Secret Fire

  “I don’t believe it! I’ll never believe it!”

  “Father wouldn’t lie about something like this, and if Lord Seymour tells you differently, it’s he who will be lying.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll marry him anyway.”

  “I can’t let you do that, love,” Katherine said firmly. “Father meant what he said. He’d cut you off without a shilling. You and William would both be beggars then. I won’t see you ruin your life over this scoundrel.”

  “Oh, why did I ever think you might help?” Beth cried. “You don’t understand. How could you? You’re nothing but a dried-up old prune!” They both gasped together. “Oh, God, Kit, I didn’t mean that!”

  The accusation hurt nonetheless. “I know, Beth.” She tried to force a smile, but it wouldn’t come.

  Another maid arrived with the two vases of water she had requested. Katherine directed her to her own sitting room and moved to leave the room, picking up her basket of roses.

  She paused at the door. “I don’t think we should talk any more about this for a while. I only want what’s best for you, but you can’t see that right now.”

  Elisabeth wrung her hands for five seconds before she jumped up and followed Katherine across the hall. She had never seen such a stricken look on her sister’s face. At the moment William was forgotten. She had to make amends to Kit.

  She shooed the maid out of the large room filled with Chippendale furniture, handsome with covers that Kit herself had embroidered. She then commenced to pace across the thick diamond-patterned carpet that covered the floor from wall to wall. Katherine ignored her as she began to arrange the roses.

  “You’re not dried up!” Beth exclaimed. “And you’re certainly not old!”

  Katherine glanced up, but she still couldn’t manage to smile. “But I am occasionally a prune?”

  “No, not a prune, just—just prim and proper, which is as you should be.”

  Now Katherine did smile. “I got this way having to entertain all those old German and Spanish diplomats at the palace. As soon as it was learned I spoke both languages so fluently, I never lacked for dinner partners.”

  “How boring,” Beth sympathized.

  “Never say so. It was fascinating, learning about other countries at first hand, almost as good as traveling, which Father refused to let me do.”

  “Didn’t you ever get to entertain any dashing Frenchmen? You speak French as well as a native.”

  “But so does everyone else, love.”

  “Of course,” Beth said, continuing her pacing.

  It wasn’t enough. Kit had smiled, but there was still hurt in her eyes. Oh, those horrid, horrid words! If only she had Kit’s control. Kit never said anything she didn’t mean.

  A turn about the room brought her close to the window facing the street. The coach drawing up below looked familiar.

  “Is Father expecting Lord Seldon?”

  “Yes. Has he arrived?”

  Beth turned away from the window, nodding. “I never did like that pompous old goat. Remember when we were children and you poured that pitcher of water out the window onto the old fellow’s head? I laughed so hard—”

  Beth stopped, seeing that mischievous look enter Kit’s eyes. God, it had been years since she had seen that look. “You wouldn’t!”

  Katherine picked up the second vase of water and walked slowly to the window. Lord Seldon was just being helped out of his coach by a liveried groom.

  “Kit, you shouldn’t,” Beth warned, but she was grinning from ear to ear. “Father had a fit the last time. We both got the birch.”

  Katherine said nothing. She waited until the unsuspecting Lord Seldon had reached the door just under her window, then tipped over the vase. She drew back, a second passed, then she burst into giggles.

  “Good Lord, did you see his face?” Katherine said between gasps. “He looked like a dead fish.”

  Beth couldn’t answer at first, for she had thrown her arms around Kit and was laughing too hard.

  Finally: “Whatever will you tell Father? He’s going to be furious.”

  “Yes, undoubtedly. And I will assure him I will dismiss the clumsy servant responsible for such an outrage.”

  “He won’t believe you.” Beth giggled.

  “Of course he will. He won’t know the difference. He doesn’t concern himself with domestics. And now I must go see to Lord Seldon. I can’t have him dripping all over my foyer. Pray for me, love, that I can deal with him with a straight face.”

  Lady Katherine St. John sailed out of the room to do what she did best: soothe and manage. She had also managed to relieve the tension between her and her sister.

  Chapter Two

  “Grandmère, he’s coming!”

  The young woman flew into the room in a white blur of lace and silk. She didn’t even look at her grandmother, but ran straight across the room to the window where she could view the procession of elegant coaches moving swiftly up the long drive. A small drop of blood appeared on her lower lip where her teeth were set so tightly. Her knuckles turned white from gripping the windowsill. Her dark brown eyes were wide with a very real fear.

  “Oh, God, what am I to do?” she cried. “He’ll beat me!”

  Lenore Cudworth, Dowager Duchess of Albemarle, closed her eyes with a sigh. She was too old for these theatrics. Well, not really too old, but such drama was not needful at her age. And her granddaughter should have thought of the consequences before she disgraced herself.

  “Do compose yourself, Anastasia,” Lenore said quietly. “If your brother does beat you, which I seriously doubt, it’s no more than you deserve. Even you must admit that.”

  Princess Anastasia swung around and stood stiffly wringing her hands. “Yes, but—but he will kill me! You just don’t know, Grandmère. You’ve never seen him in a rage. He has no control over what he does. He will not mean to kill me, but I will be dead before he finishes with me!”

  Lenore hesitated, remembering Dimitri Alexandrov as she last saw him four years ago. Then, even at twenty-four, he was an immense man, just over six feet and with a musculature well honed by the Russian army. Yes, he was strong. And yes, he was capable of killing with his bare hands. But his sister? No, not his sister, no matter what she had done.

  Lenore shook her head firmly. “Your brother might be angry with you, as well he should be, but there will be no violence.”

  “Oh, Grandmere, why won’t you listen?” Anastasia cried. “Dimitri has never lived with you as I have. In his whole life you have seen him only a half-dozen times and never for very long. I live with him. He is my guardian now. I know him better than anyone.”

  “You have been with me this last year,” Lenore reminded her. “You haven’t even written to Dimitri in all this time.”

  “So you suggest he is not the same man, that he will have changed in only a year? No, men like Dimitri never change. He is a Russian—”

  “Half English.”

  “He was raised in Russia!” Anastasia persisted.

  “He travels extensively. He spends only half the year in Russia, sometimes not even that.”

  “Only since he left the army!”

  They would never agree on Dimitri’s personality. His sister would have him a tyrant, just like their Tzar Nicholas. Lenore knew it just wasn’t true. Her daughter, Anne, had contributed to his character. Petr Alexandrov had not had exclusive development of his son.

  “I suggest you calm down before he walks in,” Lenore said now. “I’m sure he won’t appreciate these hysterics any more than I do.”

  Anastasia glanced back out the window to see the first coach stopping in front of the huge country mansion. She gasped and rushed across the room to kneel at Lenore’s feet.

  “Please, Grandmère, please. You must talk to him. You must speak for me. It will not be so much what I did that he will be furious about. He is no hypocrite. It will be that his plans were interrupted to come for me. He sets goals for himself, you see, and he plans
everything far in advance. He can tell you where he will be next year to the day. But if something gets in the way of his plans, he is impossible to live with. You sent for him. You made him put aside whatever he was involved in to come here. You must help me.”

  Lenore finally saw the motive for this little drama. And she waits until the last moment so I won’t have time to think about it. Very ingenious. But then Anastasia Petrovna Alexandrov was an intelligent young woman. Spoiled, pampered, with a highly volatile personality, but intelligent.

  So she was to soothe the wild beast, was she? She was supposed to ignore the fact that this young chit had disobeyed her at every turn, had flouted convention, had made her own rules? Anastasia had even refused to return to Russia after the last scandal had broken. If not for that, Lenore wouldn’t have had to send for Dimitri.

  She stared down at the exquisite face full of such anxiety. Her Anne had been lovely, but the Alexandrovs were incredibly handsome people. She had gone to Russia only once, when Petr had died and Anne needed her. She had met Petr’s other offspring then, his three children by his first marriage and his many illegitimate children as well. They were all exceptionally beautiful. But the two that were her grandchildren she loved. They were her only grandchildren. Her son, the present Duke of Albemarle, had lost his first wife before she gave him children. He never remarried or showed any signs of doing so. Dimitri was in fact his designated heir.

  Lenore sighed. This chit could wrap her around her little finger. Anastasia needed to leave England until her most recent scandals had time to be forgotten, but Lenore knew she would invite the girl back again. Life might be hectic with her in residence, but it was always interesting.

  “Go on, go to your room, my girl,” Lenore said now. “I’ll talk to the lad. But mind you, I don’t promise anything.”

  Anastasia leaped up and threw her arms around her grandmother’s neck. “Thank you. And I’m so sorry, Grandmere. I know I’ve been a trial to you—”

  “Better for me than for your brother, I suppose, if he’s as difficult to live with as you say. Now go, before he’s shown in.”

  The Princess rushed out of the room, and none too soon. A minute later Prince Dimitri Petrovich Alexandrov was announced by the butler. At least the poor man attempted to announce him. Dimitri did not wait for such trifles, but entered the room the moment the door was opened and filled it with his presence.

  He gave Lenore pause. Good Lord, was it possible he was even more handsome than when last she saw him? Yes, he was indeed. The golden hair; the piercing, deep-brown eyes; the dark, slashing brows: these were all the same. But at twenty-four there had still been something of the boy in him. Now he was a man, and like no man she had ever seen in her sixty-nine years. He even surpassed his father in looks, and she had thought no man better looking than Petr.

  His long-legged stride carried him swiftly across the room, and then he was bowing quite formally. His manners had improved at least, but such imperious bearing—was this really her grandson? And then his teeth flashed in an engaging grin, and his hands gripped her shoulders. She grimaced as he lifted her completely out of her chair for a resounding kiss.

  “Put me down, rascal,” the Duchess nearly shouted. “Have a care for my age, if you please.”

  She was flustered. Such strength! Anastasia had every reason to be nervous after all. If this towering giant did decide to give her the thrashing she so richly deserved…

  “J’en suis au regret.”

  “Never mind that French rubbish!” she snapped. “You’ve a good English tongue. I’ll thank you to use it while you’re in my house.”

  Dimitri threw back his leonine head and laughed, a deep, rich sound, so very masculine. And he was still grinning as he set Lenore back in her chair.

  “I said I was sorry, Babushka, but you utterly destroyed my apology. You are still as feisty as ever, I see. I have missed you. You should come to live in Russia.”

  “My bones could never withstand one of your winters, and well you know it.”

  “Then I will have to come here more often. It has been too long, Babushka.”

  “Oh, do sit down, Dimitri. It hurts my neck to have to look up at you. And you’re late.” He had thrown her for such a turn that she couldn’t resist putting him on the defensive.

  “Your letter had to wait until the spring melting on the Neva before it could reach me,” he said as he grabbed the nearest chair and pulled it closer to her.

  “I knew that,” she replied. “But I also know your ship docked in London three days ago. We expected you yesterday.”

  “After weeks on my ship, I needed a day to recuperate.”

  “Good Lord, that’s the nicest way I’ve ever heard it put. Was she pretty?”

  “Immeasurably.”

  If she had hoped to disarm him with her frankness, she failed. No blush, no excuses, just a lazy smile. She should have known better. According to his Aunt Sonya, who wrote Lenore often, Dimitri never lacked for feminine company, and half that company was married women. Anastasia was correct. He would be hypocritical to upbraid her for her few indiscretions, when his own numbered in the hundreds.

  “What do you intend to do about your sister?” Lenore ventured while he was in this pleasant mood.

  “Where is she?”

  “In her room. She’s not too happy that you’re here. She seems to think you’re going to be rather harsh with her for having been called here to fetch her home.”

  Dimitri shrugged. “I admit I was annoyed at first. This was not a convenient time for me to leave Russia.”

  “I am sorry, Dimitri. None of this would have been necessary if that silly woman hadn’t made such a scene when she found Anastasia in bed with her husband. But there were at least a hundred guests at this particular party, and half that number rushed to the rescue when they heard the woman’s screams. And Anastasia, foolish girl, didn’t have sense enough to hide her head under the sheets so she wouldn’t be recognized. No, she stands there in her shift and argues with the woman.”

  “It is unfortunate Anastasia was not more discreet, but do not mistake me, Babushka. Alexandrovs have never let public opinion influence their actions. No, my sister’s offense is that she did not follow your dictates.”

  “She was just being stubborn and refusing to run from censure, another trait you Alexandrovs have in common, Dimitri.”

  “You defend her too much, Duchess.”

  “Then relieve my mind and tell me you don’t intend to beat her.”

  It took a moment for Dimitri’s bland look to change, but suddenly he burst into laughter. “What has the girl been telling you about me?”

  Lenore had the grace to blush. “Obviously nonsense,” she said disagreeably.

  He continued to chuckle. “She’s too old for a spanking, not that I didn’t relish the idea for a while. No, I will simply take her home and find her a husband. She needs someone who can keep a closer watch over her than I can.”

  “She’ll balk at that, my boy. She’s told me more than once that marriage isn’t for her and that her views on the subject come entirely from you.”

  “Well, perhaps she will change her mind when she learns that I intend to be married before the year is out myself.”

  “Are you serious, Dimitri?” Lenore asked in surprise.

  “Completely,” he replied. “It was my courtship that was interrupted by this trip.”

  Chapter Three

  Katherine placed another cool compress on her forehead and leaned her head back on the chaise. She had retired to her room after her morning meeting with the servants to assign their tasks. And this dreadful headache just wasn’t letting up. But she supposed she had drunk too much champagne at her ball last night. That wasn’t like her at all. She rarely drank spirits at parties, and never when she was the hostess.

  Her maid, Lucy, moved about in the bedroom, putting it to rights. The morning tray she had brought remained untouched. She couldn’t stomach even the thought o
f food just yet.

  Katherine sighed long and loudly. Fortunately, the ball last night had been a success, despite her slight intoxication. Even Warren had managed to make an appearance. The evening itself had nothing to do with her present headache. It had been caused by Elisabeth and the message her maid had delivered just as the first guests began to arrive: that because William hadn’t been invited to the ball, she would not attend either.

  It was incredible. Not a word out of Beth all week since their talk, not a sigh, not a tear. Katherine had truly thought Beth had accepted the situation, and she had been so proud of her, of how well she was handling this broken-heart business. And then, out of the blue, this about-face, this message that proved only too well that Beth hadn’t forgotten about William at all—which made her wonder now why there hadn’t been any more tears if that was the case.

  What the devil was she to think? Oh, she couldn’t think at all right now, not with this throbbing head.

  A loud knock at the door made her grimace. Elisabeth came in, dressed in a lovely watered-silk gown of moss green, a going-out dress. She held a silk bonnet in her hand by the ties, and a lacy parasol was tucked under her arm.

  “Martha said you weren’t feeling well, Kit.”

  No mention of her absence last night, not even a guilty look. And after all the trouble Katherine had gone to for the ball, selecting only the most eligible bachelors in the hope that one might catch Beth’s interest. Well, the ball hadn’t really been any bother. Entertaining two hundred people was a trifling thing when you knew how to make things run smoothly.

  “I’m afraid I imbibed a little too freely last night, love,” Katherine said truthfully. “Nothing that won’t right itself by the afternoon.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Beth was distracted. Why? Katherine wondered. And where was she going?

  She wasn’t prepared to mention Lord Seymour again just yet, but she had to know Beth’s destination. An uncomfortable premonition raised its head.

  “You’re going out?”

  “Yes.”