How to Wed a Baron (4 page)

“She doesn't need to know that.”

Justin slammed the side of his fist on the tabletop, rocking the bottle of wine. “Bloody hell, she doesn't!” He sat back, amazed at his outburst—he, who was always so cool, so controlled, so in charge of his emotions. He didn't much care for the notion he could be concerned with someone else's welfare, especially some impudent chit who seemed to have taken up instant residence in his head. He'd never been so attracted to a female, and he didn't much care for the feeling.

His eyes closed, he rubbed at his forehead, willing himself back to his usual composure. “Why? Why hasn't she been told?”

“It…it was decided that she might…balk at any strictures put on her movements if she were to know our concerns. The Lady Alina is young and…somewhat headstrong. If she can be made to believe that English customs are to be much more strict with the comings and goings of its females, more protective as it were, she would accept that as fact and not chafe at the restrictions quite so much. But if she were to learn that she is being guarded, that she is in fact more a prisoner within invisible walls than she is a
young woman on an adventure, a young bride out to make her way in Society…”

Luka sighed and took a long drink from his glass. “A rather superior vintage for a simple inn, even to my admittedly unsophisticated palate. Clearly your economy is not so lowered as ours by the recent war.”

Justin's mouth lifted in a rueful, one-sided smile. “Yes. And the streets of London are paved in golden cobblestones.” He leaned forward once more, his elbows on the tabletop. “You're telling me that my soon-to-be wife is completely unaware that her life is in danger. That you or some other idiot has decided it is best she not know—because she might otherwise
chafe
at her restrictions? My God, man, you speak as if you and your countrymen are
afraid
of the chit.”

“In my defense, Justin—if I might retain the honor of addressing you informally now that I have so disappointed you—you've only just met the lady. She has a decidedly strong will. The only reason she agreed to the marriage, in the end, was that she saw it as a way to become her own woman, out from under her aunt's thumb. I believe the words she used went something along the lines of
once I have put this husband I am burdened with in his place.
”

“Hmm,” Justin mused, sitting back once more. “There was nothing in the packet given to me as to why she's in such danger, but just that I'm to guard
her safety until such time I am notified that the danger is past. Now I'm wondering—did she step on someone's tail?”

Luka took another sip of wine, clearly a cautious man and obviously mentally measuring both Justin and the depth of information he was prepared to share. “Lately? Only her aunt's, I suppose. But then those two got along like chalk and cheese even before General Valentin met his end at Waterloo. Ever since Lady Alina's mother died, as a matter of fact. You mention a packet. Might I see its contents?”

“You may not. I am, however, reasonably comfortable with its contents as they pertain to Lady—you call her Alina. Does she prefer that?”

“Magdaléna is her given name, in honor of her paternal great-grandmother, but I've been told that her mother loathed it, pointing out that her daughter has more English than any other blood in her veins, and that she would have been fine with Mary, but Magdaléna was unacceptable. Her ladyship has been called Alina from the cradle, a compromise of sorts, I suppose. But to answer your question, if Lady Alina did not like the name, she wouldn't allow it.”

“You're trying very hard, and quite heavy-handedly I might add, to have me take my affianced bride in dislike. Is there a reason for that? Perhaps you had seen yourself as her husband until our two royal meddlers decided to gift the lady and me with each other?”

The major's complexion—what could be seen of it behind the mustachios and ridiculous mutton-chops—colored. “Lady Alina is the daughter of a nobleman. I am the son of a farmer. I would never presume…”

God, the man was in love with her. Or doing his best to give the impression that he was in love with her. And why, Justin wondered, did he always doubt the motives of others? Of course, the simple answer was that it was this doubt, this hesitancy to trust, that had kept him alive all of those long years on the Continent. Yet he had accepted Alina immediately, seeing no ulterior motives, no undercurrents—only her honesty. Did that make him incredibly insightful, or a fool?

“No, of course you wouldn't, Major. Forgive me. But you would die for her, wouldn't you?”

“Without question or hesitation,” Luka responded at once, drawing his body to attention—not an easy feat, as he was still seated at the table.

Justin sighed, becoming bored by this grand show of devotion. “Heaven preserve me from martyrs and heroes—they always seem to end up doing something destined to prove their glorious assertions. Let us pray then that the lady never calls on you to make such a sacrifice, as you begin to alarm me with your fatalistic fervor.”

Luka chuckled softly. “I would I die for her,
should the situation call for that death. That doesn't mean I
plan
on any such event.”

“How you ease my mind. And now I remember, you want to live long enough to shave off all that ghastly hair and discover whether or not you possess an upper lip.” Justin put down his wineglass, and then asked the question that most troubled him. “Tell me more about this Jarmil Novak I see mentioned in passing in my packet, if you please, beginning with why he would want Lady Alina to be reunited with her deceased parents?”

Luka nodded. “Yes, Jarmil Novak. You were informed about him?
Inhaber
Novak.”

“
Inhaber?
So he is a colonel-in-chief?”

Luka couldn't hide his surprise. “You know what that means?”

“I know the rank, but not the man.
Inhabers
raise and finance battalions during time of war, correct? But that doesn't tell me whether this Novak fellow rode out in front of those battalions, brandishing his sword, gallantly shouting ‘forward, men,' or if he used his money for political gain and doesn't know which end of a sword to hold. In other words, is he dangerous?”

“Ah,
Inhaber
Novak is familiar with swords and their uses. But, yes, he only buys them, along with those who employ them for him. Otherwise, he does not dirty his hands to do what he can easily hire others to do for him. The Romany loathe him for
the way he treated his hired soldiers. And, yes, he can be…dangerous.”

“Ah, yes, the…Romany.” Justin had nearly uttered the word
Gypsies,
but prudently corrected himself before he could make that particular blunder. He tucked away the information that the Romany hated Novak, as his concern now was more with Alina's safety. “Is there anyone who can abide the man?”

“Our king,” Luka said, sighing. “Except when he doesn't. I think they each have uses for the other. You're a man of the world, Justin. You understand the fragility of political alliances.”

“More than I wish to, yes. Alliances and long memories, old feuds. Boundaries that shift position with seemingly every decade and each new war. Where your grandfather had worshipped, what language his great-grandfather had spoken. People seem to fight new wars over six-hundred-year-old arguments all the time, both in your country and here.”

“Then you do understand.”

Justin nodded. If he had learned nothing else during his eight years of exile, years spent making himself as valuable to England as possible, in any way possible, in hopes of being granted a pardon, he'd learned that those in power or in pursuit of power didn't need a reason for anything they did. If they didn't have a valid argument, they'd stitch one up out of whole cloth. If no enemy was available, they'd manufacture one. With Bonaparte caged only
a year, was somebody already looking for another argument?

“But what does Novak and any of that have to do with Lady Alina, other than supposedly wanting her dead?”

“She is part Romany.”

Justin raised one well-sculpted eyebrow, gave a thought—not his first of the day—to the girl's astonishing mass of ebony curls…and how they might look unbound, cascading across his pillow. “Really. And what part might that be?”

“The part that matters, at least to the Romany. Her paternal grandmother's blood flows in her veins. Diluted as it is, what with her foreign mother and half-Austrian father, I'm told she is seen in some quarters to be the rightful owner of land suddenly returned to our country since the war. Even with the edicts of the Congress of Vienna, boundaries are still vague and shifting all over Europe, and arguments abound. There is for us even now some difficulty with France.”

Justin dismissed the subject of border disputes with France as unnecessary information. “I thought the Romany prefer the nomadic life. There are many here in England, at least for much of the year. They prefer to be citizens of the world and not of one country.”

“They prefer, Justin, not being scorned as outlaws and branded and murdered and betrayed. Always
betrayed. In any event, there are murmurings of claims to this certain large tract of land, of some ancestral deed. With their own territory, no matter how small, how mountainous and mostly uninhabitable, they could begin to dream of becoming their own city-state within the kingdom. The Romany see such a thing as their refuge, their—”

“Yes, I believe I can take it from here.” Justin held up a hand to stop Luka as more pieces had begun to fall into place for him. “Let me finish for you, if you don't mind. This expanse of land is now claimed by
Inhaber
Novak, while this supposed ancestral deed goes back any number of centuries, and then forward again to the sole surviving Romany Valentin, Lady Alina.”

“Exactly, and that land, or rather the ownership of it in the absence of any formal deed, has been disputed for at least those myriad centuries, long before the Congress of Vienna took a carving knife to half of Europe. The king himself took me into his confidence and told me as much. The Romany don't have queens, per se, and power is traditionally limited to the men in any group, so that I was much surprised to hear what the king had to say. But as the saying goes, any port in a storm. Lady Alina is that port for the local Romany. Without her, the dream ends once and for all time, the possibility of one safe haven for the Romany people in the region. Not that it is more than a nebulous dream in any case.”

Luka sighed. “Lady Alina is inordinately proud of her few drops of Romany blood. She would see herself as their savior, at the very least, were she to know. Truly, it will be easier for everyone if she is never told, and if she is bound to England, never returning to her homeland. I was sworn to secrecy by the king himself, forbidden to tell you this, but it seems only fair you should understand the danger, and take the proper precautions until the king decides what to do with
Inhaber
Novak, as your lightheartedness earlier causes me some concern. Perhaps, once Lady Alina is married to you, Novak will no longer see her as a threat to him.”

There was a knock at the door and Wigglesworth entered, carrying a plate of bread and cheese. Justin waved a hand over the plate, inviting the major to eat, which gave Justin time to think.

He shook his head at his gullibility; how could he have been so blind? No wonder the Prince Regent had been so willing to allow his insults. The man had his fifty thousand pounds all safely tucked up in his purse, making Justin no longer necessary and, if he were to speak out of turn, potentially embarrassing. A nice, clean assassination of the pesky baron would not come amiss as far as the Prince Regent was concerned, and would rid him of that potential embarrassment. No wonder the man had been so eager to assist King Francis in his request.

It was time for another small chat with the Prince
Regent. But first, he'd ask a few more questions of the wonderfully forthcoming major.

“Tell me, if the king knows Novak wants her dead, why didn't he already do something about it, have Novak arrested? Why bother with this farce of a marriage?”

“Isn't it obvious? The king is playing for time, and some sort of amicable solution. He doesn't want to have his hand forced by making a decision on this land, the disputed deed, because either way he decided would gain him enemies. The Romany are an unavoidable nuisance, while
Inhaber
Novak has many who are loyal to him, and he is a great asset to the court.”

Justin was beginning to see more of the spider-web. He kept his tone conversational, even as he felt the slumbering beast inside him straining at its leash. “A king with many problems, your Francis. If Lady Alina is murdered, he must make a show of investigating her death, because she is his ward and because otherwise the Romany will make things difficult for him. To arrest or kill Novak would bring him trouble from factions loyal to the
Inhaber.
How much more convenient to have it all play out far away in England. Francis didn't apply to his ally the Prince Regent for a bridegroom. He applied to him for an assassin, and dear Prinny knew just the man to approach, a man who couldn't refuse. The moment I wed the fair lady what was hers is mine, and there
will be a target painted on my back, so that it will be kill or be killed.”

Luka had the good grace to blush, which probably served to save him, or at least preserve his teeth and jaw so that he could chew his bread and cheese.

Justin pressed him further. “And Lady Alina, she of the ermine-tipped cloak and plans to take London by storm? Does it matter to any of them what happens to her?”

“But you'll keep her safe.”

“That is not your concern, Major. You concern, and that of our two plotting sovereigns, is better directed at what I will do to you all if Lady Alina so much as stubs her toe before I can find some way out of this damned farce. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I will pay my betrothed a small visit before she turns in for the night.”