Secret Fire

by Johanna Lindsey

  Katherine was indeed annoyed to be bothered again, and for employment this time, a party or gathering, no doubt, that required extra servants. But to hire them right off the street? She had never heard of such a thing. But the fellow was a foreigner, so she had to make allowances.

  Nor did she dismiss him out of hand, as she had that other fellow. She had realized her mistake there. She was disguised as a servant. She needed to at least try to act the part. By not doing so earlier, she had come close to creating a disturbance with her thoughtless attack on that other man. Causing a scene in which she might be recognized by one of her acquaintances was out of the question, yet she had foolishly nearly done so before.

  One thing Katherine would never allow was scandal attached to her name. She prided herself on the most impeccable behavior, far above reproach. So what was she doing here? She could only blame that nasty headache for fogging her thinking. Clear-headed, she would have come up with a better plan than to masquerade as a servant.

  The man was waiting for her answer. He must be an extremely well-paid servant, for his coat and pants were of a superior quality. He was tall, middle-aged, and not bad-looking, with brown hair and pale blue eyes. What would Lucy reply to him? The girl would probably flirt a little to make her refusal more palatable. Katherine couldn’t quite bring herself to do that.

  With an eye on Elisabeth, who had crossed the street, but had gone no further, she said, “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t require an extra job.”

  “If it’s a matter of money, the Prince is extremely generous.”

  “I don’t need money.”

  Vladimir began to worry. She had not been impressed by the Prince’s title. Nor did she seem even remotely interested in this honor being bestowed on her. If she actually refused—no, impossible.

  “Ten pounds,” he offered.

  If he thought that would conclude the haggling, he was mistaken. Katherine stared at him incredulously. Was he mad to offer such a wage? Or didn’t he realize the going rate for servants here? The only other possibility was that he was desperate. And she realized uncomfortably that there probably wasn’t a maid in the whole of England who wouldn’t quit her job to accept this one night’s work at such a price. And yet she couldn’t accept. He would no doubt think her mad.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Twenty pounds.”

  “Absurd!” Katherine snapped, becoming wary of this fellow now. He was mad. “You can hire a whole legion of maids for less than that. Now excuse me.” She turned her back on him, praying he would go away.

  Vladimir sighed. All this ridiculous haggling wasted on a mistake. A maid? She had utterly misunderstood.

  “Miss, forgive me for not making myself clear at the start. My master does not require the services of a maid. He has seen you and wishes to share your company for the evening, for which you will be generously paid. If I need to be more explicit—”

  “No!” Katherine faced him again, her cheeks hot. “I…ah, quite understand now.”

  Good Lord, how had she got into this insane position? Her instinct was to slap his face. The insult was extreme. But Lucy wouldn’t be offended. Lucy would be thrilled.

  “I am flattered, naturally, but not interested.”

  “Thirty pounds.”

  “No,” she snapped. “At any price. Now do go away—”

  A man’s voice interrupted. “I made it, gov’ner, if you’re ready to ride now.”

  Vladimir glanced behind him to see the carriage only steps away. “Good. You will drive us around this block. I will tell you when to stop.” And with that he put his hand over the woman’s mouth and dragged her into the carriage. “A runaway servant,” he explained to the gawking driver.

  “Run away? Now see ’ere, gov’ner, if she don’t want to work for you, that’s ’er business, ain’t it? You can’t force—” Several more pound notes shoved into his hand changed the driver’s tune. “Whatever you say.”

  Katherine’s scream had died abruptly in her throat. Had no one witnessed this abduction besides the carriage driver? But there was no call to halt. The man had moved so fast, had taken only seconds to push her into the carriage, that it was doubtful anyone had noticed.

  Her face and chest were shoved down onto the seat immediately. As the carriage began to move, her bonnet was yanked off and a handkerchief whipped about her mouth and tied behind her head. A hard elbow in her back prevented her from resisting, and then her arms were pulled behind her and held tightly at the center of her back with enough pressure to keep her shoved down against the seat. Twisted sideways in this position, she could barely move her legs, but a leg was thrown over hers anyway to keep her still.

  The man was strong enough to hold her arms with only one hand, which he changed after a moment, and she realized why when his coat was draped over her. The windows, of course. The carriage might be enclosed and dark inside, but if it stopped, anyone walking past could see in through the windows.

  She had been right to be wary of the fellow. He really was crazy. Things like this just didn’t happen to Katherine St. John. But as soon as she told him who she really was, he would be forced to let her go. He would, wouldn’t he?

  He leaned over her, his voice coming softly through the cloth of his coat. “I am sorry, little wren, but you left me no choice. The Prince’s orders must be obeyed. He did not consider that you might refuse his request. No woman has ever refused him before. The most beautiful women in Russia fight for this honor. You will see why when he comes to you. There is no man like Prince Dimitri.”

  Katherine would have dearly loved to tell him what he could do with this honor. No man like his prince indeed! She didn’t care if he was the most handsome man alive, she would have none of him. To listen to this man, she should feel gratitude for being abducted. The very idea!

  The carriage stopped. She had to get away from this lunatic. He gave her no chance. His coat was wrapped around her rather like a sack, effectively locking her arms at her sides. He picked her up. He began walking, carrying her in his arms, one arm held tightly under her knees, keeping them firm against his chest and useless. She couldn’t see anything through the coat, which also covered her face.

  She suddenly smelled food, however. A kitchen? So he was bringing her in through the back door, was he? There was hope in that. He didn’t want his prince to know what he had done. He had said this Dimitri hadn’t considered that she might refuse. A prince would never resort to such measures to obtain a woman. She wouldn’t have to embarrass herself by explaining who she was, after all. She had only to speak to the Prince and tell him she wasn’t interested. She would be released immediately.

  His knees brushed her backside as he mounted stairs, and then more stairs. Where was she? The carriage hadn’t driven far, no farther than it would have taken her to reach home. Good Lord, was this some house in Cavendish Square near her own home? How ironic! But she knew of no prince who had moved into the neighborhood. Or did a prince exist at all? Was this just some wicked fellow who abducted young women for his own amusement, creating outlandish tales to make his task that much easier?

  Her captor spoke again, but in a language she didn’t recognize, and she was familiar with nearly all the European languages. A woman was answering in the same strange… Russian! He had mentioned Russia. They were Russians, the barbarians of the North! Of course—that country abounded in princes. Didn’t all of the old aristocracy there bear such titles?

  A door was opened. A few more steps and she was set carefully on her feet. The coat was removed. Katherine immediately yanked down her gag. Her first impulse was to let her temper loose on the fellow, who just stood staring at her in a curious way now. It took every effort not to give in to the impulse.

  “Get hold of yourself, Katherine. He’s just a barbarian, with a barbarian’s mentality. He probably doesn’t even know what he’s done is a crime.”

  “We are not barbarians,” he said in French.

  “You speak English?�
�� she demanded.

  “Only a few words. Barbarian I know. I have been called that before by you English. What else did you say?”

  “Never mind. I was speaking to myself, not to you. A quirk of mine.”

  “You are prettier with your hair down. The Prince will be pleased.”

  So that was why he was staring at her now. Her back bun had come undone when he gagged her, yet the hair caught up at each side of her head still held; the tail ends, forming ringlets, still framed her face.

  “Flattery will avail you nothing, sir.”

  “Your pardon.” He bowed slightly in deference, then caught himself doing it and was chagrined. She was a haughty wench for a servant. But then she was English and he must make allowances for that. “My name is Vladimir Kirov. I tell you this because we must speak—”

  “No, I don’t have anything else to say to you, Mr. Kirov. You will kindly inform your master that I am here. I will speak to him.”

  “He will not come until tonight.”

  “Fetch him!” She was appalled at how high her voice rose, and yet he simply shook his head. “I am very close to screaming my head off, Mr. Kirov,” she warned in what she considered a very reasonable tone under the circumstances. “You have insulted me, abused me, yet I am still calm, as you can see. I am not some ninny to fall to pieces under a little adversity. But I am reaching my limit. I am not for sale at any price. A king’s ransom wouldn’t change that fact. So you might as well release me now.”

  “You are stubborn, but it changes nothing. You will stay—no.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. “I do not recommend screaming. There are two guards outside this door who will immediately come in to quiet you. That would be most uncomfortable for you, and so unnecessary. I will give you a few hours to reconsider.”

  Katherine didn’t believe him for a moment about the guards until he opened the door to leave and she saw them both standing there, vicious-looking men in identical uniforms; long tunics, baggy pants tucked into high boots, wicked swords hanging from their hips. Incredible. Was the whole household to be a part of this crime? Apparently. Her only hope was still the Prince.

  Chapter Five

  “What am I to do, Marusia?” Vladimir asked his wife. “He wants her. She is refusing to share his bed. I have never before met this dilemma.”

  “So find him another woman,” she replied easily, thinking the solution was that simple. “You know what will happen if he is disappointed tonight. There will be no pleasing him the entire voyage home. If his grandmother had not scolded him for his excessive wenching, it would not be so bad. But she warned him away from her maids, and he complied in deference to her. He has had no sexual relief since we docked, an incredibly long time for the Prince to willingly deny himself. He must have a woman tonight before we sail, or we will all suffer for his frustration. It will be ten times worse than on the way here, when that stupid countess changed her mind at the last moment and did not sail with him.”

  Vladimir knew all of that. His problem was not only that he had never failed the Prince before; it was a matter of guaranteeing a pleasant voyage for them all as opposed to weeks of living with Dimitri in one of his dark moods. Not that the Prince could not remain celibate out of necessity, as he would on the voyage home. But when there was no necessity, as tonight, heaven forbid he should not get what he wanted, for when Dimitri was not happy, no one in his household was happy.

  Vladimir poured another shot of vodka and gulped it down. Marusia continued to stuff a goose with kasha for Dimitri’s dinner tonight. She thought the matter settled. He had told her only that the woman he had procured for the Prince was giving him trouble.

  “Marusia, why would a woman—now, this is no lady, but an English peasant, a servant—why would she not be pleased that a prince found her desirable?”

  “She must be flattered. No woman alive would not be at least flattered, even if she didn’t want to sleep with him. Show her his picture. That will change her mind.”

  “Yes, I will, but—but I do not think it will make a difference this time. She was not flattered, Marusia. She was insulted. I saw it in her face. I just do not understand. No woman has ever refused him before, virgins, wives, princesses, countesses, even a queen—”

  “Which queen? You never told me this!”

  “Never mind,” he replied sharply. “That is not for gossip, and you, dear wife, love to gossip.”

  “Well, every man should be refused at least once. It does him good.”

  “Marusia!”

  She laughed delightedly. “I jest, husband. Every man except our prince. Now stop worrying. I told you, go and get him another woman.”

  Vladimir looked dismally down at his empty glass and filled it again. “I cannot. He did not tell me, ‘I want a woman tonight. Find one.’ He pointed out this petite wren to me and said, ‘That one. Arrange it.’ She is not even beautiful, Marusia, except for her eyes. I could find him a dozen women more to his taste before this evening. He wants this one. He has to have this one.”

  “She must be in love,” Marusia said thoughtfully. “That is the only reason a woman of low class would refuse such an honor. No peasant in Russia—”

  “This is England,” he reminded her. “Perhaps they think differently here.”

  “We have been here before, Vladimir. You never had this trouble before. I tell you she is in love with someone. But there are drugs that can make her forget, make her memory fuzzy, make her more agreeable—”

  “He will think she is drunk,” he replied sternly. “That will not please him at all.”

  “At least he will have her.”

  “And if it does not work? If she remembers enough to fight him?”

  Marusia frowned. “No, that will not do. He would be furious. He does not need to take a woman by force. He would not. They fight each other to throw themselves at him. He can have any woman he wants.”

  “He wants this one, who does not want him.”

  She gave him a disgusted look. “You begin to make me worry now. Do you want me to talk to her to see if I can find out what she objects to?”

  “You can try,” he agreed, willing at this point to do anything.

  She nodded. “In the meantime, go and speak to Bulavin. It may be nothing, but he was bragging last week that he knew a way to make a woman beg him to make love to her, any woman. Maybe he has some kind of magic potion.” She grinned.

  “Nonsense,” he scoffed.

  “You never know,” she teased. “The Cossacks have ever lived close to the Turks, and you never hear of those sultans having trouble with their slave girls, and most of them innocent captives.”

  He dismissed that notion with a wave of his hand and an annoyed scowl, yet he would speak to Bulavin. He was that desperate at the moment.

  Katherine couldn’t sit still. She walked circles around the room, every few minutes glaring at the huge wardrobe that had been shoved in front of the only window by the two guards. Her small weight couldn’t budge it, even empty as it was. She had tried for half an hour to no avail.

  It was a fairly large bedroom she was being detained in, a room not in use. Even the large bureau was empty. Pink-and-green wallpaper (the Queen approved of that combination) covered the walls. The furniture was in the Hope design, the rather clumsy style that favored Greek and Egyptian influence in decoration. An expensive green satin spread on the bed. Wealth. Cavendish Square, she was sure. If she could just get out of this room, she could be home in no time—but to what good? Elisabeth, last seen waiting alone on the corner, would have met William by now. She’ll be married before I get home.

  This stupid masquerade, this appalling predicament, all for nothing. Elisabeth married to a fortune-hunting blackguard. That and that alone made Katherine furious with these Russians. That barbarian, that pig-headed idiot who had brought her here—because of him Beth’s life was now ruined. No, not him. He had only followed orders. His prince was really the responsible one. Who the devil did
he think he was, sending a servant after her for such a salacious reason? What arrogance!

  He’ll get an earful from me, and then some, Katherine thought. I ought to have him thrown in gaol. I know his name. Dimitri Alexandrov—or would it be Alexandrov Dimitri? Whatever. How many Russian princes can be in London at the moment, Katherine? He won’t be hard to find.

  The idea was nice to think about, but she wouldn’t do it. The scandal would be worse than the crime. That was all she needed: the St. John name dragged through the mud.

  “But if Beth isn’t home when I get home, and isn’t still unmarried, I will do it, by God.”

  There was a hope, however slim, that Elisabeth was meeting William today only to talk to him, to make plans. She needed to cling to that thought. All would not be lost then, and this would be just an irritating experience that she would do her best to forget.

  “I bring you lunch, miss, and another lamp. This room is so dark with the window blocked. You speak French, yes? I speak it very well, because it is the language of our aristos. Some of them, they don’t even speak Russian.”

  This flow of words came as a woman hurried across the room with a heavy tray and dropped it on a low, round table between two chairs. She was half a head taller than Katherine, middleaged, with brown hair in a tight bun, and kindly blue eyes. She hadn’t knocked. One of the guards had opened the door for her and closed it as well.

  She straightened the things on the tray. A thin vase holding a single rose had fallen over. Fortunately it contained no water. The lamp she moved to the marble mantel. It was already lit, and the extra light welcome. Then she moved back to the tray and began lifting covers.

  “Katushki,” she explained, revealing a plate of fish balls in a white wine sauce. “I am the cook, so I know you will like it. My name is Marusia.”

  She wasn’t at all what one would expect of a cook, being slightly on the thin side, Katherine thought, as she glanced at the food. There was a little loaf of rye bread next to the katushki, a chicory and fruit salad, a piece of cake for dessert, and a bottle of wine. A very appetizing lunch. The katushki smelled delicious. And Katherine had missed breakfast. A shame she was too stubborn to eat it.