Elusive Passion (17 page)

Carny bowed smartly and grinned. “I’ve not come to plead any case for my friend, Your Highness, so you can rest easy. I have come in hopes of going through Bella’s personal items with you as we discussed last week.”

“Oh yes, of course. I confess I had completely forgotten.” She went back to the desk to find the set of keys she kept in the top drawer.

“Yes, well, you have been under some stress.”

Varya heard the laughter in his voice and sighed. “I’m glad you find some humor in this situation, Carny. I certainly do not.”

He held up his hands. “Please, do not think I am laughing at your expense, Varya, but seeing Miles’s countenance when he discovered that you were a princess was probably
the
most enjoyable moment of my life!”

She had to smile at the undisguised glee in his voice. “I only wish I had remained conscious long enough to see it myself.”

“I would give you a description, but I could never do it justice.” He grinned broadly.

“You’re not angry with me for not telling him before this?”

Carny shrugged. “What goes on between the two of
you is your own business.” His smile became rueful. “I do wish, however, to apologize again for my earlier behavior toward you.”

Her smile widened. “I accept your apology. Shall we go take a look at Bella’s belongings?”

He extended his arm for her to precede him, and moved toward the door behind her. “I suppose that in addition to your title, you are also as rich as Croesus?”

She nodded, enjoying this banter between them.

Unfortunately, the excursion proved fruitless. Either Bella’s killer had been very careful not to send her any threatening notes, or he had taken them with him the night of the murder. There was absolutely nothing among her correspondence that could possibly be construed as incriminating.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Carny remarked, peering into the empty bottom of the last trunk.

Varya, who had filled a small basket with keepsakes and trinkets from her friend’s belongings, shook her head. “As much as I would like to agree with you, I cannot. Seeing her belongings, reading those old letters, it was almost like having her here again. I cannot possibly regret that.”

Carny smiled. “Then I recant my earlier statement. If this exercise has given you joy I cannot regret it either.” He gestured to the empty trunk. “Shall we put this one back together and call it a day?”

They were packing Bella’s belongings back into the trunk when Katya found them.

“Two letters have arrived for you,” she announced, thrusting the missives toward her.

“Be nice in front of company, Katya,” Varya teased, accepting the letters.

She broke the seal on the top one. It was from Miles. Scrawled in his lazy hand were the words,
Will you marry me?

“I’m surprised he even asked,” she mumbled, angry at the heat that suddenly suffused her cheeks and the rapid pounding of her heart. It might not be getting down on one knee, but it was close.

She popped the seal on the second message without reading the return direction. Her heart stopped pounding—in fact, it seemed to cease beating all together.

“Varya, what is it?”

“What has happened?”

Katya knelt on one side of her, Carny on the other. Varya looked from one worried face to the other. She felt cold, as though she had just been thrown into an icy river and left to drown.

Her parents were coming. No time to prepare. No time to escape. Her father would make her go back. He would make her marry Ivan. Oh God, it was Ivan who was also looking forward to seeing her. Would her parents actually bring him with them? He’d kill her. Her father would force her to marry the man who would bring about her death. She couldn’t fight them. She could feel her control slipping away…

She clutched at Katya’s arm, forcing herself to be calm and
think
. There was only one solution.

“I want you to send Piotr to Miles with a message.” She could hear the tremor in her voice.

“What would you have him say?” Katya’s eyes were bright with worry.

“Have him tell Miles that I said yes.”

“W
hat made her change her mind?” Miles demanded, pouring himself and his guest a glass of brandy. He had been imbibing more than was his regular habit as of late. The reason for that could be summed up in two words—Princess Varya.

“How the deuce should I know?” Carny replied, accepting the liquor. “She got your letter and she said yes.”

“Something’s happened.” Miles slumped into a wing-backed chair and took a deep swallow of his drink. “There’s no way she’d consent so easily.” Had Alexander told her about their conversation? Did she fear being arrested? And what was her involvement in Ivan’s death?

Carny sighed. “I have no idea what prompted her
to accept your proposal, and what does it matter? She consented, and the two of you will be married in two weeks. Her reasons are no doubt very similar to your own.”

“No doubt.” He couldn’t even convince himself.

Since Varya’s acceptance of his proposal earlier that day, he had been reluctant to consider the strange happiness that had struck him upon first hearing of it. Instead, he forced himself to concentrate on
her
reasons for consenting to become his wife.

She lacked neither rank nor fortune, as Blythe had so
lovingly
pointed out, and she had made her opinion of marriage quite clear several times in the past few weeks. What could have possibly happened to change her mind? He shuddered to think what other secrets his betrothed might be concealing.

“I say,” Carny drawled. “I do believe I might have struck a nerve.”

Miles shot him a stern glance. “The only thing you have to worry about striking you, my friend, is my fist.”

Carny laughed. “There you go, threatening my person with violence again! Why can’t you just admit you have feelings for Varya?”

“I cannot deny that I care for her, no.” As good a friend as Carny was, Miles wasn’t prepared to admit just how deep his feelings ran.

His friend grinned. “Taken away the ennui, hasn’t she?”

Miles shrugged. Didn’t the man ever give up? “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps, my arse,” Carny growled, his speech giving way to the soldier beneath his elegant veneer.

“For almost two years I watched you try to get yourself killed in Spain, remember?
I
was the one who dragged you to the surgeon after that Frenchie’s bayonet convinced you that death wasn’t so appealing after all.”

Miles opened his mouth to argue and quickly shut it. His friend was right. All those months in Spain he had dared the Grim Reaper to come for him, and when it had…

He was very glad to be alive.

He hadn’t felt the need for adventure since meeting Varya. Hadn’t she offered him a new mystery to solve? Yet, somewhere along the way, his quest to find Bella’s killer had given way to a deeper desire to solve the mystery that was Varya herself.

“Perhaps I have found something in Varya that my life was sadly lacking.”

Carny’s jaw dropped.

“But her acceptance of my proposal does not mean that she feels the same for me.” He stood. “This marriage is taking place because it is what we are expected to do given the situation. I will have a suitable wife and Varya will have…whatever it is she wants.” He set his jaw mulishly.

“What about an heir?” Carny inquired softly.

Miles stiffened. “Given the circumstances of our marriage, there will be no children. I killed one wife that way. I will not kill another.”

She looked like a princess. She
was
a princess.

Shimmering sapphire satin draped her figure in a Grecian-styled gown. The gown was simple and elegant, with no adornment or sparkling threads in its folds. Gathered at the shoulders, it left her upper arms bare and revealed just enough of the swell of her breasts to be provocative without seeming vulgar.

Her hair was coiled and pinned high on her head but for one thick lock left loose to curl down around her shoulder. Her eyelids had been darkened, her lips and cheeks pinched to give them color.

Varya turned away from the mirror to face her houseguest, her hand going to the large tear-shaped, platinum-set diamond at her throat. She hadn’t worn it for years, and it felt cool and heavy against her flesh. “Well?”

A grin as big and bold as the rest of her spread across Blythe’s face. “You look beautiful. I can’t wait to see the expression on Miles’s face when he sees you.”

Varya grimaced. “I certainly can.” What
would
her fiancé think of her appearance? Would he find her as beautiful as his sister seemed to, or would her apparel remind him of her deception of him these past few weeks? At this point Varya wasn’t certain which reaction would be preferable.

“I think,” Blythe predicted slyly, “that Miles will fall hopelessly in love with you tonight.”

Choking on a sudden intake of breath, Varya turned to her soon-to-be sister-in-law. “I highly doubt that,” she croaked.

Blythe made no reply, but smiled as she gently patted her between the shoulder blades.

It had been Miles’s idea to have Blythe move into Varya’s townhouse. Since it would not be proper for him to stay with her before the wedding, he claimed Blythe was the most logical choice. She would provide little real protection, but her mere presence would dissuade any potential housebreakers.

Also, having her future sister-in-law in residence was a public announcement of Miles’s family’s acceptance of her. Not that it mattered. Varya had gone from social pariah to ton darling. She could walk down St. James’s Street in breeches and no one would criticize her for it.

Varya was more amused than angered by the fickle nature of the ton, as well as Miles’s sudden urge to observe the proprieties. A part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he had changed his mind about staying with her simply because of her social status or because he didn’t want to see her.

“Are you happy to be marrying my brother, Varya?”

Varya drew a pensive breath. “I’m not at all certain that I could be
happy
marrying anyone, Blythe.” As the younger woman’s face fell, she hastily added, “Your brother is a good man—once you get past his strange ways of thinking. I’m sure we’ll learn to get on very well together.”

That clearly was
not
the answer Blythe sought, but it was the only one Varya was prepared to give. She couldn’t shake her old fears about matrimony and being under a husband’s control, even if deep down she
believed Miles would make a good husband. She had to believe that in time they could make the marriage work.

And if they couldn’t she would run away—just as she had run away from everything else. She refused to feel ashamed of her actions. There could be no shame in self-preservation.

She hoped she wouldn’t have to run away from Miles. In fact, she desperately wanted the chance to get to know him better, and perhaps regain some of his trust. And she was just so tired of running.

“What about you, Blythe?” she heard herself ask. “Do you still wish to marry someday?”

The statuesque woman nodded slowly, her auburn hair shimmering as it caught the lamplight. Her expression was sorrowful.

“I would wish to, but I have given up hope that I will ever meet a man who will accept me for who and what I am.”

This moroseness was something Varya was not accustomed to in her new friend. Shocked, she could only stare. How could a woman so incredible, so beautiful and full of life, truly believe that no man could want her?

“Perhaps you have not yet met a man
you
can accept,” she suggested sagely.

Blythe sighed. “He’ll have to be one very
large
, very
patient
man.”

Varya smiled warmly and took her hand. “Oh, Blythe, whatever he looks like, he’ll find you.”

Blythe shrugged. “Ready to depart for your engage
ment party, Your Highness?” she asked, changing the subject with just a touch of forced lightness.

Varya’s smile was shaky at best. “Yes,” she replied. “Time to face the wolves.”

Why did she have to be so bloody beautiful?

Miles tore his gaze away from his bride-to-be and stared sullenly into his glass of champagne. Mere seconds passed before he lifted his head and sought her out again.

It wasn’t hard to find her among the crowd. She was clearly the most vibrant, arousing woman present, and his gaze automatically settled on her. That gown she was wearing skimmed every delightful inch of her ripe figure, exposing enough tantalizing flesh that he wanted to uncover the rest. Their last encounter had been a disaster, and he was anxious to show her just how satisfying making love could be.

She was chattering away to Alexander. Miles was certain he was the first person in England ever to have a czar attend his engagement party. Of course, Prinny had demanded to be allowed to come also—not to be outdone by a foreigner in his own country.

“So, should I get used to calling you ‘Your Majesty’?”

“No, sir,” he replied dryly, turning to face his companion. “It is a good thing I don’t harbor such lofty ambitions, Carny, or I would be sorely disappointed. As you well know, I cannot take Varya’s title, and since she is my superior…” He swallowed the rest of his champagne, not needing to add that his betrothed
would probably not want to lower herself by taking the title of marchioness.

Carny smiled and shifted his gaze to the bride-to-be.

“You’ll make a handsome couple.”

Miles did not deign to reply, his gaze searching the room for a footman bearing more champagne.

“I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about giving me godchildren?”

“No,” Miles replied stoically. “I believe I answered that question before.”

“Pity.” The other man sighed. “She’d look so fetching with a child in her arms, don’t you think?”

Carny’s tactics were as subtle as a blow to the head, and just as effective. The image of Varya cradling a babe—his babe—to her breast brought a very hard lump to Miles’s throat. It was a low blow, especially since Carny knew how devastated he’d been by the loss of his son.

“I have no idea,” he lied, his voice a little shaky. He plucked another glass from a passing footman’s tray and replaced it with his empty one. “But I wouldn’t form too deep an attachment to the image, my friend, as it is never to become a reality.”

“Never is an awfully long time,” the earl observed.

Miles met Carny’s gaze squarely, determinedly. “I daresay I can survive.”

The blond man quirked a brow and smiled in that infuriatingly
knowing
manner of his. “I believe you can do anything you put your mind to, Miles.”

“Thank you.”

A warm hand clamped onto his shoulder before his
friend left him. “And that includes forgiving yourself for a tragedy you had no responsibility for.”

Miles shook his head sadly as the other man walked away. How could Carny possibly understand how he felt? Carny hadn’t gotten Charlotte with child, effectively killing her.

It had been his duty to impregnate his wife and produce an heir—a child to continue the line. No one had ever thought that
his
child might be too large for Charlotte to birth, or that anything might be wrong with the baby. By the time the stillborn boy had been taken from her she had lost too much blood.

Shuddering, Miles forced the memory down. He would not think of it. After all these years, he could still see the child—so motionless. Hot tears pricked the back of his eyes. He had wanted a son. He cried more for the loss of that unknown child than he had for the wife he had known for years. He hadn’t deserved Charlotte.

“Having second thoughts?”

Snapped out of his melancholy, he looked up and met Varya’s deep blue gaze. Part of him still felt resentful and distrustful toward her, another part of him was ridiculously happy to see her.

“Not when you’re standing before me looking more beautiful than the first night I met you,” he heard himself reply.

She blushed prettily. It occurred to him that he always seemed to be able to bring a flush to her cheeks, whether it be in anger, embarrassment, or passion.

“The first night you met me, I held a gun to your chest.”

“Touché. I was referring to that night at the theater. I thought you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.”

She stared up at him as though he had just told her he was Napoleon. “You did?”

“I did. What about you, Varya?” he asked pointedly. “I know how you feel about marriage. Are you having second thoughts?”

She shook her head. “No.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “What made you decide to marry me?”

Her color deepened, sending a tingle of something very much like dread down Miles’s spine. Perhaps he was better off not knowing.

“Would you believe it was your charming personality?” she quipped.

Miles actually laughed. “Not for an instant.”

He was still smiling at her as she searched for a reason. She could hardly tell him that she had received a letter from her mother and was simply marrying him because he was the lesser of two evils, now could she?

Well, it was better than admitting she loved him. He was marrying her because he had ruined a princess, and she would do well to remember that.

“I would not wish to shame my family,” she replied, using what she perceived to be his reason for proposing in the first place. “As the cousin of the czar I have a responsibility to consider not only my own reputation, but his as well.”

She had said the right and honorable thing, but she swore that a glimmer of disappointment flickered across his features. The light in his eyes seemed to dim.
He had been hoping for some kind of declaration on her part, she was certain. Her heart floundered hopelessly against her ribs.

Why should she lay her feelings out in the open for him to dissect and ridicule? Had he given her an indication that he cared as deeply for her?

She remembered their lovemaking and shivered as heat raced through her veins. But even before all that, he had rushed into her room and saved her life. He had chased her all the way from the Rochesters’ because she had left him. Surely that meant something?