To Love a Horseguard (2 page)

  John grabbed two pints off a passing serving wench’s tray and flipped a couple of coins onto the table. He set one down in front of his companion and took a sip of the other.

  The sailor gulped down half of the contents of his mug before he spoke. “The Russian was at the ambassador’s to solicit funds and troops to wage war on the tsar.” The man paused, leaned closer over the table and lowered his voice. “He don’t travel with no royal crew a’far’s I kin tell.”

  John swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as the sailor’s stale breath washed over him. “What do you mean?”

  “I ain’t positive never havin’ seen no Russian navy b’fore but that lot looks like a bunch o’ dressed up pirates t’ me.” 

 
Puzzled, John pondered the idea. “What would a prince be doing with a shoddy crew?”

  The sailor shrugged. “Mayhap he ain’t a real prince.”

  John raised his eyebrows. “That is certainly a possibility.”

“So the real prince could ‘ave sent this one
‘ere in ‘is place so the tsar wouldn’t suspect a double cross.” The sailor stood and held out his hand palm up. “Word on the docks is the prince is leavin’ on the mornin’ tide.”

 
Mind churning with new information John took a small pouch of coins out of his pocket and tossed them on the table. The man picked up the bag and shook it to judge the weight. Satisfied he grinned, drained the last of the pint and departed.

John stood and made his way through the crowded room to the door ignoring the suggestive looks from an attractive blonde serving wench. Outside he summoned a coach and gave the driver directions to the ball. Insid
e the dark interior he sat back and pondered this newest information. Could the Russian prince be a fake or a decoy?  If he was the real prince why was he sailing with a shoddy crew? Were they hired mercenaries? The prince hadn’t managed to convince the British ambassador to lend him funds, of that John was certain, for England would not jeopardize the fragile peace between the two countries. He put aside his thoughts and questions as the coach rolled to a stop in front of the mansion. John jumped out, tossed the driver a coin and hurried up the stairs into the ballroom.

Surveying the noisy scene, he picked up a glass of wine off a passing servant’s tray and made his way through the th
rong to his grandmother’s side. “Good evening, grandmother.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

The duchess smiled, her blue eyes twinkling and the crow’s-feet of age lining them becoming more pronounced. She paused to adjust her delicate silk fan. “Jonathon, I see you managed to finish your meeting in time to enjoy some of the festivities. That is quite the costume by the way.”

He grinned. “I thought coming as a coal miner would be an original idea. Where is my darling sister? Is she dancing the night away in her fiancé’s arms or hiding behind a potted palm somewhere plotting her escape?”

The duchess tittered behind her fan. “Really, must you tease the poor girl so?”

The marquis returned to the duchess’ side. “Has anyone seen my fiancée? She was dancing with Lord Darrington earlier, but I have not seen her since.”

The duchess
glanced around the room. “I am sure she is around here somewhere. Maybe Jonathon can find her for you. I should like to leave soon. The party is starting to die down and it is never fashionable to be one of the last guests to leave.” She took the marquis’ arm. “I do believe your name is on my card for this dance.”

The marquis led her out on the dance floor as John scanned the room for Rose. His sister was nowhere to be seen. He checked the ladies parlor, the library, the veranda and gardens, but there was no sign of her. He found his grandmother and the marquis in the greeting room saying goodbye to their hosts.

“I cannot find her or Beth anywhere,” John told them.

The duchess
patted his shoulder. “You know Rose, always going off on her own when she is bored. Perhaps she and Beth caught a ride home earlier with friends.”

“Well.” The marquis huffed. “She is going to have to be more responsible when we are married. I do not have time to go chasi
ng around after her.”

“I am sure she will settle down and get all this silly horse business out of her head once she is married and has a few babies at foot,” the duchess assured him. With a commanding wave of her hand she led the way out to the waiting carriage.

John helped his grandmother into the coach, nodded to the marquis and hopped aboard. As he settled back in the seat and watched the marquis board his own coach he had the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. It wasn’t like Rose to leave without telling someone she was going. On the other hand she seemed very unhappy lately. Maybe his grandmother was right and his sister was at home tucked in bed reading one of her many romantic novels. He stared out the carriage window at the darkened streets and buildings they passed. He hadn’t seen the Russian prince at the ball either.

“Grandmother, was the Russian prince at the ball tonight?”

“Why, yes, he was, at least he was announced, though it was far too crowed an affair to get a good look at him. Why?”

“I just wondered. I did not see him there. Of course with all the costumes I would not have recognized him I am sure.”

The duchess frowned. “I do not recall what costume he was wearing. Actually, I do not recall seeing him at all after he was introduced.”

The carriage arrived at their townhouse. John h
urried to jump out and help his grandmother down. He questioned the staff only to learn that no one had seen Rose return from the costume ball. A quick check of her rooms proved she had not retired with a novel. The servants conducted a search of the townhouse, followed by a lamplight search of the gardens and stables, and returned empty-handed.

The duchess’s face
paled when John told her the news. “I just know something terrible has happened to her, John. Oh dear, I think she may have run away.”

John knelt by his grandmother’s chair and took her hand in his to comfort her. “I will find her. If Rose has run away I will bring her home.” He called for his horse to be saddled and rode back to the ball in search of information.

Chapter
Two

With a soft groan
Rose rolled over in the soft bed, taking her time to fully awaken. The pounding in her head alarmed and her mouth was too dry to speak. Eyes still closed she reached for the bell pull to summon her maid Betsy, but was unable to find it in the usual place above the head of the bed. She opened her eyes, blinking at a bright shaft of sunlight streaming in through a wide gap in the curtains covering the windows. Drawing the covers back over her head to block out the intruding light she cursed her consumption of champagne the eve before. The door opened with a creak.

Betsy will end my suffering, she always knows what to do.
“Betsy?”

An unfamiliar
female answered. “No Princess, your maid isn’t here this morning.”

Princess… where is Beth
?
Rose frowned, irritated at the disruption of her normal routine. “How many times have I told Betsy to keep the drapes closed in the morning? I feel awful. It is like the whole room is rocking.”

Soft footfalls crossed the room, and then came the swish of the drapery being whisked shut. As she lay there trying to remember how she arrived home the ni
ght before, she became aware of seagulls squawking and men’s voices. Puzzled, she tried to place the strange noises that were foreign to her regular morning sounds. Finally, she pushed the covers down and opened her eyes. Instead of her familiar yellow silk bed canopy she was greeted by dark wooden beams crisscrossing a rough plank ceiling. She sat up, alarm coursing through her veins and looked around.

A short woman dressed in a dark blue maid’s uniform approached. She poured a glass of water from the pitcher on a small wooden table to the right of the bed and offered it to her.

Rose took the glass. “Where am I?”

The red-headed woman gave her a weak smile. “I’m afraid you're on Sergi’s ship.”

“Who is Sergi?” Rose put a trembling hand to her aching head and took a sip of the water. The coolness soothed her raw throat. She drank half and then lowered the glass. “I do not understand. How did I get here?”

The maid glanced over her shoulder as the double doors across the room clicked and opened.

A short blond man stood on the threshold for a moment. He smiled at her before strolling across the thick red carpet to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Good morning, Princess Elizabeth. How are you feeling?”

Rose frowned trying to place the man. His voice was familiar yet she couldn’t quite place it. “I am feeling terrible. What is going on here? Why am I here?”

He gave her a
sympathetic look. “I am sorry you are not feeling well. Being drugged does tend to leave one feeling achy and out of sorts.”

Rose pulled the covers up around her neck. The man smirked and tur
ned away. She pondered him, wary as he crossed to a bookshelf on the other side of the room. He took a brandy decanter and a glass down and then turning toward her, poured a drink.

“You want to know why you are here.” He took a large swig from his glass before continuing. “I should start by telling you who I really am. I am Sergi, brother to Nicoli, who by the way is dead. I know this, because this is his ship and I killed him to get it.”

Rose gasped and shivered at the gruesome idea that this man had killed his own brother in cold blood with no thought of the human life he had taken. His tawny stare jostled her memory of the night before. He had brought her a drink, it tasted strange.
He drugged me!
She glared at him. “You are the man from the ball, the prince.”

He
smiled and continued. “I am not the prince. Of course being dear Nicoli’s brother does make me a cousin to Peter, the new tsar of Russia.”

“I do not care who you are!”  Rose spat. “Why am I here?”

“Patience my dear, I am getting to that part.” Sergi smiled at her again, but it lacked warmth. The icy blankness of his stare raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “You see, you are going to help me overthrow the new tsar and take my rightful place as ruler of all Russia. Peter will destroy our country with his modern reforms and his refusal to go to war with France.”

Rose’s head ached with her growing fear and confusion. “But what do I have to do with all this?”

“Not to worry dear Princess. May I call you Elizabeth?” He continued without waiting for her to answer.  “Since we will be together for a long, long time I think we should be on a first name basis.”

He believes I am Beth.
“You have made a terrible mistake, I am not Elizabeth. I am her cousin Rose, and I do not care who you are or what you plan to do in Russia. You will return me to my home at once.”  Rose cringed, her own raised voice causing her head to throb.

“I never make mistakes. You are the princess. You were introduced to me as such at the ball last evening, or have you forgotten? I am afraid returning you to yo
ur home is out of the question Elizabeth, since we are already out to sea.” Without another word he turned his back on her and walked out, the click of the door and the scrape of a key in the lock leaving no doubt in her mind this was not a jest.

Rose
scrambled from the bed. “Wait.” In her haste she tripped on the bed clothes and her rumpled gown. She fell to her knees on the floor. Clutching her head in both hands she fought the sudden dizziness engulfing her.

The maid rushed to her side and helpe
d her back into the bed. “Come Princess, it's not good to upset yourself. A spot of tea and toast, you’ll be right as rain.”

Rose let the maid tuck her in and lay back against the propped up pillows. There was a tap on the door and the sound of a key in the lock. A large middle-aged woman bustled in carrying a silver tea service and a covered dish on a tray. A uniformed guard closed and re-locked the door behind her. She crossed
the room, set the tray across Rose’s lap and removed the lid to reveal two thick slices of buttered toast.

“This help,” she said in a thick accent. She pointed to Rose’s stomach. When Rose finally gave her a small smile, she nodded and poured a cup of strong tea. She hande
d the delicate tea cup to Rose and then wiped her hands on her apron. “I back later, da?” She nodded without waiting for an answer and tapped on the door. The guard opened it and she removed herself from the room.

Rose sighed and considered pushing the tray away in case the food was drugged, but the aroma of the hot buttered toast made her stomach growl. She picked up a piece and took a small bite. The rough texture scratched her already irritated throat when she forced it down. While she ate and
sipped her tea she surveyed the room. It was large, and elegantly furnished, the type of room fit for a prince. A low bookshelf with a rail to keep the books from falling out was placed under a row of gold velvet drapes. Thick carpet covered the floor from wall to wall. She looked up. The bed she lay in was suspended from the ceiling by thick chains.
No wonder I feel as if the room is rocking.
A large table with two plush chairs took up most of the chamber’s floor space. Rose had never been aboard the English royal ship, but she supposed it looked very much like this one.