Читать книгу How to Wed a Baron - Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 10

HER HEART RACED SO RAPIDLY Alina feared it might stumble over itself and stop.

Tatiana moments earlier had whispered into her ear that the Baron Wilde was not an ancient ogre, but young, and a near-god, and that her ladyship had once more stuck her thumb into the pie only to emerge with a most glorious plum.

But that was the problem. Alina had not stuck her thumb into a pie. None of what had already happened had been at her desire or volition. His Majesty had stuck all of her into the pie, and she would have to find her own way out.

Except there was no way out. Luka had convinced her of that. Her mother dead these past three years, her father perishing at Waterloo, she’d had no one but her aunt Mimi to represent her wishes at court. Which was the same as to say she had no one to protect her, to fight for her, to convince His Majesty that his sometimes troublesome ward should not be sacrificed in some ridiculous gesture to help cement relations between her country and that of the greedy English.

Aunt Mimi had called the betrothal an honor, even as she could not hide her triumphant smile at the prospect of being rid of the now grown-up niece whose beauty was on the rise just as her own was teetering toward a slippery slide into middle age.

Once Alina had resigned herself to her fate, she had demanded only two things, one of which she received.

Her insistence on knowing everything there was to know about this Baron Wilde fell on deaf ears. She knew no more about the man today than she had two months previously, except for Tatiana’s silliness just now.

Her second demand had been not only met, but exceeded, as the ermine-adorned cloak well demonstrated. If she was to represent the court, the king, then she must be of the first stare, her wardrobe and retinue worthy of the emissary of His Majesty.

Gone were the childlike gowns her aunt had insisted she be limited to, replaced by only the finest silks, the most elegant designs, the most fashionable of accessories—including the full jewelry boxes that had once belonged to her mother but for the past years had somehow become the possessions of her aunt.

Alina had gifted the woman with the set of garnets and a pretty speech filled with gratitude for her loving care of her, and done so in the presence of the king, so that Mimi could not throw the nearly worthless stones back in her face.

Small victories, few and far between, but Alina took pleasure in them just the same.

She had been delighted to learn that Luka would accompany her, remain with her as long as deemed necessary, and that Tatiana had declared she would rather die than be left behind.

She had been flattered when Danica had been added to her retinue, as she had never before had her own dresser, but only shared her aunt’s. It was only proper that those closest to her be people with whom she could be comfortable, and not cold English strangers.

But the guardsmen? They had been a surprise to her.

Those guardsmen now stood at attention, clearly awaiting Alina’s descent to the dock. Very well, she had done as she’d planned; her first steps on the island of her mother’s birth would be taken with all the accompanying pomp and ceremony she could have wanted.

All she had to do now was face her betrothed, look into his eyes, allow him to take her offered hand, perform her necessary curtsy that indicated her subservience and willingness to obey.

And pray she did not throw up on his feet.

For the space of a full minute (she knew, because she had counted out the seconds in her head), Alina had cast her gaze about the dock without really seeing anything or anyone. But now she had no choice but to look to the bottom of the gangplank, where Luka and the “near-god” waited.

She drew in a quick, silent breath. This was her affianced husband? This tall, disturbingly beautiful man whose heavy-lidded green eyes smiled at her and mocked her all at the same time? She’d expected older, jaded, even a paunch and a cane. She’d prayed for amenable, stupid, easily led.

What in the name of the Virgin was she supposed to do with this?

The self-assured creature approached the gangplank, planting one gleaming black Hessian boot on it as if this somehow claimed not only her as his own, but this ship as well, and held out his hand to her, openly daring her to take it.

“Your servant, my lady,” he said, his eyes still mocking her. “On behalf of His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, I, Baron Justin Wilde, your delighted betrothed, welcome you to the homeland of your mother. Her passing was England’s loss, yet her daughter is clearly England’s gain.”

Very prettily said, she supposed. It was only as she opened her mouth to parrot the words she had learned by rote that must be spoken on this occasion, that she realized the baron had addressed her in flawless German, now the official language of Austria.

Alina supposed he’d wish to be complimented on his expertise.

She’d rather poke hot sticks under her fingernails. Although how silly of him to let her know she could not speak German in front of him and think he would not understand. Should she thank him for forewarning her? No, probably not.

Instead, she answered him in English as flawless as his German, putting her hand in his open palm and then watching rather intently as he bent his dark head to within a whisper of placing a kiss on her bare skin.

She ignored the tingle that ran up her arm, all the way to her shoulder.

“You’ve met my secretary, Major Prochazka?”

The baron had not released her hand, but had deftly drawn her arm through his, leading her back to where Luka and an odd-looking periwigged creature stood waiting, the latter beaming at her as if personally responsible for some wonderful occurrence. Then they both bowed—the little man with much more élan than poor Luka, who had to contend with his sword—turned and began leading the way off the crowded dock.

“Your secretary, my lady? Ah, yes, of course he is. And, in turn, I am the King of Siam.”

Alina stopped in her tracks, which made the baron do likewise. “What are you suggesting, my lord?”

“Suggesting? I? Nothing more, my dear, than that we begin as we plan to go on. All that faradiddle you spouted about improving trade relations? Very nicely said, but we both know the truth. Or do you wish that we go on with you pretending that you’re a pretty yet brainless twit, and that I…well, dear me, didn’t I just paint myself into a corner with my tongue? Very well, that I also continue pretending that I am a pretty yet brainless twit.”

Alina looked him up and down, amazed to hear a man call himself pretty; besides, he was much too much the male to be termed pretty, even in his fashionable clothes. But what did he mean? Pretending. Pretending what? Had she been betrothed to a lunatic?

“You’re saying that you’re not a brainless twit? Are you quite certain of that?”

“At this precise moment? No.” His smile reached all the way to his eyes, but then stopped, as if something barred the way. “Very well, then. We shall for the moment allow the definition of secretary to stand.”

“I don’t recall granting it permission to sit down,” Alina said, with just the sort of offhand sarcasm that had landed her in trouble so often, had called her to the king’s attention in ways that probably had hastened her banishment to an English marriage. She behaves as if she’s queen, her aunt had told anyone who would listen. Queen of the Romany, I suppose, for all her thin Englisher blood.

Alina walked forward once more, her gaze on the major’s militarily straight spine. “He’d die for me, you know.”

“Commendable of the major, I suppose. Allow me, please, to point out Brutus, my, um, secretary, lumbering along just ahead of yours. He’d kill for me. Of the two choices, I much prefer the latter. The major is fearful for your safety. But you’re aware of that, of course.”

Alina had been so busy trying to keep up with this verbal sparring that it took her a moment to understand what the baron was implying. “My safety? No, that can’t be correct. You’ve misunderstood his mission, one for which he volunteered. Luka is concerned for my welfare. He was my father’s aide-de-camp, and therefore feels responsible for me. Unless you’re telling me that England is an unsafe place?”

The baron looked at her for a long moment, and then smiled, another smile that did not quite reach those unsettling green eyes. “Forgive me, my lady, clearly I mistook his purpose. And I assure you, England for you is as safe as houses. Indeed, you will have the entire kingdom at your feet the moment you first appear in Society.”

“That is my intention, yes,” she told him, not understanding why she dared this impertinence, but enjoying herself all the same. He seemed to like teasing her, surprising her, for what reason she didn’t know. Why not return the favor?

Begin as you plan to go on. That’s what he’d said. As a good wife, she shouldn’t disappoint him. And what a shame that they must marry, be bound to each other by duty. He would be so much more fun to flirt with, wouldn’t he? As a husband, however, he might be more trouble than even his handsome face and enticing smile could overcome.

The baron cocked an eyebrow. “You’re quite the honest little thing, aren’t you? Some would consider that a failing.”

“Would you be one of those people?”

“Ah, and inquisitive, as well.”

“Inquisitive enough to have noticed that you have carefully sidestepped my question, my lord,” Alina said, her heart beating faster yet again. Goodness, but the man made her feel delightfully alive! “I shall have to be exceedingly careful around you, won’t I?”

He looked down into her face, his expression suddenly too intense, so that she looked away. “On the contrary. I believe it is I who will have to be exceptionally careful around you. I hadn’t expected to like you.”

She kept her eyes on the street at her feet, pretending polite indifference even as she felt ridiculously pleased that he’d said—admitted, really, as if it was some sort of failing of his own—that he liked her. “Oh. And…and is that so terrible?”

“It could be, yes,” he said, the teasing note back in his voice. “A good wife would have had the decency to be staid and boring and completely ignorable.”

“And I’m—”

“Hardly ignorable,” he said, patting the hand that rested on his forearm.

Alina swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. “I see. And…and is that a compliment?”

“Possibly,” he answered in that already familiar, maddeningly light tone as they mounted the steps to an ancient inn. “That, or a warning…”

“YOU SUMMONED ME?” The clipped tone of voice revealed that Major Luka Prochazka was not at all pleased to be in the position of taking orders from an Englishman.

Which wasn’t Justin’s problem, was it? No. He had problems enough of his own, thank you.

The baron had spent the past several hours reading and rereading the contents of the packet he’d been handed by the Prince Regent’s secretary, this time reading as much between the lines as he had the actual words. And it was those words not written that told him he’d been a fool to sign the agreement. The marriage, and “his silence on matters known to the Prince Regent and himself concerning a private arrangement,” in exchange for the termination of his indebtedness to the Prince Regent.

It had all been too easy, even with the added responsibility of keeping his unwanted bride safe until Francis had dealt with the man who wished her harm. Justin should have known nothing with the Prince Regent, or any royalty for that matter, was ever that simple, or that straightforward.

He looked toward the door to the private dining room of the inn and the man standing there, no longer clad in his uniform, but in a rather drab brown jacket and tan buckskins, his cravat a pure horror that would have crumpled Wigglesworth to his knees at the abomination of the thing.

“She doesn’t know,” he said now, flatly, looking Luka full in the eye.

Luka Prochazka merely blinked, and did not answer.

“Cat got your tongue? Very well, Major, we have the whole evening ahead of us. You wouldn’t care for a small side wager as to which one of us outlasts the other?”

“I…that is, you…your statement took me by surprise, and was not a question at all. To what exactly was I supposed to respond?”

“Ah, now you wish to play the fool? Too late for that, Major. Yet, much as such exercises pain me, I’ll repeat myself. She doesn’t know. She’s dancing about somewhere above our heads, delighted in her performance on the dock earlier, happy in her ignorance, and with absolutely no idea her life is at stake at the moment,” Justin said, even as he motioned Luka to take up a chair and avail himself of the bottle of wine that sat on the table between them. “No, don’t look at me as if you still don’t understand what I’m saying. She thinks this is all some political union we’re going to be entering into, an advance of trade between our countries, or some showpiece of how Francis and our George have cried friends and allies yet again. She recited an entire speech on the thing while we were at the docks, just like a good little idiot. But she’s not an idiot, is she, which is why you haven’t told her the truth.”

“But it is all of that,” Luka said, pouring himself a glass of finest burgundy, as Justin never traveled without his own wines any more than he would see it as civilized to travel without his own bed linens.

“Continue to evade my questions, Major, and you and I will go to war. It’s enough that the rain delays our departure to London until the morning and a man of my sensibilities must pass another night beneath this probably leaky roof. The girl is having herself a determined lark, even as it’s clear she loathes the idea of a marriage between us. Ermine tips, enough baggage coming off that ship this afternoon to raise it a two full inches above its previous waterline, a baldly stated intention to take London by storm. She’s beautiful, magnificently so, and she is clearly aware of that fact. As long as she must bow to the king’s wishes, she has come to conquer England, and she very well might. God knows I’d wager on it. If she isn’t put to bed with a shovel within days of her first conquest.”

“She doesn’t need to know that.”

Justin slammed the side of his fist on the tabletop, rocking the bottle of wine. “Bloody hell, she doesn’t!” He sat back, amazed at his outburst—he, who was always so cool, so controlled, so in charge of his emotions. He didn’t much care for the notion he could be concerned with someone else’s welfare, especially some impudent chit who seemed to have taken up instant residence in his head. He’d never been so attracted to a female, and he didn’t much care for the feeling.

His eyes closed, he rubbed at his forehead, willing himself back to his usual composure. “Why? Why hasn’t she been told?”

“It…it was decided that she might…balk at any strictures put on her movements if she were to know our concerns. The Lady Alina is young and…somewhat headstrong. If she can be made to believe that English customs are to be much more strict with the comings and goings of its females, more protective as it were, she would accept that as fact and not chafe at the restrictions quite so much. But if she were to learn that she is being guarded, that she is in fact more a prisoner within invisible walls than she is a young woman on an adventure, a young bride out to make her way in Society…”

Luka sighed and took a long drink from his glass. “A rather superior vintage for a simple inn, even to my admittedly unsophisticated palate. Clearly your economy is not so lowered as ours by the recent war.”

Justin’s mouth lifted in a rueful, one-sided smile. “Yes. And the streets of London are paved in golden cobblestones.” He leaned forward once more, his elbows on the tabletop. “You’re telling me that my soon-to-be wife is completely unaware that her life is in danger. That you or some other idiot has decided it is best she not know—because she might otherwise chafe at her restrictions? My God, man, you speak as if you and your countrymen are afraid of the chit.”

“In my defense, Justin—if I might retain the honor of addressing you informally now that I have so disappointed you—you’ve only just met the lady. She has a decidedly strong will. The only reason she agreed to the marriage, in the end, was that she saw it as a way to become her own woman, out from under her aunt’s thumb. I believe the words she used went something along the lines of once I have put this husband I am burdened with in his place.”

“Hmm,” Justin mused, sitting back once more. “There was nothing in the packet given to me as to why she’s in such danger, but just that I’m to guard her safety until such time I am notified that the danger is past. Now I’m wondering—did she step on someone’s tail?”

Luka took another sip of wine, clearly a cautious man and obviously mentally measuring both Justin and the depth of information he was prepared to share. “Lately? Only her aunt’s, I suppose. But then those two got along like chalk and cheese even before General Valentin met his end at Waterloo. Ever since Lady Alina’s mother died, as a matter of fact. You mention a packet. Might I see its contents?”

“You may not. I am, however, reasonably comfortable with its contents as they pertain to Lady—you call her Alina. Does she prefer that?”

“Magdaléna is her given name, in honor of her paternal great-grandmother, but I’ve been told that her mother loathed it, pointing out that her daughter has more English than any other blood in her veins, and that she would have been fine with Mary, but Magdaléna was unacceptable. Her ladyship has been called Alina from the cradle, a compromise of sorts, I suppose. But to answer your question, if Lady Alina did not like the name, she wouldn’t allow it.”

“You’re trying very hard, and quite heavy-handedly I might add, to have me take my affianced bride in dislike. Is there a reason for that? Perhaps you had seen yourself as her husband until our two royal meddlers decided to gift the lady and me with each other?”

The major’s complexion—what could be seen of it behind the mustachios and ridiculous mutton-chops—colored. “Lady Alina is the daughter of a nobleman. I am the son of a farmer. I would never presume…”

God, the man was in love with her. Or doing his best to give the impression that he was in love with her. And why, Justin wondered, did he always doubt the motives of others? Of course, the simple answer was that it was this doubt, this hesitancy to trust, that had kept him alive all of those long years on the Continent. Yet he had accepted Alina immediately, seeing no ulterior motives, no undercurrents—only her honesty. Did that make him incredibly insightful, or a fool?

“No, of course you wouldn’t, Major. Forgive me. But you would die for her, wouldn’t you?”

“Without question or hesitation,” Luka responded at once, drawing his body to attention—not an easy feat, as he was still seated at the table.

Justin sighed, becoming bored by this grand show of devotion. “Heaven preserve me from martyrs and heroes—they always seem to end up doing something destined to prove their glorious assertions. Let us pray then that the lady never calls on you to make such a sacrifice, as you begin to alarm me with your fatalistic fervor.”

Luka chuckled softly. “I would I die for her, should the situation call for that death. That doesn’t mean I plan on any such event.”

“How you ease my mind. And now I remember, you want to live long enough to shave off all that ghastly hair and discover whether or not you possess an upper lip.” Justin put down his wineglass, and then asked the question that most troubled him. “Tell me more about this Jarmil Novak I see mentioned in passing in my packet, if you please, beginning with why he would want Lady Alina to be reunited with her deceased parents?”

Luka nodded. “Yes, Jarmil Novak. You were informed about him? Inhaber Novak.”

“Inhaber? So he is a colonel-in-chief?”

Luka couldn’t hide his surprise. “You know what that means?”

“I know the rank, but not the man. Inhabers raise and finance battalions during time of war, correct? But that doesn’t tell me whether this Novak fellow rode out in front of those battalions, brandishing his sword, gallantly shouting ‘forward, men,’ or if he used his money for political gain and doesn’t know which end of a sword to hold. In other words, is he dangerous?”

“Ah, Inhaber Novak is familiar with swords and their uses. But, yes, he only buys them, along with those who employ them for him. Otherwise, he does not dirty his hands to do what he can easily hire others to do for him. The Romany loathe him for the way he treated his hired soldiers. And, yes, he can be…dangerous.”

“Ah, yes, the…Romany.” Justin had nearly uttered the word Gypsies, but prudently corrected himself before he could make that particular blunder. He tucked away the information that the Romany hated Novak, as his concern now was more with Alina’s safety. “Is there anyone who can abide the man?”

“Our king,” Luka said, sighing. “Except when he doesn’t. I think they each have uses for the other. You’re a man of the world, Justin. You understand the fragility of political alliances.”

“More than I wish to, yes. Alliances and long memories, old feuds. Boundaries that shift position with seemingly every decade and each new war. Where your grandfather had worshipped, what language his great-grandfather had spoken. People seem to fight new wars over six-hundred-year-old arguments all the time, both in your country and here.”

“Then you do understand.”

Justin nodded. If he had learned nothing else during his eight years of exile, years spent making himself as valuable to England as possible, in any way possible, in hopes of being granted a pardon, he’d learned that those in power or in pursuit of power didn’t need a reason for anything they did. If they didn’t have a valid argument, they’d stitch one up out of whole cloth. If no enemy was available, they’d manufacture one. With Bonaparte caged only a year, was somebody already looking for another argument?

“But what does Novak and any of that have to do with Lady Alina, other than supposedly wanting her dead?”

“She is part Romany.”

Justin raised one well-sculpted eyebrow, gave a thought—not his first of the day—to the girl’s astonishing mass of ebony curls…and how they might look unbound, cascading across his pillow. “Really. And what part might that be?”

“The part that matters, at least to the Romany. Her paternal grandmother’s blood flows in her veins. Diluted as it is, what with her foreign mother and half-Austrian father, I’m told she is seen in some quarters to be the rightful owner of land suddenly returned to our country since the war. Even with the edicts of the Congress of Vienna, boundaries are still vague and shifting all over Europe, and arguments abound. There is for us even now some difficulty with France.”

Justin dismissed the subject of border disputes with France as unnecessary information. “I thought the Romany prefer the nomadic life. There are many here in England, at least for much of the year. They prefer to be citizens of the world and not of one country.”

“They prefer, Justin, not being scorned as outlaws and branded and murdered and betrayed. Always betrayed. In any event, there are murmurings of claims to this certain large tract of land, of some ancestral deed. With their own territory, no matter how small, how mountainous and mostly uninhabitable, they could begin to dream of becoming their own city-state within the kingdom. The Romany see such a thing as their refuge, their—”

“Yes, I believe I can take it from here.” Justin held up a hand to stop Luka as more pieces had begun to fall into place for him. “Let me finish for you, if you don’t mind. This expanse of land is now claimed by Inhaber Novak, while this supposed ancestral deed goes back any number of centuries, and then forward again to the sole surviving Romany Valentin, Lady Alina.”

“Exactly, and that land, or rather the ownership of it in the absence of any formal deed, has been disputed for at least those myriad centuries, long before the Congress of Vienna took a carving knife to half of Europe. The king himself took me into his confidence and told me as much. The Romany don’t have queens, per se, and power is traditionally limited to the men in any group, so that I was much surprised to hear what the king had to say. But as the saying goes, any port in a storm. Lady Alina is that port for the local Romany. Without her, the dream ends once and for all time, the possibility of one safe haven for the Romany people in the region. Not that it is more than a nebulous dream in any case.”

Luka sighed. “Lady Alina is inordinately proud of her few drops of Romany blood. She would see herself as their savior, at the very least, were she to know. Truly, it will be easier for everyone if she is never told, and if she is bound to England, never returning to her homeland. I was sworn to secrecy by the king himself, forbidden to tell you this, but it seems only fair you should understand the danger, and take the proper precautions until the king decides what to do with Inhaber Novak, as your lightheartedness earlier causes me some concern. Perhaps, once Lady Alina is married to you, Novak will no longer see her as a threat to him.”

There was a knock at the door and Wigglesworth entered, carrying a plate of bread and cheese. Justin waved a hand over the plate, inviting the major to eat, which gave Justin time to think.

He shook his head at his gullibility; how could he have been so blind? No wonder the Prince Regent had been so willing to allow his insults. The man had his fifty thousand pounds all safely tucked up in his purse, making Justin no longer necessary and, if he were to speak out of turn, potentially embarrassing. A nice, clean assassination of the pesky baron would not come amiss as far as the Prince Regent was concerned, and would rid him of that potential embarrassment. No wonder the man had been so eager to assist King Francis in his request.

It was time for another small chat with the Prince Regent. But first, he’d ask a few more questions of the wonderfully forthcoming major.

“Tell me, if the king knows Novak wants her dead, why didn’t he already do something about it, have Novak arrested? Why bother with this farce of a marriage?”

“Isn’t it obvious? The king is playing for time, and some sort of amicable solution. He doesn’t want to have his hand forced by making a decision on this land, the disputed deed, because either way he decided would gain him enemies. The Romany are an unavoidable nuisance, while Inhaber Novak has many who are loyal to him, and he is a great asset to the court.”

Justin was beginning to see more of the spider-web. He kept his tone conversational, even as he felt the slumbering beast inside him straining at its leash. “A king with many problems, your Francis. If Lady Alina is murdered, he must make a show of investigating her death, because she is his ward and because otherwise the Romany will make things difficult for him. To arrest or kill Novak would bring him trouble from factions loyal to the Inhaber. How much more convenient to have it all play out far away in England. Francis didn’t apply to his ally the Prince Regent for a bridegroom. He applied to him for an assassin, and dear Prinny knew just the man to approach, a man who couldn’t refuse. The moment I wed the fair lady what was hers is mine, and there will be a target painted on my back, so that it will be kill or be killed.”

Luka had the good grace to blush, which probably served to save him, or at least preserve his teeth and jaw so that he could chew his bread and cheese.

Justin pressed him further. “And Lady Alina, she of the ermine-tipped cloak and plans to take London by storm? Does it matter to any of them what happens to her?”

“But you’ll keep her safe.”

“That is not your concern, Major. You concern, and that of our two plotting sovereigns, is better directed at what I will do to you all if Lady Alina so much as stubs her toe before I can find some way out of this damned farce. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I will pay my betrothed a small visit before she turns in for the night.”

Luka leapt to his feet. “You’re not going to tell her anything, are you?”

Justin looked at the major without saying a word until the man had the good sense to subside back into his chair. “Don’t do that again, Major. Question me. And never stand against me unless you’re willing to suffer the consequences. Are we clear?”

The major nodded.

“Oh, how wonderful,” Justin drawled affably, smiling as if nothing had happened, as if there had been no threat of violence. “Now we can cry friends again, understanding each other so much better. Why, I might even be persuaded to convince Wigglesworth to give you a few pointers on how to tie your cravat so it less resembles a noose. Good night, Major.”

Justin walked out of the room in his usual, unhurried stroll, softly closing the door behind him. It was only when he got as far as the narrow hallway leading to the stairs that he pressed his palms against the sides of his neck and pushed hard, forcing his breathing and his heartbeat back into their usual rhythms.

He was angry that he had allowed any of this to happen to him. Unworried that he would not succeed in ridding Alina of any threat from the Inhaber Novak.

But damned if he could understand how he, a man who prided himself on his lack of emotional involvement with the rest of the world, could have suddenly become so intensely concerned for the welfare of one small female.

I don’t recall granting it permission to sit down.

At last he smiled with real amusement…and not a little bemusement. Yes, that was it. From the moment she’d uttered those words, he had become as wax in her hands.

God help him….