Splendor (55 page)

He took her hand and clasped it. "If I could, I would sweep you up in my arms and carry you into my bedchamber."

She smiled. "I prefer to walk there side by side, hand in hand," she whispered, her heart singing, her body trembling.

"Only you, Carolyn, could make the perfect reply."

Carolyn bit her lip. "Only you, Nicholas, could be so perfect yourself." How she meant her every word.

"I am hardly perfect," he whispered, his golden eyes on her face.

"There is no one I admire more," she said truthfully.

His nostrils turned red. "But I feel the same way." Carolyn smiled, perilously close to tears, and bent to retrieve his cane. She handed it to him, their gazes locked.

The covers and sheets strewn about the foot of the bed, Carolyn lay in Nicholas's arms, her cheek on his chest. But the utter relaxation and satiation she had been experiencing was fading swiftly. Tension rose in its stead. Damn Davison. And George. For ruining her life.

He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, to gaze down at her. "You are such a beautiful woman," he said, his gaze sliding over her body, as naked as his. "And I confess. I like your hair now that it almost reaches your shoulders." His fingertips caught a platinum curl.

Carolyn could not smile. "Shall I grow it?"

"But I also like it when you are playing at charades," Nicholas said. His smile faded. "Something is bothering you. Is it the decision you must make? I do not want you to think about it now, if that is the case. You have plenty of time to decide whether to accept my suit or not."

Carolyn swallowed with great difficulty. "Yes," she lied. "It is the decision I must make which is overwhelming me." She shut her eyes, hiding her face against his bare chest so he would not see the lie in her eyes.

He stroked her hair. . Carolyn finally said, ' 'You mentioned you are off to Breslau in a fortnight."

"Yes. I have some business to conclude there."

"Matters of state, I presume?" She kept her tone as light as possible, no easy task.

"I am afraid so. But do not ask me anything else, my dear, for my mission is confidential." His fingers continued to thread through her hair. "And do not mention to anyone, including your father, where I am off to when I leave town."

Her heart drummed, hurting her with its every beat. He was off to Breslau, undoubtedly to negotiate an alliance

with the Prussians, and she must find out the details. *'But why is it such a secret?" she asked.

His hand stopped. For a moment he did not answer. *'I did not say it was a secret, merely confidential."

He was suspicious. She could sense it. Carolyn made herself look up. She smiled. "Will you return to London afterward?"

He met her gaze, not returning her smile. ' 'Only if you do not come to Breslau with me."

She stared. This was what Davison wanted. Her to accompany him as a lover, while playing the spy. She could not do it. Never. She must find out what she could now, pray it was enough to free her father from the hangman's noose, and walk out of his life.

"What is wrong, Carolyn?"

She sat up, shaking her head. "I am overwrought. It has been a trying day. You will not be in danger, will you, Nicholas?"

"No."

She smiled, and kissed his cheek. "Shall we go to sleep?" she asked, her mind racing. There was a desk in the adjoining room. Clearly he was not going to tell her anything. But if he were on official business, might there not be some instructions, or notes, lying about somewhere? The sooner she did what had to be done, the better. Because she could no longer stand herself, and already wished to be alone to mourn their love.

"Very well," he said, turning to snuff out the csuidles. He pulled the heavy covers up over them and reached for her, pulling her into his arms. Carolyn could no longer relish the feel of him. She could not relax at all. She could only listen to his breathing, waiting for it to deepen, and become steady, slow, and even, as she clung to the present and dreaded the future.

If only time could be made to stand still.

He was asleep. She was certain of it. And time was not frozen, to the contrary. Carolyn remained unmoving for a few more minutes, just to err on the side of caution. Then

she slipped from his arms. He did not move.

She slid out of the bed, shivering as the cold night air struck her naked body. Not daring to light a taper, she searched the floor for her clothes and pulled on her chemise and petticoats. The fabric rustled far too loudly in the silent night, making Carolyn pause every few seconds, waiting for Nicholas to ask her what she was about. But the only sounds she heard other than that of her underclothes was his steady, deep breathing.

I am so sorry, she thought. So terribly sorry.

She hurried across the bedchamber, carefully twisting the knob on the door that opened to the parlor where she had seen the desk. It rattled. She froze. Nicholas did not jerk upright, accusing her of betrayal and disloyalty. Carolyn pulled the door open a few inches, enough for her to slip her slender body through. Then she shut the door behind her as firmly as possible, not daring to pull it all the way closed, afraid of the noise it could make.

She paused, her back against the wall, breathing harshly, hating herself even more than she hated Davison. How could she do this? How could she not? She could not let her father die. That would be even worse.

Carolyn summoned up her determination, which had been wavering. The room was cast in darkness, but she knew where the desk was. Carolyn launched herself off the wall, telling herself not to think about Nicholas now. Now she must only concentrate on the task at hand, and on not being discovered performing this abysmal, foul deed.

At the desk she found and lit a taper. Holding it aloft, she began a methodical search of the papers organized neatly on the desktop. Every page, and there were many, was written in Russian. She was dismayed. She had hoped for correspondence written in French, the official language of the Russian court. She opened the top drawer, recognized Alexander's seal instantly; it was broken, but again, the letter was in Russian. She was stumped. Tears filled her eyes as she imagined her father hanging from a rope, his body dangling and lifeless, his neck bruised and broken.

Light filled the room.

Carolyn cried out, whirling. Nicholas stood in the doorway, holding up a taper. His expression was savagely furious . . . and filled with pain.

And their gazes locked.

Carolyn knew her horror had to be obvious, as was her guilt. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest. She clutched the tabletop, watching his anger change to a far more frightening emotion—watching it change to sheer and utter revulsion.

Without a word, Nicholas turned his back on her, to exit the salon.

''Nicholas!" Carolyn shouted.

He limped back into the bedchamber.

And she knew he was walking out of her life—forever. And in that instant, nothing else mattered. Carolyn ran after him. ''Nicholas!"

<^ Thirty-five ^

NICHOLAS was pulling on his breeches from the evening before. His movements were fierce and impatient, turning the endeavor into a struggle when there should not have been even the slightest contest. Carolyn paused on the threshold, gasping for air. He did not look up.

"Nicholas, I am sorry, I had no choice!" she cried desperately.

He jerked his pants closed with a violent motion, and finally looked at her. "This is how precious our love is. Precious enough for you to betray me." His eyes were dark with pain and his voice eerily quiet.

She had mortally wounded him. And she had never loved anyone more. "I had no choice," she whispered, terrified now that it was too late, that she had, finally, irrevocably, lost him—when she had never truly had him in the first place.

"I would never have thought this of you. Not this," he said, turning his back to her, his shoulders sagging.

She ran to him, clutching his back from behind. "Nicholas, my father is going to die." She began to cry, and her tears were real. "I had no choice, damn them all for doing this to me, to us!" She wrapped her arms around him, her face pressed to his back, feeling every piece of her world splintering apart, turning into dust and shadows, and she could not bear it. It almost felt as if, having endured so

much, her mind could endure no more, and was about to snap.

He had stiffened and was motionless, now he turned. He set her away. "What in God's name are you talking about?" he asked very grimly.

"My father has committed treason," she almost screamed. She gripped his hands. "Nicholas, he is going to hang. I was supposed to find out about the alliance with Prussia. But I have failed, and now he will die, and I have lost you, too, I have lost everything in the world that matters to me." She choked. Carolyn turned away, ^nking onto the settee at the foot of the huge bed. She slumped in utter defeat, covering her face with her hands. How could she go on? How?

He knelt before her. "Why didn't you come to me first?" he demanded.

She started, dropping her hands. "How could I come to you? Should I ask you to betray your country? How would I feel then? It is far better for me to betray us, than to force you to commit such a heinous act."

He stared into her eyes, his jaw flexed, and then he stood up. "Your father is not going to hang, Carolyn, nor am I going to betray my country. You may rest assured on both points." y

Carolyn could only stare, hope beginning to rise within her breast, yet she was afraid to hope, dear God, she was, as Nicholas buttoned his shirt rapidly, reaching for his stock. "What are you going to do?" she whispered.

Tying the stock, he stared at her, his thoughts impossible to read. "Trust me," he said.

It was the middle of the night when he was ushered into Stuart Davison's town house by a bleary-eyed servant. As Nicholas had banged the knocker quite aggressively, he was only in the midst of demanding that he must see His Lordship at that moment when Davison himself appeared on the stairs, clad in his nightclothes and stocking cap, a taper in hand. But he was not sleepy-eyed, and the instant he saw

Nicholas, his entire posture changed as he became absolutely alert.

Nicholas was enraged, but knew he must not show it. Yet never had his blood boiled as it now did. Instead of strangling the man, Nicholas smiled. His bow was civil. "How sorry I am to intrude at such an ungodly hour, but there are urgent matters we must discuss, my lord, matters which cannot wait." His tone was equally restrained.

Davison's smile was as cool as Nicholas's had been. He came down the stairs. "Thank you, Giles, you may go back to bed. Follow me, Excellency."

Nicholas followed him down the corridor and into a small salon. Davison shut the door firmly and offered him a seat. Nicholas declined. He continued to struggle with his temper as he faced the other man. "So you intend to hang George Browne," he said without preamble. His eyes were hard.

Davison stared. "I have no idea what you are speaking about. Excellency."

"Really? Then how is this for news. Good news, I hope you will agree. Carolyn Browne has agreed to marry me."

Davison finally, slowly, smiled. ' T had heard this rumor that the Princess Marie-Elena died. Congratulations, Excellency. But how does that affect me?"

Nicholas stepped forward. Davison, to his credit, did not back away. "Let us cease all pretense. You are a French agent, my lord, and we both know it. It was one thing for you to threaten a weak man like Browne, another to threaten and attempt to use his daughter. Now you must deal with me. And I am not an adversary you should wish to have, my lord, I promise you that."

Davison said, "You are mad."

"I have agents in London. When I left for Russia in July, they remained. Amongst their orders they were told to keep a watchful eye upon both you and Browne. I myself have an extensive log of your activities, my lord." Nicholas smiled.

Davison stared. "I think you are blustering, sir."

"Should you think to even take such a chance? Do you not think, with my heart so involved in this particular matter, that I would make sure that you hang one way or the other if Browne is even harmed?" Nicholas asked coldly.

"There is no file, no proof," Davison said flatly after a moment.

Nicholas laughed. "You are dead wrong," he said. "For example. At midnight on August the third, a Sunday, I do believe, when I was halfway to Riga, you spent three hours at Claire Russell's. The following afternoon you and Browne met at the Three Dog Inn, where you discussed his trip to Prague. A 'manuscript' passed from your hands to his. From the Three Dog, you returned directly to Whitehall. Two days later, George Browne left England. He arrived in Prague ten days later."

Davison had, finally, turned white. "It would all be hearsay."

"I have made copies of this file," Nicholas said. "And the files are in the hands of Lieven, our new ambassador— with very specific instructions."

Davison sat down in a heavy brocade chair. "You are clever, Sverayov, very clever. Very well. Browne is out of jeopardy. He was hardly worth anything, anyway."

"Of course not, as couriers are a penny a bushel. Browne is retired, my lord," Nicholas said firmly. But you are not forgiven, he thought, for how you tried to use Carolyn. And the game was hardly over—it had only just begun.

Davison shrugged. "He was inept. A fool." His gaze met Nicholas's. "But you are off to Breslau, are you not?"

Nicholas did not let his exasperation show, but he was furious that his destination was familiar. "I am on my way home," he said, a lie. "My only current interests now being the closure of my personal affairs," He bowed briefly. "As it is late, I will not intrude any longer."

Davison said nothing, but his expression was clearly dubious. Nicholas hoped his own parting smile was genteel, and not as savage with intention as it felt. He limped decisively from the room.

And once in the corridor, he could hear Davison swear, a very ungentlemanly oath.

"What do you think he intended to do?" George asked anxiously, not for the first time.