Lord Buckingham’s Bride (5 page)

She looked at him as he lounged back in the chair. His eyes were still closed, but she didn't know if he was asleep. His lashes were thick and dark and his coal-black hair was tousled because he'd just run his fingers through it, a habit of his she was to come to know in the
ensuing
days. Her glance lingered on his lips as she remembered how he had kissed her. Was it really possible that in the tension and fear of that moment, she found herself responding to him? When she had looked down from the balcony and gazed upon him for the first time, something strange had happened to her, something she had never encountered before, and she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

She lowered her eyes. She envied Pamela, she envied her with all her heart.

T
he short Scandivanian night was at an end and the sun had risen in the sky over Stockholm, but the city was still asleep. All was quiet at the Dog and Flute, where the guests had long since gone to their rooms and there was as yet no activity in the kitchens. In the tap room, the only sounds were those made by the small boy whose duty it was to look after the fire. He was scraping out the birchwood ashes and shoveling them into a bucket.

Up on the gallery, Nikolai lounged alone at the table where he and his companions had whiled away the night hours. The others had retired now, but he had too much on his mind to think of sleep. Agnetha had been there for the taking – she had made that plain enough – but she didn't have ash-blonde hair and big gray eyes, nor did she possess that beguiling air of innocence that aroused his desire to fever pitch. Beguiling indeed, for the last thing that could really be said of Miss Alison Clearwell was that she was innocent, for her lover had remained in her room since he, Nikolai, had left.

Nikolai's dark eyes flickered as he riffled some playing cards in his hands. His gleaming spurred boots rested on the tabletop, where glasses, empty bottles, dice, and cards from the night's gaming still lay scattered. A candle burned on in its holder, the flame sunk low in a sea of melted wax. Little daylight penetrated the gallery, and the glow of the candle shone on his gold-braided uniform and burnished his blond hair with hints of copper as he pondered the intriguing
question
of the lovely young Englishwoman and her dashing lord. They had taken him in completely; he had really believed their story, and he would have continued to believe it had it not been for one small
slip on their part, and one small impulse on his. He didn't really know why he had bothered to ask the landlord anything – it had simply been idle curiosity – but nevertheless it had elicited a very disturbing discrepancy in their tale. Miss Clearwell had quite definitely said that Lord Buckingham would ask for the room adjoining hers, and that was indeed what appeared to have happened – except that the
landlord
said that the earl hadn't asked after the lady at all, let alone which room she was occupying. How, then, had they come to be placed in adjoining accommodations? How could the Englishman possibly have known which room to ask for? It was a mystery that became even more bothersome when subsequent discreet inquiries on board the
Pavlovsk
, which now lay at her mooring in the shadow of the royal palace, revealed that Lord Buckingham had always been booked to travel on her to St Petersburg, but that very hasty
last-minute
arrangements had been made for Miss Clearwell, who had originally, as she said, planned to sail on the doomed
Duchess of Albemarle
. The lady had been quite emphatic that they had been traveling on the
Duchess of Albemarle
and that they'd been forced to change their plans to go on the
Pavlovsk
instead. She'd been lying.

Nikolai drew a long pensive breath. He didn't like mysteries,
especially
when they involved the British, for his plans were as yet far from completely laid, and he was vulnerable to discovery. What if Lord Buckingham and his ladylove were British agents? It was a
possibility
he couldn't afford to ignore, for there was far too much at stake. He hadn't heard anything from his contact in the British embassy in St Petersburg in recent weeks; indeed, everything had been almost suspiciously quiet. Damn that clerk in Paris! Had he been sent too late to his watery grave in the Seine? Had he somehow managed to send his information to London, after all?'

A nerve twitched at Nikolai's temple and he tossed the cards on to the table, the draft causing the candle flame to shiver. He had to be cautious, for it could still be that the English lord and the lady were what they claimed to be. There was no arguing that Lord Buckingham's approach to the czar had been made months ago, too long ago for anything of consequence to have been discovered by the British, and that was a fact that should reassure him. And yet … Why were they telling lies? What were they hiding? Nikolai drew a long
breath. He didn't trust them, and so he had to take every precaution. He had to stay here in Stockholm, but he could have them watched, both during the voyage and in St Petersburg itself, and the moment it became clear that they were involved in any intrigue, his overseer, Bragin, could be relied upon to see that they simply disappeared.

In the meantime, he could make certain that Lord Buckingham didn't gain the imperial audience he was at such pains to achieve. All it would take was a brief note to Irina. With hindsight, it seemed a mistake had been made in allowing the Englishman's communication to reach the czar in the first place, but it had seemed so very innocent and sincere an approach that no suspicion had been aroused. There would still have been no suspicion had it not been for the
inconsistencies
in the story he had been told tonight. If they were indeed British agents, it had been a clever move to add the delightful Miss Clearwell to the proceedings, for she was a wonderful diversion, with her beauty, her impression of unaffectedness and inexperience, and her enchanting vulnerability. Oh, she was perfection, he could not deny her that, but now he also knew that she was quick-witted and adaptable and that if she hadn't yielded before tonight, she had certainly yielded now, for what else was she doing at this very moment if not lying between the sheets with the so-handsome Lord Buckingham?

He exhaled slowly, for it was almost as if he could touch her now, the memory of her was so real. The scent of lavender had clung to her – such an English scent, at once sweet and piquant, fresh and heady – and her skin had been so flawless, pale, clear, without blemish. He sat forward suddenly, taking up two dice and shaking them for a moment before tossing them down. When they stopped rolling, he gave a low, satisfied laugh. Double six. Luck was with him.

A door opened and closed somewhere nearby and footsteps approached. They were the steps of a man wearing spurred military boots, and Nikolai looked up with a smile as he saw the slight uniformed figure and almost feline face of one of his fellow officers.

‘Ah, Sergei Mikhailovich, my good and trusted friend, how very agreeable it is to see you this morning,' he murmured, his dark eyes shining with satisfaction, for Sergei Mikhailovich Golitsin was the very person he had chosen for certain tasks.

The other paused warily, for it wasn't like Nikolai to utter such an effusive and warm greeting. Sergei was a slender young man with brown hair and almond eyes that told of Tatar blood, and he was looking a little the worse for wear after a long night of drinking and making love. ‘Good morning, sir,' he said carefully, for one could never be sure if one was Prince Naryshky's friend or his social and military inferior.

Nikolai gestured toward a chair. ‘What's this “sir” business? Aren't we old friends?'

‘I am a mere lieutenant, whereas you—'

‘This morning we are friends, Sergei.'

Slowly Sergei took the proffered seat. ‘What is it you want of me?' he asked, reaching for an almost empty bottle of schnapps and
pouring
the clear liquid into a glass.

‘We can be of assistance to each other, my friend,' replied Nikolai. ‘I happen to hold a considerable number of your IOUs, do I not?'

‘You do.'

‘And if I were to call them all in at once, you would be in some difficulties?'

Sergei's almond eyes became alarmed. ‘I'd be ruined, and you know it,' he said quickly, draining the glass.

‘What would you say if I offered to tear them up and forget them?'

‘I'd say that you wanted something important from me,' replied the other frankly.

‘And you'd be right. Sergei, I want you to return to St Petersburg on the
Pavlovsk
, which sails on the midday tide, and I want you to observe very closely the two English guests staying here tonight. I want to know if they are indeed the lovers they claim to be, and so I want you to search their cabins for anything that might confirm their story, letters, mementos, miniatures, locks of hair, anything at all, and if you suspect that there is anything suspicious, I wish you to inform the overseer at my summer palace.' Nikolai sat forward. ‘Before you leave here, I will give you two letters, one for the Countess Irina, and the other for Bragin, instructing him what action to take on my behalf. Have I made myself clear?'

Sergei nodded. It was very clear indeed, for the overseer at Naryshky Palace on the coast near St Petersburg was Nikolai's
henchman 
devious, ruthless, and utterly reliable. He had disposed of his master's enemies and unwanted troublemakers in the past, and they had vanished without a trace.

Nikolai's dark eyes held his gaze. ‘Don't fail me in this, Sergei, or it will be the worst for you, of that you may be sure. Serve me well and your IOUs will be thrown on the fire.'

‘I won't fail you.'

Nikolai leaned back in his chair again. ‘There is just one thing more,' he murmured softly. ‘Whether or not you find anything
untoward
concerning Miss Clearwell and her lord, I wish you to follow her in St Petersburg and seize the first opportunity to abduct her and carry her to my palace, where Bragin will know to keep her hidden and secure until I can return. There isn't to be any bungling, it's to be accomplished swiftly and without witnesses. Do you understand?'

Appalled, Sergei stared at him. ‘Yes, I understand, but Nikolai, it is one thing to deliver letters, search cabins and spy on people, but quite another to take part in a kidnapping.'

‘Just think of your IOUs, my friend, and of the ruin that faces you if I call them in. You'll do as I wish now, and you have only yourself to blame for plunging in so deep.'

‘Can't your overseer be entrusted with everything, including the abduction?' pleaded Sergei.

‘No, because his constant presence in St Petersburg might give rise to curiosity. Your presence there, on leave, won't attract any attention at all. The task is yours, Sergei Mikhailovich, and if you value your life, you'll accomplish it to perfection.'

Golitsin fell silent. His face was pale and his pulse had quickened unpleasantly. He was trapped, and he knew it. His only salvation lay in carrying out Nikolai's instructions.

At that moment there was a loud clatter of hooves in the alley outside and a number of horsemen in the Swedish royal livery reined in by the inn door. One of them, an official messenger, hurried into the inn and went to the boy by the fire, shaking him by the shoulder and demanding in Swedish to know where Prince Naryshky might be found.

Nikolai rose quickly to his feet and went to the balustrade. ‘I am here,' he said in the same language.

The messenger hurried to the foot of the staircase and bowed, addressing him in the court French that was
de rigueur
. ‘Highness, I am instructed to inform you that His Majesty King Gustavus Adolphus requests you to present yourself at the palace at nine o'clock this morning.'

Nikolai's eyes narrowed. ‘Nine? The talks are due to commence at eleven.'

‘Those are my instructions, highness.'

‘Very well.'

‘A carriage and escort will be sent in good time, highness, and his majesty will receive you without delay.'

The messenger withdrew, and a moment later the alley was again filled with the clatter of hooves.

Nikolai turned to survey Sergei, who had remained in his chair at the table. ‘What do you think it's all about, eh, my friend?' he asked softly.

Sergei shrugged. ‘I don't know,' he replied. He neither knew nor cared, for he was too wrapped up in his problems.

The carriage and escort came as promised, and Alison and Francis stood on the balcony watching. The escort consisted of Swedish dragoons in dark-blue uniforms, mounted on well-matched gray horses, and the gleaming carriage was drawn by a handsome team of creams. Nikolai emerged in his dress uniform, splendid white plumes springing from his helmet, and he didn't glance up as he climbed into the carriage. As the vehicle pulled away down the alley toward the quay and the royal palace, it was preceded by its Swedish escort. Then there was another clatter of hooves as Nikolai's own escort brought up the rear, looking very proud and arrogant in the black and red uniform of the Preobrazensky Regiment.

Francis went back into the room as the procession vanished from sight, but Alison lingered for a moment on the balcony, hoping that that was the last she would ever see of the prince. She was relieved that his official duties had apparently taken precedence over all else, and now she trusted that the
Pavlovsk
would have long since set sail when he returned to the Dog and Flute. She wanted to put the
frightening
events of the previous night well and truly behind her; she
wished that she could forget them altogether, but she knew that that would never happen because no one could ever forget such dreadful things. Besides, there was one thing that she didn't wish to forget, and that was the way she had felt when Francis Buckingham had taken her in his arms and kissed her.

Taking a deep breath, she went back into the room, where he was waiting to escort her down to breakfast. His expert glance swept approvingly over her neat figure and the shining curls piled up so prettily on top of her head.

‘You look very lovely, Alison.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Shall we go down, then?'

She nodded, but as he offered her his arm, he paused again.

‘It will soon be over now, for we can leave for the
Pavlovsk
directly after breakfast, but we mustn't let the fact that Naryshky and his companions have left affect our conduct. He is staying here, and he might return before the
Pavlovsk
leaves. It wouldn't do for him to be told that we haven't been behaving like sweethearts.'