Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella) (18 page)

Knowing he owed the woman a measure of comfort, he offered, “He never told me. But he mentioned it happened whilst trying to escape France. After you had arranged transportation for him.”

Her hand jumped to her mouth. She closed her eyes, letting another tear slip down her cheek and said through her quaking hand, “Leave me.”

He seated himself in a chair beside her. “I will leave once I am assured you are less distressed.”

“Whilst kind,” she choked out, “that will take more time than you have.”

“I have time, Madame,” he gently offered. “Do you require anything? Shall I call for one of your servants?”

“No. Thank you.” She lowered her hand and sniffed softly. “Might I ask who you are to him?”

He inclined his head. “I am Mr. Levin. I am a friend.”

“How long have you known him?”

“A few months. Though most of it was never in his presence.”

“You have a heavy accent.” Her eyes cut to his. “Are you from Russia?”

“Yes.” Konstantin shifted toward her in his seat. “I wish to assure you that in my country, Andelot is well-known for being everything a man should be. He is a legend in Moscow and is a patron to the poor and all things good. He is incredibly generous. Overly generous. To me and to everyone.”

She reached out and delicately touched his arm. “Care for him, Mr. Levin. I am afraid I was always too proud to do right by him. He needs a true friend. The sort he has never had due to his status and upbringing. Promise me you will be a good friend to him.”

It was obvious this woman was still in love with Andelot. “I will ensure he stays out of trouble.”

“
Merci
.” She removed her hand. She hesitated. “Please tell him I am engaged to be married to Lord Hughes. He needs to know.”

Oh, damn. The duc was going to have a fit. And yet…Konstantin sensed she was telling him as if she was hoping Andelot would do something about it. “Pardon my asking, but is there any hope for him?”

She hesitated. “I am not ready to answer that. Thank you for staying, Mr. Levin. It was very kind of you. I am quite well now.” Her tone hinted that she wanted to be alone.

“Of course.” Konstantin rose and also inclined his head. “Should you require anything, please send a missive to me at 32 Belgrave Square and address it to my name. I should be there for at least another two weeks until I find a place of my own. When I move, I will forward the new address.”

“I appreciate your generosity.” She swiped away the last of her tears. “
Au revoir
, Mr. Levin.”

Konstantin hesitated, nodded and then awkwardly turned, a raw heaviness eating away at his chest and his mind. Once he was outside the townhouse and had gently shut the entrance door the duc had left open, Konstantin hissed out a breath in complete exasperation. He had clearly walked into the middle of a broken affair that had been simmering for well over twenty years.

Jogging down the stairs and landing on the pavement, he paused, realizing the duc was leaning against a lamppost two doors down.

Two younger women with parasols slowed and stared at the duc’s masked face.

The duc inclined his head.

They grabbed each other’s arms and scurried by with a quick rustle of skirts as if they had just glimpsed the devil.

Konstantin sighed and strode toward the man. Coming to a halt before the man, he confessed, “I think you did well.”

Andelot held his gaze, all emotion hidden beneath that black velvet mask. “Why were you in there so long?”

“She was crying. I was trying to console her.”

Andelot glanced away. He said nothing.

Konstantin cleared his throat, knowing he needed to say it. “She uh…she wanted me to inform you she is engaged.”

Andelot snapped his gaze toward him, his chest rising and falling visibly. “Is that what she said?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus.” The duc pushed away from the lamppost with a gloved hand and rasped, “Have you ever loved a woman so much that the very breath in your throat is no longer yours but hers?”
Konstantin swallowed. He didn’t know about love, but he did know he still couldn’t sleep at night without thinking he could smell Cecilia’s perfume on his own skin. And every time he looked at his watch, he thought of how she had lain naked with it, her slim fingers opening and closing the silver lid in playful fascination. “I have come close to knowing it.”

“Pray you never do.” Andelot veered in close. “Did she tell who she is marrying?”

“A certain Lord Hughes.”

Andelot squinted. “Hughes. I know that name. I see him from time to time over at the…” Andelot glanced back toward the townhouse. After a few pulsing moments, he swung away. Striding back to the carriage, whilst tugging on the sleeves of his coat, he said, “I deserve this.”

Konstantin huffed out an irked breath. “So you are just going to walk away? You are going to let her marry this Hughes? Is that what you are saying?”

The duc jerked to a halt. He turned and quickly strode back to Konstantin. “I have no face.”

Konstantin glared. “There is more to you than your face.”

“Such sentiment is beautiful on the tongue but in reality, it is untrue. I have to pay women to bed me.”

That was a little too much information. “You should go back and talk to her.”

“No.” Andelot swung away again and headed back toward the carriage. “She knows where I live.”

Konstantin swallowed and genuinely wished he could help Andelot. But who was he to give advice about women? He couldn’t even hold onto the woman destiny had handed to him in a coach at midnight.

Nine days later – 10:03 p.m.

Next door to 32 Belgrave Square

Konstantin’s warm hand smoothed away the pinned curls from her forehead as he leaned in and trailed soft, soft kisses up the curve of her throat. The tips of his calloused fingers gently skimmed down toward her breasts, that lingering touch promising her a lifetime of all things beautiful and romantic. It was pulse rending. It was genuine. It was divine.

She didn’t want to wake up.

But of course she did.

A tap on her shoulder startled her awake. “
Mother
,” Abigail’s voice whispered down at her. She tapped Cecilia’s shoulder a bit more aggressively. “Mother, are you awake?”

No matter how old they got, they still interrupted one’s sleep. “I am now,” Cecilia murmured, drowsily rolling toward her daughter and dragging the linens with her. She squinted up at Abigail, realizing all three of her daughters were standing at different heights beside her four-poster bed, fully dressed in their morning gowns and satin slippers as if it were two in the afternoon. The eldest, Giselle, regally held up a candle that illuminated their pale, oval faces in a soft, wavering glow of the bedchamber.

Her girls only ever came to her as a group when there was a problem. A serious one. Cecilia sat straight up, her heart pounding. “For heaven’s sake, what is it? What happened? Why are all of you dressed?”

“We couldn’t sleep,” Abigail announced with the firm set of her chin. “We spoke to John. He had mentioned something about a certain gentleman you met in Russia.”

Cecilia froze. Oh, no. No, no, no.

“He said this gentleman lives next door beyond the gates and the hedges,” Giselle continued for Abigail. “Is that true?”

Cecilia groaned.

Abigail squinted. “Why did you not tell us about this Mr. Levin and how he rescued you?”

She wasn’t ready to face this. Not yet. “Can we discuss this in the morning?”

“No. John wouldn’t answer any of our questions. What happened in Russia between you and this man? Are you and he friends? Or more than friends? We are old enough to know.”

Cecilia wanted to crawl under her bed. But she had never been one to hide her life from theirs. She loved them too much for that. “He and I are more than friends. And I was actually thinking of…calling on him.”

All three perked.

Oh, dear. She had just unleashed the romance hounds. “Please. No advice on what I should do.”

Giselle waved her free hand toward the closed door behind them, causing the flame on her candle to dance. “The lamps in the house beyond the hedge at 32 are still lit and we can hear the piano being played through our open windows. You should get dressed and see him.”

Cecilia almost bit her own hand. She wasn’t ready to see him. “I just returned to London seven hours ago. I need to sleep.” Which was really a pathetic excuse. She would have already gone over and knocked on that door, but she was scared witless. What if it wasn’t the same? What if Konstantin turned her away? What if he had already moved on? She had a million other concerns she couldn’t even voice aloud.

They were too young to hear any of it.

Giselle waved about the candleholder in agitation. “There is no need for pretenses, Mama. How can you even sleep knowing he lives right next door? You always complain about being alone and yet here you are ensuring it.”

Cecilia cringed. And she thought she was blunt.

Abigail’s brown eyes met hers in earnest. “How much do you like this Mr. Levin? A little? Or a lot? Because there is a difference.”

It was as if the five months Cecilia had been away, all of her daughters had bloomed into thirty-year-old, well-situated women with advice. “A lot.”

Juliet pertly tore off a small piece of the crumpet she held and shoved it into her mouth, her full cheeks rounding. “I suggest you ring for your lady’s maid.” She chewed majestically several times before adding, “Might I suggest your primrose evening gown and the emeralds you bought last year at auction?”

Cecilia shifted toward them in exasperation. “Have you lost what little you have of your respectable minds? I am
not
calling on him at this time of night. This isn’t Russia.”

Giselle lowered her chin, her gaze sharpening. “Calling on him during respectable calling hours is nothing short of mundane, Mama. That is what old ladies of the
ton
adhere to. Calling on a man at
this
hour is exciting and proof of your devotion. As long as you keep it to fifteen minutes it might as well be Russia.”

Juliet nodded. “I agree. No one of any consequence is even in the neighborhood to take notice of such a visit. Ask the governess. As she always likes to say, the Season is over and the gossips have all gone to the country.”

“
Amen for that
,” all three girls said in rehearsed unison as if it were some sort of jest.

How was it she had raised not one, not two, but three overly romantic, starry-eyed girls? Where did they learn these things? She certainly never discussed the notion of
romance
with any of them. It was those poetry books the governess insisted on.

“I cannot go to him,” Cecilia whined, feeling sixteen and newly dismayed by the reality of a relationship.

“Why not?” Abigail inquired.

“He could have already moved on.” With that, she settled back down against the pillow, turned away and closed her eyes, chanting to herself to stay calm.

She felt them lingering. And breathing. And lingering. And breathing.

Satin slippers shifted against the wooden floor in silent defiance, one by one.

She rolled back toward them, opening her eyes.

They stared.

Something told her they weren’t going to let her get any sleep.

Giselle eventually said, “If it isn’t already obvious, we are rather anxious to meet him. We never thought you would take a liking to a man.”

“It would be marvelous to have a new Papa,” Juliet added.

Her throat tightened at hearing her daughters wanted a father. It was the first time in seven years they had ever admitted it. A soft breath escaped Cecilia as she slowly sat up. To be young again and not see any of the consequences of what a man and woman faced was precious. But not in the least bit realistic. “Mr. Levin would be treated differently by those in our circle if he and I become involved. We would
all
be treated differently if I accepted him into our lives. People, who may have once invited us to gatherings will turn us away and never speak to us again. And what complicates this entire situation all the more is that Giselle has her coming out in two years.”