Simply Voracious (25 page)

He delved in his coat pocket and brought out the note. It was strange how well they got on. There was no sense of awkwardness between them at all.

She read the sparse sentences; her brow furrowed and translated them into English. “ ‘Leave the past alone, or you will be sorry. A friend.’ ” She raised her gaze to his. “A friend? That seems a little overdramatic and rather general. What exactly did you do to provoke such a letter?”

He took the letter back and folded it up. “As it suggests, I delved into the past.”

“Ah.” She waited as the footmen placed several covered dishes on the table. “Thank you, you may leave. We will serve ourselves.”

Con waited until the door closed behind the last servant. “It is rather a long story.”

“And we have the whole evening to fill.” She smiled encouragingly at him. “I know we are newly acquainted, but I’d love to help you and I’ll keep your confidences. I’m sure Paul will, too, when he returns.”

“It is a story that doesn’t reflect very well on me.”

She shrugged. “I’m quite relieved to hear that. You seem so perfect to me.” She blushed, and Con was aware yet again of a strong pull of attraction. He concentrated on his story.

“My wife, Natasha, and I moved to Moscow during the first year of our marriage. I was already heavily engaged in the army and not there to attend to her needs.”

“Well, obviously.” Lady Lucinda nodded. “She could scare have expected anything different.”

Con wanted to smile. There spoke a true soldier’s wife.

“We were very young when we married. She was seventeen and I was eighteen. It was an arranged marriage, but we liked to imagine we were in love. I wrote to her urging her to leave Moscow before the French descended on the city, but she refused. She said she was afraid and that she wanted me to come and get her. She didn’t seem to understand that I was unable to desert my post.”

“As you said, you were both very young.”

He sighed. “I know she was there when the French arrived, because I had several letters from well-meaning friends telling me that she was disporting herself with the French officers and was a disgrace to my name.” He looked across the table at Lady Lucinda. “She liked to be happy and be admired. In truth, she thrived on it.”

“Was she very beautiful?”

“Most men seemed to think so. She was blond, with blue eyes and a petite figure. Men likened her to a china figurine or a Madonna.” He grimaced. “By the time I was able to fight my way back to Moscow, the place was a horrific empty shell filled with the dead. Our house was burned to the ground, and my wife was gone. I tried to find her, but it was quite impossible.”

“I’m sure it was. My father has told me about Napoléon’s tactics in Russia and the thousands of men he left behind to die in the snow and the ice.”

“After a while, I left Russia to fight with the British cavalry, and I tried to forget what had happened. It was easy enough during the remaining years of the war, as I had much to occupy my time. But since the peace, I’ve had time to think and wonder about what happened to my wife.”

“And you decided to do something about it.”

“Exactly. I visited the Russian ambassador yesterday and asked for his help in finding my wife, or legally declaring her dead.”

“Hence the note.”

“One has to assume so. The Russian community is very close-knit.”

“You mustn’t let it stop you.”

“I don’t intend to. If someone has something against me, they’ll have to show themselves. Vague anonymous threats are not going to rattle my resolve.”

Lady Lucinda smiled at him. “Thank you for telling me about your wife and your current efforts to bring your uncertainties to a close. You will let me know what happens, won’t you?”

“Absolutely, my lady.” He picked up his fork. “Now perhaps we should eat this beautifully prepared dinner and turn the conversation to happier topics.”

“Would you care for something to drink, Lieutenant Colonel?”

Lady Lucinda walked back with Con into the cozy sitting room to the side of the dining room. There was still no sign of Paul, and Con was beginning to wonder if he was even aware that his wife was dining with his old lover.

“A glass of brandy would be much appreciated, my lady. It is cold out there tonight.”

“Yet you grew up in Russia, sir. I should imagine it is much colder than this.”

After the footman got him his drink, Con followed Lady Lucinda toward the comfortable wing chairs drawn up to the fire and waited until she took a seat.

“Indeed it is, my lady. I fear I have grown soft living here.”

“How long is it since you have been back to Russia?”

“Many years, my lady.”

“Yet you have family there.”

He sighed. “Yes, I do, but I still have no wish to return.”

“From what you have told me, I can understand why.” Her expression was one of sympathy. “The place must hold many tragic memories for you.”

“It is rather more complicated than that.”

“Do your family not approve of you, then?”

“In what way?” Con took a generous sip of his brandy.

“Because you like . . .” His hostess turned an unbecoming shade of red. “I do beg your pardon, that was an awful thing to say, what was I thinking? I . . .”

Con waited until the servant left. “If you are referring to my liking to bed men, then you are correct. My mother does not approve of that at all. One of the reasons why I was forced to marry so young was to avoid just such a scandal.”

She met his gaze. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Colonel. That was very rude of me. It is none of my business.”

Con sat back and studied her. Over dinner they’d gotten on so well that he’d felt like they were old friends. “If I might be equally indiscreet, it is your business though, isn’t it? I suspect you asked me here tonight because Paul told you he and I were lovers.”

She sagged into her chair. “He did tell me that.”

“I’m sure he also told you that our affair ended before your marriage.”

She nodded. “Paul tries to be honest with me, but he didn’t tell me how he felt about you until after we’d married.”

Pain coalesced around Con’s heart. “I know. He didn’t consider it important. I understand that.”

“Please, Lieutenant Colonel, don’t be ridiculous. If you know Paul as well as I do, you must realize he didn’t mention you because he didn’t want me to guess he was in love with you.” She sat forward, her hands clasped together. “If I had known that, I wouldn’t have gone through with the marriage.”

Con stared at her, his thoughts in turmoil. Paul had said that his wife knew everything about him, but Con hadn’t believed he’d meant it.

“If you think I intend to encourage your husband to be unfaithful, telling me that he is in love with me is hardly beneficial to your cause.”

“But it’s true.” She winced. “I’m not as naïve as I look, Lieutenant Colonel. I want Paul to be happy, and if you make him happy, that is all I care about.”

Con contemplated his options for so long that his hostess began to look anxious.

“Have I offended you, sir?”

“Not at all, and by the way, would you like to call me Constantine? It only seems fair.” She nodded and he went on. “As we are being so honest with each other, I also know that Paul is committed to you and your marriage.”

Her smile was almost sad. “He has been all that is honorable.” She sighed. “It is ironic. I always wanted him to marry me, but I never really expected it to happen.”

“You love him, don’t you?” Con said softly.

She looked away from him. “That isn’t really the point, is it?”

The door opened and the subject of their conversation came in and went straight across to his wife.

“Lucky, I’m so terribly sorry I’m late.”

She took his proffered hand and squeezed it. “It is of no matter. Lieutenant Colonel Delinsky was an excellent dinner companion.”

Paul swung around, his expression startled as if he hadn’t realized that Con was there. “Good evening, sir. I can only apologize again for my tardiness. My horse went lame, and I had to walk three miles to the nearest inn to seek a replacement.”

The clock on the mantelpiece struck eleven times and Con rose. “I’m glad you returned safely, St. Clare.” He bowed to Lady Lucinda. “Thank you for your charming hospitality. I will keep you informed about any developments.”

“It was a pleasure, sir.” She smiled at him, and then at Paul. “Perhaps Paul can show you out rather than rousing the butler.”

Con had only a moment to wonder if she was deliberately putting him and Paul together before he was descending the staircase into the quiet, cool dignity of the marble hall below.

“Did you come to see me, Delinsky?” Paul asked.

“Why would you think that?”

Paul shrugged. “Because you are a soldier and well used to judging your enemy.”

“Lady Lucinda is scarcely that.”

Paul faced him. “Exactly. She is not part of this . . . issue between us.”

Con raised an eyebrow. “Is she not? Before you make such statements, you might wish to talk to your wife.
She
invited
me
for dinner. I didn’t presume.” He turned to pick up his hat and gloves. “Good night, St. Clare.”

He opened the heavy door himself and headed into the street, aware of a sense of injustice. Did Paul think he meant to intimidate Lady Lucinda into giving him up? If so, he was badly mistaken. Lady Lucinda loved Paul and that, as far as he was concerned, trumped everything.

Paul walked slowly back up the stairs, his thoughts in turmoil. Why had Lucky invited Con to dinner on an evening when she knew he had business out of town and was bound to be home late? It seemed that he had underestimated his wife’s determination to involve herself in his affairs. But devil take it, she was his wife. Didn’t she have a perfect right to interfere?

The small drawing room was empty, and the fire was dying in the grate. Paul stood at the door and surveyed the deserted space. He inhaled a hint of Lucky’s perfume mingled with Con’s soap in the air. They’d spent a whole evening together in apparent amity. Shouldn’t he be pleased?

He went on up the stairs to the suite he shared with Lucky, and allowed Jordan to help him out of his mud-stained clothes. He declined a bath and dismissed his valet, his gaze fixed on the door that connected him to his wife’s bedchamber, his questions refusing to die. Lucky was one of the very few people in the world who knew he had a temper and how to rouse it.

With a curse, he put on his dressing gown and let himself in through the unlocked door. Lucky was already in bed, her hair neatly braided down her back and a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose. She looked remarkably young and unthreatening, which Paul knew was a disguise. She closed the book as he approached and looked inquiringly at him.

“Was there something you wished to ask me?”

“Did you invite Constantine Delinsky for dinner?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did you deliberately ask him on an evening when I was likely to be delayed?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to talk to him.”

“About what?”

“That is hardly your business.”

He advanced a step closer. “Everything you do is my business. You are my wife.”

“I didn’t realize that meant I had to report every conversation I have to you or allow you to choose my friends.”

“Actually I could order you to do all those things, and no man would consider me unfair.”

“I would,” she snapped.

“And you’re not a man.” He paused to gather his temper. “What did you and Delinsky talk about?”

“Paul, you can hardly expect me to repeat everything we said.”

“Just the main topics will suffice.”

She pressed her lips together as if she were considering never speaking to him again. He’d forgotten how stubborn she could be.

She sighed. “You are behaving like one of those horrid tortured heroes in a Gothic novel. We talked mainly about his life in Russia and the disappearance of his wife during the siege of Moscow. Did you know he was married?”

“I knew that his wife was missing.”

“He is trying to establish exactly what happened to her. There is some notion that she might have left with a French officer. Apparently the Russian ambassador is going to look into the matter for him.”

“I wonder why he wants to delve into that now.”

She met his gaze. “Perhaps he wants to marry again.”

Pain shot through him. “I doubt it, although he does prefer women in his bed to men.”

“We didn’t discuss his preferences in bed.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Not even his preference for me?”

“He assured me that he has no intention of luring you away from me.”

“How very noble of him, when I have absolutely no intention of allowing myself to be ‘lured’ anyway.”

She angled her head to one side. “Then why are you so angry?”

“Perhaps I’m angry with you for meddling.”

“I’m not meddling, I—”

He cut through her protest. “I know you, Lucky. You hate to be bested, and you’ll do everything you can to try and find out about your enemy and bring him down before he even realizes it.”

“Perhaps I don’t want to bring Constantine Delinsky down.”

“Then why seek his company?”

“Perhaps I
like
him!” She threw back the covers and got out of bed. “Perhaps this isn’t about you after all, Paul.”

“Unlikely.”

She stared at him and slowly shook her head. “You are very arrogant and, in this instance, completely wrong. I’ll leave you to your delusions.”

He pointed his finger at her. “You are up to something, Lucky. Pretending that you want to be friends with Con and shoving the two of us together at every opportunity won’t work. We will not become lovers again.”

She turned her back on him and climbed back into bed. “As I said, arrogant. Good night, Paul. I’ll see you in the morning.” She blew out the candles, leaving him stranded and still fuming in the darkness. After a long moment, he turned around and fumbled his way back to his own bed.

“Arrogant and stupid and . . .” Lucky ran out of words to describe to Emily how she felt about her late night encounter with Paul.