Simply Voracious (35 page)

She realized her mother was speaking again.

“Do you want me to have a talk with Paul, Lucinda, and see if I can gauge his feelings about this matter?”

“No, thank you, Mama. I’d much rather talk to him myself.”

Her mother kissed her on the brow and got off the bed. “That is very wise. It’s possible that he is too distressed to think about the proper way to go about things, although he will have to learn the skill when he is the duke. You’ll handle him beautifully, Lucinda. You are, after all, very good friends.”

Lucky pressed her lips together and nodded as tears threatened again. The duchess blew her a kiss.

“This sadness is quite normal for a few days, my dear; after all you have lost the beginnings of a child. But try not to let it overwhelm you. You are young and healthy and, more important, a Haymore.”

26

C
on rubbed at his eyes and tried to concentrate on the newspaper Gregor had brought with his late breakfast. A frantic missive from the Duke of Wellington’s secretary about some Russian general’s imminent arrival had been delivered at dawn, and he’d spent several hours replying to it. He needed to sleep, but he’d also received a note from Andrei suggesting he and Anna come round for tea.

Gregor was quietly thrilled by the announcement that his master was having tea with two other Russians and had spent the morning polishing his samovar and grumbling about the lack of availability of Russian delicacies in the middle of London.

“A letter just arrived for you, sir.”

Con took the sealed letter from Gregor and inspected the handwriting, which was unknown to him. He broke the seal and spread out the single sheet. It was from Sergei’s wife, Louise. Apparently, as soon as she saw the miniature of Natasha Con had sent around, she realized she’d seen a woman who was very like Natasha both at the French embassy and in society. Louise believed she was married to a high-ranking French army officer who had survived the fall of Napoléon and risen to new heights in the current regime. She would find out the woman’s exact surname and send it to Con.

Con raised his eyebrows. So it seemed Natasha had reinvented herself completely. Had she assumed he was dead and not cared enough to check? He supposed that in the confusion of war it was possible she would have done anything to survive. He couldn’t even blame her for that. He and Paul understood that desire better than anyone.

Not that Paul cared whether Con survived anymore....

In the past two weeks, Con had heard nothing from Paul or Lady Lucinda, but that didn’t surprise him. He had no idea how Paul intended to deal with his concerns about Lucinda. He could only hope that his erstwhile lover would regain his normal sweetness of temper and treat his wife with the care she deserved. If Paul didn’t, Con might even break a lifelong aversion to interfering and set his friend straight.

A knock on the door had Gregor scurrying to answer it and Con startling awake. He stood and pasted on a welcoming expression as Gregor ushered in Andrei and his wife. Anna took off her cloak, and Con couldn’t help smiling. Her face was far thinner than he remembered, but her bright blue eyes were just the same.

“Constantine, my dear.” She held out her hands.

He took them and kissed her on both cheeks before drawing her into his arms. She felt quite insubstantial; her lush curves had disappeared, leaving her as frail and light-boned as a bird.

He cupped her cheek. “Anna, you are as beautiful as ever.”

“And you are still charming.” She laughed up at him. “I’m not surprised you ended up in our bed.”

“I was very grateful for the experience.” Con led her to a chair by the fire and waited while Gregor fussed around with tea and tiny cakes. “Do you intend to stay in London for long?”

Anna exchanged a glance with Andrei. “Not really. I hate being away from home. Traveling is very fatiguing.”

“Indeed,” Con answered. “It was kind of you to put yourself to the trouble of seeking me out.”

“There was nothing else we could do. When Andrei told me that there were inquiries afoot as to what had happened to your wife, I said we had to speak up.”

Con put down his cup and sat forward. “You have seen Natasha?”

Andrei took up the tale. “As you might imagine, we were trapped in France during the worst months of the French campaigns, trying to keep an eye of Napoléon and yet avoid being shot as spies.” He grimaced. “It was a difficult time, especially after the disastrous Russian front. Soldiers began to trickle back, speaking of the mass destruction of the mighty French army, and the mood grew very ugly against any Russians situated in Paris.”

“That must have been difficult for you,” Con said, trying not to betray his impatience. “I did hear a rumor that my wife left Moscow with the French army. Is it possible that she managed to reach Paris?”

Andrei nodded. “We were introduced to Natasha at a small gathering after a church service. She seemed to be alone, so we tried to befriend her. It wasn’t until much later that someone whispered that she was the mistress of a high-ranking French officer. Obviously we were concerned that her motives for seeking out her Russian compatriots might not be as pure as we had imagined.”

“You thought she might be a spy.”

“Indeed. When Anna eventually confronted her, Natasha insisted she was nothing of the sort, that she simply missed her homeland and regretted running away from her family. She said she had sought out Anna and me because she knew we had once meant something to her husband—you.”

“And did you believe her?”

Anna sighed. “She seemed genuinely upset that we would think her a spy. And to be truthful, she didn’t seem to be quite clever enough to carry off such a deception.”

Con smiled. “It’s all right. She was very sweet but not particularly clever.”

“It occurred to us that it was possible she was of use to the French. She liked to gossip, and she might have inadvertently provided private information about the Russians she mingled with to her lover and his household without realizing it.”

“And what happened after you confronted her?”

“She didn’t come back to church and she stopped visiting us.” Anna bit her lip. “She did write to tell me that she was moving to Toulouse with her lover, and that was the last we heard from her.”

“That was almost fourteen years ago?”

“Yes.” Anna glanced at Andrei, who nodded encouragingly. “However, we recently moved out of Paris and into a larger country house in the south of France.”

“Andrei said that you had moved. Did you not want to return to Russia?”

Anna shivered. “I don’t think I’d survive my first winter back there. I need the warmer climate so that I can breathe. We have made some nice friends who don’t seem to mind that we are Russian. I am very happy there.”

“I’m glad.” Con noted Andrei’s stricken expression and wondered how long Anna would get to enjoy her southern retreat.

“What Anna is trying to say is that we were told there was another Russian woman living near us,” Andrei said.

“Don’t tell me it was Natasha.”

“That would be too much of a coincidence, but this woman, Madame LeNy, an ex-spy of some sort, became a friend of ours. I think she has connections with every Russian who has ever dared step into France. When I heard you were looking for Natasha, I immediately contacted her, and she promised to find out what she could.”

“But you haven’t heard back from her yet, I assume?” Con rubbed his forehead. “Every time I think I am getting closer to finding out what happened to Natasha, the trail runs cold.”

“At least you know she survived,” Andrei said encouragingly.

“I suppose that is something, although in truth it makes things more complicated.”

“Do you wish to marry again?” Anna asked, her expression lightening.

“Alas, the woman I love is already married.”

“That wasn’t a problem for us, Constantine.”

Con sighed. “And I thought it wasn’t a problem for me.”

“The husband objects?”

“Not quite. I believe he loves us both, but he seems determined to push us away and become respectable. Not that I blame him.”

“Ah, the English are so unromantic. We will soon know what happened to Natasha, Constantine, and mayhap you will gain your happiness too.” Andrei patted his knee. “I expect to hear from Madame LeNy any day now. She is remarkably quick.”

Con managed to smile. “Thank you both for coming all this way to help me. I appreciate it more than I can say.”

Anna rose and kissed his cheek. “It is our pleasure, Constantine. If we hadn’t been involved in your life, you wouldn’t have been married off so young, so we feel responsible for both you and Natasha.”

Con saw them out and told Gregor to take the rest of the afternoon off. All he wanted to do was sleep and think about the peculiar way his life was turning out. His wife remained maddeningly elusive, and his commitment to Lady Lucinda and Paul seemed to have disappeared. He’d sent flowers to Lucinda but heard nothing in return. Was he cursed never to find love without pain?

A rustling sound at the front door drew his attention, and he got to his feet. Had Gregor forgotten his key or was someone trying to break in? He opened the door and found a flaxen-haired boy trying to stuff something under the door. The boy tried to run, but Con was stronger if not quicker and caught hold of his arm.

“Let me go!”

Con tightened his grip and pushed the boy up against the brick wall while he opened the note one-handed and quickly read it.

“Who are you?” He stared at the boy, noting the delicate features and the pale gray of his eyes. “Why are you leaving me these notes?” He winced as the boy kicked him hard in the shin, and he readjusted his grip.

“I don’t know what you are talking about! I wasn’t doing anything.”

Con frowned and studied the boy more closely. His accent held more than a hint of French and nothing of the gutter. He was also remarkably clean for a street urchin.

He spoke in French. “What do you want from me, boy?”

The boy stopped struggling and glared at him. “Leave her alone. Can’t you read?”

“But—” Con wasn’t allowed to finish his sentence as the boy sank his teeth into Con’s wrist.

“Damnation!” Instinctively Con loosened his grip as blood started to well from the puncture wounds. Before he could recover, the boy slipped out from his grasp and ran away, disappearing into the winter gloom like a shadow.

Lucky paused at the bottom of the grand staircase and waited for Paul to acknowledge her. He seemed too intent on the arrangement of his scarf to notice her, so she cleared her throat. He instantly looked up and the pleasant smile she had begun to dread illuminated his features.

“My lady, I didn’t realize you were coming downstairs this evening.”

“My mother thought it was time for me to be up and about again. It has been two weeks.”

His gaze slid over her. “You do not have to do what your mother tells you anymore. If you want to stay in bed, stay in bed.”

She gripped the handrail of the stairs. “But I do feel better. And I was hoping to see you.” She hesitated. “Are you not staying for dinner?”

He glanced down at his coat. “Actually, I was just going out.”

“Oh,” Lucky whispered. “Are you going to see Constantine?”

He finally met her gaze. “No. I haven’t seen him since your accident.”

“Why not?”

He looked away. “Your mother said he sent you some flowers.”

“He did. It was very kind of him.”

“And have you thanked him yet?”

Lucky felt her cheeks redden. “Not yet.”

He inclined his head an inch. “Then you understand why I haven’t contacted him either. There hardly seems any point.”

“Then where are you going tonight?”

“To meet with your father at his club. He has some acquaintances he wishes to introduce me to. There is a parliamentary seat becoming vacant that I might be suitable for.”

“You?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes. Do you think me incapable of understanding politics?”

“No, I just didn’t think you were interested in becoming part of the establishment.”

His smile was a ghost of its former self. “I am part of the establishment. God willing, I’m destined to be a duke. I assumed you would be pleased that I finally intend to grow up and take my place in society.”

Lucky struggled with another desire to cry. “But I liked you just the way you were.”

“A weak man that you could rule and manipulate?”

“No! Never that.” She let out her breath. “Paul, what’s happened? Why won’t you talk to me anymore?”

He bowed and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I’m sorry, my dear. I have to go and meet your father. Perhaps I’ll have the pleasure of your company at dinner tomorrow night.” He hesitated. “Please don’t come down to eat just for your mother’s sake. You still look rather tired, and I’d hate to see you wear yourself out. I want you well and happy.”

He nodded and walked out of the front door, leaving Lucky stranded in the hall. His distant kindness and consideration was crushing her. She glanced over at the hallway that led to the dining room and turned back up the stairs. There was no point trying to charm or communicate with an empty room.