Splendor (18 page)

Carolyn did not know what to think. But she had to tell George something. "I just realized," she said quickly, "that I promised my editor a new column for tomorrow."

"But you've already given him two columns this week," George said.

"He has said that he will publish Copperville as frequently as possible."

"That is wonderful news. You didn't tell me. Carolyn,

do sit down. Finish your breakfast and then go upstairs and write."

She clenched the newspaper in her hand. "I can't eat. I'll eat after I come up with something." She smiled far too brightly again, dashed over to George and kissed his cheek, then fled from the kitchen—the Chronicle in hand.

George stared after her, unsmiling.

Some time later, Carolyn was downstairs in the store, feeling as if she had survived, and just barely, a very close call. She had hidden the newspaper in her bedchamber, and hoped George, who at times could be absentminded, would forget that he had not read that day's Chronicle. Now she had a mystery to solve. Her first step would be to contact her editor and ask him who had delivered the article. She already expected the courier to have been a paid lackey.

In the future, she would tell Mr. Taft that he should not accept any pieces not hand-delivered by herself.

Her heart skipped. It was absurd for her to suspect Sver-ayov. Absurd.

Except that he was very clever.

But if he had written that column, then he knew all about her and he was playing cat and mouse with her, by God.

A chill, half fear, half thrill, swept through Carolyn.

Carolyn tried to turn her attention to the store, for she was supposed to be taking inventory, but her mind was not on the task. Did Sverayov suspect, or know, that Carolyn, Brighton, and Copperville were all one and the same? She shivered. It seemed to be the only possibility. But why had he gone along with her charade? Could some third party have written the colunm?

Carolyn had the impulse to confront Sverayov, but she did not want to completely reveal her hand—in case there was some other explanation for the column. But surely she could test him just a bit? She only needed an excuse to seek him out. And then she smiled. What if she called on him at his town house, ostensibly with another book for his sister?

The doorbell tinkled and Carolyn quite jumped out of her skin, expecting to see Sverayov. But Anthony Davison entered the store, smiling at her. This time he was not carrying a bouquet.

Suddenly Carolyn flushed. She hoped, fervently, that Anthony had not read Copperville's colunm that morning. Not that it was really Copperville's column! But even if he had, surely no one would suspect that she was the woman in the prince's arms!

"Good day. Miss Browne. You look as lovely as ever." He smiled earnestly at her.

Carolyn relaxed slightly. "Thank you. Surely you have not read all that you have purchased here in the past few days?" Carolyn smiled, teasing him just a bit.

He blushed. "No, I have not, actually. Er ..." His color deepened. He took a breath. "There is a wonderful opera tonight, and I happen to have a box. Would you care to jom me?"

Carolyn blinked. First an invitation to drive in the park— from a Russian prince—and now an invitation to the opera from a peer? "This is so odd," she mused aloud.

"It is?" He appeared disconcerted.

She shook herself free of her amazement. "I beg your pardon. Actually, I would love to attend the opera," she said. She had only been to an opera once, on her thirteenth birthday, with George, of course. And that had been a very long time ago. But how she had enjoyed it.

"Then I shall pick you up here at half past seven," Anthony said, smiling.

"That is fine." Carolyn hoped she had a serviceable evening gown and doubted it. She glanced up as the doorbell sounded again, and she froze.

Her cousin Thomas Owsley strolled into the store.

She had not seen him in over a year. Her pulse raced and her stomach lurched with dread. But she should have expected this—his annual call. For next week was their grandmother's birthday—not that he had come to invite her to the fete. Carolyn had never been invited to Midlands,

neither before or after Margaret's untimely death.

Carolyn tried to smile as he sauntered toward her. He was half a dozen years older than she, a husky man of medium build who was quite dandified and even more pleased about it. Thomas was always at the forefront of fashion, and Carolyn's glance slid over him, remarking the dark wine-colored jacket with velvet lapels, the gold foulard cravat, a silver and gold waistcoat, and pale tan trousers. He wore a wide-brinmied top hat and carried a walking stick with a mother-of-pearl nob. He wore several rings. He smiled at her, but it did not reach his dark eyes. "Hello, Carolyn."

He was her mother's older sister's only child, the heir to the entire estate. Carolyn did not know him well, for their paths rarely crossed. A few times before her mother had died, the sisters had gotten together secretly, in defiance of Edith Owsley, with their two children. Even as a child, Thomas had been snooty and rude, pulling Carolyn's hair when he could, slipping worms into her tea, and reminding her incessantly that she lived in an attic atop a simple bookstore—reminding her that her father was a conmioner. In the ensuing years, Carolyn had seen no sign that he had changed. She was tense.

"Good day, Thomas," Carolyn said without her usual animation. She became aware of Anthony's curiosity, and perhaps his dismay. She certainly did not want him to think her loutish, self-centered cousin a suitor, so she introduced the two men. ' 'Anthony, this is my cousin Thomas Owsley, Lord Stafford. Thomas, this is the Honorable Anthony Davison."

Thomas bowed, but so cursorily that it was rude. But Anthony was only the youngest son of an earl, and Thomas outranked him.

Anthony gaped. "You are an Owsley?"

Thomas laughed. "She is a Browne, Davison."

Anthony stiffened. Carolyn plucked his sleeve. "Our mothers were sisters."

"Then"—Anthony's brow furrowed—"you are Lady Edith Owsley's granddaughter!"

"That is true," Carolyn said, not smiling.

Now Thomas swaggered closer. "It is her birthday—her seventy-fifth. We are having quite a celebration at Midlands." He smiled.

Carolyn ducked her head. ' 'Yes, I am well aware that it is our grandmother's seventy-fifth birthday. I have never missed the occasion, now have I?'' Her tone was bitter and tart

"I think I shall buy her a book. Do you have a gift you wish me to send on for you?" He smiled at her widely.

"No, thank you. I shall post her a gift, as I always do." Not that her grandmother ever acknowledged the receipt of Carolyn's gifts, not even with a simple thank-you note. "Now, what kind of book do you wish to buy?" She was brisk.

"I shall look around," Thomas said, smiling as if pleased with himself.

Carolyn ignored him as he began his inspection of their books. She knew from experience that he would make a big show of not liking anything, and would only very reluctantly make a purchase in the end.

"I shall see you at half past seven," Anthony said softly.

Carolyn looked up, into his sympathetic blue eyes. "Yes, without fail."

He tipped his hat and left the store. Thomas turned and strode back to her. "Is he courting you?" he asked loudly, brows furrowed. "I cannot believe it!"

"You may beheve whatever you like," Carolyn answered calmly.

Inwardly she did not feel calm at all.

He glared. "You are just like your father. That must be it," he declared.

"And what does that mean?" Carolyn asked stiffly. "My father is a wonderful man."

"Your father seduced your mother and eloped with her—

thinking to win himself a fortune." Thomas was exasperated.

"That is not true, and I will not even dignify that comment with an answer. If you wish to make a purchase, please do so. If not, please leave." Carolyn fought hard to keep her tone level, but her fists were clenched in the folds of her skirts.

His brows lifted. "Well, so be it," he said. "If you do not want my business, I shall not give it." Thomas turned and strode out of the store.

Carolyn gave in to her childish self, and stuck her tongue out at his departing back. But she felt like crying. She had never been able to understand why her grandmother hated her so.

^ Thirteen ^

CAROLYN'S heart was racing, and she could not control it. She paused in front of Sverayov's brick town house, aware that he might not even be home. She crossed the fingers of her right hand—she carried a gift-wrapped book in her left. And she started up the short walk.

It was just now dawning on her that while he might not be in, his wife might very well be at home. Carolyn was torn, worried about confronting the other woman, yet intensely curious to glimpse her after having heard so much about her. Very bravely, she lifted the heavy brass door knocker.

A liveried footman immediately appeared. Carolyn introduced herself, asking for Sverayov. She felt as if she were attempting to bait the Hon in his lair.

"I am afraid His Excellency is not in," the footman said firmly.

Carolyn was dismayed, but in a way, she was also relieved. She debated leaving the book with the footman, accompanied by a note. It flashed through her mind that in all likelihood, he would thank her in person for her thought-fulness. But suddenly a dark-haired man entered the foyer, shrugging on an exquisitely tailored jacket. Carolyn immediately recognized Sverayov's brother from the night of the Sheffields' dinner-dance. Of course, Alexi could not know her. He had been introduced to Brighton.

But he paused in the midst of settling his fine royal-blue wool jacket about his shoulders, his long strides slowing. His gaze narrowed, intent on Carolyn. Carolyn recognized that he was another dangerous rake. And Alexi flashed his white teeth at her.

"Good afternoon," he said, his smile somehow predatory as he bowed. "As I do not know you, you must be calling on my brother." His words were silky and soft.

He knew. He knew she was a besotted female idiot. Carolyn flushed. "Actually, I have brought a book for his sister." The moment the words were out she turned red. Sverayov did not have a sister—as his brother undoubtedly knew.

Alexi's slashing black brows shot up. "I see. Please, do come in," he said. And he reached past the footman to shut the door solidly behind Carolyn.

Carolyn's adrenaline rushed. "Sverayov... I mean, Nicholas ... I mean, His Highness was in the bookshop shopping for a gift for his sister." She lifted her gaze to Alexi's, challenging him to refute his brother's behavior. "He purchased a volume of poetry as well as a novel. I recalled another perfect gift for her just this morning. I have it here with me." She held it up. "Sir Walter Scott's Mar-mion. It is not new, it was published several years ago, but it is a good and hvely adventure."

Alexi smiled at her. Slowly. "How very kind of you to come all the way over here to personally deliver it. Our sister shall be thrilled. Miss . . . ?" He trailed off.

"Carolyn Browne," she said, swallowing.

"Do come inside for some refreshments. If you do not mind waiting, I am certain that my brother shall be home at any moment." Alexi took her arm, quite firmly, and propelled Carolyn down the hall. In another moment she found herself inside an elegant salon. "Actually, Niki told me all about your father's shop."

"He did?"

Alexi's wolfish smile reappeared. "He was very im-

pressed with all that he saw," he said pointedly. His amber eyes danced.

Carolyn stared. Was the younger brother also toying with her? He was making it sound as if Sverayov had been impressed with her.

A sudden movement in the doorway made Carolyn turn. A streak of white fur flashed by and disappeared. Alexi had also seen the ball of fluff, and he chuckled. ' 'Taichili must be apoplectic."

Carolyn wanted to know who Taichili was, but did not ask. "Is that a kitten? A Persian, in fact?"

"I believe so," Alexi said.

Carolyn did not hesitate. She moved toward the sofa where the cat had last disappeared, and stooped down. "Here, kitty, kitty," she said softly. "Ppst, ppst, ppst," she said.

A small white head, dominated by huge blue eyes and big ears, appeared from beneath the sofa. Carolyn smiled at the cat while a male cough sounded from behind her.

The cat vanished. Instinct made Carolyn stop breathing, made her heart slam with alarming strength. She quickly stood, losing her balance as she did so. Nicholas Sverayov reached out to steady her, staring down at her with his gleaming golden eyes.

Carolyn felt faint.

And he smiled. Far more wolfishly than his brother. "Miss Browne. What an unexpected pleasure."

She knew she flushed. She stared at him, unable to look away. But if he knew she was both Brighton and Copper-ville, he gave none of his thoughts away. Carolyn wet her lips. "I brought your sister another book."

"I see." He continued to stare, his expression not quite enigmatic. Caroline thought he was both pleased to see her and amused by her call.

Carolyn tore her glance from his. It was clear to her that he had been riding in the park. He wore snug doeskin breeches and high riding boots, a ruffled silk shirt and a tweed hacking coat left carelessly open. In fact, his ruffled

shirt was open, too, several buttons below his collarbone. Carolyn had glimpsed the dark gold hair that dusted his broad, hard chest. She had glimpsed his hard thighs. Even the breeches could not disguise the corded muscles there.

Carolyn recalled their long heated kiss, remembering vividly how his body had felt against hers, impossibly hard and strong, and how his mouth had tasted.

"Sir Walter Scott," Alexi drawled. ''Marmion, I believe."

"How thoughtful," Sverayov murmured.

His tone was so blatantly sensual that Carolyn's gaze shot back to his. "Is your sister here? I should so love to meet her," she dared huskily.

He smiled slowly. "I am afraid that my sister is in St. Petersburg. But I am sure you shall meet some other time."

Carolyn felt like scoffing, but refrained. "I doubt I shall be journeying to Russia at any time in the near future. It might prove a difficult feat for an Englishwoman, don't you think?"