Lord Buckingham’s Bride (18 page)

‘She arrived in Stockholm on the very day the
Pavlovsk
left. I'm relieved to say that I am not held to blame for the loss of the
Duchess of Albemarle
and that on my return to London I am promised a new command.'

‘I'm very pleased for you, sir.'

‘Thank you, Miss Clearwell.'

‘Will you be returning to England on the
Duchess of Clarence
?'

‘Yes, tomorrow afternoon. I've just been making final customs arrangements for part of her cargo. I'm afraid that such things have to be done whether it is night or day.' He smiled. ‘May I escort you home now, Miss Clearwell?'

She returned the smile. ‘If you wish, sir.'

Accepting the arm he offered, she walked at his side, with Katya following a step or so behind. Nikolai's spy had completely slipped her mind.

Sergei was waiting beneath the trees opposite the Clearwell
residence
and the carriage was drawn up at the curb farther long the street, out of sight in the mist. He was tired, cold, and angry that he had allowed his prey to elude him earlier. If Bragin had succeeded where he, Sergei Mikhailovich Golitsin, had failed, then ruin would no longer be merely a threat, it would be a reality.

He heard footsteps approaching from the direction of St Isaac's Square and he looked intently toward the sound. Then he made out a woman's voice speaking in English.

Turning, he gave a low whistle and immediately he heard the carriage stir into motion, the team's hooves slow and steady. He ran softly across the street to the shadows by the gate in the wall,
pressing
back out of sight as the approaching footsteps grew louder. The carriage was close now and would be alongside at the very moment the Englishwoman and her maid reached the gate. As their figures became discernible in the mist, Sergi leapt out to seize Alison. Too late he saw that there were three figures instead of two, and he was almost caught completely off-guard, but his instinct saved him. He lashed out blindly, catching the unfortunate Captain Merryvale a brutal blow to the jaw. Katya began to scream for help and for her pains was thrust so hard against the wall that she was winded, falling to the ground like a sack.

Alison was too frightened to do anything but back away. She
couldn't
cry out and she couldn't run away, her strength and willpower had deserted her. Sergei seized her and dragged her roughly toward the carriage, which had now drawn up beside them. In his panic to accomplish the task as expeditiously as possible, he flung the carriage door open, and it struck Alison on the forehead. She lost
consciousness
immediately and knew nothing as she was thrust into the vehicle.
Sergei clambered in as well, slamming the door behind him, then the whip cracked and the team struck sparks from the street as they strained to come up to speed.

Katya scrambled to her feet in dismay, staring at the carriage as it drove swiftly through the eddying mist. The whip cracked again, the sound seeming to echo all around, and then gradually silence returned and the mist swirled slowly again, like the gentle billowing of a fine muslin curtain.

Tears filled Katya's frightened eyes as she bent to shake Captain Merryvale, but he didn't stir. She straightened, running to the house and up the steps to the door. She hammered on the lion's-head knocker with so much force that the sound reverberated through the house like an echoing thunderclap.

Lights began to appear as candles were hastily lit inside, and voices were heard as Mackay and several of the footmen came from their beds.

In his room, Francis at last stirred as the noise penetrated his sleep. His thoughts were scattered for a moment and then he sat up, running his fingers through his hair. He heard the confusion as the servants went to investigate. What in God's name was going on?

Then his glance moved to the table where the precious wallet should have been lying …

A
lison lay on a soft bed swathed with golden satin. The sheets and pillows were satin and so was the tentlike canopy, and the scent of roses hung in the dawn-lit room. It was a seductive perfume, caressing her senses as she began to stir.

She still wore her gray velvet gown, and her hair had come loose from its pins, spilling in confusion over the pillows. Her eyes opened and she gazed up at the golden canopy. Where was she? She couldn't collect her thoughts because her head seemed to be swimming, and as she slowly sat up, a sharp pain lanced behind her eyes, making her feel suddenly and violently sick. She held her breath, closing her eyes again. The room seemed to be swaying and she found herself gripping the satin sheets in a futile effort to make everything be still again. Then, very gradually, she realized that it wasn't her imagination, or the pain in her head, for the room really was rocking gently from side to side. It wasn't a strong motion and wasn't even particularly unpleasant, but added to the sickening pain behind her eyes, it made her feel very unsteady and ill.

After a long moment she opened her eyes again, looking around the room. There was damask on the walls and a sable-covered ottoman couch against the foot of the bed. The scent of roses came from an open potpourri jar standing on the floor next to the stove that was warming the air. There were damask curtains at the single window and another curtain tied back beside the door. Her gaze moved over everything. She had never been in this room before, and yet somehow it seemed familiar. How had she come here? She
couldn't 
remember anything.

She put a hand tentatively to her forehead and winced as her fingertips brushed the bruise. Again she had to close her eyes as a wave of nausea washed over her. Oh, if only everything would stop swaying …

Without warning her memory returned. Suddenly she could see Captain Merryvale falling to the ground and hear Katya's screams for help. She saw the maid being flung against the wall and she felt herself being seized and thrust toward a carriage. She had been abducted by Nikolai's creature!

Her heartbeats quickened and she was trembling as she got up slowly from the bed, steadying herself against the post for a moment to look around the room again. She must escape! She went to the door, but it was locked. Turning, she went to the window, but that too was impossible to open. She gazed out at the mist, which was
luminous
now that the first light of dawn had begun to drive away the darkness. Where was she? Was she still in St Petersburg? The mist drifted impenetrably, weaving back up itself. She listened carefully and gradually became aware of the familiar sound of the wharves on Vassily Island. The sound was clearer than it had been from English Quay. Was she on Vassily Island?

She stared out at the mist again, willing it to draw back so that she could see, but it remained stubbornly where it was, obscuring
everything
so well that she couldn't even see the ground. Then, as she was beginning to despair, a rowing boat glided past, its oars shipped as the ebbing tide carried it downstream. In a moment it had passed out of sight again, swallowed by the mist.

Alison's heart had stopped. She was on the
Irina
! Suddenly the swaying sensation was explained and the strange familiarity of the room, which she now remembered was very similar to the stateroom where she and Francis had been entertained by Prince Nikolai. Trembling, she backed away from the window and then turned to run to the door, beating her fists against the wood and screaming as loudly as she could.

‘Let me out! Let me out!'

At first there was no response, but as she continued to make as much noise as she could, she at last heard voices. One was
high-pitched 
and almost singsong, and the other was deep and
monosyllabic
, and she knew immediately that they belonged to Nikolai's servants, the dwarf in the golden robes and the huge black man. Then she heard another sound that made her pull back swiftly from the door; it was the disturbed and agitated growl of the lynx, Khan. The sounds were at the door now and the key turned in the lock.

The door swung open and the dwarf came in. Behind him,
blocking
the doorway, was the black man, and he was holding on firmly to the lynx's turquoise-studded collar. The animal's amber eyes were wide and dangerous, its tufted ears were flattened, and its mouth was drawn back in a snarl that revealed its sharp teeth.

The dwarf swaggered farther into the room, his little hands thrust arrogantly over his belt. ‘It will do you no good to make such a noise, Miss Clearwell,' he said in singsong French, ‘for no one will hear you.'

‘You can't imprison me,' she replied in the same language.

‘But we can, for we do his highness's bidding. He will be here soon, and you will await him.' The dwarf grinned, his glance moving
deliberately
and suggestively toward the bed.

‘Please let me go. I'll make it worth your while—'

‘We do his highness's bidding,' he repeated, and then nodded at the lynx. ‘It would be very foolish if you tried to escape, Miss Clearwell, for Khan will see that you remain a prisoner.'

‘Please help me,' she begged, but she knew it was futile.

‘Make yourself beautiful for his highness, Miss Clearwell, for that will avail you of much more. Please him, and he will grant you many things; displease him, and you will find that the Neva is very deep.' Turning, he went out again and the door was locked behind him.

Alison was panic-stricken, running to the door and beating at it again, but she could hear the dwarf laughing and Khan growling. Tears filled her eyes and she left the door again, hurrying to the window, but the mist still coiled and writhed silently outside, white now as the dawn grew brighter with each passing minute.

The tears wended their way down her cheeks as she went to sit on the bed. She was filled with a sense of hopelessness. No one knew she was here, and so no one could help her. By now they would know that she had been taken, but they didn't know who by. Unless … Francis
would guess, surely? But what could he do about it? This was St Petersburg, and the prince was a powerful man. Her only hope was that by now Irina had given the wallet to the czar and that events were in motion to put a halt to Nikolai Ivanovich's treachery.

She stared down at the crumpled satin in her hands, and then her eyes wandered to the soft uncompromising expanse of the rest of the bed. She could see the suggestive grin on the dwarf's face. ‘Make yourself beautiful for his highness, Miss Clearwell. Please him and he will grant you many things; displease him, and you will find that the Neva is very deep.'

Her thoughts went unwillingly back to Stockholm and those
terrifying
moments before Francis had rescued her. Nikolai had made no attempt to hide his desire. ‘Don't be foolish, Miss Clearwell, for there is so much pleasure to be had. I intend to possess you, and I will do so whether you struggle or whether you consent. Of course, it would be so much better if you consented, because it would please me to introduce you to the delights of making love.'

There was no one to save her now, no one to snatch her from his grasp. When he entered this room, he would be able to take her as he chose, and there was nothing she could do to prevent him.

Fresh tears stung her eyes and she lay down on the bed, curling up tightly and hiding her face in her hands. Her whole body shook with sobs and there was a cold band around her heart. She was at Nikolai's mercy, and when his pleasure was done, what then? What would become of her when his desire was slaked and she was of no further interest?

At the house on English Quay all was still in confusion. Katya had tearfully explained all that had happened and Captain Merryvale had been brought in and a doctor sent for.

Natalia was so upset that she had virtually collapsed and had had to be taken to her bed to be looked after by her maid. Alison's uncle had at last been told the full truth about Francis's purpose in St Petersburg.

He and Francis were in the grand salon, where all the chandeliers had been lit, the brilliant light flooding out of the windows into the mist.

Wearing a blue paisley dressing gown, Mr Clearwell stood before the fireplace, his face grim. ‘I wish I'd been told from the outset, sir.'

‘It seemed wiser not to involve you, Mr Clearwell.'

‘Look where all this has brought us now! We think, but we can't be sure, that Alison has given those damned documents to the Countess Irina, and now we have no idea at all where Alison herself is, except that it seems likely that Naryshky has abducted her. Dear God, what a scrape.' With a sigh, he went to a table to pour himself a glass of cognac. Swirling his amply filled glass, he turned to face Francis again. ‘What do you intend to do now?'

‘Find Alison.'

‘One might as well search for a needle in a haystack. If Naryshky's taken her, he'll make sure his tracks are covered, you may be sure of that. And as to expecting any assistance from those you question, you might as well bay to the moon. Naryshky is a man of influence and power, and no one in St Petersburg is going to risk his displeasure by informing on him.'

‘Sir, I know from the ambassador's secretary that the man who has been watching this house, and the man who most probably kidnapped Alison, is someone by the name of Sergei Mikhailovich Golitsin, and that he, like Naryshky, is in the Preobrazensky Regiment. If I have to tear the truth out of him, I promise you I will.'

‘The officers in that regiment are the elite, sir, and if you imagine that you can simply walk into the barracks and confront him—'

‘There must be a way, Mr Clearwell.'

‘If there is, my lord earl, I do not know it. Alison could be in any one of a thousand different places, and we may never see her again.' The older man blinked back sudden tears. ‘I feel so utterly helpless,' he said quietly, ‘but there is one thing of which I am certain: I hold you to blame for all that's befallen my niece – you, Lord Buckingham, and I trust that she will forever be on your conscience.'

‘I hold myself to blame, sir,' replied Francis. ‘For the moment, however, I can do nothing other than report to the embassy, to let them know what we think has happened to the documents.' He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘She must have given them to the
countess
, for why else would she have gone to Krestovsky Island? She mut
have taken leave of her senses to give such information into the hands of Naryshky's sister. Unless …'

‘Unless what?' prompted Mr Clearwell, looking at him.

‘Oh, I was just thinking of something Alison said when it was suggested that the countess was as culpable as her brother in the plot with Boney. She was quite convinced that Irina was innocent, although I don't know why.'

Mr Clearwell drew a long breath. ‘Innocent or not, I hardly think the countess is likely to hand her beloved brother over to the czar. She and Naryshky dote on each other, everyone knows that.'

Francis's mind was racing. ‘But what if the countess dotes more on the czar?' he murmured, crossing to the windows that faced over the Neva. His hand rested on the telescope as he stared out at the
luminosity
of the mist. Had Alison perceived the one certain way of seeing that Alexander received the vital information? Had she understood that Irina's love for the czar by far outweighed her love for her brother?

As he looked, the mist seemed to thread a little, thinning so that he could see the trees on the embankment and then the river beyond. The pale light of early morning shone on the water, and he could make out the white hull of the
Irina
, still lying at anchor in midriver. A rowing boat was coming alongside and there was a familiar uniformed figure seated in the stern.

Francis bent to train the telescope on the rowing boat. Yes, it was Prince Nikolai, and he was just getting to his feet to step out of the boat on to the wooden staircase that was against the side of the schooner. As the prince went swiftly up to the deck, Francis moved the telescope along the vessel. A pale, tearstained face was peeping out of a window near the stem. It was Alison, her hair in disarray, her eyes frightened. Then she'd gone.

Francis straightened and turned quickly to Mr Clearwell. ‘Alison's on the
Irina
. I've just seen her.'

‘The
Irina
? Man, it's thick mist out there, you can't possibly see the—'

‘The mist thinned for a moment and I saw her looking out of a cabin. I also saw Naryshky going on board. There isn't any time to be lost, I have to get to her before he has time to …' Francis didn't
finish the sentence, but ran from the room.

In the entrance hall he saw Captain Merryvale seated on the sofa by the fire, his head bandaged because he had struck it as he fell. He was sipping a tot of Mackay's precious Scottish whiskey, and the butler was waiting to replenish the glass.

Both men turned as Francis hurried down the staircase, and Captain Merryvale rose to his feet. ‘Is something up, my lord?'

‘How fit are you, Captain? Are you well enough to help me get Miss Clearwell off the
Irina
?'

The captain's eyes were hard and bright. ‘I'm game to do anything you wish, my lord, for I don't take kindly to being set upon, nor do I take kindly to those who mistreat ladies. I'm your man if you want me.'

‘I want you, sir. We'll take a boat.'

Mackay spoke up quickly. ‘Just one minute, my lord, I beg of you.' The butler hurried away, returning in a very short while with a pistol, which he pressed into Francis's hands. ‘You may have need of this, my lord,' he said quietly.

Francis nodded and looked at the captain. ‘Let's get on with it then.'

Mackay hastened to open the doors for them and they hurried out into the misty morning. English Quay was deserted as they ran
downstream
to the next jetty and then swiftly descended the stone steps to where a number of rowing boats and barges were moored. A moment later they were rowing out on the mist-covered Neva, pulling strongly in the direction of the
Irina
.