Splendor (42 page)

Carolyn could not help understanding, in spite of her fear. She felt her eyes growing moist. "I have become fond of you, Alexi. I do not want you to get hurt."

He softened, moving to her, and throwing an arm around

her the very same way he had with Katya, except that he only had to stoop halfway down in order to do so. "I have become as fond of you as if you were my sister," he said, smiling and releasing her. "You have nothing to fear. I like life too much to allow myself to be killed by some ill-bred French peasant. Besides, I have bought myself the rank of colonel."

"Colonel. The same rank as Nicholas," Carolyn said. "And do colonels stay to the rear of their troops when the fighting begins? Do the cavalry not lead the charge?" Her tone rose to a precariously high pitch.

"Some colonels choose to remain behind," Alexi said very calmly.

"The cowards," Carolyn returned, not calm at all.

Alexi smiled at her. "I must go. I am late. I am joining the First Army."

"So you will see Nicholas," Carolyn said, her heart now wedged in her throat and pounding very swiftly there.

"I am making a point of it. Do you wish to quickly write him a note? I will wait a few more minutes."

Carolyn shook her head. She walked over to Katya and took the child's hand, to comfort herself, not Katya. "Just tell him ..." She hesitated. "I pray for him, and his men, and for a speedy end to this war." She paused, choking on her own words. "And tell him that I will do my utmost to take care of his daughter."

Alexi smiled a^-lfer. "I shall tell him exactly what you have said. Good-bye, Carolyn. Katya, one more kiss."

The little girl broke free of Carolyn, rushing to her uncle to obey. He swept her up into his arms, spinning her around as he hugged her and held her hard. And Carolyn thought she saw moisture sheening his eyes for one brief moment, before he put her down. She turned away. Ordering herself not to let the fear control her mind, not yet, anyway.

Supper was a somber affair. Katya played with her food, pushing it back and forth around her plate. Taichili ate with mechanical determination. Raffaldi had gone home to his

city flat, so only Carolyn sat with them at the table in the family dining room, and she herself had no appetite. Just as the table, which could seat two dozen, was far too big for the three of them, so too was the palace. Especially with the city in such a state of silence and sobriety. The city, the palace, this room, had become oppressive. And so disturbing.

She wondered when she would leam if Nicholas was all right. And she imagined his reaction when Alexi appeared in his uniform—and then told him that she was in St. Petersburg.

Carolyn forced her imagination aside, folding her hands in her lap. She looked around, saw that Taichili had also finished, as had Katya. She summoned a smile. "Shall we have dessert? I think I saw a tart in the kitchen this afternoon."

Katya brightened. But then she sobered. "Why didn't he come?" she asked.

Carolyn hesitated. By now, rumor held that the tsar was in the city. That afternoon, most of St. Petersburg, Carolyn and her charge included, had turned out to witness the spectacle of his arrival at the Hermitage after a mission in Abo. The parade had been spectacular, with hundreds of white cavalry chargers bearing crimson-clad officers in their plumed helmets, followed by regiment upon regiment of foot soldiers and marching bands. But the tsar had never appeared.

And the crowd, tense, silent, and grim to begin with, had finally given over to boos and hisses, overwhelmed by their disappointment. Carolyn herself had remarked just how conftised and bewildered her own entourage was by the tsar's failure to appear. Apparently, Alexander had waited until after the parade was over to be taken incognito to the Winter Palace. Had he been afraid to face his own people after the constant humiliation his armies had suffered at Napoleon's hands?

"He was probably tired, Katya," Carolyn said. "After all, he is human, like you and 1.1 think he wished to please

the people by giving them the parade, but needed some privacy for himself."

Katya seemed to accept that, but Taichili did not. In her usual brisk manner, she said, "Royals are not entitled to privacy." And she made a harrumphing sound.

For once, Carolyn was in agreement with her.

Footsteps had sounded in the corridor, and Carolyn assumed it was a servant. But now she heard Nicholas say, "That is vastly unfair."

Carolyn's gaze flew to the doorway, where he stood in a caped gray-green greatcoat over a similar uniform, smiling ever so slightly. Her heart stopped alarmingly, then beat with maddening force. But he was not looking at her, he was smiling tiredly at Katya. Had he even seen her?

"Father." Slowly Katya stood up, her eyes wide with surprise and excitement, belying her controlled tone.

"Come here," Nicholas said, squatting. But his jaw was flexed tight.

Katya quickly obeyed, walking into her father's arms. He held her briefly, then straightened, nodding at Taichili, and finally looking at Carolyn.

She knew she was red-faced. She could not speak. Their gazes connected then, in that stunning instant, and held.

And if he were surprised—or glad—to see her, he gave no sign of it. She looked him over again. His gray-green greatcoat was streaked with mud, as were his knee-high boots and pale, dove-colored breeches. "Miss Browne," he said. "I did not expect to find you here." Did his temples throb?

Carolyn stood up. After what they had shared during their last encounter, he seemed so formal, so remote. Images flashed through her mind, graphic and intense, accompanied by sweet, then bitter, sensations. "Excellency," she said, and she was aware that she had never before addressed him that way. "We did not expect to see you here."

He smiled faintly at her repartee, his gaze still locked on her face. "My presence was requested by the tsar."

"I see." But she did not. What was he thinking and

feeling? Was he thrilled—and frightened—to see her, as she was to see him? And why, why was he so obviously exhausted? "Have you traveled far?"

"Yes. About seven hundred kilometers—in four full days."

"That is nearly impossible," Carolyn said, wide-eyed. Wanting to rush to him and relieve him of the burden of his wet, dirty greatcoat, and then take him in her arms. But that was not why she was here, in his palace, in St. Petersburg. The fact that he was married, and out of her reach, had not changed. Nothing had changed—not even her feelings. Impossibly, they seemed to be far greater than before. Carolyn looked down at her plate.

"Little is impossible," Nicholas returned.

"Excellency, are you hungry?" Taichili asked, standing, as a servant suddenly appeared, only to see the prince and gape. "Fyodor. Another place and more food. His Excellency is famished."

Nicholas's smile was wry. He removed his coat and flung it over the back of a chair, then took a seat—between Carolyn and Katya. Carolyn now became aware of the tension pervading every fiber of her being. He had come to meet Alexander. How long would he stay? She was certain that it would not be for very long. Her heart sank. He would probably leave in the morning!

She stole a quick glance at him. Was he acting as if they were total strangers? Did he now regret his invitation to her to come to Russia to care for Katya?

Silence reigned as Nicholas was served. Carolyn watched him as he attacked his plate with the gusto of a man who has not eaten in a long time. No one spoke until he had finished every morsel and quaffed the last of a second glass of red wine. Carolyn had seen the bottle. It was not French.

"Is there anything else I may get you, Excellency?" a servant asked.

Nicholas declined. "No. Katya, is it not time for your bed?"

"Can I not stay up just a little bit longer?" Katya asked breathlessly.

Nicholas smiled slightly. "For a few minutes, then. For I must leave to attend my meeting,"

"With the tsar?" Katya asked.

Nicholas nodded.

Katya glanced at Carolyn, who realized she was clutching the table, so great was her tension. He was going out. She was dismayed. Weren't they going to have even the slightest chance to speak together? Alone?

She closed her eyes. But that would be asking for trouble, would it not? But perhaps he no longer felt for her as she did for him. He certainly did not seem to care that she was present in his home—so very far away from hers.

"Are you unwell. Miss Browne?"

She opened her eyes to find him watching her with his steady golden ones. "Not really," she managed. She forced a smile, thought she failed. "We went to watch the tsar's arrival today," she said, hoping to sound lighthearted.

He raised a brow.

"But we only saw a wonderful parade."

"He did not come," Katya said.

Nicholas's jaw flexed. ' 'Alexander has a way of avoiding unpleasantness," he murmured. Suddenly he was on his feet, not looking at Carolyn. "Excuse me. I am going to be late if I do not go now. Katya, we will share breakfast in the morning."

Katya smiled.

And Carolyn thought, so he will not leave before that, while we are all asleep. She found herself standing as well, and when she realized she still clutched the table, she forced herself to open her hands and shove them down at her sides.

The huge greatcoat was swirling about his shoulders as he settled it on. He strode to the door. Carolyn, Taichili, and Katya all stared after him, Carolyn with growing despair. He is leaving, she thought. Only half an hour after he has arrived. And he has not given a single indication

that he still feels at all fondly toward me. Oh, God. I am such a fool.

But at the door his purposeful strides faltered. And suddenly, slowly, he turned.

His piercing gaze went right through Carolyn, striking away any and all doubt. For it was filled with desire—and there was no mistaking it.

The household was asleep. Carolyn sat in the salon on a leather couch, not far from the hearth, where a fire danced and leapt. A cashmere throw was across her legs, a book, which she had no intention of reading, in her hands. The tall ornate grandfather clock in the comer of the room chimed the passage of another hour.

It was eleven o'clock.

Nicholas had been gone for three hours. But he was in a meeting with the tsar, and it could go on for many more hours, if Alexander so wished it.

Her heart went out to him, for she recalled his fatigue. It was impossible for her to deny the urge she now had to be with him, to offer him comfort and solace and some respite from the very real, harsh world. She bit her lower

lip.

It was too late to decide that coming to Russia was a mistake. Now she must make sure that it did not become a bigger mistake. And that was not going to be an easy task, because she loved him more than ever, and had finally faced the dire truth. She was always going to love him, even if she remmed to London and married someone hke Anthony and had her own children. He was, simply, an unforgettable man.

And she did not even want to forget him, not when he meant so much to her. But in time, she was going to leave Russia, and she would have to make some kind of complete life for herself, she must, because he would stay here— with his wife. She, Carolyn, would become someone else's wife, or remain unwed, but she was never going to become his wife. There. The truth was out, her secret, insane desire.

to be his partner, helpmate, and wife, she had finally admitted it to herself.

She wiped her eyes. She fought the urge to cry. Why was she so emotional? When he returned from his meeting, she did not want to break down and weep in front of him. That would not do. Oh, no.

But why did she have to want the impossible? Why? The boyars did not divorce. As unacceptable as divorce was at home, here, in Russia, it was not even an option. Men like Nicholas might eventually separate from their wives, and keep a mistress or two. Period.

In any case, Carolyn knew she could not live with her conscience if he could, and would, divorce Marie-Elena. Thus her choice was clear. She could take whatever crumbs he tossed her way, becoming his lover, or not. She was certainly damned if she did, and damned in this life if she did not.

The tears came. Carolyn laid the book on the floor and sank down deeper on the couch, hugging the throw and herself.

Nicholas walked his mount through the dark, sleeping streets of St. Petersburg. The horse did not object to the sedate pace. His hooves rang loudly on the cobblestones, which were damp from an evening mist, and echoed in the silence of the night. Above Nicholas's head, several lonely stars blinked through the cloudy night sky beyond the steeple of a cathedral. A sliver of moon was just visible.

How dark the unlit city was, he mused. Dark, dreary, depressed. Not too many months ago one could ride home at night after a reception or a ball, and every mansion would be completely lit up, carriages would be racing down the streets, and drunken rakes would be staggering from one party to the next. Laughter would fill the air.

Ahead lay the ghostly stone form of Vladchya Palace. Carolyn's image instantly filled his mind.

His grip on the reins tightened, making his horse prance and snort in protest. Immediately Nicholas relaxed his

hands, but his heart raced uncomfortably now. In a way, he had not been surprised to find her at his home when he had arrived there. Oh, God.

The recent past had taught him a monumental lesson. From the very moment when she had walked out of the library after they had made love, refusing to return to Russia with him, he had been a man with a broken heart. And for a heart to be broken, it first had to love. But Nicholas did not have to be rational and analytical to realize that, somehow, somewhere, sometime, he had fallen in love with a mere slip of a girl—a bookseller's daughter with a penchant for charades and debate.

His heart was tight now, and aching. He was so damned glad that she had come, yet he was filled with dread, too, and resignation. He'd had more than enough time in the past month to think about their situation. For him, a liaison with Carolyn would be enough. He could build her a palace, anywhere she chose, and if she wished to reside in England, he would spend as much time there as possible in order to be with her. He could escort her to dinners, dances, and balls—if that is what she wished. And if she preferred intimate evenings spent in philosophical debate? Why, that would please him, too.