, five of us. And with the exception of the one sister, they have flawless reputations. But the man who chooses her has an unfair advantage in gaining a kiss.”
Chase looked up to the ceiling than back down at them with a grin. “We shall have to draw names from a hat then.”
“No,” Max growled out even louder. The thought of one of these louts attempting to put his lips on the lovely Lily Ducat made his blood boil. He’d run the man through first. “Enough of this.”
“I think I can help,” Vadoma called from the table. She wore the type of grin that set Max’s stomach roiling. “Do you know the names of these girls?”
Rex rubbed his hands together. “There is Lady Adelaide, the youngest, at just eighteen.”
“And the twins, I believe their Christian names are Victoria and Christina.” Key rubbed his hand along the stubble of his jaw as if thinking deeply on the matter. It made Max’s teeth ache as he clenched them.
“Of course, the oldest is Camille,” Chase rumbled the name, a sound that came from deep in his chest. The lout.
“Who is the fifth?” Si asked, his brows drawing together.
“Lily,” Max let the single word fall from his lips.
All the men turned to him, mild shock and curiosity raising their brows. Chase gave him a wink. “Even the mighty duke, who shuns all respectable women, knows a Ducat. This is perfect.”
“It isn’t happening. If you do this, I will never speak to any of you again.” He stood then, raising to his full height which was well over six feet. “I’ll not allow you to ruin young ladies of worth.”
“If we’re caught, we’ll marry them.” Chase waved his hand. “It will have to happen to all of us eventually.”
Max was across the circle in an instant, his face an inch from Chase’s, his hand fisting up the other man’s shirt as he let out a low growl. “That is supposed to pacify me? Married to you?” He thought of Lily sitting at home while Chase was off hunting light skirts. “What kind of life would that be for her?”
Fear had flitted across Chase’s face for a moment before his lips pressed together. “Which her are we discussing? Lily?”
He pulled Chase to his feet, his other hand wrapping around the back of his friend’s neck. “We are talking about respectable women with the potential for real futures. They don’t need to be tangled in with the likes of us.” He sincerely meant every word.
Before Chase could answer, a gentle hand touched his back. A man would have clasped him on the upper arm, or perhaps the shoulder, but this feather light brush of fingers came at the small of his back. A set of lips pressed to the curve of his ear as breath whispered across his neck.
At another time in his life, it might have invoked excitement to have a woman touch him so, but not tonight. Not in the last seven months. “What?” he grit out.
“Do not worry, Your Grace. The ladies will not be harmed. The cards have told me so. But fate is at play and these men have a destiny to fulfill. All that need happen is for each of you to pick a card.”
Max turned his head to look at her as he slowly released Chase. She didn’t just hold out five cards but an entire deck. What could be the harm? A strange tingling pulsed in his fingertips. He must still be suffering from last night’s drink. Shaking the feeling off, he looked at the cards again. Surely the ladies’ names were not in the deck. How could they be?
Twisting his body, he reached for a card, pulling it from the pile in his hand. Participating in this was ludicrous but then again, the card seemed to call to him. The thick colorful stock was intricately painted with a design he didn’t understand as it sat face down in his grasp and a long breath left his lungs as he stared down.
“What’s on it?” Key asked, standing and moving to stand next to him. “What does it say?”
Twisting his wrist, he flipped the card over and then sucked in the breath he had just released.
“Damnation,” Key muttered as Chase stepped closer to peer over his shoulder. “It’s a Lily of the Valley.”
Vadoma gave him a smug smile. “Like we didn’t know that the duke would choose Lily.”
“I didn’t choose…” His words tapered off as his throat closed.
“Oh, but you did. And you’ve made an agreement now. By choosing the card, you’re bound to collect your kiss.” Vadoma turned to Key. “You’re next.”
Key paled and took a step back, his hands coming out in front of him, palms facing the gypsy. “I won’t take a card.”
Vadoma’s eyebrows went up. From her deck a single card drifted to the ground. As it fell, it flipped in the air and landed with a gentle scratch upon the floor. Staring up at them was a goddess, her beauty unmistakable as she floated above a pile of dead soldiers.
“What does it mean?” Key croaked.
It was Si who answered. “Victoria is the goddess of Victory.” His voice broke on the last word and he cleared his throat. “You’ve chosen Victoria.”
Max blinked. This couldn’t actually be happening. The next card would be nothing. It was a coincidence. But as she turned to Si, he reached a shaking hand out and pulled a card. Then he flipped the thick card stock out so they could all see, Christ hanging upon the cross. “Christina.”
Vadoma turned to Rex. “Your turn.”
Rex snatched a card from her grasp and grunted as he looked at it. “Hah,” he yelled, waving his card in the air. “Mine is a lizard. It means nothing.”
But Chase shook his head. Chase always had a grin and a quip at the ready. But not this time. His voice was deadly serious as he answered. “Not a lizard. See how it is the same color as the background. It’s a chameleon. You’ve chosen Camille.”
Then Chase stepped around him. “That leaves Adelaide.”
The youngest? Max straightened. Chase could not try to woo the youngest daughter. If she were anything like Lily, the poor girl was a fox at a hound hunt.
“Take your card anyway,” Vadoma moved the cards toward him.
He’d been reaching out his hand but he pulled it back again. “Why?”
“The card is the promise.” She moved closer, still holding the cards out to him.
“Whatever that means.” Chase grimaced but plucked a card from the deck. As he turned it over, Max could see a woman dressed in white, looking up to the sky. Chase let out a growl. “This isn’t anything. It’s not a name. Does it mean I’m the only one who won’t be successful? Adelaide is too virtuous.”
Max, no longer angry, put his hand on Chase’s shoulder. An eerie feeling of foreboding replaced any irritation he’d been feeling. “Adelaide means virtuous one.”
“Bloody hell,” Chase muttered. “What have I done?”
Indeed, Max looked down at his card again. He’d met Lily and resigned himself to never look upon her face again. She was everything he was not. What had Vadoma said about fate? He didn’t know about all that but he did know that she was still on his mind. Very much so.
And that he’d determined to never see her again. That was, until tonight.
“What if we don’t do it?” he muttered. “What if we lock ourselves in our homes and don’t come out? What if we just go about our lives?”
“You don’t have to do anything.” Vadoma closed up the rest of the deck she’d had fanned out and tucked them into the pocket of her dress. Then she made her way to the door. As she opened it, she looked back at them. “But you won’t avoid the cards. Your fate will find you.”
The Snow Maiden
K.C. Bateman
It wasn’t every day a princess found herself in a brothel.
Princess Tatiana Denisova glanced around the small but sumptuously-decorated room and smiled. She could only imagine what her father would say if he ever discovered she’d spent the night in a house of ill-repute. He’d be furious. Her brother Pavel, of course, would think it a fine joke. And his best friend, the irritatingly handsome Aleksandr Orlov, would no doubt make one of his dry, scathing comments and tease her about it endlessly.
She wasn’t thinking of him.
Tatiana wasn’t the only traveler who’d been forced to take refuge in here. Frau Klaus’s front parlor was crammed with unexpected guests, from every level of the social strata, all making the best of the situation. The weather was a great leveler; everyone was in equal need of warmth and cheer and comfort. An air of festive conviviality had settled on the disparate group, their closeness fostered by the shared adventure. The sound of laughter and the hum of conversation trickled up through the floorboards.
Tatiana had arrived in Dover this morning, but the private coach she’d hired to take her to London had only managed to crawl the nineteen miles to Canterbury before the driver had abandoned the journey because of the snow.
Tatiana had suppressed her snort of impatience; she’d seen far worse in her Russian homeland, but the English had never encountered such deep drifts, apparently, and were ill-equipped to deal with it. If only they had troikas here. The sturdy Russian sleds would have made light work of the journey.
They were lucky to have found somewhere warm to stay for the night; every respectable inn they’d tried had been full. Tatiana had feared that she and her maid Elizaveta would have to bed down with the animals in some barn. A local had suggested they try Klaus Haus. Tatiana had been so cold and tired that she would have stayed in an inn owned by the Devil himself, if it was warm, but Frau Klaus had proved the kindest of hosts.
The human capacity for both cruelty and kindness always amazed Tatiana. Here was a fine example of the latter; a madam, Frau Klaus, one of society’s most denigrated members, freely offering hospitality to strangers. Tatiana could think of several duchesses who would have refused to help, even if they’d had a hundred bedrooms to spare.
She glanced out of the window at the snowy street. England was certainly strange. The architecture was odd, but not displeasing, and the people were curious and forthright. She could speak the language easily enough, and French too—father had spared no expense in her education—but judging from the strange looks she’d received from the locals, she must still sound a little foreign, despite her efforts to blend in. Perhaps Frau Klaus, whose own ac
cent proclaimed a German heritage, had recognized a fellow exile.
“I’m going downstairs,” Tatiana told her maid.
Elizaveta, already half-asleep on the bed and buried under a mound of blankets, merely mumbled.
The delicious scent of mulled wine and spiced gingerbread drew Tatiana down the stairs and into the crowded front parlor. She nodded to several of those already assembled, but a dark-haired young woman was in the midst of telling a tale, so formal introductions were impossible.
Tatiana relished the anonymity. The name of Denisov was famous in Russia, but here no-one reacted to it with deference and awe. Her grandfather had been a successful merchant and industrialist, and her father had increased the family fortune. Her mother had been lady-in-waiting to the Empress Catherine herself.
Tatiana’s wealth had attracted a string of unsuitable suitors over the years, but she’d staunchly refused them all. Only one man had ever made her heart twist in her chest and she—
Wasn’t thinking about him.
The fact that Aleksandr Orlov would be in London with her brother was not the reason she was going.
Not entirely the reason, anyway.
Both Aleks and her brother Pavel had commanded mounted Cossack units against the French invader Bonaparte. They’d survived the infamous battle of Borodino two years ago, in 1812, and had beaten the French army all the way back to Paris.
Tzar Alexander had entered the city back in March, and with Bonaparte now safely in exile on Elba, father had deemed it safe for Tatiana to visit Pavel in Paris. Paris, however, had yielded a frustrating letter from her brother saying that despite receiving a minor wound, he’d decided to travel on to London.
The dark-haired girl finished her story to an appreciative round of applause and Frau Klaus stepped into the circle of firelight. The feathers in her extraordinary green-and-gold turban bobbed as she nodded her head. “Thank you!”
She turned laughing blue eyes toward Tatiana and raised her brows. “And now, perhaps, you would like to provide us with a tale, my dear? One from your homeland?”
Tatiana nodded, but her stomach pitched with nerves. She didn’t like speaking in public, but it would be churlish to refuse. Telling a story was a small price to pay in exchange for a warm room and a soft bed. She stepped into the center of the room, and a host of eager faces all turned in her direction.
