Splendor (33 page)

' 'Will Lady Carradine suffer the same blows as one particular visiting foreign dignitary?"

"How would I know?" Carolyn laughed, shrugging widely.

"You could always write about young Davison and his new affaire de coeur, '' Sverayov said, their gazes holding. "Where is he, by the way?"

"He went off to fetch us some refreshments. I think you are exaggerating my relationship with Anthony," she said.

He only smiled.

But Carolyn stared at him, for the question had irrrnie-diately formed in her mind, one she knew she had to ask. She screwed up her courage. "You wrote 'Private Royal Affairs,' did you not?"

His gaze was wide and innocent. Smiling, he shrugged. "I have not a clue as to what you are speaking about."

Carolyn harrumphed. "You wanted to make me know what it felt like, precisely, to be on the other end of the stick." She was smiling.

"And how did it feel?"

"Not very good," she had to admit.

His smile faded. Carolyn realized his gaze had fallen to her breasts, and she flushed. "It doesn't matter," she said weakly.

He met her gaze. He did not reply.

But Carolyn was shaken by the light she had seen in

his eyes. Had she imagined it? She tried to think of something witty and clever to say, managing to tear her gaze away. And then she stiffened, as her eyes locked with her grandmother's.

Edith Owsley stood directly behind Sverayov, and now she moved purposefully forward, her gaze intent upon Carolyn. Carolyn could only stare, quite certain all the color in her face had drained away. From the comer of her eye, she saw Sverayov look from one to the other, perplexed.

"We have not been" formally introduced," the old lady said.

Carolyn fought for the ability to speak. "We have met. Or do you not recall one snowy winter day, thirteen years ago?" Her tone was pitched too high.

"Margaret failed to introduce us even then," her grandmother said. "I never expected to find you here. You may call me Lady Stafford, or Grandmother if you wish."

Carolyn squared her shoulders, aware of Sverayov's shock. She said, slowly, "Perhaps I do not wish to address you at all."

Edith's eyes widened. "You are abominably rude."

Carolyn ground her jaw down and bit back an even hotter reply.

"But at least you have a spine, unlike that nitwit Thomas," Edith said, shocking Carolyn yet again.

Sverayov stepped between them. "Excuse me," he said, j his tone polite. "I have not had the pleasure." He smiled at Edith. "Lady Stafford, may I?" He did not wait for a^ reply and he bowed. "Prince Nicholas Ivanovitch Sverayov, at your service."

"And I am the Dowager Viscountess of Stafford." She smiled faintly at him before narrowing her green eyes. "I; know who you are. Who doesn't? Did you bring her here?"

"No. I did not. Is this a family reunion?" he asked, as politely as before.

"One might say that." Edith looked at Carolyn. "You look exactly like Margaret."

Carolyn wet her lips. "Did you receive your birthday present?" It was hard to moderate her tone.

Edith nodded, appearing almost pleased. "Burke is one of my favorite authors, I have been enjoying rereading him immensely."

Carolyn started, and was unable to deny the pleasure her grandmother's words had induced—even though she was determined not to give a damn about what the older woman felt, riot about anything—including Carolyn herself.

"So who brought you here?" Edith pried. "Surely not your father?''

"My escort is Anthony Davison," Carolyn said stiffly.

"Young Davison!" Edith appeared surprised. "You are doing very well for yourself. He is a good, solid chap even if rather penniless."

"He is a mere friend," Carolyn retorted.

"Hmm." Edith squinted at Sverayov, who was regarding them both. "And the prince? How does he fit into this equation? I thought you were his daughter's companion."

Carolyn swallowed. She had no idea how to reply. And how did her grandmother know so much?

But Sverayov stepped gracefully into the breach. Smoothly, he said, "Miss Browne is my daughter's companion. But surely that does not preclude her attending a ball with young Davison."

"Oh, really?" Edith looked from Sverayov to Carolyn.

Carolyn remained silent, fingers digging into her own palms. She was perspiring. What did her grandmother want?

"She is one of the most original and well-educated women I know," Sverayov said. "The perfect companion to my daughter."

Edith regarded him closely, and then gave Carolyn the same scrutiny. "This is amazing," she finally said. "An amazing turn of events." She seemed pleased. "So. Where did you get this wonderful education?"

Carolyn lifted her chin. "From my father. And books. Lots of books," she said succinctly.

Edith stared. And muttered, "I suppose George was good for something after all."

Carolyn stepped forward, furious. But Sverayov gripped her arm, pulling her back, his gaze commanding hers. She swallowed an enraged reply.

Edith watched them both, her sharp green gaze moving between them. She said to Sverayov, "You are awfully protective of your daughter's companion. Your Excellency."

"I am," he said calmly. "Carolyn is in my employ— -dependent upon me, as are all my staff. Thus my loyalty • knows no bounds." -

Edith nodded. "I am forewarned," she said. But the old witch was actually smiling.

Bewildered, Carolyn studied her grandmother and then the Russian. "Sverayov understands diplomacy, my lady, that is all."

"As well he should. Just what is your tsar up to. Your Excellency?" Edith demanded.

His brows lifted. "I beg your pardon?"

"How serious is this situation in your country? Will you lose the war?"

He actually laughed. "I cannot give away military secrets. Lady Stafford."

She made a scoffing sound. "Are we still technically at war?"

He laughed again. "To the best of my knowledge," he said.

She waved at him dismissively, then skewered Carolyn with a look. "I imagine that my party is searching for me," she said. "Whom else do you read, other than Burke?"

Carolyn did not want to answer. "I read everything."

"Whom are you most fond of?"

Carolyn lifted her chin. "Bentham."

"So you are a liberal?"

"Vehemently so," Carolyn said heatedly.

"But Burke is archly conservative."

"Obviously I am aware of that. But only a fool reads

one point of view—especially a self-serving point of view."

"This has been very interesting," Edith mused.

Carolyn's chin remained high. "So I have amused you. How nice."

Edith paused in mid-stride. "Did I say you amused me, my girl? I said no such thing. But you are not what I expected. Not at all." And she marched off.

Carolyn stared after her, hugging herself, shaken and close to tears.

"Here," Sverayov said very kindly, and he handed her an embroidered handkerchief.

Carolyn dabbed at her eyes.

"Shall we dance?" he asked suddenly.

Carolyn started.

He smiled at her, taking her arm. "Perhaps you should release that glass. Before you break it from clutching it so tightly."

"I... Your Excellency. I cannot dance."

"Nicholas," he said. "We are quite alone, Carolyn."

"Nicholas," she whispered.

"Why can't you dance? Because you do not know how?"

"I understand the principle," she began. "I have read about it."

He laughed. "But not the act? Then I shall have to teach you." His expression sobered. "Carolyn. Are you all right?"

Carolyn flushed and nodded but she was not all right, she was miserable and blue.

"I imagine you do not wish to discuss your mysterious ancestor?"

"There is nothing to discuss." She dabbed at her eyes again. "My mother was her daughter, my father, a tutor. They fell in love and ran off. Lady Stafford never forgave my mother, who died when! was six. And she has never acknowledged me—until now, that is." She pursed her

mouth tightly, because she could feel several tears trickling down her cheeks.

"I think the old shrew liked you," he said.

She shook her head. "She hates me—and I hate her."

He stared. "Let's walk outside," he said. "I need air and I imagine that you do, too. I will also fetch us some punch."

She would never have imagined him being so compassionate and sensitive. Carolyn could only stare up at him, beginning to forget her grandmother. How wonderful it would be to seek sanctuary in his arms, to be smothered by his kisses. She would surely forget all about that horrid Edith Owsley then.

She had not even thanked her for the Burke book.

But then her sanity remmed, full force. An encounter with her grandmother, no matter how horrid, was no excuse to throw herself at Sverayov. No excuse at all.

Sverayov suddenly sighed. His eyes had moved past her. * 'In fact, your lucky escort has arrived. Unlucky me. Good evening, Davison."

Anthony appeared, balancing two very full plates. He looked from Sverayov to Carolyn and back again. "Your Excellency. I am pleased to see you again. Forgive me for not bowing," he said. He was flushing.

"You are forgiven," Sverayov said, bowing abruptly. And then he plucked Carolyn's glass from her numb fingers. * 'I suppose my suggestion was not the best of ideas, in any case. But I shall refill this for you anyway." And he was gone.

Numbly, Carolyn stared after him.

i

^ Twenty-two ^

"ANTHONY, thank you so much for a wonderful evening," Carolyn said. She stood in the doorway of the bookstore, holding the door ajar. Anthony stood on the front step outside.

"Are you certain that you are feeling all right?" Anthony asked with real concern.

Carolyn smiled, but felt miserable. She had not been a very good companion during the past few hours, picking at her meal, unable to concentrate on Anthony. Instead, her eyes repeatedly wandered around the crowd. But Sverayov, after returning to hand her a glass of punch, had disappeared as effectively as any ghost. And she had seen her grandmother leaving early with her friends, as indifferent to her presence at the ball as she was indifferent to her complete existence. "I do have the slightest headache," she said. "I'm sorry if I was poor company."

Anthony smiled at her. "How could you ever be poor company?" His smile vanished, his eyes were intent. "Thank you for joining me. I'll come by tomorrow, if you don't mind."

Carolyn hesitated, her mind racing. Anthony did not know that she had taken a position in Sverayov's household. Although that was not the reason she had decided to return home instead of to Sverayov's. And she did not believe in lying, and an omission of this namre seemed to

qualify as exactly that. "Anthony, I won't be here tomorrow. Although my father is away, he has hired someone to look after the store temporarily."

Anthony regarded her with mild bewilderment.

Carolyn felt her cheeks heat. "Actually, I have taken a position—one that is most likely temporary."

"Really? But you so love books!" he burst out.

Carolyn somehow kept smiling. "I am a companion for Sverayov's daughter. He has a daughter, you know," she rushed on, "a wonderful child who is six years old. He is allowing me to totally revise her program of education. It is a golden opportunity!"

Anthony said not a word, staring at her in obvious horror and shock.

And oddly enough, Carolyn felt terrible. She plucked his sleeve, sighing. ' 'It is actually rather complicated. The child is very lonely. She needs me."

"I see," he finally said. He was clearly unhappy. "You would rescue an unhappy princess, Carolyn."

Anthony finally bid her good night and left. Carolyn closed the door and bolted it. She was distraught. Her fife had suddenly become so very comphcated. Sverayov's allure was too powerful—and it was clearly growing. He had become an obsession, haunting all her thoughts. How could she continue on as Katya's companion now that she had realized this? Especially when she had also realized precisely how estranged he was from his wife?

But mostly, she was shaken by her encounter with her grandmother. Why had the old lady sought her out—after all these years? To amuse herself, at Carolyn's expense? And what had all her glances and remarks meant?

As Carolyn slipped off her Ughtweight shawl she thought about Edith Owsley's comment that Thomas was a nitwit and she had to smile. The old lady might be a witch, but she was no fool.

Heavyhearted, Carolyn made her way through the silent bookshop with a candle in one hand. She was weary, but knew that tonight sleep would be impossible. For, on top

of everything, her temples did throb painfully. In the kitchen she set the candle down, lighting two lamps. She would make herself some tea and a light snack, and for a while, she would work. That had always been a cure-all. And Copperville had a column due. Perhaps she would write about the Dowager Viscountess^ Stafford. Why not?

"She is not home, Your Excellency," Jacques said, holding Nicholas's ceremonial sword in one hand.

Nicholas paused in the act of unbuttoning his jacket. "But she left the ball some time ago." They were in the master suite.

"Are you certain?" Jacques asked. The valet regarded him shrewdly. "Perhaps the couple left to take a stroll."

Nicholas felt his jaw tighten. He was not discussing his wife—he did not give a damn if she had returned home or not—but Carolyn. And he had watched her exit the house with Anthony—they had left through the front door—not a pair of terrace doors as his cheeky valet was suggesting. Why was Carolyn not at home?

"Shall I bring you something to drink?" his valet asked, correctly assessing his temper, which was not good.

Had she had second thoughts about her position? Or was her absence an indication of something else. "No." He rebuttoned his jacket, heading toward the door. Perhaps she had gone home to the bookshop, but that would only mean that she was so shaken from the evening that she was quitting his employ. Or was she out and about with Davison? That, he reminded himself, was not his concern.

"Your Excellency!" Jacques ran after him. "Are you going out?"