Bound by Love (15 page)

She swallowed a sigh. Of course he could not simply do as she requested.

“Drink the tea and I promise I will tell you whatever you wish to know.”

His eyes narrowed. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“I am wise enough to suspect it will not be nearly so simple.” He shrugged, pouring a generous measure of the brandy into the tea before taking a large sip. “Still, I am willing to give you one last opportunity.”

She pressed her hands together, not surprised to discover her palms were sweating. The laudanum would do him no harm, she desperately assured herself. Indeed, it was precisely what a doctor would prescribe.

The knowledge, unfortunately, did little to relieve her biting sense of guilt.

“Or what?”

He polished off the last of the tea and set the empty cup on the table next to the bed.

“I will drag you back to Meadowland and hold you there until you confess the truth.”

“I thought you intended to haul me back to Meadowland regardless.”

“Yes.”

“You…” She threw up her hands in exasperation.

He snared her gaze, his eyes glittering with a hectic light. The combination of shock and pain was taking a dreadful toll on his waning strength.

“Begin talking or begin packing, the choice is yours.”

She ignored his provoking command, moving forward to place her hand on his forehead, deeply relieved to discover it was cool and dry.

“Are you in pain?”

“I was just shot, Leonida.”

“Here.” Arranging the pillows against the head of the bed, she gently pressed him backward. “Lean back.”

He briefly resisted, then with a heavy sigh, he turned so he could rest against the pillows, not even complaining when she lifted his legs onto the mattress and tugged the blanket over him.

Instead he studied her from beneath half-lowered lids. “I would be much more comfortable if you were to join me.”

Her heart lurched with excitement as he patted the mattress beside him.

“I thought you wished to talk.”

“We could speak much more easily if you were close.”

She grimly refused to acknowledge the bittersweet yearning that stirred in her heart. She had already been foolishly weak in succumbing to Stefan’s skillful touch and it had nearly killed him. She would not make the same mistake again.

Instead she forced her heavy feet to the corner to pull
out her case and began packing away the few belongings she had strewn about the room.

“We would not speak at all if I were close,” she muttered.

“Perhaps you have a point.” He paused as she moved to the small armoire. “What are you doing?”

“I might as well pack as we speak. You did say that I was to be taken back to England.”

“Now I truly am suspicious,” he mocked, his words faintly slurred. “Good God, leave those hideous gowns behind. You will terrify the natives if they see you strolling about swathed in black crepe.”

“You are far too fond of tossing about orders, your Grace.”

“I am…” His words faded, as if he were struggling to recall what he was about to say. “Fond of many things, Miss Karkoff,” he at last managed to mutter.

Finished with her packing, Leonida slowly turned to discover that her companion’s eyes had slid shut.

Walking to the edge of the bed, Leonida gazed worriedly at his pale face.

“Stefan?” she whispered.

His eyes remained shut, but a tiny smile briefly touched his lips.

“I thought you were an angel the first time I caught a glimpse of you,” he said huskily, his voice thick.

“No.” Her heart twisted with painful shame. “I am no angel.”

“I wish…”

“What?”

His head twisted restlessly on the pillow. “I am so sleepy.”

“Then rest, Stefan,” she murmured, brushing her lips over his brow.

“You…” He struggled to speak. “Bloody hell, you gave me something.”

“As I said, I am no angel,” she whispered sadly.

Waiting until he had fully lost his battle against the encroaching weariness, Leonida placed a last, longing kiss
on his lips. Then, tossing aside the last of her scruples, she tugged his leather purse from his jacket. Grasping her hastily packed bag, she slapped a black veiled hat on her head and hurried from the room.

Stefan’s servants would soon come searching for their missing Duke, she reassured her nagging conscience as she hurried down the paneled corridor. They would properly see to his wound, and perhaps, if they had the least amount of sense, they would haul him back to Meadowland while he was still unconscious.

Indifferent to the startled glance from a maid who was carrying an armful of clean bedding, Leonida darted past her to climb the narrow staircase that led to the servants’ rooms. She had no notion where Pyotr might be lodged, but she was desperate enough to knock on every door until she found him.

Thankfully for the servants attempting to have a few moments’ peace from their demanding employers, Leonida’s run of ill luck came to a brief halt as Sophy stepped out of a room and headed toward the staircase.

Rushing forward, Sophy took in Leonida’s rumpled appearance and the heavy bag held in her hand.

“W
HAT ARE YOU DOING
up here?” the maid demanded, her expression troubled. “This is no place—”

“Sophy, thank heavens,” Leonida interrupted. “Gather Pyotr and then pack only what you need. I will meet you behind the kitchens.”

“What has happened?”

“The Duke of Huntley has happened.”

Sophy lifted a hand to her mouth. “He is here?”

“In my room.”

“How did he find us?”

“I will explain all later,” Leonida impatiently promised. “For now I need you to hurry.”

Sensing Leonida’s trembling urgency, Sophy gave a sharp nod of her head.

“Of course.”

“Be sure to go directly through the kitchens. The Duke is certain to have left his servants to keep watch.”

“We shall be there as swiftly as possible.”

Trusting that Sophy would fulfill her promise, Leonida turned and hurried down to the lower floor. There were a few raised brows from the kitchen staff, but no one attempted to halt her and, with a brief glance to ensure it was empty, she stepped into the cramped back garden.

There was an unmistakable scent of rotting vegetables and lingering tobacco smoke, but Leonida breathed a sigh of relief as she set down the bag and leaned against the building.

If her nerves had not been twisted into painful knots she
might have appreciated the irony of Miss Leonida Karkoff, darling of St. Petersburg society, cowering behind a cheap Paris hotel, attired in a gown barely fit for a scrub maid, and fleeing from an English duke and God knew how many other enemies. As it was, she conjured no more than a panicked fear as she waited.

To try and distract her mind, she opened Stefan’s small purse. She did not expect to find a fortune. No gentleman of sense traveled with large amounts of money. Not unless he desired to attract the attention of the numerous highwaymen that plagued all of Europe.

Still, it was a shock to realize that he had less than fifty pounds in his possession. Certainly not enough to purchase a new carriage, even when added to what she possessed.

Good lord, she would never be free of Paris.

After what seemed an eternity, but was probably less than a quarter of an hour, Sophy and Pyotr hurried into the garden.

“Here we are,” Sophy unnecessarily announced, her round face flushed. “What are we to do now?”

“We must leave Paris as swiftly as possible,” Leonida announced.

Incapable of being rattled, no matter what the circumstance, the groom moved forward to firmly take Leonida’s luggage from her stiff fingers.

“I will get the carriage,” he assured her calmly. “Even if I have to point a gun at the damned wheelwright’s head to get him to finish it.”

Struck by a sudden thought, Leonida reached out to grasp Pyotr’s arm. “No, wait. We must leave it. The Duke already knows that it is in the hands of the wheelwright. He might have someone watching the place.”

“I hope you do not intend for us to walk to St. Petersburg,” Sophy demanded.

“Not if we can possibly avoid such a fate.” Leonida scoured her brain for enlightenment, dismissing a number
of wild schemes until she at last hit upon the least harebrained notion. “I wonder…”

“What?” Sophy prompted.

“Sir Charles Richards was excessively determined to offer me assistance. Perhaps he could be persuaded to lend me enough money so we can purchase a carriage.”

Sophy frowned. “I thought you said the man made your flesh crawl?”

He had, of course. She could not entirely explain her aversion to the perfectly pleasant gentleman. He was a handsome and charming gentleman of means. But there was no denying that her instinct was to avoid him.

“We are hardly in a position to be overly particular in who we ask for favors,” she pointed out, suppressing her shudder of reluctance.

Sophy heaved a sigh. “True enough.”

“Pyotr, can you direct us to Sir Charles’s hotel on Rue de Varenne?” Leonida demanded. “Preferably by a means that will call the least attention to our departure from the hotel.”

“Of course. This way.”

There was a brief delay as Sophy insisted on neatly pinning Leonida’s hair beneath the veiled hat and smoothing the crepe gown, then they were out of the garden and traveling through a maze of narrow alleys.

They walked in silence, Pyotr leading the way. Within moments, Leonida was utterly lost. From the shadows it was impossible to keep track of where they were headed, but trusting in her groom, Leonida followed his quick pace.

“Good lord. This is certainly a…pungent route,” she muttered as Pyotr slowed his steps and peered around the edge of the alley.

“Sorry, Miss.”

“No, Pyotr, it was my notion to avoid attention,” she reassured her groom. There was no one to blame but herself for their current troubles. “We could not have escaped from the hotel without your assistance.”

Sophy clicked her tongue. “Don’t be making his head any bigger than it is.”

Ignoring the teasing, Pyotr pointed a finger. “The hotel is just across the street.”

Moving to stand at his side, Leonida regarded the white stone building with wrought-iron trellises and uniformed servants standing at the door.

Her heart sank at the realization this would not be quite so simple as she had imagined. Respectable women, even widows, did not visit gentlemen in their private hotel rooms.

“I did not consider the notion of how I would actually approach the man,” she breathed, silently cursing herself for her stupidity. A woman could hardly request to be shown to a gentleman’s apartments.

“Do you want me to fetch the man for you?” Pyotr requested.

“Perhaps that would be for the best. I—” Leonida jerked in surprise as a man approached the hotel, his brutish features and mud-brown hair all too familiar. “
Mon Dieu
.”

Pyotr dropped his bags and pulled a pistol from the pocket of his jacket.

“What is it?”

“That man.”

“A rough sort,” Sophy said, moving to her side. “I wonder what he’s doing at this hotel?”

“He is the ruffian who threatened me in England.”

Without warning, Sophy was digging into the small leather case she carried.

“Do you want me to shoot him?” she demanded, pulling out a small pistol.

Leonida choked back a small laugh, not doubting for a moment the bloodthirsty maid would happily shoot the man in the back.

“For God’s sake, no.”

“He’s going to get away.”

“Sophy, please put that gun away,” Leonida pleaded. “I must think.”

The maid gave a shake of her head. “We cannot linger here, Miss Leonida. Soon enough the locals are going to decide that our few coins are worth risking the guillotine.”

Leonida glanced over her shoulder, shivering as she realized that several pairs of eyes were regarding them from behind filthy windows.

“Shall I fetch Sir Charles?” Pyotr asked softly.

“No.” Leonida sucked in a calming breath. “It is too much a coincidence that Sir Charles is staying at the same hotel as the man who attacked me at Meadowland. I knew there was something odd in his manner during our encounter. Clearly he knew who I was all along.” Frustrated fear clenched at her heart. “Still, we have to get out of Paris.”

“We could buy tickets on a public carriage,” Sophy offered. “There must be some that travel to the north.”

“That was my thought, as well, but I fear we would be far too easy to track.” Leonida once again went through their limited list of alternatives, heaving a sigh as she accepted there really were none left. “I suppose I have no choice. Now that my presence here is known I might as well present myself to the Russian ambassador and request the funds we need…”

“No, it is too dangerous,” Sophy broke in with a stubborn frown.

“Sophy is right,” Pyotr added. “If I were searching for you, I would keep a close watch on the Embassy. It is the logical place for you to go.”

Leonida understood the risk. It was the only reason she had not approached the Embassy the moment they had entered Paris.

“But I do not possess the funds to purchase a carriage and still have enough to provide for our journey.”

A hard smile touched Pyotr’s lips. “I will take care of the carriage. Meet me at
Jardin des Tuileries
in an hour.”

“How on earth…”

“One hour,” he repeated, then before Leonida could protest, he had turned to slip back down the alley.

“Best do as he says,” Sophy warned, putting away her gun and gathering the baggage the groom had left behind. “Pyotr can be quite forceful when he has his mind set on a thing.”

“Clearly,” Leonida said dryly. She bent down to grasp her own case, glancing up and down the busy street. Without her groom, she dare not use the alleys. Which unfortunately meant taking the risk of being spotted by the mysterious Sir Charles. “We cannot wait here.”

“No.”

Gathering her tattered courage, Leonida waited for the large group of schoolgirls being herded by grim-faced nuns to reach the alley. Tugging on Sophy’s arm, she darted among the giggling crowd.

“Hurry, Sophy.”

“Where are we going?” the maid muttered.

“It seems we will discover when we get there.”

Resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder and ensure they were not being followed, Leonida allowed herself to be swept along with the schoolgirls. It was not until they were several streets from the hotel that she urged Sophy away from the group and headed in what she hoped was the direction of the Seine.

There were the inevitable wrong turns, but eventually Leonida managed to stumble across the
Rue de Rivoli
and, swiftly finding her bearings, she led her maid deeper into the large gardens that were famous for their magnificent statues by Coustou and Maillol as well as the beautifully manicured lawns and shrubberies. It would, perhaps, be more sensible to stroll close to the street where she could easily be seen by Pyotr, but the nearby arcades made her wary.

If Sir Charles Richards was indeed in league with her enemies then he might very well be keeping an eye upon
the shops in the hope she would return. She could only trust in Pyotr to find them.

Barely able to breathe, Leonida strolled through the gardens that had been created for Louis XIV by his famous gardener, Le Notre. Her arm was aching from holding her heavy bag and there was a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach, but she dare not halt to rest. Perhaps she was being overly cautious, but at the moment it felt as if all of Paris was searching for her.

They reached the edge of the gardens and Leonida wryly regarded the monument that marked the site where Joan of Arc had been wounded. At the moment she fully sympathized with the poor girl. Being hounded and chased by ruthless enemies was a great deal more nerve-wracking than it seemed between the pages of a book.

Momentarily lost in her thoughts, it came as a welcome interruption when Sophy impatiently tugged on her sleeve.

“There is Pyotr,” she hissed.

Turning her head, Leonida spotted the servant standing near the street, his craggy face hard with concern until he caught sight of them. With obvious relief, he lifted his hand and motioned for them to join him.

Leonida hurried forward, Sophy at her side.

“Pyotr, did you—”

“This way,” the groom interrupted, turning to lead them down the street, halting at a gleaming black carriage with gold trim and red leather upholstery.

It was sleek and expensive and pulled by a pair of matching gray horses that would each cost more than she currently possessed.

“Good heavens. Where did you get this?”

“I noted it behind the wheelwright’s shop this morning.” Pyotr smiled with a smug satisfaction. “He obviously had decided to repair it before working upon our own.”

Leonida’s eyes widened. “You returned to the wheelwright?”

“I approached the shop from the back mews and once I had the carriage I drove about the streets until I could be certain I was not followed,” her groom assured her.

“I told you we could trust Pyotr,” Sophy said with a fond glance at the groom.

“So you did.” Without warning, Leonida began to laugh.

Both servants regarded her as if she had taken leave of her senses.

“What is it?” Pyotr demanded.

“I am just imagining that damned wheelwright’s expression when the owner of the carriage discovers it is missing.”

W
HEN
S
TEFAN AT LAST AWOKE
, he briefly wished he hadn’t.

Christ. His shoulder ached, his mouth was as dry as an African desert, his purse had been stolen, and Leonida was missing.

Again.

Just as aggravating, his servants and seemingly half the hotel staff were clustered about his bed, all of them fluttering their hands and arguing what was to be done with the unconscious Duke.

With a few short words he had the hotel staff dismissed and his own servants on the hunt for Leonida.