Part 2 (2/2)

Somehow, he doubted it.

He stifled an impatient sigh and made his way to where his horse was tied beside the path, wis.h.i.+ng he'd spent less time talking and more time kissing that tempting mouth. Such lovely, full hips and b.r.e.a.s.t.s-he could still feel them pressed against him. Everything about her was lush and rich and made him think of satisfied, heated nights beside a roaring fire.

She might well be the perfect woman for a few weeks' tryst-pa.s.sionate, promising, amusing, and unfettered by the societal rules of a woman of n.o.ble breeding. Plus, she wouldn't tempt his Tata Natasha into a tizzy of hope for matrimony.

For such were Tata's ways. His grandmother, the Grand d.u.c.h.ess Natasha Nikolaevna, might think he was unaware of her reason for wis.h.i.+ng him to accompany her to Scotland to attend Sir Henry Davidson's out-of-the-way house party, but Alexsey knew all too well. Though she might think otherwise, he wasn't about to let her dictate his selection of a wife.

This is your fault, Wulf, Alexsey informed his absent younger brother. Last year, Father had convinced Tata Natasha to escort Prince Wulfinski to Scotland, where, against his grandmother's wishes, Wulf had met and married the woman of his dreams. Though Tata Natasha had vehemently opposed the match in the beginning, that didn't stop her from taking credit for it-especially once the entire family fell in love with Wulf's new bride, Lily.

Sadly for Alexsey and his other two bachelor brothers, that unexpected success had gone to Tata's head. And now her sights were set on them.

Alexsey mounted the horse and then turned it onto the path leading to the moors, Papillon trotting behind. He would eventually have to marry, of course. Even though his parents had blessed Oxenburg with four healthy princes, they were all expected to secure the family line with legitimate heirs. But he saw no need to rush things, especially when there were so many lovely and eager women to enjoy.

Besides, he had things to accomplish, things that were growing increasingly urgent. His mother's people, the Romany, needed him. At one time, Tata Natasha's husband-Dyet Nikki-had been the savyet lidir, his position noted by a heavy gold kaltso, a large ruby ring he'd worn on his left hand that sparkled whenever he moved his hand. As the savyet lidir, he'd overseen the council that ruled the Romany; decided their route for the summer months; served as the spokesman for the people during troubles; officiated over weddings, funerals, and trials; and a dozen other important duties. He'd been king, counselor, priest, and father to his people, and under him the Romany had prospered.

Alexsey had idolized his grandfather and had been closer to the old man than any of his brothers. As Alexsey spent time with his grandparents, sharing their colorful caravan with the Romany, he grew to love the people. Everyone a.s.sumed that he would follow in his grandfather's large footsteps and one day wear the kaltso, but when he was only twelve, an unfortunate hunting accident had taken his grandfather away, and the kaltso was left in older, more experienced hands.

Alexsey looked down at his bare hand, impatience curling his fingers into a fist. When I return to Oxenburg, I will address this, for the time has come. But I can do nothing now. He uncurled his fingers and stretched them, though his chest remained tight. I need a distraction. I shall find this maid whose kisses are like fire, and we will enjoy more time together. Someone at the castle will know her and I will find her through them. That should make the weeks pa.s.s quickly.

With a satisfied nod, Alexsey lifted his face to the fall sun. All he had to do was avoid Tata Natasha's scheme to throw every eligible well-born maiden in Scotland into his path. Though he was immune to her efforts, her determination could be annoying. Fortunately, he had much that would keep him from the castle.

Papillon's oddly m.u.f.fled grrrr drew his attention, and Alexsey looked down to see the dog trotting beside his horse, a slipper in her mouth.

Remembering the girl's bare feet, Alexsey pulled his horse to a halt and swung down. ”So she dropped one of her shoes, did she?”

He took the slipper from Papillon, noting that it was well worn but of good quality, perhaps pa.s.sed on by a generous mistress. The toes were scuffed and the heel worn down, but it showed perfectly the outline of the wearer's foot. Each of her toes had made a pocket in the thin leather, and he could almost trace her foot. ”Perhaps I shall order her a new pair of shoes. That would be generous and might make an impression. What do you think, Papillon?”

Papillon sat on her haunches and c.o.c.ked her head to one side.

”Da,” he agreed reluctantly. ”It is probably too much. She might feel she owes me something, which is not what I want.”

As he went to tuck the shoe into his pocket, something fell from the toe-a small roll of paper that had been pressed into the front to make it fit better. ”So even this little shoe is too large. Roza has a dainty foot, nyet?”

Papillon yawned.

Alexsey laughed and untangled the wad of paper. It was a piece of a letter written to a firm in London; something about a patent. Intriguing. This must be her handwriting, for it is like her-slanted against the normal way of doing things. He folded the paper into a neat square and tucked it and the shoe into his pocket. ”I will find her again and then, there will be more kisses.”

Whistling a merry tune, he returned to his horse, Papillon bounding behind him.

Lucinda had no family, no gentle mother to teach her the ways of a woman, no strong father to protect her from the wiles of men. She was utterly and completely alone. More alone than any woman, man, or child should be.

-The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth Something hit the side of Bronwyn's book and then fell into her lap.

She moved her book and looked down. Someone had thrown a roll.

Faking a scowl, Bronwyn peered over the rim of her spectacles to find Sorcha and Mairi across the breakfast table, the picture of innocence. One of them was reading, while the other poured herself more tea.

The decidedly virtuous looks on her stepsisters' faces would have aroused her suspicion on the best of days.

Bronwyn marked her place with a playing card and closed her book. ”I suppose you two hoydens think that was funny.”

Mairi giggled and then tried to turn it into a cough, but failed miserably.

Sorcha gave her sister a half-exasperated look.

Bronwyn had to grin. ”I thought as much.”

Mairi hurried to say, ”It wasn't me! Sorcha did it.”

”Tattletale!” Sorcha couldn't contain a gleam of humor.

”Well, you did.” Mairi chuckled. ”And it hit perfectly, right on the corner and then bop, straight into your lap!”

Bronwyn smiled. She loved them dearly. They were both lovely, with blond hair, blue eyes, and graceful figures. They were also the perfect height to wear the current fas.h.i.+ons with ease. All things she was not.

Still, they shared the important things. She smiled as her gaze fell on Sorcha's novel. Mairi had just finished the book the day before and had handed it to Sorcha on entering the room. Despite their mama's best efforts, they were both enthusiastic readers.

Bronwyn could still remember the day they'd arrived and how agonizingly nervous she'd been to meet her new mama and sisters. Papa had courted Lady Malvinea for only a few weeks before marrying the younger widow and bringing her and her daughters to Ackinnoull.

Bronwyn shouldn't have been surprised; she'd known her father had been lonely in the years following her mother's death. Still, during that time they'd settled into a comfortable pattern. She'd had free rein to run the house and to live as she wished, providing Papa wasn't disrupted from working on his inventions. Her life had given her plenty of time for her books and dogs and roaming the vast woods that surrounded Ackinnoull, and she'd been happy.

All had been well until a new vicar and his wife had arrived. The vicar's wife hadn't been happy with Bronwyn's unmarried state and lone forays into the countryside. Her disapproval had turned into true dislike when Bronwyn had ignored the woman's cow-handed attempt at matchmaking Bronwyn with that lady's lack-witted brother. After that, the vicar's wife had made it her business to criticize Bronwyn every chance she got.

Bronwyn ignored the woman's venomous comments, but Papa wasn't so immune. The day after her sixteenth birthday, Bronwyn had returned from a long walk to find the vicar and his wife leaving Ackinnoull. Papa wouldn't say why they'd come, but the effects had been immediate.

After that day, Papa had seemed to see her differently, asking her silly questions: if she didn't want to wear prettier gowns, if she missed attending a.s.semblies and b.a.l.l.s, and, strangest of all, if she ever thought of marrying. She hadn't, for there were no eligible men about, and she was far too busy a.s.sisting Papa and reading every book she could find. Yet somehow, saying so hadn't calmed whatever fears her father now had.

Not long after that, Papa left for Edinburgh, and when he returned, he announced his marriage to Lady Malvinea.

Though he never admitted it, Bronwyn knew he'd married for her sake, to give her a mother who would help her develop more genteel habits. The thought that he might be disappointed in her weighed heavily and had stiffened her resolve to please her new mother, whatever effort that might take.

When Lady Malvinea and her daughters had arrived at Ackinnoull in a carriage followed by two wagons piled with furnis.h.i.+ngs and clothes, Bronwyn had been torn between apprehension and hope. The thought of having a new mother was awkward-but sisters? She had never wanted anything more.

Within a very short time, ten-year-old Sorcha, eight-year-old Mairi, and sixteen-year-old Bronwyn had formed a deep bond. The younger girls admired Bronwyn's independence, something they'd never been allowed. For Bronwyn, having two little sisters who shared her sense of humor and her love of reading was a dream come true.

Sadly, things hadn't proceeded as smoothly with her new mother; she and Lady Malvinea had clashed from almost the first moment. Bronwyn had thought of herself as already grown, while Lady Malvinea felt a decided need to mold her into something more pliable.

To be fair, Bronwyn was far too used to going her own way, and she'd had to fight the urge to argue about every ”improvement” Lady Malvinea wished to make to Bronwyn, Papa, and the house. Sometimes Bronwyn's struggle to contain herself was far more visible than it should have been, but she'd been as conciliatory as possible.

Unfortunately, her stepmama had been unable to return the favor. Lady Malvinea, driven by a need for constant affirmation by members of ”high society,” believed she knew best, and no amount of argument or common sense would ever convince her otherwise.

It might have helped if Papa had stepped in to smooth things over between his daughter and his new wife, but he'd spent years avoiding unpleasant reality and saw no reason to change that now. The more Bronwyn resisted her stepmother's attempts to ”civilize” her, the more Papa stayed in his workshop, until they only saw him for dinners, and even then only on occasion.

It took time, but eventually Bronwyn realized that for all Lady Malvinea's flaws, she truly wished for Bronwyn to be happy and successful. The problem was that to Lady Malvinea, that meant a successful marriage to a man of t.i.tle, birth, and property.

But Bronwyn couldn't be something she wasn't, and her explanations merely irritated Mama. She and her stepmother might have continued their struggle except for one thing-Sorcha.

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