Those moments apart from her had allowed him to regain his composure. Something about her made him bold, and her tricks had brought them uncomfortably close. Each time he got near her, his body reacted with cunning greed, extending the moment, and he waited to swing her down so that he might enjoy her touch on his shoulders and the feel of her slim waist in his hands. Twice the scent of her, subtle but sweet under the scents of leather and horse and dust, had made him forget to move. She felt the pull between them, too, he was sure, but she was the hardheaded sort of woman who resisted temptation stoutly. He wondered again what her hair was like under the blue velvet bonnet.
A
t Lady Talhurst's unremarkable gathering, Ophelia found that her gaze followed certain golden-brown heads. She was inevitably disappointed when the man turned and revealed a familiar face. She decided she was looking about in such an idiotic way because the ball was so dull and the prospects of good company so remote. Her mother stayed at her side long enough to ensure that Ophelia dutifully accepted several partners and headed for the card tables as soon as Charles, Lord Dent appeared to lead Ophelia into a set.
Ophelia believed she had been dancing with Dent forever. His thick, fair curls, his constant smile, and the perfect half circles of his brows above his pale, guileless eyes reminded her of a child's drawing of a face.
"Remarkable ball, eh?" he said, as the pattern of the dance brought them together.
"Mmmm," said Ophelia.
"Lady Talhurst must have invited everyone in town."
"I think she did."
"She's my uncle's cousin, you know."
"Really." Ophelia was hardly surprised. Dent's family tree was extensive, and his connections were his favorite subject.
"That is to say, Uncle Aldous, Aunt Pamela's husband—actually, Pamela's second husband. Her first, the Comte de Frossert, was guillotined." The dance separated them.
"In France, you know. Naturally, the family expected Pamela to remarry," he said, as they crossed the center of the set.
They were reunited a few steps later. "Aldous seems to have been a good choice for her, although I wonder sometimes if John Minor might
not have been a better choice. He's m
y cousin, on my mother's side…"
Ophelia lost the thread of Dent's family history somewhere among the second cousins once removed and recovered her attention only as the dance came to an end.
"Dent, I feel quite faint. Could you procure me a glass of wine?" She smiled.
"Right. Dancing and all. Very fatiguing. Get you a negus."
Ophelia nodded. She hoped he would meet one of his relations and forget all about her.
She turned back to the crowd and saw her brothers approaching. With a little wave she caught Jasper's eye, and he steered Sebastian her way.
The two made a striking entrance, as they were fond of doing. Sebastian was thin and straight in every line—thin brows, thin nose, lean length, thin brown hair. Jasper had an indolent, athletic ease, quick smile, and hair as dark and thick as Ophelia's.
"Who were you dancing with, Ophelia?" Sebastian asked, frowning at Dent's retreating back.
Ophelia made a wry face at Jasper. Their oldest brother seemed to think his nearsightedness contributed to a lofty air. "Dent."
Sebastian nodded. "Most well-connected fellow in the ton."
"So he was just telling me."
Sebastian peered at her, checking for irony. A man's ancestry was no light matter to him. "He's worthy of you."
"Give it up, Sebastian. Dent's got nothing between his ears," Jasper said.
"He's sharp enough."
"Not for Ophelia. She wants to be able to talk to her husband."
Ophelia grinned at Jasper. At least he understood she valued intelligence. Suddenly, she wanted to tell him about her dismal marriage prospects and her new groom.
"Worst thing's happened," he said before she had a chance to speak.
"What?"
"I've been assigned the Trevigna situation."
"With your reputation, what could you expect?" Sebastian said.
"What's Trevigna, and why is it such a disastrous assignment for you, Jasper?" Ophelia asked.
"Trevigna," Jasper began, "is—"
"A fly speck of a nation," finished Sebastian.
"With a major port on the Adriatic," retorted Jasper.
"What makes it of consequence now?"
"The Congress simply forgot it at Vienna. They'd got things pretty well sorted out and then Bonaparte escaped. After Waterloo, they lost sight of some of the smaller nations."
"Can't Trevigna stay forgotten?"
"Absolutely not. If a small nation doesn't line up with one of the great powers, it will be without any protection in a fight."
Sebastian snor
ted. "Ophelia, who's that with
the Candover heiress?"
Ophelia followed Sebastian's myopic gaze. "Trevor Nash."
"Hmmm. Good enough family. Younger son, though."
Ophelia nodded and turned to Jasper. "I take it Trevigna must offer something to England in return for our protection?"
"Access to the harbor. Otherwise there'll be no holding back the Turks and the Russians."
"Seems little enough to ask. What's the problem?" Ophelia never knew Jasper to be particularly concerned about his work for the Foreign Office.
Sebastian laughed. "The prince isn't cooperating. Castlereagh's been courting him for months."
Jasper looked glum. "He's disappeared."
"And Jasper's supposed to find him." Sebastian smirked.
Ophelia turned to her middle brother. "That doesn't sound like a disaster; that sounds like a compliment to you, Jasper."
"Hardly," said Sebastian. "Prince Mirandola's one of those vain, ornamental monarchs. The secretary picked Jasper to find him because he figures a frippery fellow like Jasper knows just the places to look."
Ophelia tried not to smile.
"It's true. Castlereagh told me I was hopeless in the office, so I might as well mingle in society."
"Castlereagh expects you to find this man at the Talhurst ball?"
Jasper flushed. "Mirandola was educated in England. Winchester and Oxford. He has dozens of friends among the
ton.
And he's out of cash. Castlereagh thinks he's bound to turn to his
friends or the gaming tables, so I'm to keep an eye on them."
"Check with the man's tailor," said Sebastian. "He's famous for his coats." Sebastian tapped Ophelia's arm. "Who's Sally Candover with now?"
"Her mother."
"Excuse me, I think I will claim my dance."
Ophelia and Jasper exchanged amused glances as Sebastian made his way across the ballroom. "Do you suppose he ever knows who his partner is?"
Jasper's grin faded. He looked genuinely disheartened. "Do you think I'm such a worthless fellow, Ophelia?"
"Of course not. You have dozens of virtues." She saw that she had been too quick with her reassurance, and she couldn't think of anything more to say.
Jasper gave her hand a squeeze, but his eyes followed a ringletted blonde in a pale blue dress. "Thanks, you're a good sister, Sprite. I think I'll go make sure Sebastian can identify his partners."
Ophelia stared after him. She hadn't had a chance to say anything about her troubles. Her brothers, as always, were absorbed in their own. Not that she expected anything different. People were generally selfish. She was herself. Of the people Ophelia knew well only Hetty was genuinely selfless, and that made her
rare
…
and made Ophelia's new groom terribly inconvenient.
* * * * *
A
t midnight Alexander let himself in the back door of the tailor's shop on Maddox Street. Hours of raking had worn blisters on his hands and made his shoulders ache. His stomach growled.
"Majesty, you're back." Lucca Gavinana dropped the ribbon he was tying around a single red rose and rushed to Alexander's side. "I forgive you. You've not been yourself."
"I beg your pardon, Lucca, but I am more myself than I have been in months."
Lucca shook his dark head sadly. "It was the terrible strain. And the news from that witch." He snatched Alexander's right hand, gave it a hasty kiss, and pulled, drawing Alexander into the fitting room of the little shop and jerking the heavy curtains closed. He turned to look Alexander up and down and slapped the palm of his hand against the side of his head.
"Madre della Virgine,
your clothes!"
"I've been working in them."
Lucca pressed his hand to his heart. "You smell like
…
"
"Horses." Alexander dropped into a leather chair and began to tug at his left boot.
In an instant Lucca was on his knees at Alexander's feet. Alexander glared. "I am capable of removing my own boots." Lucca's face fell, and Alexander softened his tone. "You don't want the muck of London on your hands."
Lucca stood and moved the rose discreetly out of sight. "You have been sleeping in a stable?"
"I know you've been worried," Alexander said. "But I think by now you can trust me to
take care of myself. We are not in the mountains of Turin or on the coast of Greece."
Lucca gave an affronted sniff. "I know where we are, majesty, but you disappear, leaving me only a few words on a scrap of paper. How am I to think or work or be at peace in my mind?" He threw his hands up. "A week you are gone! I will spend fewer decades in purgatory for this week, you may be sure."
"You were so worried you bought a rose?" Alexander dropped his boot. "Who is she?"
With a veiled gaze, Lucca turned away. "A girl in the perfumer's shop across the street.
Com
'
è
bella, com'
è…
"
Alexander removed his other boot. "You don't have to describe her. I can imagine."
Tall and dark, and with deep, soulful eyes, Lucca found sweet, willing women wherever they went. Even when they'd been in school and Lucca'd had but a few words of English, he had coaxed kisses and embraces from barefoot village girls. Alexander's fate was smart, willful women, hardheaded women whose sweetness was so deep, so hidden, a man crossed deserts of longing to taste it. This time he meant to resist. "Any more letters from Aunt Francesca?"
"Two."
"You read them?"
Lucca shrugged. "You must not let that witch upset you. Who is Donna Francesca to pick a bride for the Prince of Trevigna?"
"Whom has she picked?"
"The daughter of Federico Tesio."
One of the noblest families of Trevigna. "She may be right; marrying Tesio's daughter may be
the only way to appease the nobles." The idea that in this most personal of choices he would have no say had been one cause for his running away.
"If you get the money from the committee, you will not need to appease the nobles."
"If." He stretched, his aching muscles protesting the move. His body had been idle too long. "Any action from the committee since they put Hume and Tollworthy in charge?"
"A card came." Lucca disappeared through the curtain and returned with a heavy square of creamy paper.
Alexander broke the seal and read the enclosed invitation and a small accompanying piece of paper. It was an instant reminder of the tangled affairs of Trevigna, affairs that needed a firm hand and a clear mind. The nobles wanted the old order. The republicans wanted a constitution. The bandit Ferruci wanted the factions to remain at odds so that he could terrorize the countryside at will. Alexander needed to sort it out and bring the factions together.
He looked up to find Lucca watching him. "They're having a banquet to announce the Fund for the Restoration of the Italian Republics. If I'm there, the fund will likely succeed and I'll have the management of the monies."
"When is this banquet?"
"May."
"If you go to the banquet before you make a treaty with England
…
"
"Castlereagh will see that I can't return to Trevigna."
"Then the money will be in Ferruci's hands inside of a month."
Alexander shook his head. "Never."
His stomach growled. "Did you sell anything?"
"Two coats." Lucca pressed a glass of wine into Alexander's hand.
He took a sip. "Paid for?"
"Yes."
"Good. We won't starve. I have a job." He was surprised at how much it pleased him to say it.
"Majesty!" Lucca crossed himself. "May your father rest in peace."
"I am no longer a useless ornament."
"You make too much of a fool's remark. What job?"
"As a groom in a respectable household. Magnificent horses, Lucca. A big chestnut fellow that likes the stall no more than I do, and a black mare, sweet and smart."
"Where is this fine stable?"
Alexander stood, ignoring the cunning look in Lucca's eyes. "Did you spend all our profits on roses, or did you buy any food?"
"Majesty, I am not an idiot." Lucca bowed.
"Good, I will eat; then I've some work to do."
"Of course." Lucca wrinkled his nose. "But perhaps, first, a bath."