Elusive Passion (11 page)

She almost spat champagne back into her glass, startled by his silent approach. Thank God her back was to him. Her eyes watered as she choked on the bubbly wine.

“Good evening, Miles,” she replied coolly, once she had composed herself. She turned to face him. “Where’s Carny?”

Miles glanced over his shoulder and pointed to a small group of guests across the room. “I believe he’s chatting with that lovely young widow even as we speak.”

“How very mercenary.” She sipped her champagne and tried to look everywhere but at him.

“Varya,” he began softly, “I would like to apologize for my behavior early. It was uncalled for.”

She met his gaze evenly. “It wouldn’t have been had I given you cause for it, Miles.”

He had the good grace to blush slightly at her censure.

“I had no reason other than bad manners.” He took her hand. “Please say you’ll forgive me.”

She nodded, struggling to maintain her poise even though she wanted to throw herself into his arms. “As you wish. But if it happens again, I won’t be so forgiving.”

“Of course.”

Something in his smile made her frown. It was almost as if he had predicted her responses. The arrogance! He hadn’t had any doubt that she would forgive him. Well, she meant it. He got only one chance. As attracted as she was to him, she wasn’t one of his little bits of muslin whose actions he could anticipate and manipulate.

Dinner was announced, and the hostess paired off all the guests according to seating arrangements. Varya was very near the end of the procession, a fact that made her chuckle softly to herself.

“May I ask what is so funny, madam?” her escort inquired jovially.

She shook her head. “Nothing, sir. Do you think we shall make it to the dining room before the food grows cold?”

Even though she entered the dining room much later than Miles had, she still found herself sitting beside him. He was so attentive and so charming that Varya finally relaxed and put his earlier rudeness out of her mind. She actually enjoyed herself. She tried a bit of almost everything the servants offered, and kept her wineglass filled.

“Will you be attending Prinny’s soirée at Carlton House next week, Wynter?” Lord Dennyson asked.

Miles nodded, swallowing a bite of pheasant before answering. “I plan to.” He glanced at Varya. “Would you like to go?” he asked her in a low voice.

She nodded, pleased that he had invited her. She had yet to see the inside of Carlton House. There had been talk of her playing there, but no invitation had ever come.

“I would like that very much,” she replied softly.

“I thought as much.” He smiled warmly. “Especially since Czar Alexander will be there.”

Her fork clattered loudly against her plate.

“Are you all right?” Miles’s gaze held obvious concern—and something more. For a split second, she thought she saw suspicion in his gaze. That would not do.

“No, no. I’m fine.” She fixed the other guests with what she hoped was a sheepish smile and not a grimace. “I’m afraid I was overcome by the prospect of being in the company of a fellow Russian, let alone the ruler of my homeland.”

“Yes,” Lady Dennyson agreed. “I suppose when one is unaccustomed to such exalted circles, the notion of being admitted would be a tad staggering.” She smiled condescendingly. “Fortunately, you will not be alone. Lord Dennyson and I will be there, along with a few others.” She gazed very pointedly at Miles.

Varya could have cut the woman’s tongue out, and from the expression on Miles’s face, he would be glad to help her. She might as well have called Varya common.

“Indeed, Lady Dennyson,” Varya replied with a forced smile. “I daresay I will not be alone in my awe of the czar if you are there as well.”

Lady Dennyson did not seem to know whether she had just been insulted or flattered. Apparently she chose to believe the latter, because she smiled before returning her attention to her plate.

“I wonder if Princess Caroline will be there,” Carny remarked, drawing their attention away from Varya. She smiled her thanks. He winked.

“After that scene at Covent Garden Monday evening, I should hope not!” Lord Dennyson chortled.

Society had been vastly amused when Caroline showed up at the theater where her husband was entertaining Czar Alexander and his other guests. She’d presented herself to the czar and was well received, a feat the regent’s mistress had not achieved.

“It’s a wonder Prinny’s even hosting the bash.” Robert chewed a bite of pheasant. “It’s no secret he blames the czar’s sister for his daughter’s latest rebellious streak. Talk has it that the chit wants to have a say in who she marries.”

“I don’t see that she did anything wrong,” Caroline spoke in defense of the regent’s only daughter.

Robert caught her hand in what looked like a loving gesture, but Varya could see Caroline’s flesh turn white under the force of his grip. Her mouth tightened in pain.

“My dear, perhaps it would be best if you did not speak of things of which you have no knowledge?” His tone was syrupy-sweet.

A tight coil of anger suddenly wound its way up
from Varya’s belly. Robert reminded her of Ivan—ruthless and controlling. No doubt Caroline hated these parties of his—everything in her demeanor said so—but Robert clearly ruled his house—and his wife—with gleeful brutality.

“If there is one thing a woman
does
have a good knowledge of, my lord,” she joined in with forced lightness, “it is the prospect of a loveless marriage. Perhaps your wife, like us all, simply relates to feeling like a horse on the auction block?”

Several other women at the table laughed and voiced their agreement. Varya seemed to be the only one who noticed the glare Robert directed at her. She fought a frisson of fear and haughtily raised a brow in a silent dare. She would not allow him to intimidate her as he did his wife.

“I, for one, would never dream of underestimating a woman,” Carny announced, once again refocusing the group’s attention on himself.

Varya could not get away from the table fast enough. Her appetite had slowly dissipated beginning with Miles’s casual reference to Alexander and culminating with Robert’s oppressive treatment of his wife.

She made her excuses as soon as dessert was over.

“Pray, do excuse me,” she said as she stood. “I believe I have overindulged in Lord Rochester’s fine wine and am now suffering for it. I think I might go rest a bit.”

Lady Dennyson voiced her disappointment, of course. She had so
hoped
that Varya might entertain them at the pianoforte.

Varya wanted to tell her just what she could do with the pianoforte.

“Are you ill?” Miles caught her just as she was about to leave the room.

She nodded, suddenly very tired. “It is just the headache, but I believe I should lie down.”

His eyes bored into hers, as if trying to discover whether she was telling the truth. Luckily for her, she was feeling ill. Very ill.

“I’ll check on you later,” he promised.

She nodded. “Please do,” she murmured, not really caring if he did or not as long as he woke her when it was time to search Lord Rochester’s study. “I want to be alert when we conduct our search.”

“Don’t worry about that now. Just get some rest.”

She smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

Varya turned and left the room. She was halfway up the huge flight of stairs leading to the second floor when she felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder.

Standing in the middle of the foyer, watching her, was Miles. The expression on his face made her shiver. It was more than suspicion or curiosity. It was a look of sheer determination, and Varya knew that if she wanted to keep her secrets she would have to guard them very carefully from now on.

“F
ind anything?”

“Nothing.”

It was just after three o’clock in the morning. The household was quiet; all the servants were in their beds, and all the guests were in someone else’s.

Miles sat back on his haunches behind the desk and sighed. He had gone through every drawer and still had found nothing. Perhaps he should have woken Varya; she seemed to have a talent for understanding the deviously minded.

Which was exactly why he had decided not to wake her. She had too
much
talent for spying and searching. Her strange behavior at dinner had resurrected his suspicions toward her, reminding him that even though he had feelings for her, she was still hiding something.

“What about you?” he asked, peering around the desk as he shut the drawer.

Carny carefully adjusted the painting he had just hung back on its hook. “Rochester doesn’t have any wall safes.”

“Damn. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to search the family rooms.” Miles stood and stretched his cramped legs. This investigation had him feeling horribly inadequate.

“It might be a good idea anyway. You never know where he might have hidden any letters or personal items Bella gave him.” Carny began randomly rifling through the few books on the shelves.

“According to Bella’s journal, they exchanged letters.”

Carny turned toward him, his expression pensive and shadowed in the lamplight. “Did Varya ever mention what happened to Bella’s personal effects?”

Miles shook his head. “No. The only thing she’s mentioned is the journal.”

His friend sighed. “I wish you had woken her. I’d like to know if she has any other possessions of Bella’s. If we could read some of the letters these men sent her, it would be more helpful than looking for what she sent them.”

Miles almost slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Because he spent most of his time trying to solve the mystery of Varya’s past rather than Bella’s murder. He should be ashamed of himself.

“I thought it best not to involve her. Her behavior tonight was definitely suspicious.”

Carny turned to face him, an open book in his hands, his expression incredulous. “
Her
behavior? I am loath to tell you this, my friend, but her behavior has been more consistent than your own.”

“How so?” Miles leaned his hip against the edge of the desk and folded his arms across his chest. This was hardly the time or place to get involved in a debate with Carny, but he was perversely interested in what his friend had to say.

“Well—” He placed the book back into its slot on the shelf. “You’ve twice threatened me with bodily harm since you met her.”

“You deserved it.”

“Did I? You’ve never threatened me in all the years I have known you.”

“I fail to see how—”

“
And
”—Carny smiled knowingly—“you haven’t been spending as much time at the clubs as you used to—”

“It’s become bloody tedious, that’s all.” Miles pretended great interest in the tips of his fingers.

Carny laughed. “I’m sure it seems so, when you’ve better ways to spend your time.”

Miles’s head snapped up. “Don’t you start that again.” He pointed a warning finger at his friend.

The blond man feigned indignation. “I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” The grin on his face betrayed that he was lying through his teeth.

Miles sighed. “Didn’t
you
find it odd that she seemed so distressed at the possibility of seeing the czar?”

“Not at all.” Carny began shifting knickknacks on
the shelves, presumably in hopes of finding a hidden compartment. “I live in daily despair of ever laying eyes on
our
sovereign, and I’m a peer of the realm.” He cocked a brow. “If Czar Alexander is half as odious as Prinny, I’m not at all surprised the dear woman doesn’t want to meet him.”

“She’s a ‘dear woman’ now, is she?” Miles snorted. “I seem to recall someone calling her a ‘lying opportunist.’” He smiled smugly.

Carny shrugged. “I was mistaken. Do you suppose she might have left Russia for political reasons?”

“It’s possible. Treason would be ample enough reason to fear coming face to face with the very monarch you tried to depose. But she doesn’t act like someone with a political agenda.”

Carny shrugged. “Whatever it is, any woman who can bring you to your knees deserves my highest regard.”

“Carny…”

He held up his hand. “I know, I know. You are not in love with her. If I say one more word you will forget we are friends. Blah. Blah.
Blah
.” He rolled his eyes.

Miles couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head.

“Find anything of interest?”

They both jumped. Miles sat hard on top of the polished surface of the desk, while Carny juggled a fragile porcelain shepherdess. He caught it before it could hit the floor, and sighed in relief.

Varya stood just inside the doorway, clad in her nightgown and wrapper. Her hair spilled around her shoulders like a dusky cloud. If he were of a poetic bent—which he wasn’t—Miles would have likened
her to the queen of the Amazons, so fierce was her expression. Since her anger was directed at him, he put aside any thoughts of poesy.

Carny smiled, leaving Miles to do the explaining.

“No. As a matter of fact, we haven’t.”

“You should have woken me.” She moved almost menacingly across the carpet. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

“You were sleeping so soundly and I—” He fell silent as she shot a furious glare at him. The look spoke volumes as to what she thought of his explanation.

He shrugged mentally. Fine. If she didn’t want to hear him out, that suited him just fine.

“I believe I’ll leave the two of you alone to sort this out,” Carny announced, waggling his finger as if they were two unruly children. He moved toward the door, and then stopped.

“Varya, do you have any of Bella’s personal belongings?”

Her brow wrinkled. “I have some in storage at my house. Why?”

“I believe we might be able to find some clues among her correspondence. Would you mind if I came by some afternoon and had a look?”

“I suppose not.”

He smiled. “Excellent. Well, good night.” He slipped silently out of the room.

Varya turned her attention back to Miles. He straightened his spine under her distrustful stare.
He
had nothing to feel guilty for.
He
wasn’t the one acting more suspicious than a fox in a henhouse.

“You couldn’t wake me, but you could rouse Carny?”

“I didn’t want to endanger you—”

“He knows everything?”

“Yes. I told you I had confided in him. Carny’s done this kind of work before. He’s very good. I trust him completely.”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “But you don’t trust me.”

“Now, Varya—”

“I suppose I can’t blame you.” She placed a finger thoughtfully against her cheek.

“You can’t?” This certainly wasn’t what he had expected.

She smiled. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end.

“Oh no. How can you be faulted for distrusting a woman who does not talk about her past?”

“Well, you have to admit—”

“Everyone knows women generally aren’t allowed the same freedom as men. We can’t travel as extensively alone; we can’t behave as recklessly. Women are expected to behave in a more decorous manner than men. Therefore, a woman who appears to have had a fulfilling life, but does not talk about it in detail, must have something to hide.”

“Well—”

“And,” she continued, stepping up so that their bodies were almost touching, “everyone knows that it is men who are generally secretive and untrustworthy.”

“Exactly.” He frowned. That wasn’t right at all, was it?

Sighing, she shook her head. “If you wish to distrust me based on the grounds that you do not know
all the details of my past, then do so.” She jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Just keep in mind that I know very little about you, nor have I asked to.”

He licked his lips. “What would you like to know?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Nothing. Unless there is something you wish to tell me, I have no desire to hear about your past. Is there something you wish to know about mine?”

Despite the sincerity in her words, Miles couldn’t fight the feeling that she would lie if he asked a question she didn’t want to answer.

He shook his head. “No. You are right. I apologize for my behavior.” She had been correct when she told him he should be on the stage.

She gazed at him wearily, but nodded in vindication. She moved around the desk and knelt behind it.

“What are you looking for?” He turned to watch her examine the intricately carved oak.

“Have you checked for secret compartments?” She was already running her hands along the inside of the desk.

He snorted. “Read many gothic novels, Varya?” He frowned as she pressed one of the scrolls near the center of the desk, and heard a decided
click
. She shot him a triumphant look as a small compartment popped open.

“I prefer to think that you have too little imagination, Miles, as opposed to my having too much.” She reached into the small hole.

His jaw clenched tightly. “Secrecy and deviousness do not come as easily to me as they do to some, apparently.” When she did not respond to his taunt, he
asked, “How did you know to check for a secret compartment?”

“My father had one in his desk,” she replied, obviously deciding that they had traded enough barbs for one evening. “It was where he kept all the papers he didn’t want us to see.” She withdrew a stack of papers from the hole. “For me, the temptation proved too great. One day I peeked through the keyhole and saw him press the mechanism. As soon as I had the chance, I read his papers.”

“What did you find?” He took the stack from her hands.

“A list of candidates for my hand in marriage.” She smiled wobbily at his indrawn breath. “I never looked in that compartment again.”

“Serves you right.” He kept his tone light as he brought the candle closer. Later, he would discover the truth behind the pain in her eyes, but not now.

For now, he wanted to revel in her discovery. How long would it have taken him to find that nook? He thought he had gone over that study with a fine-tooth comb. As much as he wanted to conduct this investigation without her, he couldn’t deny it would go much more quickly with her help.

Varya rose to her feet, furtively wiping her eyes. He pretended not to notice to spare her pride even though it was torture not to take her into his arms.

He divided the papers between them. They sat in comfortable silence as they read.

“Bella liked to write letters,” Miles commented, rubbing the back of his neck.

“And Robert liked to keep them,” Varya replied,
tossing one aside with a disgusted snort. “Why, I don’t know.”

“Not much wonder he kept them hidden from Caroline. Besides it being bad form to parade a mistress in front of one’s wife, a gentleman wouldn’t want his wife to find out he liked to wear ladies’ lingerie.”

They laughed together and Miles dropped the letters he had finished reading. “There is absolutely nothing here that could implicate Robert as Bella’s killer.”

Varya sighed. “Not a thing, though I don’t know how I shall ever look at Lord Rochester with a straight face again.”

“You’ll have to if you don’t want to cause any suspicion.”

“I know. I suppose it will help whenever his arrogance becomes overwhelming. I shall simply picture him in a silk peignoir.” She shook her head and began gathering up the papers. “I had no idea Bella was so…inventive.”

Miles chuckled. “The two of you seem a very unlikely pair. How did you become friends?”

“Bella took me under her wing when I first arrived at school,” she confided, sliding the stack back into the compartment. “I’d never been away from home before. I was so frightened, easily intimidated. Bella defended me against the other girls until I learned how to stand up for myself.”

“And you remained in touch after you returned to Russia?”

Varya nodded, her lips tightening and Miles was even more certain that whatever had driven Varya to London had happened in Russia.

“When I joined Bella in Paris, she introduced me to many of the theater managers she knew and helped me find work.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “She was a good friend.”

“As are you, to be hunting down her killer.”

She shrugged. “You’re helping me.”

“I suppose I am,” he replied, unable to take his eyes off her. “I have a feeling I might have been the reason she asked you to come to London.”

Varya met his gaze evenly. There was no censure in her expression. “Yes. She was…distressed.”

“And I was the only lover she ever discussed with you?”

“Yes.” A slight smile. “I remember being mortified that she discussed such things with me. Now I wish she had at least mentioned some of the others. It might have been helpful.”

Miles took her hand in his. Her fingers were long and slim and cool against his.

“You know I never meant to hurt her.” It was a statement more than a question, but Varya nodded.

“I know that now. I’m sorry I tried to kill you.”

They laughed at that, breaking the solemnness of the moment. Miles couldn’t take his eyes off her smiling face.

She looked lovely in candlelight. Her thick black hair framed a face as pale as cream. His gaze drifted down the long, graceful column of her throat to the V of her wrapper. The soft, silky material draped seductively over her shoulders, skimming across her full breasts to fasten between them. His mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“You’re staring at my breasts.”

He gasped loudly, almost choking.

“How rude of you to mention it,” he replied hoarsely, pressing his fist against his chest.

She leaned forward, smiling seductively as she pushed her torso forward. “Perhaps someday I’ll let you touch them.”

His jaw dropped.

She straightened and stepped away. “But if you ever act without me again, you’ll never get the chance.”

By the time he found his voice, she was gone.