Splendor (11 page)

The tall, dark-haired man blinked at Nicholas. "Where have you been?" he said, more mildly.

"I have been sharing a drink with my young friend," Sverayov said. "Alexi, meet young Brighton. Charles, this is my brother, Alexander."

Alexi was staring, making Carolyn feel awkward. She extended her hand. "A pleasure, sir," she said.

He took her palm as if reluctant to do so, shooting Nicholas a slanting glance.

Carolyn withdrew her hand. "I have enjoyed our conversation," she said to Nicholas Sverayov with a brief bow.

"As have I." He was smiling. "I will see you at midnight," he said firmly.

She felt her cheeks heat, though she nodded, and she rushed off into the crowd.

"Good God," Alexi said, staring after her. "Are you insane? Or have you recently acquired a yearning for boys?"

Nicholas started to laugh. "Brighton is a woman." He continued to chuckle.

Alexi started, and then his eyes narrowed. "Not the intruder from the other morning?"

"Yes. That is he—which is also she—and her real name, of course, is Carolyn Browne. Does she really think to fool me with that silly disguise? I am a man. I can tell the difference between a man and a woman. Be'sides, I saw her on the street outside the very moment I arrived." He started to laugh again.

"Well, you seem happily amused. What is she up to?"

"I have no idea. But I do intend to find out." Nicholas folded his arms, staring across the crowd, locating Carolyn with her back to a pillar, pretending to be preoccupied with watching the dancers. "Surely she wants something from me. But why masquerade as a man when she would be so much more likely to achieve her ends if she approached me as a woman?"

Before his brother could respond, Nicholas espied Lady Carradine emerging from the crowd. He prepared himself. She floated forward, her lush figure enticingly revealed. "Nicholas," she said, hand extended. "How wonderful to see you."

He took her hand, bowed over it, and voiced those same sentiments, which he did not feel.

Carolyn was waiting for Sverayov in the foyer when the clock struck midnight.

She had done little other than to think frantically about

what he intended for them to do. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she could not refuse this golden opportunity. Or was it Sverayov whom she could not refuse?

Carolyn sought to be rational. What woman ever got a chance to see a brothel firsthand? Curiosity alone made her case overwhelming. But she had Copperville to think of now, too. Carolyn imagined that she might come up with half a dozen good pieces from this one night alone.

She was excited, exhilarated, and of course, she could not help but being afraid. Surely she would not be put in the position of having to carry on with some prostitute as if she were a man! For then she would be unmasked.

Carolyn had a simple plan. When that moment came, she would become ill—and she would make a very hasty retreat. But until that climactic ending to an extraordinary night did occur, she would keep her eyes and ears wide open.

Now Carolyn stood with her hands in the pockets of her blue velvet coat. She saw him coming toward her from the ballroom. She felt her tension increase. She stared openly, helplessly. Of course, she was not the only one doing so. Heads turned in his wake, every one of them female.

"Ahh, there you are." With long, lithe strides he bounded up the three short steps that led to the foyer. "You did not forget our little rendezvous," Sverayov said with a cool smile.

"I am looking forward to it," Carolyn said, smiling briefly. However, in spite of her anticipation, her fear seemed to be increasing.

He clapped her lightly on the back. "As am I. There is no better way to end an evening, is there?" He winked.

Carolyn did not reply because he did not remove his hand from her back as they walked outside past two unsmiling footmen. His touch was arousing. She had never had this kind of reaction to a man before. He finally dropped his palm as they trotted down the steps leading to the sidewalk. Carolyn was disappointed—she was also re-

lieved. And had he meant what she thought he did? That an evening's best conclusion was lovemaking? Her heart beat double time now.

His magnificent coach was waiting for them on the street below. The Cossacks sat mounted behind the carriage as still as stone statues. Footmen leapt to attention, opening the door for them.

"After you, my friend," Sverayov drawled.

Carolyn stepped up into the coach, feeling his gaze on her back. Her eyes widened. The interior of the coach was well lit by sconces attached to the interior walls. The coach boasted royal blue velvet seats with trim braided in gold. A fur rug was folded in the comer of one seat. Carolyn sat down. In that moment, she thought about her mother and her grandmother. Margaret could have had all of this. But she had chosen the splendor of true love instead. Yet Carolyn could not help thinking about the obvious attractions of life in society. It was not just the fine things one might have, but the relief from the constant worry of how to make ends meet. She reached out to touch the fur.

"Russian sable," he said, low, interrupting her thoughts. His breath brushed her ear. Carolyn jerked around, only to find his face inches from hers, their gazes immediately connecting. His was bright. She plopped down backward as a result of their sudden proximity. The coach was far too small for the two of them.

"We have very long, cold winters at home." He settled on the squab facing her, stretching out his long, booted legs. Their knees brushed.

Carolyn was hot. The door had been closed and now the coach moved forward. She clasped her hands in her lap.

"Did you ever find your lady friend?" he asked, his eyes sliding over her face.

"Actually, I did."

"And what explanation did she give you for her failure to keep your tryst?'' Amusement laced his tone.

"She had a change of heart," Carolyn said.

*'How fickle females are." Sverayov stared. "Fickle ... and deceitful."

"That is a vast generalization, is it not?" Carolyn said as calmly as possible. After all, Brighton, had he existed, might agree. Still, she had to defend her own sex. But his words did remind her of her own deceit.

"Not true. In the vast realm of my experience, I have found the fairer sex to be quite inconstant—and quite misleading, as in your case tonight."

Carolyn met his gaze and tried to decide if he meant what his words seemed to mean or if his remark was but another coincidence. His gaze was bland, innocent. She swallowed down a stabbing of fear and smiled—far more boldly than she felt. "Men can be as inconstant. Take myself. My heart is broken, but already I am intent on consoling myself with someone else."

He smiled at her. "So that is your intention, eh?"

She flushed. "Of course."

"I would hardly label your behavior as inconstant, nor is it deceitful," Sverayov drawled. His eyes held hers. "Would you?"

She prayed she would not flush. "In this case, no, of course not." She looked away, anywhere but at him.

"Although one might say your behavior is misleading," Sverayov said. Carolyn's pulse leapt. He smiled and added, ' Tf one had known of your fondness for the lady in question."

"Well, I am certainly not fond of her anymore," Carolyn managed.

"That is wise. It is better to recover immediately and move on than to linger hopelessly where one is not wanted, like some foolish romantic."

Carolyn looked into his compelling golden eyes and thought of Lady Carradine, whom she had noticed fawning over him some time ago, and all the other women he must have swept off their feet. Thankfully, she was not now, and would never be, one of them.

"Absolutely," Carolyn said, glad the topic had veered

away from innuendos that seemed to strike at the very heart of her deception. But his barbs against her o.wn sex still rankled. "Do you dislike women, Sverayov?"

He laughed. "To the contrary."

She shifted in her seat. "I know you are a ladies' man, and that was not .my meaning. I have found that some men, although quite fond of, er, passion, actually are not at all' fond of women. Have you not found this to be the case?"

"That is a wise observation for one as green as you," Sverayov said. He reached down and produced a leather flask from a compartment beneath the seat. "Vodka, my friend. Will you share?'' He extended the flask out to her. His eyes were bright, intense. Intent.

"I..." Carolyn trailed off. She did not dare. She wanted her wits about her.

"I understand. Performance fears. I myself have never had to worry about that," he said, tipping his head back and taking a draught of the flask. He then slipped it into his coat pocket.

"I do not understand," Carolyn said cautiously.

He started, then smiled. "You are refusing to imbibe, are you not, because it will interfere with your abihty to make love to a woman? Many men suffer from such an affliction. They drink and cannot maintain an erection. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

Carolyn knew that she turned red. She gaped, a very graphic image coming to mind—and realized what she was doing and quickly closed her mouth. If he noticed her shock, he gave no sign of it. How she wished she could fan herself with any object close at hand.

"To answer your question, I hardly dishke women. I only dislike those particular ones who are dishonest and inconstant." He smiled at her. "I am not a man who enjoys being misled."

She wet her dry lips. "I dislike dishonesty in general," she said, then wanted to kick herself. And take back her words.

"Really? Then we have a great deal in common, you and I."

Carolyn closed her eyes briefly. She could not seem to get out of the hole he was digging—with her very own help.

"Have you ever noticed," Sverayov drawled, causing Carolyn to meet his gaze, "that in the best of times, women are nearly impossible to comprehend?"

She took a deep breath. "Women can be difficult to comprehend." She had no choice now but to agree.

"They will say one thing, and do another. Or act one way, but it is sheer subterfuge."

"I am not sure I understand your meaning." Her tone was hoarse. She was so warm now she wanted to remove her coat—an impossibility.

' 'What I am saying is that women often give off mixed signals, making it almost impossible for a man to understand what they want—or know who they really are." He smiled at her.

Her heart beat with maddening force. If the carriage had seemed overly warm before, it was hotter than Hades now. Was he about to unmask her? But surely he would not have waited this long to do so. "That is funny. I have several sisters, and they all say the very same thing about men." How else could she respond?

"Oh? Is that what they say about usT' His gaze was wide, benign.

"In fact, they decry the hypocrisy of our behavior," Carolyn said rapidly. "They find us misleading and, to be blunt, dishonest. They think we say one thing, and mean another. After all, when a man vows undying love, and later that evening indulges himself with another woman, that is quite incomprehensible, is it not?'' She could hear how her own tone was pitched too high.

He smiled slightly. "Honesty. We cannot seem to get away from the topic. Only a fool would vow undying love, or a liar, for it does not exist."

"You are a cynic."

"Precisely. And you, I am sure, are an eternal optimist."

**I am proud of it."

"I am sure that you are," he rejoined.

"Sverayov, you have been linked to several women since you have arrived in town. Is that not an example of the dishonesty typical of men?"

He regarded her, his expression impossible to read. "And why is my private life an example of dishonesty?"

"Well, you do have a wife." Carolyn began to feel uneasy. She wanted to retreat.

"My wife and I go our separate ways." He was cool. He smiled at her. It was dangerous. "Many couples do. Neither one of us expects or even wants fidelity from the other. Actually, I would describe our relationship as painfully honest. Wouldn't you?"

Carolyn squirmed. "I suppose so," she said carefully. "If I have offended you—"

"Why would such a statement offend me?" His posture was completely relaxed, his amber eyes unblinking. "My behavior is hardly unconmion. And if it is, to some degree, dishonest, than so is my wife's, and that of much of society."

"If a room is filled with people," Carolyn said quickly, "and everyone lies, that does not mean it is acceptable, nor does it mean that you should also lie."

"Are you a proponent of fidelity?"

She hesitated. "Yes. I think if two people enter the state of wedlock, fidelity is desirable."

"Spoken like a true romantic." His long fingers played over the velvet of the seat he sat upon. "Women, I find, tend to favor commitment and fidelity."

"Another vast generalization."

' 'How fond of your sisters you must be, to defend their gender so faithfully and repeatedly."

"Have you no sister you are as fond of?" Carolyn retorted.

"None."

"So you have never proclaimed undying love to any

woman, Sverayov?" Carolyn could not help herself.

"Never." He was adamant. And amused.

She thought about his wife, who was supposed to be stunning. She could not get her out of her mind. His wife, who had just lost a child. But if they led independent lives, had the child even been his? It was a stunning possibility. "Not even to your wife?"

His smile vanished. His eyes cooled in spite of their amber color. "I am neither a fool nor a liar, my friend. I never promised my wife anything I did not intend to give her."

She pushed herself back into the velvet seat. There was danger in his tone. "I was intrusive. I am sorry. It's just—"

He stared.

Carolyn was sorry to have even raised the topic. She cast her eyes down. Only one thing was clear. He did not seem to be in love with his wife. But he was a self-confessed cynic, with a renowned reputation for being heartless when it came to women.

Sverayov interrupted her thoughts. "Are you sure you do not wish for a sip of vodka? We are almost there."