Читать книгу Bound By Love - Rosemary Rogers - Страница 9

1821

St. Petersburg, Russia

COUNTESS NADIA KARKOFF’S house just off the Nevsky Prospect was not the largest mansion in the neighborhood, but it was by far the most luxurious.

In the finest tradition, the facade was designed along sleek, classical lines with a great number of windows and a wide, columned terrace. From the roof, Greek statues overlooked the upper balustrade with cold expressions of superiority. Or perhaps they were revealing their disapproval of the large gardens that surrounded the house. There was nothing classical about the brilliant profusion of flowers and ornamental shrubs and marble fountains that the Russian aristocracy adored.

The interior was equally elegant, with large rooms and soaring ceilings that were decorated in rich golds and crimsons and sapphires. Lush colors that created a sense of warmth during the long, dreary months of winter.

The furnishings were a mixture of satinwood and cherry, the style more French than Russian as suited the Countess’s current fancy and contrasted nicely with the dark, brooding paintings by Flemish masters. Only the jewel-encrusted ornaments and jade figurines scattered through the rooms were entirely native.

It was the view, however, that was the crowning glory of the house.

From the upper windows it was possible to admire the churches and lavish palaces, with their glittering spires and golden domes, that adorned St. Petersburg. The stunning panorama allowed one to appreciate the beauty of the city without sensing the brittle tensions that ran rampant through the busy streets.

Having lived her entire two and twenty years in the house, Miss Leonida Karkoff offered only a brief admiring glance out the window of her bedchamber, more pleased with the late-spring sunlight than the familiar landscape.

Moving to seat herself before the mirrored dresser, she allowed her maid, Sophy, to smooth her long, golden tresses into a complicated knot atop her head, leaving a few curls to brush her temple. The severe style complemented the perfect oval of her alabaster skin, emphasizing her delicate bone structure and the startling blue of her heavily lashed eyes.

She would never possess her mother’s dark, smoldering beauty, but she had always been considered quite pretty, and perhaps more importantly, her golden hair and clear blue eyes so closely resembled her father that there could be no mistaking her parentage.

Rather an odd circumstance considering that for all practical purposes she was a bastard.

Oh, Count Karkoff willingly claimed her as his child. And he was indeed married to her mother when she was born, which made Leonida entirely legitimate in the eyes of society. But there were few in all of Russia, and perhaps beyond, who did not know that her mother had been involved in a torrid affair with Alexander Pavlovich, the Emperor, when she had been hurriedly wed to the Count. Or that the Count had suddenly come into enough rubles to restore his crumbling estate outside of Moscow, an estate he rarely left, while the Countess was gifted with this lovely house and a large enough allowance to keep her in elegant style.

It was one of those secrets that was known by all, but spoken by no one, and while Alexander Pavlovich did occasionally send an invitation to Leonida to visit him when he was in St. Petersburg, he was more a vague, benevolent figure that drifted in and out of her life than a parental figure.

Not that she desired any additional parental figures, she ruefully acknowledged as her mother swept into the room, her lush form swathed in cherry gauze over a slip of silver satin with matching silver ribbons in her dark, glossy curls.

Her beauty was as dramatic as her entrance, although it was rather ruined by her grimace as her dark eyes glanced about the blue and ivory damask that Leonida had insisted be used for her private chambers.

Nadia Karkoff would never comprehend Leonida’s preference for simplicity.

“Mother.” Leonida turned on her seat to regard the Countess in wary surprise. There was never a doubt that the two loved one another deeply, but Nadia possessed a ruthless will and a habit of squashing anything that might stand in her path. Including Leonida. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“Sophy, I will speak with my daughter alone,” Nadia announced.

The plump maid, who was the daughter of Leonida’s English nurse, bobbed a curtsy, sending Leonida a covert wink. She was all too accustomed to Nadia’s love of melodrama to take offense.

“Of course.”

Waiting until the maid had left the room and closed the door behind her, Leonida rose from her chair and squared her shoulders.

It was always better to face the Countess on her feet.

Not that she was any less likely to be bowled over.

“Has something occurred?” she demanded bluntly.

Now that she had her daughter alone, Nadia appeared oddly reluctant to come to the point. Instead she drifted toward the wide bed canopied with ivory silk.

“Can I not simply desire a private conversation with my daughter?”

“You rarely do,” Leonida murmured. “And never at this hour of the morning.”

Nadia chuckled. “Tell me, ma petite, am I being chided for my indolent habits or for being a less than devoted mother?”

“Neither. I am merely seeking an explanation for this unexpected visit.”

“Mon Dieu.” Nadia plucked the delicate fawn-colored muslin gown from the bed, studying the double row of garnets stitched along the demure neckline. “I wish you would allow my modiste to make your gowns. One could easily be forgiven for mistaking you for a member of the tedious bourgeois rather than a young and beautiful member of Russian nobility. You must think of your position, Leonida.”

It was a familiar argument, and hardly one to lure her mother from her bed at such an early hour.

“As if I am ever allowed to forget,” Leonida muttered.

Nadia turned her dark gaze in Leonida’s direction. “What did you say?”

“I prefer my dressmaker, Mother,” Leonida said, her voice firm. On this subject she would not budge. “She comprehends that my tastes are more modest than other females’.”

“Modest.” Nadia heaved an impatient sigh, her gaze flicking over Leonida’s slender form, which would never possess the seductive softness that most men preferred. “How many occasions must I remind you that a woman in society has no power unless she is wise enough to use what few weapons God has given her?”

“My gown is a weapon?”

“When designed to tantalize a man’s hunger.”

“I prefer warmth to tantalizing,” Leonida retorted with unapologetic honesty. Despite the spring weather that had grudgingly arrived, there was a blazing fire in the white, gold-veined fireplace. She was always cold.

Nadia tossed the dress aside with a shake of her head. “Foolish child. I have done everything possible to ensure your future. You could have your pick of the most influential gentlemen in the empire. You could become a princess if only you would follow my lead.”

“I have told you I have no desire to become a princess. That is your ambition, not mine.”

Without warning, Nadia crossed to stand directly before Leonida, her expression hard.

“That is because you have never known what it is to be without wealth or an established position among society, Leonida. You may sneer at my ambition, but I assure you that your precious pride will swiftly be forgotten if you are impetuous enough to believe you can survive on love. There is nothing charming in being cold during the winter or darning your gowns to hide frayed hems.” Her eyes darkened with remembered pain. “Or being excluded from society.”

“Forgive me, Mother,” she said softly. “It is not that I do not appreciate the sacrifices you have made for me, but…”

“Do you?”

Leonida blinked in confusion at the abrupt interruption. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do you appreciate all I have done?”

“Of course.”

Nadia reached to take her hands in a tight grip. “Then you will agree to do what I must ask of you.”

Leonida hastily tugged her hands free. “I love you, Mother, but my appreciation is not without boundaries. I have told you that I will not accept Prince Orvoleski’s proposal. Not only is he old enough to be my father, but he reeks of onions.”

“This has nothing to do with the Prince.”

Leonida’s wariness deepened to outright anxiety. There was something in her mother’s expression that warned her that this was more than just another of the theatrical scenes Nadia adored.

“Something has happened.”

Nadia twisted her hands together, jeweled rings glinting in the morning light.

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

Instead of answering, Nadia drifted toward the window, the scent of expensive perfume drifting behind her.

“You know a small part of my childhood.”

Confused, Leonida turned to study her mother’s stiff back. Countess Karkoff never discussed her humble beginnings.

Never.

“You have told me that you were raised in Yaroslavl’ before coming to St. Petersburg,” she answered, her words tentative.

“My father possessed distant ties to the Romanovs, but after he argued with Emperor Paul he was too filled with stubborn pride to apologize and he was forever banished from court.” Nadia’s scornful laugh echoed through the room. “Stupid man. We lived in a frozen monstrosity of a house, miles from the nearest village, with only a handful of peasants to keep it from utter ruin. I was buried in the midst of savages with only my nurse to bear me company.”

Leonida’s heart softened with sympathy. This vivacious, extroverted, highly fashionable woman stuck alone in a gloomy old house? It must have seemed like hell to her.

“I cannot imagine you in such a setting,” she breathed.

Nadia shuddered, one hand lifting to stroke the diamond necklace around her neck, as if to reassure herself that her grim memories had not stolen it away.

“It was a misery, but it did teach me that I would do anything to escape,” she rasped harshly. “When my aunt decided it was her duty to invite me to her home, I ignored my father’s threat to disown me. What did he have to offer me beyond years of lonely isolation? Instead I sold my few pieces of jewelry and made my way to St. Petersburg alone.”

Leonida chuckled in admiration. Of course she had. Nothing would be allowed to stand between Nadia and her dreams.

“You are truly amazing, Mother,” she said. “There are few women who would have possessed such courage.”

Nadia slowly turned, a rueful smile touching her lips. “It was more desperation than courage and, had I known I was expected to be more a servant than a guest beneath my aunt’s roof, I am not entirely certain I would have been so eager to endure the grueling journey.”

“I am certain. You have never allowed anything to stand in the path of what you desire.”

Her mother shrugged. “True, but not even my considerable determination would have given me the opportunity to enter society without the assistance of Mira Toryski.”

It took a moment for Leonida to place the name. “The Duchess of Huntley?”

“Her family were neighbors of my aunt,” Nadia explained. “She was already a favorite among society, of course. How could she not be? She was beautiful, wealthy and yet astonishingly kind. I shall never understand why she took pity on me and convinced my aunt to allow me to attend a few of the smaller gatherings, but I shall forever be grateful.”

The Countess’s deep affection for her girlhood friend could not be mistaken. Strange, considering Nadia preferred to surround herself with handsome young officers rather than the ladies of society.

“That is when you met Alexander Pavlovich?”

“Yes.” The dark eyes softened as they always did at the mention of the Emperor. “He was so handsome and charming. I had only to glance at him to know he was a man destined for greatness.”

Leonida resisted the urge to prod for more details of her mother’s relationship with Alexander Pavlovich. There were some questions better not asked.

“This is all very fascinating, Mother, but I do not entirely comprehend what is troubling you.”

Nadia’s hands shook as she smoothed them over the gauze skirt. “I need you to understand my deep affection for Mira.”

“Why?”

“Not long after I came to St. Petersburg Mira was introduced to the Duke of Huntley. She, along with most of the women in society, lost her heart to the handsome Englishman and returned with him to London to be wed.” Nadia grimaced. “I was devastated by the loss of my dearest friend. She was…well, let us just say that my only comfort was exchanging letters so we could continue to be involved in one another’s lives.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Leonida said gently.

“Perhaps, but I was still foolishly young and when Alexander Pavlovich began to make his interest in me known, I was eager to share every detail with Mira.”

If anything, Leonida was only more confused. “From all I have heard, your affair with Czar Alexander was not precisely a closely guarded secret.”

“No.” Nadia shrugged, as always unrepentant at her intimate connection to the Emperor. “Our…relationship was a source of endless gossip, but our private conversations were never intended to be shared. Not even with a dear friend whose loyalty to the Romanovs could never be questioned.”

Leonida stiffened. “You revealed Alexander Pavlovich’s private conversations to the Duchess of Huntley?”

Nadia’s expression became defensive. “I knew she could be trusted and it was not as if I could share my most intimate thoughts with anyone else. There was not a woman in society who was not consumed with jealousy by my relationship with Czar Alexander.”

“As they still are.” Leonida hastily soothed the older woman. She would get nothing out of Nadia if she were pouting. And Leonida had a terrible foreboding she needed to know precisely what was happening. “But you are rarely so indiscreet.”

Nadia was far from appeased. “How could I possibly suspect that anyone beyond the Duchess would ever see them?”

Leonida’s heart stuttered. “Someone else has seen them?”

“I do not need you to point out that I was a reckless idiot. I am painfully aware of my mistakes.”

“Very well.” Leonida sucked in a calming breath. “I presume that these letters hold information that might prove uncomfortable for the Czar?”

“It is much worse than that. In the hands of his enemies they might very well destroy him.”

“Destroy him?” Leonida blinked in shock. “Surely you must be exaggerating?”

“I only wish I were.”

“Mother?”

With a graceful motion, Nadia sat on the brocade window seat, the morning sunlight revealing the shadows beneath her eyes and lines that bracketed her full lips.

It was the first occasion that Leonida could recall her mother actually appearing her age.

That was more frightening than all the melodramatic insinuations of imminent danger.

“Being the leader of the Russian empire is never a simple task,” she said in low tones. “Unrest is always brewing among the citizens, while treachery is a mandatory game for the nobility, but matters have become even more perilous over the past few years. Alexander spends too much time away from his throne as he travels about the world. It gives his enemies encouragement to plot against him.”

“They hardly need encouragement.”

“Perhaps not, but they grow more bold with every passing day.”

Leonida licked her dry lips. “And there is something in the letters that would offer Alexander Pavlovich’s enemies the means to harm him?”

“Yes.”

“What…”

Her mother held up an imperious hand. “Do not ask me, Leonida.”

Leonida’s first instinct was to demand an answer. If she were to be involved in whatever mess her mother had created, she deserved the truth.

Then she wisely swallowed the words hovering on her lips.

She held a great love and respect for Alexander Pavlovich, but she of all people understood he was just a man, with all the failings and frailties of any other. And, in truth, there had always been a melancholy air that shrouded the Emperor, as if he carried with him a deep and painful secret.

Did she truly wish to know what caused him such sorrow?

“Then you must write to the Emperor and warn him of the dangers,” she said briskly. “He will surely wish to return to St. Petersburg.”

“No,” her mother denied sharply.

“You cannot hide the truth, Mother.”

“That is exactly what I must do.”

Leonida frowned, unable to believe her mother could be so selfish.

“You will put Alexander Pavlovich at risk because you do not wish to confess your indiscretion?”

The dark eyes flashed with annoyance. “Mon Dieu. Have you not been paying attention over the past months?”

“You mean the uprising?”

“Alexander is devastated.” Nadia paced across the polished wood floor, her expression tight with unmistakable concern. “He considered the Semyonoffski Regiment the most faithful of all his soldiers and their betrayal has been like a knife in his heart. I fear for him, Leonida. He is so fragile. I am not certain he could bear what he is certain to believe is yet another betrayal.”

“We are all concerned for his welfare, but he is the Emperor,” Leonida pointed out softly. “He must know of any threat to his throne.”

Coming to a halt, Nadia turned to meet Leonida’s gaze with a tilt of her chin.

“I intend to ensure that any threat is brought to an end before Alexander returns.”

“How? If someone has managed to get their hands on the letters you wrote…”

“I am not convinced that anyone has actually seen the letters.”

Leonida lifted her hands to rub her throbbing temples. “You are giving me a headache, Mother. Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Nadia pressed her hands to her stomach as she sought to gain command of her composure.

“Last week a masked man calling himself the Voice of Truth approached me at Count Bernaski’s masquerade. The ridiculous man claimed that he possessed the letters I had written to Mira and that he would make them public unless I agreed to pay him one hundred thousand rubles.”

“One hundred thousand,” Leonida whispered in shock. It was worse, much worse, than she had dreamed possible. “Good lord. We could not possibly pay such a sum.”

“I have no intention of paying so much as a ruble,” Nadia snapped. “Not until I am convinced the bastard truly possesses the letters, which I assure you I am not.”

“Why not?”

“Because as soon as the man turned to leave I motioned for Herrick Gerhardt to have him followed.”

Leonida grimaced. Herrick Gerhardt was Alexander Pavlovich’s closest advisor and the most alarming man she had ever encountered. Nothing escaped his dark, penetrating gaze. And his fierce devotion to the Emperor meant he would willingly destroy any threat without a hint of remorse.

It was impossible to be in his company without fearing you might be hauled to the nearest dungeon.

“Of course,” she muttered.

Nadia shrugged, not nearly so frightened of Gerhardt as she should be.

“This is not the first threat I have endured. My position often attracts those who would hope to use me to influence Alexander Pavlovich.”

Well, her mother was not alone. Leonida was shocked at the many occasions the members of society would approach her in hopes she could sway the Emperor.

As if she had any power. It was ludicrous.

“I assume Herrick managed to follow the man?”

“Yes. His name is Nikolas Babevich. His father is a Russian officer and his mother is—” Nadia gave a delicate shudder “—French. Disgusting people. They are never to be trusted.”

Leonida ignored her mother’s prejudice. Nadia possessed a vivid memory of Napoleon’s invasion and the costly war. “Was he captured?”

“Herrick decided it would be better not to allow the fiend to realize we had discovered his identity.”

Leonida shook her head. Had her mother taken leave of her senses?

“I will be the first to admit that I know very little of government affairs, but if you know who and where this villain is to be discovered then why on earth would you not have him arrested?” Leonida demanded in confusion.

“Because we cannot be certain he is acting alone.”

“Did Herrick at least retrieve your letters?”

“He searched the man’s house, but could find no letters.”

Leonida made a sound of frustration. “They could be anywhere.”

“He is being constantly watched so if he does have them hidden he will eventually lead the guards to the location.”

Leonida realized there was no use in pressing to have the horrid blackmailer arrested. If Herrick had decided to allow the man to remain free, then nothing she said would alter the situation.

Instead she concentrated on her more pressing questions. “Why do you suspect he is lying about having the letters?”

Nadia returned to her pacing, her fingers toying with the large drop diamonds of her necklace. A sure sign she was not nearly so composed as she would have Leonida believe.

“When he first approached me, I demanded that he show them to me. He claimed that he did not have them on his person, so I requested that he reveal precisely what they said. Again he refused, saying that he would offer no proof until I had paid his outrageous sum.”

“That does seem odd. Surely he must realize that anyone with the least amount of sense would demand evidence before paying?”

“Most gentlemen underestimate women. No doubt he assumed I would be so panicked that I would give in to his demands without thinking.” Nadia’s voice revealed her contempt for such stupidity. “And there is something else.”

“What?”

“Mira and I quite often traded secrets, so we devised our own code when we wrote to one another in the event our letters fell into the wrong hands. It was silly and no doubt childishly easy to decipher, but the man said nothing of having managed to translate the words.”

Leonida had to agree that it did sound suspicious. Even assuming the man thought a woman could be so easily culled out of such a large sum of money, he surely would have felt compelled to brag at his cleverness of deciphering the code.

In her experience, gentlemen never lost the opportunity to reveal their utter superiority to women.

“So, if he does not have the letters, how did he discover they exist? And how did he know they might be damaging to Alexander Pavlovich?”

“That is why Herrick allowed him to remain unaware we know his identity,” Nadia explained. “He believes that Nikolas Babevich is merely a pawn being used by others.”

Leonida shuddered, knowing it was more from apprehension rather than the chill of standing in the middle of the room wearing nothing more than her shift and corset.

The thought that there were more enemies seeking to harm her mother was not precisely reassuring.

“Then it seems there is nothing to do but wait until the man leads you to his associates.”

There was a tense silence before her mother halted to stab her with a narrowed gaze.

“Actually, there is a very important task that must be done.”

Leonida took an instinctive step backward. She knew that tone of voice. And it never boded well.

At least not for her.

“I am not certain I wish to know.”

“Someone must travel to England and search the Duke of Huntley’s estate for the letters,” Nadia said, ignoring Leonida’s words of reluctance. Typical. “If they are still there then we can be certain Nikolas Babevich is nothing more than a fraud.”

The shimmering unease in the pit of her stomach became outright panic.

Good lord. She had not seen this coming. Stupid, really. Nadia thought nothing of making the most outrageous demands of her only child.

“But…” She struggled to capture her elusive breath. “If the letters are still hidden in England, how could anyone know of them?”

Nadia shrugged. “Perhaps the current Duke or his brother, Lord Summerville, mentioned seeing them to someone. Edmond was here in St. Petersburg, after all, only a few months ago.”

Leonida seized on the words as if they were her salvation. “Then why not simply write to them and demand the letters back? The Duchess has been dead for years—they could have no interest in your correspondence.”

Nadia gave an impatient wave of her hand. “Because they are first and foremost Englishmen with loyalty to the Prince Regent… Oh, I suppose the hideous man has now become King.” She grimaced. “In any event, it is well known that the portly monarch was not at all pleased by Alexander Pavlovich’s last visit to celebrate the end of the war. If the King knew that those letters contained information that could harm the Emperor, I do not doubt he would demand they be given to him.”

Leonida wanted to argue, but she had heard the rumors of King George’s lingering resentment toward Alexander Pavlovich’s distant manner during his brief visit. Hardly surprising. The two rulers could not be more different.

The Emperor detested gaudy displays and false bravado.

She swiftly sought another excuse to avoid the appalling mission to England.

“One can hardly search the Huntley estate without permission. An English duke must possess an entire battalion of servants. I would not get past the door without being caught.”

Nadia smiled. “You could if you were a welcomed guest.”

“Mother…”

“The arrangements for your journey are being made as we speak,” Nadia interrupted, her tone resolute. “You will leave by the end of the week.”

It was Leonida’s turn to pace the floor, the rising panic making it difficult to think clearly.

“Even if I were willing to agree to this absurd scheme, which I assure you I am not, I could not possibly intrude upon the Duke of Huntley. Not only would it be extremely rude, but he is a bachelor.”

“I have already written to Lord Summerville and his new bride to inform them that Alexander Pavlovich has decided you are in need of a proper introduction to English society. They could not possibly turn you away.”

Dear heavens, this just became worse and worse.

“Does Lord Summerville live with his brother?”

“No, but the King has given the couple Lady Summerville’s previous home, which is less than a mile from Meadowland. No doubt you will often be calling on the Duke.”

Leonida shook her head in disbelief. “So you simply foisted a complete stranger on the newlyweds without regard to how awkward it will be for all of us?”

Nadia’s expression hardened. She had made her decision and nothing Leonida might say would sway her.

“Leonida, not only would I be ruined if those letters are indeed in the hands of my enemies, but Alexander would never be able to withstand the scandal,” she said, her voice harsh with warning. “Not again.”

Not again?

What the devil did that mean?

Leonida’s temper stirred. This was hardly the first occasion her mother had devised some outlandish scheme, but this…

“So you wish me to travel to England, intrude on a newlywed couple who have never met me, sneak into a duke’s well-guarded home and retrieve letters that might or might not be hidden there?”

Her mother did not so much as blink. “Yes.”

Leonida snorted. “Then, supposing I am to accomplish this unlikely feat, what am I to do? Burn the evidence?”

Nadia widened her eyes in shock at the mere notion. “No. I want you to return the letters to me.”

“For God’s sake, Mother. Have they not already caused enough trouble? They have to be destroyed.”

With a flurry of gauze and silk, Nadia crossed to stand directly in front of Leonida.

“Do not be a fool, Leonida. I need them.”

Caught off guard by her mother’s sharp insistence, Leonida frowned. “Why?”

Nadia paused, clearly choosing her words with care. “Alexander Pavlovich has always adored me, and over the years he has been quite…generous to us. But we both know that the Emperor’s brothers have never approved of me or Alexander’s continued support of our small household. If something were to happen, God forbid, I fear we might find ourselves cut out of any inheritance that rightfully should be ours.”

“I do not…” Leonida gasped in shock as realization hit. “Oh, no. You mean to use the letters to extort money from the next czar? Have you gone completely mad?”

Nadia’s lips thinned in annoyance. “One of us must think of the future, Leonida.”

“I am thinking of the future, Mother.” Whirling on her heel, Leonida marched to stare blindly out the window. “I just hope you enjoy the damp prison cell that is no doubt awaiting us.”