Splendor (31 page)

Carolyn turned, stumbling as she did so, and somehow crossed the library. She felt his gaze on her back. She could not help wondering as she hurried from the room what would have happened if she had stayed. And then she chastised herself for being a fool. Of course she knew.

"How morose you are, Niki," Alexi said.

Nicholas was trying to read the Times, a plate of untouched food in front of .him. He did not acknowledge his brother, having just passed a night from hell.

"No good morning, tsk, tsk." Alexi slipped into a seat. "And last night at the ball you glowered at everyone— even that incredibly beautiful red-haired Lady Danziger." Alexi smiled.

"I have no idea what—and whom—you are discussing," he said, rattling his paper.

"I was just up in the nursery," Alexi soid casually, reaching for a croissant.

Nicholas lowered his journal.

Alexi grinned. ' 'I thought that would get your attention. My God, what have you done?"

His jaw flexed, his pulse raced. "What, precisely, are you referring to?"

"It was chaos in the classroom. Taichili was apoplectic. Katya and Miss Browne were discussing theater. I do believe Miss Browne is taking your daughter to a play tonight."

He found himself smiling. "Indeed."

Alexi lifted a brow. "How interesting. I now have your undivided attention."

He gave his brother an annoyed look. "She is very good for Katya."

' 'I agree. She is also, quite possibly, very good for you. You are in a bind."

He raised his paper, shielding his face—and hiding his expression. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Alexi made a scoffing sound. "You want to bed the little lady—but cannot, now that you have employed her in your home. Niki, as soon as you send Marie-Elena back to Tver, you can dally where you will."

Oddly enough, Nicholas was angered by Alexi making light of Carolyn. "She is not a tart like the red-haired Faye Danziger,"

"Oh-ho. So you did notice her."

"She has nothing that could possibly interest me," Nicholas said truthfully. "I am bored with the type."

"I realize that. So what are you going to do about Miss Browne?"

His heart skipped. What he was not going to do was to have an affair with her, no matter how much, and how often, he was thinking about it. "I am going to allow her to broaden my daughter's mind with astronomy, taxonomy, Greek, and theater." He had to smile to himself.

"What?" Alexi said.

Nicholas merely shook his head and resumed reading.

"Your Excellency," Whitehead said, appearing in the doorway. "A Mr. Browne to see you."

Nicholas lowered his paper, met Alexi's eyes. An unspoken communication passed between them, and he was grim, unable not to think about the effect that George's treachery would have on Carolyn should she ever learn about it. "Ask him to wait in the library. Whitehead," Nicholas said.

"Yes, Your Excellency. You also have a missive." Whitehead extended a large, sealed envelope. Nicholas recognized the royal seal instantly and stood.

He accepted the envelope. "Is the courier outside?"

"We are feeding him in the kitchen. Excellency."

"Very well. I shall undoubtedly have a message for him to take with him when he leaves," Nicholas said.

Whitehead bowed and left.

Nicholas went to the door and closed it.

Alexi was also standing, his amber eyes alert. He had recognized the seal as well, how could they not? For it belonged to Alexander.

Nicholas tore open the envelope and extracted a single-page letter with beautiful penmanship. He read it quickly, his pulse accelerating. "Chort voz'mi," he cursed.

"Tell me," Alexi said.

Nicholas stared. "Davout has taken Minsk."

Alexi also cursed.

Nicholas left the dining room, his feelings about the war masked. Soon the fall of Minsk would become general knowledge, but he thought that he had a few days left in which to push hard for the conclusion of an alliance—be-

fore the British learned of Russia's ever-worsening fortunes. Would Napoleon turn his armies north, and march on St. Petersburg? Or continue east, toward Moscow? How he wished to return home and take up his old command.

His grim thoughts were interrupted. Browne was already in the library when he entered, the bald spot on his head shining. Nicholas smiled. "Good morning, Mr. Browne. This is a pleasure." He shut the door solidly behind them.

George faced him with his hands in his pockets, unsmiling. "This is an outrage," he said.

"Indeed?"

"Only too well, I can imagine how you cajoled my daughter into accepting employment in your house."

"I care little for your imaginings," Nicholas S2iid, with a smile cooler than before, ' 'but I am happy to inform you that Carolyn is an excellent companion."

George stared. "Have you ruined her?"

"I do take offense at your question, but I will answer it anyway. No, I have not ruined her," Nicholas said quite calmly. "Perhaps you wish to see her in order to calm yourself."

"I do." George inhaled. "What do I have to do in order to get you to dismiss her?"

Nicholas froze. And he was rarely taken by surprise. "What do you offer me?" he asked softly.

George was pale. "I do not want her hurt."

"Nor do I. But you hardly addressed the issue," Nicholas said. "I understand you are on your way to the Continent?"

"Tomorrow," George said.

"And with Stuart Davison's blessings, I presume?"

George stiffened, wide-eyed. "How much do you know?"

So he had been right. It had been Lord Davison with Browne that night in the bookshop. "Enough. Precisely where are you going?''

George stared. "Stockholm," he finally said. Sweden was not in Napoleon's back pocket, yet Nicholas knew he

lied, for his destination was Calais, France. "I think I have located a copy of Abelard there," he continued. "The copy. I might forward it to your relatives in Russia if you wish."

Nicholas stared, smiling but inwardly grim. "And the price is that I dismiss your daughter?''

George nodded, using a handkerchief to mop his brow.

"This copy. It is rare and valuable, I presume?"

"Yes."

Nicholas leaned his hip against his desk. When he looked up, his eyes were hard. "I have no intention of dismissing your daughter, Mr. Browne. None whatsoever."

George cried out.

"You should not dabble in what you do not understand," Nicholas said harshly. He was angry, angry because George was a traitor to his country and traitors were hanged. "Do not play games too advanced for your level of skill," he said. "For you can only lose."

"Damn you," George cried.

"No, I think it is you who shall be damned." Nicholas stalked forward. "And you will dehver the copy of Abelard, my friend, to relatives of mine who reside in Kiev. I shall give you all the necessary information."

"You are mad." George backed up. "Absolutely not," he almost shouted.

Nicholas smiled ruthlessly. "If you do not," he said, very, very low, "I shall inform both your daughter and the British authorities of your activities ... my friend."

George blanched.

Nicholas returned to his desk and wrote down an address and the name used by the Russian agent there. He handed it to George, who stared at the piece of vellum as if stupefied. Then Nicholas walked to the door. "Mr. Whitehead, if you please. Summon Miss Browne," he said. He turned and smiled benignly at George. "Do have a seat."

George did not move.

Nicholas meandered over to his desk, feeling no guilt whatsoever for his ruthless lie—for he had no intention of ever allowing Carolyn to learn the unsavory truth about her

father, much less turn him in so he could be hanged. But whatever was important enough for Davison to send on to the French was important enough to be transferred to the Russian agent in Kiev, as well. Then he heard a soft footfall and he looked up.

Carolyn stood in the doorway, wearing a simple pale blue dress, her pale blond curls rioting around her small face. Her huge emerald-green eyes, filled with intelligence, dominated her face. Nicholas felt his heart turn over, hard. God. George Browne was such a fool—and that scared Nicholas.

"Papa!" Carolyn said in surprise.

Nicholas watched her rush toward her father. He forgot about himself and his odd feelings. He watched father and daughter embrace. He could see—and sense—that something was wrong. There was a tension present between them which he had never before seen.

"What are you doing here?" Carolyn asked.

"My plans have changed and I am leaving tomorrow. I came to say good-bye," George said too rapidly, and he shot a glance at Nicholas.

Carolyn also glanced his way, and their eyes connected. She flushed. "Papa, I am so happy to see you." She smiled at him. "I have revised Katya's education completely. This is a dream come true! I am teaching her astronomy, philosophy, taxonomy, mathematics—it is the most wonderful opportunity!" she cried. "I do want you to be pleased for me," she added.

"Then I suppose I do not have to ask if you are happy here, working for the prince," he said quite forlornly.

Her smile faded. She did not look toward Nicholas again. ' 'Yes, I am happy here. Did you hire someone to watch the store while you are away?"

George nodded. Then he handed Carolyn a sealed envelope. "Young Davison delivered this earlier in the morning. He was very disappointed that you were not in, and I did not tell him that you have decided to take up employment here. I did not think that a good idea."

Carolyn glanced at Nicholas as she tore open the envelope. "Oh, my," she said. "He has invited me to a ball at his father's house—and it is three days from now."

"You must go," George said abruptly.

Nicholas smiled coldly at George, aware of a jealousy he had no right to feel.

Carolyn looked from her father to Nicholas. "How can I? I don't own a ball gown and I have responsibilities here."

Nicholas turned away, his jaw tight. Davison was pursuing her. With honorable intentions? He was a good judge of character, and he thought that was the case. Nicholas raked a hand through his hair. Chort voz'mi, he thought silently. "You must go," he said abruptly.

Carolyn stared at him, and he wondered if she was remembering last night—the intimacy and the tension. She walked toward him, holding the invitation. "That is very generous of you," she said slowly.

"I do not own your time in the evening, Carolyn. You do not need my permission to attend, not this event or any other one." He gazed into her confused and cautious green eyes. "I am confident that Katya will not suffer because of a fete or two. I have full faith in you."

She hesitated. "Thank you. And you are right. My attending will not interfere with my employment, I assure you of that. But perhaps you will be there. Or your wife. I am your daughter's companion. It could be awkward for you and the princess."

He shrugged. "I happen to be attending, but I have never given a damn about convention. And do not worry about my wife." He did not smile. "The decision is, of course, yours."

Her gaze held his for an instant longer, still somewhat bewildered by his encouragement, and then she turned to her father. "Let me walk you to the door, and then I must return to my student." She beamed, taking his arm. "She was fascinated to learn that the earth revolves around the

sun, Papa. She asked me half a dozen questions!" They paused at the door.

George faltered. "Good day, Your Excellency."

Carolyn continued to smile.

"Good day, Browne," Nicholas returned, quite politely. "I do look forward to hearing all about your trip. And to receiving my copy of Abelard."

George stiffened, while Carolyn looked from one man to the other.

^ Twenty-one ^

CAROLYN was nervous. She had never attended a ball before, not even as Charles Brighton. She stood beside Anthony on the edge of the vast room. Huge chandeliers, boasting thousands of dripping candles, cast a mellow light upon the glittering throngs. Already, Carolyn thought, there were hundreds of guests present. An orchestra of string and percussion instruments was playing, concealed behind a latticework partition made of papier-mache, but no one was dancing as yet. The atmosphere was gay, festive. The crowd was animated; the conversation was puncmated with frequent laughter. Champagne flutes sparkled in the candlelight.

"I feel like such a hedonist," she mumbled more to herself than to Anthony. She wanted to keep her head on straight, and reminded herself of how much this extravaganza cost, while men were dying daily in battles being waged just across the Channel. But with the music, the food, the crowd, it was awfully hard to remember the war, poverty, suffering, and injustice. She sighed. Worse, she felt beautiful in her pale chiffon gown and her mother's strand of pearls, and at some point in the evening she was sure to smmble across Sverayov.

"I beg your pardon?"

Carolyn flushed. "I feel so . . . different tonight."

He smiled at her. "You are very beautiful tonight, Miss Browne/' His blue eyes were earnest.

'i am hardly beautiful," she demurred.

"You are very beautiful," he said firmly, "and I have always thought so."

She glanced away, thinking that he must be mad. And then, through the crowd, she saw Marie-Elena and she froze.

Of course, she had been certain the other woman would attend the ball, so she should not be surprised. But for one moment, Carolyn stared at her. She was so stunning. Her skin was flawless and ivory, her hair thick and blue-black, her features perfect. She was clad in a wisp of gold chiffon, her extremely bare, translucent gown leaving very little to the imagination, her every curve obvious, and no woman, it seemed, could have a more perfect body. Carolyn considered that she was Sverayov's wife. In spite of how strained their relationship was, and Carolyn had witnessed it firsthand, surely he found her incredibly attractive. Carolyn no longer felt very beautiful.

And Marie-Elena, who had been holding the arm of a handsome young man, had seen Carolyn. Her laughter died abruptly and her eyes widened, turning hard and cold-Carolyn shifted. But not before noticing that Anthony had espied Marie-Elena, too. He cleared his throat. "Shall I get us some ratafia?"