“I saw the look you shared with Orlov. You are going to get my tiara back tonight, which is—”
“Tikha!” He looked around and then took her by the elbow and pulled her aside. “Keep your voice down.”
“Izvini. I didn’t think.” She peeked past him and was glad to note that no one seemed to have paid them any heed. Still, she changed to Oxenburgian, saying. “It’s about time you did something.”
“If speed was a concern, then perhaps you should have told me immediately upon our arrival that you’d gambled away one of our country’s most beloved heirlooms.”
She generously decided to ignore his tone of voice. “It will be good to have it back in our possession. Once we have the tiara, we will leave.” She considered this. “In fact, we could go this evening. I’ll have the maids pack our bags while we are at dinner and—”
“Nyet. It is not that simple.”
“Why not? You cannot wish to stay in this hellishly damp castle and—” Something about his expression caught her attention. A softening of his gaze, a touch of sadness about his mouth.
This grandson of hers was a difficult man to decipher, so she paid attention to even faint hints of emotion. What has caught him so? Hmm. Could it be . . . “This is about the woman, nyet?”
His gaze flickered away. “It about several things, but—” He pressed his lips together for a moment. “Da, one of them is a woman.”
Finally, he admits it to me! But is that a good thing, or a bad thing? She eyed him carefully. While he was as closemouthed as ever, he seemed less . . . dark. She remembered how he’d been on their ride here, lost in his thoughts and unwilling to leave them. Now he wore an air of . . . not hope, but of determination. “Who is she?”
Max’s gaze grew shuttered. “You do not need to know.”
“If she is so important that you must hide her, then of course I must know.” When he didn’t answer, she waved her hand. “Fine. I will find out on my own. Golovin will tell me everything.”
“He would do no such thing.”
“He fears being turned into a goat. Which I will do, if he does not tell me what I wish to know. So you can tell me of this woman yourself, or consign Golovin to many sleepless nights wondering if there is more hair on the back of his hands than there used to be.”
“Bozhy moj, you are impossible.”
“At times.” She eyed him. “So? Who is this woman, and should I worry that you are about to take a thief to wife?”
“I never said anything about thieves and wives.”
“You did not need to. You went in search of the thieves who robbed us, and now you’ve found this woman. I am not a fool. She is one of the thieves, nyet?”
He frowned down at her and she thought he wouldn’t answer, but after a long moment, he said, “She is a widow and her name is Lady Murian Muir.”
“Muir?” Where had she heard that name befo— Ah, yes. “The previous owner of the castle.” At Max’s surprised look, she said, “Loudan mentioned him.”
“When?”
“Last week, the week before, perhaps. It was one of the many days you were off pretending to hunt.”
“I was hunting. Just not wild game.” A faint smile touched his mouth, and for a moment he looked the way he used to—more youthful, with a sparkle in his eyes. The sight made her heart ache and gave her hope. This woman had caught Max’s attention, but Natasha hoped she would not crush him, too. Some men fell in love as often as there were days of the week, while others—a special few—fell in love once, and never turned from that love.
“What did Loudan tell you about Muir?”
“I wasn’t really listening. He wasn’t talking to me, but to some others during breakfast.” She pursed her lips, trying to remember. “He said there was a duel, but I cannot remember what it was over. Muir lost and Loudan won, so the castle became his. Then there was a duel— Pah! I cannot remember everything.”
“You must remember more.”
“Loudan seemed too happy with it, considering a man died. It made me angry. I understand that one has no choice in matters of honor, but his attitude was uncouth. One does not brag about having to kill someone.”
“Murian believes Loudan manufactured the entire story. That there was no card game, no accusations, and no duel, but that Lord Robert was murdered in cold blood, the act covered by Loudan and his friends.”
“Does she?” And it’s not “Lady Murian Muir,” but just “Murian.” I must meet this woman. “I wouldn’t put it past our host. He has no morals.” She looked over at where the earl was greeting the arriving guests, oozing urbane charm. True charm was worn, not leaked. She sniffed. “He is a commoner.”
Max had to laugh. “It is fortunate Gypsies do not pay attention to such things as titles and noble birth.”
“I am not just any Gypsy, but the phuri dai.” She couldn’t have held her chin any higher.
And she was right; she was the highest-ranking female of her band. When she spoke, her people listened—which was why she was nigh unbearable elsewhere. “You are not just any Gypsy; on that we can agree, as you are the Gypsy who lost the royal crown of Oxenburg in a card game.”
“I wouldn’t have done it, but Loudan kept suggesting I was afraid to wager it, saying he would have already done so if he’d had a good hand. . . .” She tugged her shawl closer. “I was a fool, I know. You don’t need to say anything.”
“I wasn’t going to say a word. I think our friend Loudan is an expert in convincing people to throw expensive items onto his card table so that he can cheat them out of them. It’s how he makes his living.”
“But we will get it back—once you finish chasing this widow.”
“I haven’t been chasing her,” he lied. And yes, it was a lie. He couldn’t seem to help himself where Murian was concerned. He couldn’t be in the same room with her without wanting to touch her, taste her, know her in every way possible. She was as spontaneous in her lovemaking as she was in the way she approached life, and he couldn’t seem to get enough. She tasted of passion, freedom, and life lust, and the more he had her, the more he wanted her.
“Ah! So she is chasing you, then.”
“It’s nothing like that. We have a common enemy, that is all.” And a common love of carnal pleasure, but what red-blooded male and female do not? The crowd near the door thinned at last, and Max took his grandmother’s elbow and led her forward. “Finally. Let us go.”
Inside the sitting room, he noted that the sideboard near the large windows bore pitchers of lemonade and punch. A short line had formed as people reached for glasses.
Tata Natasha poked him in the chest. “You.”
“Da?”
“Tell me about this woman. Who is she and why she is—”
“I must fetch your lemonade.”
Tata Natasha blinked. “I didn’t ask for any.”
He left before she could do more than sputter. He took his time fetching the drink, too, for he had no interest in having a discussion about Murian. She was fascinating, damned intelligent, and far too alluring to live alone in the woods. But he had to be a realist: once this was over, they would go their own ways and to their own futures, as fate had decreed. He would return to Oxenburg, his duties set for life, while she would return to Rowallen, to eventually become a wife and mother.
His chest tightened and he rubbed it absently. He knew his grandmother wished him to find a wife, but she didn’t understand the harsh sacrifice that would be required of the woman. He would never damn Murian, who’d already suffered so much, to a life of endless uncertainty, waiting for the day he did not return. He’d seen the darkness in her eyes when she talked about the loss of her husband, and he’d seen how that death had left her unprotected and alone, banished from everything she held dear. She deserved far better. She deserved to be a beloved wife again, mother to a number of red-haired, silver-eyed children.
An odd hollowness rustled through him. He would not think of her future life. He couldn’t
afford to. Yet even as he had the thought, an image of Murian with another man flashed into his mind. His chest tightened, blood roaring in his ears, as red-hot jealousy seared his being. He must have looked as furious as his thoughts made him, for the gentleman waiting beside him suddenly blanched and took a step away.
Bozhy moj, I cannot think of that. Max forced a smile, which he was sure looked as fake as it felt. “I am sorry, but the lemonade has no ice and will be warm, which will displease my grandmother.”
The man gulped and nodded, still looking as if he expected Max to whip out a sword.
Max inclined his head and left. Bloody hell, where did that come from? I cannot think of it again. Tonight there is only our mission. There can be nothing else.
He put his thoughts under rigid control and went through their plan once more. And then again. It took a while, but finally his thoughts settled, his body easing to calm alertness. Everything became clearer than usual, a heightened sense of awareness filling him so that he noticed everything. As he walked through the room he soaked in the fleeting scents of various perfumes, the softness of the rug under his boots, the golden glow of the beeswax candles reflecting off the chandeliers’ crystals, the rustle of silk and fine wool.
He caught sight of Orlov near the doorway the servants were using to refill the pitchers on the refreshment table. Good. He is right where he is supposed to be: ready to set the signal once we’re certain all is clear. Golovin and Pahlen were lingering in the foyer, acting as if they were arguing over whose horse was fastest, although if one knew them, one would know such a conversation would involve fists, not words. Pushkin, flirting with a young lady and her mother, both of them flushed and pleased, stood near a window where he could easily see outside. The only men not in attendance were Demidor and Raeff, who were making sure two kitchen maids were doing as they’d been paid to do in the name of a grand prank: luring the guards to the barn to partake of some forbidden—and unknown to them—drugged wine.
Max looked at the clock resting on a mantel, satisfied that everything was working as planned. Still, he couldn’t ignore a growing sense of concern. Something felt . . . off. Which was totally ridiculous. They’d been careful. More than careful. And things were going well so far.
Demidor and Raeff appeared in the doorway, looking relaxed and jovial as they wandered to the refreshment table. So, now the guards are dealt with. The clock chimed half past eight, and a new volley of tension moved between Max’s shoulders. Murian will be approaching the ridge now. I hope she doesn’t—
“Your Highness,” came an unctuous voice at Max’s side. “Why so serious at our festive event? Don’t you enjoy opera?”
Max turned to find Loudan standing near. The earl was alone, a faint smirk on his narrow face. Max bowed. “I enjoy opera very much.”
“Good. I believe you will find this evening’s entertainment especially to your liking.”
“I’m sure I will. Of course, I would enjoy this evening’s performance more if I did not know my grandmother suffers because of your guile.”
Loudan’s smile grew fixed, and he said with obvious displeasure, “You are very direct, Your Highness. I dislike that.”
“I’m not a diplomat. We soldiers find direct speech more effective.”
“While I find it uncivilized. But fine. If you wish it, then we will put all of our cards upon the table.”
“I was under the impression that was something you never did—at least not in accordance to the rules of play.”
Loudan’s eyes flashed. “Are you are accusing me of something?”
“If I did, you would naturally demand satisfaction, as you did with Lord Muir.”
“Lord Muir got what he deserved.”
“Just as my grandmother deserved to be tricked into wagering something she did not own?”
The earl shrugged. “She had the crown in her possession and she wagered it, not I.”
“She wagered it at your urging.”
“I may have suggested it, but that is no crime.” The earl showed his teeth in a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I’d offer to allow you to purchase it back, but it’s too late. I’ve already sold it.”
“To whom?”
“I have been working through a courier, so I don’t know the true purchaser, nor do I wish to.”
It was hard to believe no one had killed this fool before now. The idiot had no honor at all. “If you were going to sell it, you should have given us first right.”
“But you see, I’m not really interested in you and your tiny country and your paltry heirloom. Someone else approached me about the crown before you even arrived. Someone looking for an old, respected token of authority, a crown with a history of power.”
Max crossed his arms to keep from reaching out and grabbing the earl by his scrawny neck. “Only a new regime would wish for such a thing; otherwise they’d already have their own. And I can think of only one country in such a position. Napoléon has recently declared himself emperor, nyet?”
Loudan sent him a sour look. “You fish in a dry pond; I do not know who bought this crown. As I said, I haven’t asked and I don’t intend to.”
“How did this courier know you had the crown in your possession to begin with?”
“I have no idea. The man merely mentioned he knew I had it. Perhaps your grandmother told someone?”
“She told no one.”
“Don’t be too sure about that.” A sneer entered Loudan’s voice. “Everyone knows a Romany cannot keep a secret.”
Max’s hand curled into a fist, but he halted when he caught Orlov’s concerned stare from across the room. He is right; I must keep my mind on the objective, and not my desire to flatten this fool’s face.
Max uncurled his hand. “We will—”
The dinner gong sounded and Loudan straightened. “I must go, but . . .” He hesitated. “If I may offer a word of advice?”
Max raised his brows.
“You will wish to stay through the ending of Madame Dufond’s performance. The ending is where the magic really happens, isn’t it? Everything before that is . . .
anticipation.” The earl smiled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must resume my duties as host.” With that, he left.
Seething, Max watched the earl make his way through the room. As he neared the wide windows, the earl paused by a footman. The man was clearly one of his guards, for no footman would have had such a thick neck and awkward physical stance.
Loudan said a word or two, and the guard nodded and left, pausing to look out the window near where Pushkin stood flirting shamelessly. While there, the guard lifted his hand in a quick gesture, before continuing on his way.
The guards were pulled off that side of the castle, so who could he be greeting, unless— An icy hand gripped Max’s heart. They’ve replaced the guard. So they know. Bloody hell, they know.
Pushkin had seen the gesture, too. Alarm in his gaze, he excused himself from the ladies and crossed to the window.
Max joined him. Moonlight dappled the ridge and the slope of lawn leading to the castle, and as he looked, the moon reflected off metal. He looked more closely, alarmed at the number of black figures moving in the darkness.
His gaze flickered to the ridge. She does not know the danger. I promised the guards would be gone—and now this. His heart thudded sickly, his hands damp, his skin so tight that it compressed his breath. Was this how it felt to wait for someone going into battle? To be afraid they might come to harm, to worry beyond all common sense that they would fall and you would never see them again? This is its own hell.
Pushkin cursed under his breath. “Someone has betrayed us.”
“Indeed. We must warn Murian and the others. They are in danger.”
“I’ll go,” Pushkin said. “You would be missed.”
“There must be a way that I can—” His gaze fell on Tata Natasha, who was still near the doorway. He turned to Pushkin. “Inform the others that we have been betrayed. I’ll fi
nd a way to warn Murian.”
“What do you need of us?”
“Stay here, and be a very large presence. I will be as quick as I can.”
“Very well.” Obviously not pleased with Max’s decision, Pushkin went to inform the others of the change in plans.
Max reached Tata as quickly as he could.
She frowned on seeing him. “Where is my lemonade?”
He took her arm and pulled her aside. “We need you. Something has gone wrong.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Da?”
“We must have a distraction, one where you need escorting from the room.”
“How do—”
“My friends,” Loudan announced. “It is time for dinner.” He looked at Max and bowed. “Your Highness, we will follow you and the grand duchess into the dining room.”
Every eye fixed on Max. There was nothing to be done but act as if everything was well, and hope and pray with every fiber of his being that he’d said enough for Tata to understand what he needed.
She placed her hand on his arm and together they walked toward the door, Loudan and Lady MacLure falling in behind them.
Max squeezed Tata’s arm and she instantly cried out, and with amazing dexterity, collapsed upon the floor. One moment, she was upright, and the next, she was a black heap, the rose skulls on her shawl taking on new meaning.
Cries arose, and Lady MacLure gasped.
“Tata!” Max bent to her.
She clutched her heart. “I fear . . . I fear . . . I am . . . dying . . . the world . . . grows . . . dim. . . .”
Bloody hell, a twisted ankle would have been enough. “I’m sure you’ll be fine with a little rest. I’ll carry you to your room.”
Loudan snapped his fingers, bringing two footmen to the fore. “Help Her Grace back to her room.”
“Nyet,” Tata said faintly. “Only a prince may carry . . . a grand duchess.” She looked at Max. “Take me . . . to my room. I . . . must rest.”
He scooped her up and carried her toward the staircase.
“Wait!” She threw up a hand.
All eyes rested on her.
“Send a dinner tray delivered to my bedchamber.” With that, she threw her head back and pretended to faint.