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His Cavalry Lady
Joanna Maitland


Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesSecrets, disguise and passion! Alex instantly fell for Dominic Aikenhead, Duke of Calder, knowing that he would never notice her – because, to him, she was Captain Alexei Alexandrov, a young man and a brave hussar! Alex longed to be with her English Duke just once, as the passionate woman she truly was.To be swept off her feet, wearing the finest of gowns, would be a dream come true. But there was danger in such thoughts. What if Dominic ever found out the truth?The Aikenhead Honours Three gentlemen spies: bound by duty, undone by women!







The Aikenhead HonoursThree gentlemen spies: bound by duty,undone by women!

Introducing three of England’s

most eligible bachelors:

Dominic, Leo and Jack

code-named Ace, King, Knave

Together they are

The Aikenhead Honours A government-sponsored spying ring, they risk their lives, and hearts, to keep Regency England safe!

Follow these three brothers on a dazzling

journey through Europe and beyond as they

serve their country and meet their brides, in

often very surprising circumstances!

Meet the ‘Ace’, Dominic Aikenhead,

Duke of Calder, in

HIS CAVALRY LADY

Meet the ‘King’ and renowned rake,

Lord Leo Aikenhead, in

HIS RELUCTANT MISTRESS

Meet the ‘Knave’ and incorrigible playboy,

Lord Jack Aikenhead, in

HIS FORBIDDEN LIAISON


Joanna Maitland was born and educated in Scotland, though she has spent most of her adult life in England or abroad. She has been a systems analyst, an accountant, a civil servant, and director of a charity. Now that her two children have left home, she and her husband have moved from Hampshire to the Welsh Marches, where she is revelling in the more rugged country and the wealth of medieval locations. When she is not writing, or climbing through ruined castles, she devotes her time to trying to tame her house and garden, both of which are determined to resist any suggestion of order. Readers are invited to visit Joanna’s website at www.joannamaitland.com

Recent novels by the same author:

A POOR RELATION

A PENNILESS PROSPECT

MARRYING THE MAJOR

RAKE’S REWARD

MY LADY ANGEL

AN UNCOMMON ABIGAIL

(in A Regency Invitation anthology) BRIDE OF THE SOLWAY




HIS CAVALRY LADY


Joanna Maitland




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)



HIS CAVALRY LADY


This book is dedicated to my editor, Jo Carr.




Prologue


St Petersburg, 1812

The third door led into yet another magnificent room. Empty, just as the previous ones had been. There was nothing for it but to go on.

Adopting a brave posture—there could be no enemy here, could there?—the young cavalry trooper strode across to the door on the far side. There he hesitated, for just a second or two. Then, with a tiny shake of the head, as if telling himself to face his demons, he put his hand to the latch and opened it.

‘Ah, Trooper Borisov. At last.’ The speaker was a portly gentleman dressed in court uniform. He was smiling, but he did not bow or offer any other salute. ‘I am Prince Volkonsky, Court Minister to his Imperial Majesty.’

The trooper came sharply to attention. ‘Sir. I…’ He faltered. His unease had been increasing with every one of those empty antechambers.

The Minister’s smile broadened. ‘His Majesty is waiting to meet you, young man. He has heard much of your exploits. And of your exemplary courage. Would that we had ten thousand more like you. We would have rid the world of the French scourge long ago.’

Borisov could feel his face reddening. He cursed silently. Why did he always have to react so? Only girls blushed. Not battle-hardened cavalrymen.

The Minister was waiting for an answer.

‘Thank you, sir. You are most generous. But there are many brave men in the ranks of his Majesty’s army and—’

‘Indeed there are. But few as young as you, Borisov, or with such a record.’

Borisov said nothing more. Any response would sound like bragging.

‘Now, if you will take a seat, my boy, I will tell his Majesty that you have arrived. He is occupied at present, but I am sure you will be admitted soon.’ Without giving Borisov any time to respond, the Minister tapped gently on the further door and entered the room beyond, closing the door softly behind him.

Tsar Alexander himself is behind that door. The thought shivered through Borisov’s mind. The Tsar himself, the Little Father. And I am to meet him. This very day. The Tsar himself.

Borisov began to pace. He needed to be moving. As just before a battle, he could not be still. For this meeting was as momentous as any battle he had fought.

It was only as the connecting door reopened that Borisov began to wonder what he should say to the Tsar. What if he asked—?

‘Trooper Borisov, his Majesty will receive you now.’

Borisov swallowed hard, forced his body into his best military posture and strode through that terrifying door.

It was a huge room, hung with paintings and mirrors, but almost empty of furniture. In the far corner, under the tall windows, stood an ornate gilded desk with a single chair behind it. A distant part of Borisov’s mind registered that visitors to this room were not permitted to sit.

The figure behind the desk rose and came round into the centre of the room. Borisov remained rooted to the spot by the door. He knew, without looking, that it had been closed behind him. He was alone. With the Emperor himself.

‘Borisov. Come forward. Let me look at you in the light.’

Borisov bowed and obeyed.

The Tsar was the taller of the two. Unlike Borisov, he had a fine set of side-whiskers. He stood erect and imposing in his military uniform, looking his visitor over with bright, intelligent eyes. Assessing eyes.

He will spot where my jacket was mended for that sabre cut, Borisov thought suddenly, wishing he had been able to afford a new one.

‘We have heard much about your courageous exploits during the wars. How many times did you take part in those cavalry charges? Five?’

Borisov’s throat was too dry to speak. He nodded, blushing yet again.

‘Your commanders report that you are totally fearless, throwing yourself into every skirmish. Even when it is not your squadron that is charged with the attack.’ The Tsar smiled down at him, encouragingly.

Borisov swallowed. ‘That was a…a mistake, your Majesty,’ he croaked.

The Emperor raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

‘I… It was my first battle, your Majesty. No one had told me that charges were by squadron. When I returned from the first one, I just… I assumed that I was to continue as before.’

‘I see. But you stopped eventually?’

‘Yes, your Majesty. The sergeant-major told me to remain with my own squadron and to charge only with them.’

The Emperor’s eyes were dancing with good humour. ‘But you continued to throw yourself into every battle? And you saved the life of an officer at Borodino.’

Borisov took a deep breath. ‘He was wounded, your Majesty. I merely chased off the enemy. They ran as soon as they saw an unwounded trooper bearing down on them with a lance.’

‘And you gave him your horse.’

‘I…yes, I did.’ Borisov did not add that, by the time the horse was eventually recovered, all the kit it carried had been stolen. And that, as a result, Borisov himself had almost frozen to death for want of a greatcoat.

‘Saving an officer’s life is a meritorious act, Borisov. That is why you have been summoned here to receive the Cross of St George. And…’ the Tsar turned back to his desk and picked up a paper ‘…and for another reason.’

Borisov swayed a little on his feet. Please, no!

‘I have here a plea from a distraught father, Count Ivan Kuralkin, who begs for help to locate his beloved child. This child ran away from home to join the cavalry and has been missing now for more than two years, serving under an assumed name. The father begs that the child, the comfort of his old age, will be found and returned to him. Do you think I should grant his request, Borisov?’ He dropped the paper back on the desk.

The young man gulped, realising that his expression must betray his panic.

‘You have no view on this, Borisov?’ The Tsar’s keen eyes were on him.

‘I would not presume, your Majesty.’

The Tsar nodded to himself, as if acknowledging a good answer, then turned and walked to the long windows overlooking the vast garden of the palace. For several minutes, he stood, apparently contemplating the plants. Then, abruptly, he spun on his heel and said, in a voice so soft that it barely carried to where the trooper stood, ‘I have been told that you are a woman, Borisov. Tell me the truth. Is it so?’

Borisov stood as if transfixed. His mouth worked but no sound came out.

The Tsar strode across the room until the two were barely a pace apart. He did not look angry or forbidding. He looked merely intrigued. And he was waiting for an answer.

It was not possible to lie to the Tsar. Besides, it was clear that he already knew. The young man managed just a thread of a voice. ‘It is true, your Majesty.’ He waited for the blow to fall.

The Tsar smiled broadly and clapped the trooper on the shoulder. ‘I should never have believed that a woman could do all that you have done. Such courage and such dedication. You are a shining example to the army. Alexandra Ivanovna Kuralkina, I salute you.’ He fastened the cross to her uniform, kissed her formally on both cheeks and took a step back, pausing to assess the effect. Then he turned back to his desk and picked up the paper again. ‘And since you did not answer the question when I put it to you, I shall answer it for you now. You shall be returned to your family by the Tsar himself with all honour. Your exploits shall be fêted.’

No! Oh, no! The Emperor was going to send her back to her father and stepmother. She had fled one marriage to a man she had never seen. No doubt her stepmother would soon sell her to another. She would never be free again. Such a punishment was too much to bear. She threw herself at the Emperor’s feet. ‘Your Majesty, I beg you, from the bottom of my heart, please do not send me back to my father. I would rather have died for you on the battlefield than return there. Let me continue to serve you, to fight for you. The cavalry is all I desire in the world. I cannot serve you if you send me back to my father’s house.’

The Tsar looked down at the man-woman at his feet. He frowned slightly and turned away, leaving her crumpled on her knees on the intricately patterned wooden floor. It was no position for a cavalryman to be in, but she did not dare to move. She held her breath, watching him pace. Was there a chance he might change his mind?

‘How old are you?’ he asked suddenly, waving her to her feet.

That was the last question she had expected. ‘Twenty-two, your Majesty.’

‘Indeed? You look no more than sixteen.’ He paused, clearly digesting that information. ‘Tell me, my child,’ he said at last, ‘what would you wish to do, if anything in the world were possible for you?’

‘I would wish to continue to serve you in a cavalry regiment, your Majesty.’

‘Any particular one?’

She hesitated. Did he mean…? ‘A Hussar regiment, your Majesty, if I had a choice.’ A vision flickered across her brain of herself in Hussar uniform, sabre drawn, taking part in a mighty charge. Oh, yes, a Hussar regiment.

‘As an officer?’ A small smile licked the corner of his mouth.

Her heart began to pound at the Tsar’s extraordinary suggestion. Only men with written proofs of their nobility could become officers. Under her assumed name, Borisov, and with no hope of demonstrating her noble status, her only choice had been to enlist as an ordinary trooper. Her military life so far had been wonderful, exhilarating. But to be an officer! She could do it. Of course she could. Like her father, she had been born to do it. ‘A commission in a Hussar regiment, your Majesty, would be like a…it would be the fulfilment of a dream I have always thought impossible.’ She looked shyly up at him, wondering whether any of this could be true. Was he really about to grant her fiercest desire?

He nodded, twice. ‘I shall commission you into the Mariupol Hussars.’

She gasped aloud. She could not help it. The Mariupol Hussars was a crack regiment. Noblemen fought tooth and nail for commissions in it.

‘But not, I think, as Borisov. Nor under your own name, Kuralkina, obviously. You shall take my name. You shall be Alexandrov. Alexei Ivanovich Alexandrov of the Mariupol Hussars.’

‘Oh, thank you, your Majesty,’ she breathed. She wanted to burst with happiness. The Little Father himself had granted her dearest wish. It was a miracle.

‘It is a fitting reward for saving the life of an officer on the battlefield. And since you will not be able to ask your father for the funds you will need, I myself shall supply you. Apply directly to me, through Prince Volkonsky. No one else is to know of this. You will continue to serve as a man.’

‘Your Majesty, I do not know how to thank you. I—’

‘There is one way to thank me, Alexandrov, and one way only. You have been given a new and honourable name. Let your conduct match it, on the battlefield and beyond. Let no stain of dishonour tarnish it so long as you bear it.’ He stared down into her eyes, searching for commitment.

In that soul-searing moment, Alexei Ivanovich Alexandrov swore a silent oath of honour and service to Tsar Alexander. Until death.


Chapter One

Boulogne, June 1814

It was the smell that woke him.

For fully three seconds, Dominic lay quite still in the Lion d’Or’s best bed, trying to make sense of the strange messages tumbling into his brain. Dark. Silence. Smoke? Fire!

He flung himself out of bed. Light! He needed light! And where the devil were his breeches?

A terrified neighing ripped through the pre-dawn silence. Then a whoosh, as if a giant were sucking in a monstrous breath. Followed by red, hellish light.

The smoke had turned to flames. The Lion d’Or’s stables must be on fire!

Dominic threw wide the half-open window, stuck his head out and yelled at the top of his voice, ‘Au feu! Au feu!’ It was surely loud enough to wake even drunken grooms.

He dragged on his breeches and crammed his feet into boots. A voice rang out below. At last! Then more voices. A woman’s despairing wail. And the ominous crackle of the fire taking hold in dry straw and ancient timbers.

Dominic took the stairs three at a time. In the yard, the silence was turning into utter chaos. Yelling, cursing men milling around in the eerie light. No one fetching water. No one saving the horses.

He grabbed the nearest groom by the shoulder. ‘Get to the pump,’ he ordered in crisp French. ‘Start filling buckets. And you—’ he seized another by his flapping shirt ‘—rouse all the men from the house. Get them into a line to pass the buckets. You two. Don’t stand there gawping. Start getting the horses out.’

In the space of half a minute, Dominic had turned the commotion into the beginnings of order. The terrified horses were being led to safety. Water was being brought. But the flames had a head start. And they were winning.

The front part of the stables and one side of the doorway were ablaze. One panicked horse was refusing to be led through. It was fighting against the halter, rearing, eyes rolling, hooves flailing. With a cry of pain, the groom dropped to the ground. The horse fled back into the stables.

Dominic lunged forward, hefted the unconscious groom over his shoulder and raced across the yard to the inn. By the door, a maidservant stood motionless, wide-eyed with fear. ‘You, girl.’ He laid the boy ungently at her feet. ‘Make yourself useful. Look to his hurts.’ He did not wait to see whether she obeyed. He had to help save the horses. Only one other man left to do that. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

The smoke was now so thick that it was difficult to see. And to breathe. Dominic looked around for something to use as a mask over his face. If only he had thrown on a shirt. But he had nothing. He would have to continue as he was. Taking a deep breath of the cooler air in the yard, he plunged into the hell of the burning stables.

Still at least half a dozen terrified horses to save. Possibly more. He could barely make out the back of the stable. It was full of smoke, though not yet ablaze. But he could hear the sounds of hooves thundering against stall boards. At least some of the horses must still be tethered. He raced to the back of the building, keeping as low as he could, to avoid the choking smoke. Let the groom deal with the horses nearer the door.

Like a ghostly apparition, a slim shape in grubby white emerged from the swirling smoke, leading a horse. No more than a boy, from the little Dominic could see, and dressed only in a bedgown and boots. But a boy who knew horses, for he had covered the animal’s eyes to quiet it. ‘Well done, lad,’ Dominic gasped as they passed. No reply. The boy had his mind on his task. Just as Dominic must.

It was taking too many precious minutes to rescue the horses. All the time, the fire was engulfing more of the building. Yet the boy in the bedgown was fearless, always going back into the most dangerous area of the stable. He had a way with the terrified beasts, too. More than once, Dominic fancied he heard the lad’s voice, murmuring strong and low, urging the animal towards the flaming doorway. He had even started to cover the horses’ nostrils against the acrid smoke. Part of Dominic’s brain registered that he would find the lad after this was all over, and reward him for his bravery. He would have been proud to have such a boy in his own service.

Out in the yard again, Dominic caught a dripping cloth tossed to him by one of the inn servants. Gratefully, he covered his head, hoping that the boy had done the same. With this, there ought to be a chance of rescuing the remaining animals. Only a few more to bring out now. He ran back into the thickening smoke.

He found himself struggling with the tether of one of the last horses. The straining beast had pulled it tight in the iron ring. Its thrashing hooves were threatening to crack Dominic’s head open. If only he had a knife. Damnation! The rope refused to come free. At this rate, they would both burn!

A strong, lean hand appeared out of the smoke, holding a knife. Bless the boy! A single slash cut the rope. Then the hand disappeared again. No time to say a word of thanks. The horse, suddenly freed, reared up to its full height with a loud and terrified whinny. Dominic ducked under the deadly hooves and grabbed the trailing rope, forcing the animal down. He had to get this horse out. The fire was really taking hold now. Soon the stable roof would be aflame. There would be no more rescues then.

At last, Dominic managed to coax the horse through the stable doorway. Someone had taken an axe to the blazing wood so that the gap was wider and the flames were less fierce. The broken, smouldering timbers lay on the ground. Dominic thrust the rope into a waiting hand and raced back inside, ignoring the prick of sparks on the bare skin of his back and chest. He had tiny burns all over his body now. No doubt he would look as though he had a dose of smallpox when this was over. But he had to be sure that there were no more horses hidden by the smoke.

It seemed the lad in the bedgown had had the same thought. His eerie figure was just visible through the swirling darkness, searching among the stalls. Dominic ran towards the boy. ‘Is that all of them?’ he yelled, trying to make himself heard above the noise of the fire.

Before the boy could say a word, there was an ominous crack above their heads. Dominic caught a glimpse of a huge, flaming beam dropping towards them. Towards the boy! Dominic bridged the space between them with a single stride, grabbed the boy and thrust him aside. The beam hit the stable floor just inches from where they stood, showering them both with sparks. In seconds, the boy’s bedgown had caught alight.

Dominic made to tear it off him.

‘Non!’ It was a scream of anguish.

The boy must be an idiot. Surely he knew that it was better to be naked than to burn?

‘Non!’ the boy cried again, ripping the tail of his bedgown out of Dominic’s hands.

There was no time to argue. And only one solution. Dominic pushed the boy to the ground and covered him with his own body, rolling them both in the dirt to stop the sparks from taking hold.

And then he understood.

This was no boy. The lithe body straining against his own belonged to a fearless, and extraordinary, girl!

His mind told him it was impossible. But his body knew better. It was threatening to go up in flames to match the blaze around them. Dear God, why this woman? Why now? Had he no self-control at all?

A loud groan brought him back to stark reality. His weight must be crushing her delicate form. And there was no time now to wonder what was happening between them. He had to get her out of this hellhole. The rest of the roof would fall at any second.

He leapt to his feet, dragging the girl up by the arm. ‘Venez,’ he rasped from his parched throat. He started for the door. But the girl was trying to free herself from his grasp. What on earth was she about? This was no time for modesty. Yet still she fought him.

With a curse of exasperation, he grabbed her slight form around the waist and slung her over his shoulder. Her small fists started to pummel his bare back, but he ignored that. He simply held her even more tightly against his body. No time to try to reassure her. In any case, the scorching smoke was burning his throat so much that he was almost sure he could not speak. He must get her out! Ducking low, he staggered towards the stable door and out into the yard. It was full of smoke still, but no flames. The men seemed to be bringing the fire under control at last.

With a groan of relief, Dominic set the girl on her feet, supporting her shoulders until he was sure she was strong enough to stand. He needed to commend her for her amazing courage. And to apologize for manhandling her. ‘Mademoiselle, vous—’ It was barely a croak, but he was not allowed to finish. Her eyes had widened at his words. It could not be fear, surely? Not with this amazing girl. With a strangled cry, she wrenched herself away from him and fled in the direction of the inn door. He was left with a fleeting image, barely discernable through the hanging smoke, of huge eyes in a pale face, cropped hair, and a wet, filthy bedgown clinging to her slim form.

He started to follow. She must not be allowed to vanish, like a ghost. He must find out who she was. She—

‘Monsieur! Attention!’ One of the men grabbed his arm and pointed. With an enormous crash, the roof of the stables inwards. Sparks were flying everywhere. The fire was out of control again. If the men did not act immediately, the inn itself would catch fire.

Dominic grabbed a bucket and began to douse the inn wall, calling to the other men to help him. Provided they all stayed at their task, the inn should be safe. God willing.

By the time the fire was finally under control, all the men were exhausted. But they were triumphant. The yard was a sea of grinning teeth in blackened faces. Dominic knew he must look just as filthy as the rest of them.

For the first time in what seemed like hours, he relaxed his shoulders. His back was aching. And all those minute burns on his skin were beginning to hurt like hell.

The inn servants were working as an efficient team now. They no longer needed Dominic to direct them. So, with a sigh of relief, he made for the inn door and the staircase to his bedchamber. His room was deserted. His valet, Cooper, must still be down below, helping to fight the remnants of the fire, and unrecognisable under the dirt and sweat. No matter. Dominic had no need of him.

The reflection in the pier glass pulled him up short. It wasn’t only his face that was filthy. His whole body was grimed with smoke. He grinned at himself. No wonder the girl had fled from him. He looked like a black demon. Even his own mother would not recognise him like this. He would have to bathe, but that would be impossible until the fire was out and the inn kitchen was working normally once more. Hot water would be the last thing on their minds at present. He would have to wait.

Sighing with exhaustion, Dominic sank on to the bed and pulled off one ruined boot. Even Cooper would be unable to save this pair. He grinned again, imagining the valet’s consternation when he saw the state of them, and of his master. With luck, Cooper would have a pot of skin salve somewhere in his baggage. But, for the moment, Dominic did not care. What he wanted was to close his eyes, just for a few minutes.

He dropped the second ruined boot and lay back on the bed, allowing his head to sink into the feather pillows. Bliss. A few moments rest. Only a few.

He was just beginning to drift into sleep when her blurry image came back to him. That girl. What courage she had. Who was she? He must speak to her again and thank her. But only later, once he was clean again, and presentable. And once he was fully in control of his body’s responses, too. He needed to show her that he was a gentleman, not a ravening demon. He found he could not quite remember her face, or the colour of her hair. It had all been too indistinct in the smoke. And later her head had been covered by a wet cloth, just as his own had been. But her hair had definitely been cropped, like a boy’s. Very strange. Perhaps she had recently recovered from a fever or some such? Yes, that must be it. Still, it should be easy enough to discover her. There would not be many girls with cropped hair at the foremost inn of Boulogne. He would find her, and thank her. He’d give her a purse of guineas, too, if she would take them. She had certainly earned them.

So much courage. He must find her again. He must.

‘Hold still, your Grace, if you please.’

Dominic cursed. Cooper was being particularly thorough with his confounded salve.

‘Exactly so, your Grace. But if I don’t catch all of these burns, they’ll turn bad and then where will we be? Begging your Grace’s pardon, o’ course.’ There was nothing in the least subservient about Cooper’s tone, in spite of his words. He had been with Dominic for too many years and was particularly officious when he knew he was in the right. As now.

Dominic sighed and held himself still until his man had finished. Cooper eased a fine lawn shirt over Dominic’s injured torso. It felt blessedly cool against his tormented skin.

‘There. Works wonders, your Grace. You’ll soon be right as ninepence. You’ll see.’

‘No doubt, Cooper,’ Dominic croaked. His throat was still raw from the smoke. He reached for the tumbler of water and drained it. For a moment, it helped.

‘I’ll fetch up some honey in a moment,’ Cooper said. He had been out in the yard, helping to pass the water buckets, but he had not inhaled nearly as much smoke as his master. He still sounded more or less normal. ‘Once your Grace is fit to meet company again.’

Dominic groaned and reached for his cravat. He had wasted too much time already. He had not intended to fall asleep but, exhausted as he was, there had been no fighting it. He must find that girl. She would be injured too, her throat burned and her tender body scarred by flying sparks. He would offer her Cooper’s salve. He would—

‘Right, your Grace. You’ll do now, I think.’ Cooper nodded knowingly at his master’s reflection in the glass.

Dominic assessed the image for a second. His mother would certainly recognise him now. It was as well that Cooper had cut out the scorch marks in his hair, though. The Dowager would certainly have had something caustic to say about those, if she had seen them.

He strode to the door and clattered down the stairs to find the landlord. He must find that girl.

‘Monseigneur.’ The landlord had instantly appeared, bowing so low that his nose seemed to be about to touch his knees. His thanks were effusive. And apparently interminable.

‘Yes, yes,’ Dominic said, with a dismissive wave. ‘Anyone else would have done the same. Say no more about it.’

The landlord bowed again, even lower. It seemed he was about to start all over again, but this time Dominic cut him short. ‘Landlord, there is a girl in the inn, with cropped hair. I wish to speak to her. Be so good as to bring her to me.’

‘A girl, monseigneur?’ He was looking thoroughly puzzled. He began to shake his head. Then, ‘Oh, the girl with cropped hair. You mean that one.’

Dominic resisted the temptation to swear at the man. The landlord had just had a major fire at his inn, after all. No wonder his mind was at sixes and sevens. ‘Yes, that one. I wish to see her. Where is she? And who is she?’

‘You must mean the corn merchant’s daughter, monseigneur. We have no other girl with cropped hair here. Poor thing, her father said they’d had fever in the family. Such a shame to cut off a girl’s hair like that.’

‘Yes, yes, but where is she? I require to see her.’

The landlord swallowed and stared at the floor. ‘Désolé, monseigneur. She has gone, I fear. Her family left several hours ago. While monseigneur was resting.’

Dominic swallowed a curse at his own weakness. He should have followed her at once. All his instincts had told him to do so. He frowned down at the landlord, but the man had not raised his eyes. ‘But she has a name?’ Dominic rasped.

The landlord hesitated for a moment. ‘I…I do not have the girl’s name, no. She was with the family Durand, of Paris. I assumed she was the daughter. Monsieur Durand gave me no precise address. It was not necessary, you understand. He—’

‘So you have no way of contacting them?’

‘I regret, monseigneur, that—’

‘Oh, very well.’ Dominic knew he was sounding bad-tempered. And he had no just cause. It was not the landlord’s fault, but it was so frustrating that the girl had gone. Why did she have to have such a common surname? And no exact address? It was as if the whole of Boulogne was conspiring against him. With a shake of his head and a curt word of thanks, he left the landlord and strode out to assess the state of the yard.

Behind him, the landlord shook his head slowly. They were strange people, these English, even ones who spoke perfect French like the Duke of Calder. What on earth could he have wanted with a ten-year-old girl? Nothing good, that was certain. It was rumoured that the English had strange and perverted tastes. As an honest and patriotic Frenchman, the landlord could not take the risk of betraying the identity of the child, even to the English Duke who had been responsible for saving his livelihood. The English were the enemy of the Empire, after all. They had been responsible for exiling the Emperor.

The landlord sniffed in disgust. Then he smiled to himself. Giving the Duke a false name and address for the child had definitely been the right thing to do. And clever. By now, she was well on her way home. And not to Paris.

Dominic strode across to where the horses were tethered in the yard, as far as possible from the ruined stables. The grooms were milling around, trying to settle them. The pervasive smell of smoke was making the animals decidedly skittish.

Perhaps, with a fast horse, he could catch her? The family must be on the road to Paris, after all, and they could not be all that far ahead of him, unless they were travelling post. That was surely unlikely for a merchant’s family?

He was on the point of calling out for a horse to be saddled. But then he remembered where he was. And the tasks that he was here to perform.

He could not leave Boulogne. Not even for an hour. He had to fulfil his orders from the Foreign Secretary, Lord Castlereagh. His lordship had treated Dominic with the utmost courtesy, but there had been not the least doubt that his soft-voiced instructions were to be carried out, and to the letter.

‘On the face of it,’ Lord Castlereagh had said, ‘your task is simple. You will be attached to the staff of Emperor Alexander for the duration of his projected visit to London. The Russian court language is French but, of course, you speak it like a native, so you will have no difficulty there. You are to do everything in your power to smooth the Emperor’s path during his stay. And you will ensure that none of his personal staff gets into any trouble while they are here.’

‘On the face of it, sir? There is something more, I take it?’

Lord Castlereagh’s smile was thin, and rather acid. ‘You have just demonstrated why I was right to choose you, Calder. There is indeed something more. The government is somewhat concerned about the Russian Emperor. He is an able man, but he is not above doing deals with England’s enemies. We know, for example, that he is unhappy about Princess Charlotte’s proposed marriage to the Prince of Orange. It is possible he may seek to undermine it, for he knows how valuable a naval alliance with Holland would be to us. He would prefer the heir to the throne of England to marry a penniless princeling, I suspect. The Regent plans to offer him hospitality so that we may keep a close eye on who visits him. Your role will be to watch also, but on the inside.’

‘If the Emperor is as astute as we are led to believe, sir, surely he will decline the services of a British liaison officer?’

‘He might try. But I can assure you he will not succeed, Duke.’

And he had not. Or Dominic would not now be in Boulogne, preparing to attend on the Emperor. Still, at least Dominic had had a little time to go home to Aikenhead Park. After spending so many months alone in France, spying for the British government, Dominic had needed a chance to relax.

It had proved to be a brief but enjoyable respite, especially as his youngest brother, Jack, had been there to welcome him home. And to roast him as usual. Although Jack was only twenty-four years old to Dominic’s thirty-six, the bond between them was strong. They had become even closer over recent years, once Jack had become the third of Dominic’s little team of spies, the Aikenhead Honours. Dominic, the eldest of the three Aikenhead brothers, was Ace, the leader. Leo, less than two years his junior, was King. Jack—Dominic always found himself smiling at the appropriateness of the name—was the Knave, and Jack’s bosom friend Ben Dexter was Ten. The Aikenhead Honours lacked only the Queen, the Lady. Dominic had never found any woman who could be trusted with their secrets. Besides, it was often very dangerous work. No woman could be asked to do it. And none would have sufficient courage, either. Except, perhaps, that girl? Now she…

Dominic shook his head, shattering his wandering thoughts. He had no need of the Aikenhead Honours here in Boulogne, on such a straightforward assignment. And he must stop thinking about that girl. She was trying to haunt him and he would not allow it. He had work to do. He still had preparations to make before his first meeting with the Russian Emperor on the morrow. Everything must be exactly right.

He walked smartly back into the Lion d’Or, mounting the stairs two at a time. He must not let his frustrations rule him. She was only a merchant’s daughter after all, no matter how courageous she was. Too high to be a mistress; too low to be a wife. He would soon forget her. Besides, he could barely remember what she looked like. And she had refused to speak to him. She had a low, melodious voice, he was sure, for he had heard her use it to reassure the terrified horses. But, for him, nothing beyond that scream of ‘Non!’ even after he had rescued her from the burning stable.

Not even a word of thanks. Just wide-eyed fear. And flight.

As from the devil himself.


Chapter Two

Alex stood on the dockside in Boulogne and gazed at the sea for the first time in her life. She had tried so hard to imagine what it would be like. She had thought about bigger versions of the many lakes she had seen. She had even tried picturing the steppes covered with water instead of earth. But she had not foreseen the movement. Yes, that seawater was definitely moving. The ships in the harbour were going up and down.

Her stomach lurched in sympathy and she felt a sudden foreboding. She had been overjoyed when she was bidden to join Tsar Alexander on his trip to England. But she sensed she was not going to enjoy this part of the journey one little bit.

In order to divert her mind from the horrors of the heaving sea, Alex at last allowed herself to remember that extraordinary encounter in the blazing stable. Until now she had not dared to think about the man. He had saved her life and she should be grateful to him. She was grateful to him. But when he had addressed her as mademoiselle, she had had no choice but to flee. Without even a word of thanks. He knew her secret and, all unwittingly, he would have betrayed it. She had had no choice.

She could still remember the feel of his half-naked body, lying on top of hers, and rolling them both around to stop the flames from taking hold. He had felt immensely strong. She was small, but she was no lightweight. Yet he had flung her across his shoulder as if she weighed nothing at all. If only she had dared to ask the landlord for his name. She could perhaps have sent him a note—an anonymous note—of thanks. Perhaps even now, she could—

No! She could not! To risk everything just to thank a smoke-blackened French servant? She did not even have the first idea what he really looked like. To seek him out, she would have to betray herself. It would be utter madness. She must force herself to forget the man, the stable and everything that had happened there.

She tried to focus on her mission instead, sternly reminding herself she must speak only French. She was under instructions from the Emperor himself not to disclose that her Scottish mother and her Scottish nurse had given her a perfect command of English. Her task was to listen, and report what she heard, no matter how unimportant it might seem. In other words, she was to spy for the Emperor. To serve Mother Russia.

A Royal Navy barge was coming in to dock. At first, it seemed tiny, and flimsy, against the vastness of the water, but eventually it moored alongside the jetty. Even tied up with ropes, it was still moving up and down. Alex felt ill just looking at it. In a desperate attempt to master her mutinous body and prevent the image of her rescuer from returning to haunt her again, she turned her back on the harbour and began talking to a group of French fishermen about their trade and their catch.

With luck, by the time she had to go on board, she would be back in control.

* * *

Dominic was leaning idly on the rail as the barge made its way into Boulogne harbour and prepared to tie up. He had satisfied himself that everything was in readiness for the Emperor on board the Impregnable. Once he set foot on French soil again, his duty would begin in earnest. He would not have a moment to himself. There would be weeks of banquets, and balls, and speeches and all the endless ceremonial deemed essential for visiting royalty.

It would be exhausting, but he would have to remain vigilant throughout it all, just in case there was some little snippet of intelligence to be gleaned from a drunken officer or an overheard conversation. He would so much rather have been still at Aikenhead Park, even though his mother had been urging him to remarry, as she invariably did when he first arrived home. Though her eyes were always full of love for her firstborn son, she never managed to conceal a faint hint of exasperation with him. To be fair, she had cause. One failed marriage, one long-dead wife and no heir. Not a very good track record for a duke, especially a duke who had a habit of risking his neck on secret Government assignments. Yet in spite of his mother’s hints, the Park always provided Dominic with a peaceful refuge, where he could refresh both mind and body.

That was what he needed in a wife. He could see that now. He had made such a wretched business of it, the first time, allowing himself to be seduced by the façade of Eugenia’s beauty, wit and vivacity. As a companion, she had been aloof and chilly. As a bedmate, she had had the ability to freeze a man’s ardour at ten paces. He would not make that mistake again. His new wife must be a woman of calm and serenity, who would make his home both welcoming and relaxing. A woman whose soft, mellifluous voice would stroke away the cares of the outside world. A woman—

A sudden shiver ran down his spine. From somewhere on the harbour side, he could hear a woman’s voice, speaking educated French in just the low, musical tone that he had been imagining. Just like the voice of that girl in the stable. Was she really there? Or was his mind playing tricks?

He scanned the quayside impatiently. He needed to see where she was, to see her face properly at last. The moment the ropes had been secured, he strode down the gangplank. He had to find the owner of that rich and wonderful voice. It was her. It must be.

‘Je vous félicite,’ said the voice. ‘Et je vous remercie, aussi.’

The voice seemed to be coming from among a large group of French fishermen, standing just a few yards from the barge. A Russian officer in uniform was with them, his back towards Dominic. Was the elusive girl there, too, hidden by the Frenchmen’s burly backs?

The officer turned away from the group of fishermen. ‘Au revoir,’ he said, raising his hand in farewell and starting across the quay towards the barge.

Dominic’s stomach clenched in horror. Before he could stop himself, he uttered a savage curse. He was losing his wits! He had been weaving his missish dreams around a voice that belonged to a man!

A tall, dark man in civilian clothes had stepped off the military barge. He looked rather pale, as if he, too, did not enjoy the sea. But he also looked important. He certainly had an air.

Alex saluted him. ‘Captain Alexei Ivanovich Alexandrov, at your service, sir,’ she said smartly, in French.

For a second, the older man looked shocked, but then he returned Alex’s salute with a tiny bow. ‘Calder, appointed as liaison between his Majesty’s Government and your Emperor,’ he replied, in impeccable French. ‘My task is to ensure that his Imperial Majesty’s stay in England is as pleasant and enjoyable as possible. And if anyone in the Emperor’s suite should need assistance, please ensure he asks me. It is precisely why I am here.’

Goodness. He seemed a rather exalted personage to be performing such a relatively menial role. For the moment, however, Alex merely thanked him, as courtesy demanded.

‘Will you please to come out to the Impregnable, Captain?’ Calder indicated a warship at anchor in the bay. ‘You will wish to see where your Emperor is to be housed during the voyage.’ With that, he made his way back on to the barge.

Alex hesitated. Her companion looked remarkably at ease on that flimsy plank of wood, even though it had dipped a little with every step he took. Courage! she told herself. Forward! She stepped on to the plank and marched along it, resolutely ignoring the swaying under her feet. She was an officer of proven courage. What was a little water to her?

Safely on the deck of Impregnable at last, Alex allowed Calder to lead the way down a steep ladder and into a large, light cabin at the stern of the ship. It had been laid out with sumptuous furnishings: gilded furniture, paintings, plate, delicate glassware, and every other comfort that a high-ranking traveller might desire.

The ship moved suddenly, just as Alex turned to close the cabin door behind her. She reached for the latch, missed, and stumbled into a small table alongside.

‘You’ll get your sea legs soon enough, Captain,’ Calder said. ‘But, until you do, it will be wise to hang on, if you are moving around the ship. Especially going up and down the companionways.’

‘Companionways?’

‘The stairs between decks,’ he explained. ‘The Navy has its own language.’

‘You will forgive me if I say so, sir, but I am extremely surprised to meet an Englishman who not only speaks perfect French, but understands naval slang as well.’

‘My mother is French,’ he replied quickly.

‘That would explain it. Though I would be astonished to learn that she had served in the Navy.’

Calder almost smiled. ‘Touché, Captain. No, of course she did not. But I, myself, have often ventured to sea. We are a maritime nation, we British. It’s in our blood. Whereas for you, I imagine, the vast tracts of steppe play the same role.’

He was right. He was a man of insight, this Mr Calder. Unless…? ‘Have you visited Russia, Mr Calder?’

He looked slightly startled for a moment, but he replied easily enough, ‘No, Captain, I have not. You will understand, being a military man, that travel has been…ah…a little difficult for civilians, these last fifteen years or so. However, now that Bonaparte is safely settled as Emperor of Elba—’ he made a sound in his throat that could have been a snort of derision ‘—now that he is Emperor of Elba,’ he repeated, ‘the English are again indulging their love of travelling. Especially to Paris, of course. Perhaps even as far as Russia? It repays the effort, I am sure.’

‘Oh, indeed, sir. For Russia is such a vast country that we have everything.’

‘Except…’ said Calder softly, pausing on the word, ‘except the sea.’

At that moment, the ship lurched again. Alex felt as though her stomach had remained fixed in the air while the rest of her body sank by a foot.

‘May I suggest you sit, Captain? Then you will not have to put so much effort into trying to keep your balance.’

He sounds almost paternal, Alex thought, wonderingly. Why should a rather stern-faced Englishman take the least trouble over a Russian soldier who looked barely half his own age? But she sat, nonetheless.

‘I can imagine how you feel. I do not suffer from seasickness myself, but I have a much younger brother who goes green at the very sight of a ship.’

‘I see,’ Alex said automatically, feeling increasingly queasy.

‘But it does mean that I am well acquainted with all the best remedies. If you should start to feel ill on the voyage, I will have the galley prepare you a special tisane which will relieve the symptoms, I promise.’

‘You are more than kind, sir.’ With the swell now worsening, she felt real gratitude to this strange Englishman. He might yet turn out to be her saviour.

‘However, to business.’ In clipped tones, Calder described the practical arrangements that had been made for the Emperor’s comfort. There was nothing that Alex could cavil at. Calder, and his naval colleagues, seemed to have thought of just about everything. ‘Emperor Alexander’s host on this voyage to England will be his Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence, the Prince Regent’s brother. He is a naval man himself. I should perhaps warn you that he has… um…a tendency to be a little bluff. I hope that the Emperor will not take offence. Naval language can be a little ripe, on occasion.’

Alex smiled. In her years as a common trooper, she had probably encountered a great deal more ripe language than any prince of the blood royal would use in front of the Tsar. ‘His Imperial Majesty,’ she replied carefully, ‘is a man of impeccable taste and manners. He will certainly not do anything to put his host out of countenance.’

‘Excellent, thank you.’

‘At what hour is the Emperor’s party expected to come on board?’

‘About an hour or two before the tide, I expect,’ Calder said. ‘The captain of the Impregnable will give us exact information shortly. Tell me, Captain Alexandrov, does his Imperial Majesty travel with a large suite?’

‘No, not on this occasion,’ Alex said. ‘He did not wish to impose on his host.’ She went on to list all the people who were travelling in the Emperor’s immediate entourage.

Calder remained inscrutable throughout her recital. He could clearly be a difficult man to read, when he chose.

‘The Prince Regent has had a splendid set of rooms prepared for the Emperor at St James’s Palace. I am sure his Imperial Majesty will be most comfortable there. His suite also.’

‘Oh dear.’ The words were out before Alex had time to think.

Calder’s eyebrows rose. ‘There is a difficulty?’

‘His Imperial Majesty—’ She stopped, trying to collect her thoughts. ‘You will be aware, I’m sure, Mr Calder, that his Imperial Majesty’s sister, the Grand Duchess, Catherine of Oldenburg, is already in London, on a private visit.’

Calder nodded.

‘His Imperial Majesty has no desire to inconvenience his royal host, but he is extremely fond of his sister, and he has decided that he will reside with her, at the Pulteney Hotel. I assume that will be in order?’ She tried to say it in the airy voice of real assurance, knowing that the Tsar’s mind was absolutely made up on the issue. By failing to forewarn the Prince Regent of his plans, he had also ensured that nothing could be done to thwart them.

‘The Regent, like his Imperial Majesty, is a man of impeccable manners. I can assure you, Captain Alexandrov, that everything shall be done exactly as the Emperor wishes. Provided, of course, that the Pulteney Hotel is able to offer the necessary accommodation for such a guest.’ He quirked an eyebrow.

Alex had a feeling she was blushing. She knew perfectly well that the arrangements had already been made, by the Grand Duchess. ‘I am sure that his Majesty will be more than happy to accept the Prince Regent’s hospitality if the Pulteney fails to come up to scratch. But since it is his Majesty’s own choice, I do sincerely hope that the Pulteney can provide adequate facilities.’

‘No doubt it will,’ Calder said laconically. ‘No doubt it will.’

‘I have explained the arrangements to the Emperor’s junior aide-de-camp,’ Dominic said to the captain of the Impregnable a little later. ‘You may have a spot of bother with him on the voyage. He turns green at the slightest lift of the deck.’

‘Poor lad. He has my sympathy.’ Captain Wood smiled. ‘He doesn’t seem old enough to be an aide-de-camp.’

‘He doesn’t seem old enough to be in uniform at all. But he must be. Firstly, he’s a captain, though I suppose that could be a temporary promotion. But also—did you notice?—he wears the Cross of St George. That’s one of Russia’s highest honours for gallantry. He must have seen action, in spite of his youth.’

Dominic was still finding it difficult to account for his own initial reaction to the young Russian. Alexandrov looked nothing at all like Dominic’s admittedly hazy memory of the amazing young woman at the stable fire, though that was the image that the sound of Alexandrov’s voice had conjured up in Dominic’s mind. Apart from the short hair, there could be no similarity. Dominic’s smoke-fuddled brain must be playing tricks on him. Alexandrov was a small, thin young man with closely cropped hair and unremarkable features, but he seemed a nice enough lad, and one whose quick wits would make him good company. Dominic would just have to learn to ignore the melodious richness of his voice and to banish the memories of that girl for good. That should not be too difficult, surely? After all, he had no chance of ever finding her again. The only practical course was to forget about her.

‘Tell me, Duke, is it true that the Emperor has brought dozens of Russian hangers-on?’

‘Yes. But console yourself. Your fellow captain on the Jason will have not only the Prussian King, but also two of his sons, at least one of his brothers, and various uncles and nephews to boot.’

‘Well, the Royal Navy is big enough to deal with whatever they send. They have armies, but we have the Navy, and that’s what matters. And it will be even stronger once we have the Dutch alliance, from Princess Charlotte’s marriage.’

Dominic nodded. ‘How soon do you expect to sail, Captain?’

‘In about two hours. With the wind in its present quarter, we should make Dover in very good time.’

‘Dare I hope that the voyage will be quick enough to save that young lad from too much distress?’

‘You are generous, Duke, to concern yourself with him.’

‘Perhaps.’ Dominic tried again to banish the embarrassing memory of that quayside encounter. ‘But, as the British liaison officer, I’d rather not have an invalid on my hands. Not when I have to house them all. And, incidentally, to explain to the Regent that the Emperor has spurned his very expensive hospitality.’

‘Truly?’

‘So it appears. Young Alexandrov tells me—that is to say, it rather slipped out—that the Emperor is determined to stay at the Pulteney Hotel along with his sister, the Grand Duchess. So the Regent’s plans to house him in the utmost state in St James’s Palace have come to naught. The first round goes to the Emperor.’

Alex groaned yet again. How could she possibly be so sick when everything inside her was one vast, aching emptiness? At least, the Emperor had excused her from attendance on him. If only she could just—

‘Ah, Alexandrov.’ The cabin door had opened to admit Calder, followed by a swarthy seaman carrying a steaming mug. ‘Give that to me now, man,’ Calder said in English, gesturing towards the mug. ‘I’ll take charge of our guest.’

‘Aye aye, your Grace.’ The sailor passed the mug to Calder. ‘Prefers rum meself,’ he said, casting a look of profound distrust at the strange brew. ‘Sovereign, rum is, for most any ailment.’

‘You may return to your duties,’ Calder said sharply, slipping a coin into the seaman’s hand. The man knuckled his forehead and left, with the slap of bare feet on wood.

Alex had tried to ignore the English. But one thing she had understood quite clearly. The seaman had addressed Calder as ‘your Grace’. Surely that title was given only to dukes? Was Calder a duke? If so, his role as a liaison officer was even stranger than she had thought. The ship lurched and she groaned again.

Calder—the Duke?—put an arm under Alex’s shoulders and raised her enough to bring the mug to her lips. ‘Drink a little,’ he said in French. ‘This will help to settle your stomach.’

The smell was slightly perfumed, and spicy. It was— The nausea overcame her again, and she tried to push the mug away.

‘Believe me, it will be worth the effort. Come now.’ He brought the mug back to her mouth.

Trying to ignore the smell, she sipped. It did taste of spice. Ginger, was it? She swallowed. The nausea did not immediately return.

‘Good. Now a little more.’

She sipped again. Soon she had drunk about a quarter of the tisane. It warmed her aching stomach.

‘I will leave it here by your bunk. It is best drunk hot, but, even cold, it will help. Now, you should sleep, if you can, or, better still, come up on deck.’

The thought of walking up the steps, and standing on that swaying deck, made Alex’s head reel. Would she ever stand upright again?

He must have seen the reaction in her face, for he said, ‘I know it sounds like the least attractive prospect in the world but, believe me, the fresh air in your face will make you feel much better. So, which shall it be? Sleep? Or fresh air?’

‘I shall follow your advice, sir.’

Calder smiled suddenly. It transformed his rather harsh features. ‘You are feeling better. I am glad of it. We shall soon be able to see the white cliffs of Dover. And that, my fine young friend, will be where your ordeal will end.’

Alex groaned. Just at the moment, she was sure it never would.

‘I do understand,’ he said. ‘You feel as if you are about to die and nothing can save you. But, after five minutes on dry land and with some food inside you—’

She clapped a hand over her mouth at the very thought.

‘With some food inside you,’ he repeated, ignoring her distress, ‘you will feel quite yourself again. And we shall be able to join the Emperor’s suite on its way to London. You would not wish to be left behind, would you?’

‘Oh, no! I am here to serve his Majesty. Where he goes, I must follow, no matter what the circumstances.’

‘You’re a brave lad,’ Calder said, patting her shoulder. ‘Come now, let’s have you up on deck.’

She sat up slowly, trying to control the dizziness. Then she swung her legs to the floor. Surprisingly, she felt rather better. That tisane was working miracles. He offered an arm, but she ignored it. ‘I can manage,’ she said, putting her weight on her legs.

He caught her just as she started to fall. ‘You are stubborn, Alexei Ivanovich.’

She was surprised to hear him use the Russian form of address. Something else to ponder over when her brain was fit to think once more.

‘Curb your Russian pride for a moment, my fiery young steed, and allow me to help you up on deck. I promise I will not do more than is absolutely necessary. Your standing as a brave soldier will not be undermined in any way.’

‘You are more than kind, sir,’ she said, allowing him to take her weight.

Within five minutes, they had negotiated the steep stairs and Alex was managing to support herself at last, leaning against the rail. The fresh air was indeed making her feel much better. And, in the distance, she could see land. ‘That is England, I suppose?’

‘Yes. The white cliffs of Dover, a beacon for returning British sailors, for centuries. It means they are home, and safe.’

‘I imagine it was very difficult when the rest of Europe was closed to you?’

‘Well…’ He smiled again. She fancied it was a rather enigmatic smile this time. ‘Mainland Europe was never really closed to the Royal Navy. We had bases all round the Mediterranean. We were not short of places to land or to resupply.’

‘And no doubt you could penetrate inland, too, if you wished?’

‘I imagine so. Not being a Navy man, I cannot be expected to have knowledge of such things.’ On a sudden, he sounded rather wary.

‘But you have sailed, sir. You told me that you had.’

‘It is true. I have. A little. Enough to know that I prefer my feet on dry land. As I fancy you do, too.’

At that moment they were joined by the ship’s captain. ‘I am delighted to see that you are on your feet, Captain Alexandrov,’ he said, in rather hesitant French. ‘The Duke has certainly looked after you very well.’

Oh, dear. It was true. ‘The Duke?’ she said, in her best imitation of total surprise. ‘But monsieur her best introduced himself as plain “Calder”.’

‘It is his way, Captain Alexandrov. He is Dominic Aikenhead, fourth Duke of Calder. I fear he has played a trick on you.’

The Duke straightened, as if very much on his dignity, but there was a decided twinkle in his eye when he said, ‘I beg your pardon, Alexei Ivanovich. I supposed that we were going to have to work together during your Emperor’s visit. I thought too many “your Graces” might get in the way.’

‘Indeed, your Grace,’ Alex said, trying to prevent herself from smiling. ‘I will try not to allow too many “your Graces” to get in the way of our working relationship, your Grace. Will that suit your Grace?’

The Duke burst out laughing. ‘Confound the boy. He gives me back my own again.’

‘You deserve it, too,’ said Captain Wood.

‘Aye. Probably.’ He turned back to Alex. ‘We can agree, I hope, that I shall be plain “Calder” to you? And that you shall be “Alexandrov” or “Alexei Ivanovich” to me. Agreed?’

Alex felt the beginnings of warmth around her heart. ‘Agreed,’ she said.


Chapter Three

‘How are you now, Alexei Ivanovich?’

Alex was not at present on duty, and so she was standing near the front of the immense crowd, watching the proceedings. Had the Duke sought her out merely to ask after her health? Strange, if true. And yet another example of his kindness. ‘Better, thank you, Calder. Much better,’ she answered politely. ‘I find I like the steadiness of Dover very much.’

‘Have you eaten?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’ he demanded sharply.

She bristled. She was grateful to him, but he had no right to order her life. ‘On board ship, I could not, even if I would have. And now that we are on land, there has been no opportunity. I must attend on his Majesty. I cannot take time out to fill my belly, however hungry I might be.’

Several voices hushed them angrily. The assembled dignitaries were now about to present their address, on behalf of the inhabitants of Dover.

Alex stood motionless throughout, trying to look blank. She understood it all, of course, though it was remarkably dull and pretentious.

The speech of welcome ended, and the Emperor stepped forward to reply. ‘Although I understand your language,’ he began, to murmurs of surprise all around, ‘I do not feel myself sufficiently acquainted with it to reply to you in English; and I must therefore request those gentlemen of the deputation who speak French to be my interpreters to those who do not.’ He then continued in French. His speech was received most warmly.

‘That was a considerable surprise, Alexei Ivanovich. Were you not aware of your Emperor’s talents?’

‘I…I have not been an aide-de-camp to his Majesty for very long, Duke. I…I have had no occasion to discover that he speaks English. How would I?’

‘How indeed? Do you tell me that no one in the Emperor’s suite speaks English?’

‘I think it was assumed that most of our hosts would speak French,’ Alex said, avoiding the question as best she could. Somehow she did not want to lie to this man. If she did, he would know it. She was sure of that.

‘Not everyone in England speaks French, you know, though most of the nobility does, I suppose. The royal family speaks German, so the King of Prussia and Marshal Blücher will be well served on that front. But if you, and others of the Emperor’s party, go out into London, you will not be able to make yourselves understood. That could be dangerous. Even for allies.’

‘Then we shall have to trust to our good-hearted liaison officer to rescue us, shall we not?’ she asked impudently.

He gave a snort of laughter. His eyes were dancing. ‘That, Alexei Ivanovich, is the sort of reply I should have expected from one of the sharp-tongued Cyprians of London, not from a battle-hardened cavalryman such as yourself.’

‘Don’t worry, Calder. I may not have your language, but I do have my sabre. I fancy it will be able to rescue me. Even if you do not.’

Major Zass, the Tsar’s principal aide-de-camp, smiled round at the group of young officers who were now assembled in the Pulteney Hotel. ‘That all went off very well,’ he said, ‘in spite of the problems on board ship.’

Alex felt the beginnings of a blush on her neck. He meant her seasickness. If it had not been for the Duke of Calder, it would have been even worse. He had been so very kind, so very thoughtful. Almost like a brother.

What a strange fancy to have. Was that how an elder brother would behave? She had no way of knowing. Her only brother was still a child. Yet Calder—

Zass was allocating various duties to his officers. ‘You, Alexandrov—’ at the sound of her name, Alex’s daydream evaporated and she came smartly to attention ‘—you will attend on his Imperial Majesty when he rides out on horseback and when he makes visits to the sights of London. We will not involve you in the balls and receptions, though. We all know, don’t we, gentlemen—?’ he cast a laughing glance round at the others, who were all smiling knowingly ‘—that Captain Alexandrov is no dancer. Indeed, I’d wager that he is actually frightened of ladies.’

Alex’s protest was drowned in the wave of laughter from her companions. There was no point in arguing. For it was true. She did avoid the company of ladies whenever she could. There was too much risk that they might see through her disguise.

‘More seriously,’ Zass continued, ‘you will all have met the Duke of Calder, who has been assigned to us as a liaison officer by the British Government. He appears to speak no Russian, only French and English. But it may be that he has some Russian, too. So no one—’ he looked sternly round at the assembled officers ‘—no one is to take any chances in his company. Do not assume he will not understand what you are saying. I trust I make myself clear?’

‘Sir!’ the officers said, in chorus.

‘Good. Alexandrov, you seemed to be particularly friendly with the Duke.’

‘Sir, it…it was simply that he was kind to me when I was ill on board ship.’

‘That may well be true, but—’ He stopped in mid-sentence, frowning. ‘I think I need a private word with you, Alexandrov,’ he said, beckoning her into an empty side-room. The other members of the Emperor’s suite were left to continue gossiping and joking together.

‘It would be particularly useful, Alexei Ivanovich, if you were to become friendly with the Duke of Calder. We believe he is not quite what he seems. Why, for example, is a duke, no less, acting as liaison officer? There must be many officers of the British army who speak French well enough for the task. It is beneath him. So, why does he do it?’

‘You suspect he is a spy?’ Alex breathed wonderingly. He had been so kind to her. She had accepted it, had even begun to return his warmth. Was it all just playacting, a means of gaining her trust? But why? She was the most junior member of the Emperor’s entourage. She knew nothing. Nothing at all.

‘It is possible. The English have stood alone against Bonaparte for many years, trusting no one. We may be allies now, but there have been moments…’

Alex caught her breath. Was Zass about to criticise the Tsar? Surely not?

Zass laughed harshly. ‘I am sure the allies did only what was necessary for the sake of their countries. As did our beloved Tsar. But from England’s point of view, it would not have seemed so. For them, all the allies were fickle, and unpredictable. The English have never trusted Russia. Which may go some way to explaining your Duke’s presence here.’

‘My Duke?’ Alex exclaimed. ‘I have only just met the man.’

‘He is yours, Alexandrov. His Majesty gives him to you. To find out everything you can about him. For your country. Is that understood?’

‘Perfectly, sir.’

‘Excellent.’ He made to leave, but turned suddenly. ‘The Duke does not know about your background, does he? I mean your command of English?’

‘No, sir. I have been taking pains to look particularly stupid and uncomprehending every time English is spoken.’

‘Good. Make sure it stays that way. I will expect your report, on a daily basis. Everything, you understand, no matter how trivial.’

‘Of course, sir.’

Satisfied, Zass left the room without another word.

Alex allowed her shoulders to relax. She let out the breath she had been holding. Zass made her nervous. His Majesty had promised that the secret of her real identity would be shared only with Court Minister Volkonsky. And yet, Zass was very close to the Emperor. He might even know—

No! There was absolutely no point in speculating. She had to behave as if she were indeed Alexei Ivanovich Alexandrov, commissioned officer in the Mariupol Hussars, and temporary aide-de-camp to his Majesty. A temporary ADC whose task was to spy on the Duke of Calder, and to discover as much as possible about the intentions of the British Government.

It was such a messy business. Her instincts had been telling her to trust the man, to offer him true friendship. But that was impossible now. The coldness of duty was fixing itself around her heart, freezing the warmth that had begun to settle there. Duty! Only duty! Emotion was for females!

So the Duke of Calder lowered himself to become a spy. Possibly. It sat uncomfortably with his exalted station. Spying was a very dirty business.

That last thought made her laugh aloud. If spying was a dirty business, Alex herself was now immersed in it. Up to her neck.

‘His Grace the Duke of Calder, sir.’ The waiter bowed low and then withdrew, his eyes goggling.

Zass stepped forward and bowed. ‘Your Grace,’ he said smoothly, in French, ‘we had not expected the pleasure of your company again this evening.’

Dominic smiled at the aide-de-camp and looked slowly round the room, marking each man. About half Zass’s officers were present, but there was no sign of young Alexandrov. A pity. He was an entertaining young cub.

‘I have come to serve as escort to his Imperial Majesty.’ No response. Dominic tried again. ‘For his Royal Highness the Prince Regent’s banquet. At Carlton House.’ There was something wrong here. Most of the officers were gazing at their boots. And Zass was avoiding Dominic’s eye. ‘Is there some problem I am unaware of, Major?’ Dominic asked coolly.

Zass licked his lips. ‘Perhaps you were not told, Duke. His Imperial Majesty plans to dine here. With his sister, the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg. I had understood that apologies had already been conveyed to the Prince Regent. The fatigues of the journey, you understand—’

‘Of course, sir. You need say nothing more.’ Dominic cursed silently. Fatigues of the journey, indeed! The Emperor’s energy was boundless. He was simply refusing to go. Prinny was already furious that the Emperor had declined the apartments in St James’s Palace. When he discovered that Alexander was refusing one of his sumptuous feasts as well, the Regent would probably sink into another childish sulk.

‘Thank you, Duke. I shall ensure that his Majesty is fully informed of what has happened. He will be very grateful to you.’

Dominic bowed his acknowledgement. But he was not so easily bested. ‘I have to tell you, Major, that no apologies have been conveyed to the Regent. Perhaps one of your officers… er…overlooked his task?’

Zass was looking thoroughly embarrassed now.

‘If the officer in question cares to present his apologies to me, I will convey them to the Regent. Along with those from his Imperial Majesty, naturally.’

Zass looked to be about to have an apoplexy. At that moment, young Alexandrov appeared, as if from nowhere. His slight form must have been hidden behind one of the bigger men. ‘Duke, it is my fault,’ he said simply, stepping forward to stand alongside Zass. ‘Major Zass tasked me with passing the Emperor’s apologies to you earlier today and I…I am afraid that I forgot. It must have been the seasickness. It… er…it put everything else out of my mind.’

The lad was not a very convincing liar, but Dominic knew he would have to pretend to believe him. Dominic was sure where the responsibility truly lay. ‘Perhaps, Major Zass, you would like to accompany me to see the Regent, to present the Emperor’s apologies in person?’ The man paled. Good. Dominic did not relish being made a fool of, especially with the connivance of a lad he had gone out of his way to help.

‘Captain Alexandrov will go, Duke,’ Zass said quickly, adding cruelly, ‘It was his mistake, after all.’

Dominic was appalled. That was no way for a senior officer to behave to his subordinates. But he said only, ‘Very well. When you are ready, Alexandrov, my carriage is at the door. We can ride to Carlton House together.’

Alex clattered down the staircase to the entrance hall, her spurs ringing. She settled her plumed shako on her head as she reached the last step. The Duke was standing by the main door, waiting for her. He was staring out into the street but, even from this angle, he looked magnificent in his full evening dress. Forbidding, too, she had to admit. He must have been very annoyed to discover the Emperor’s change of plans. As, no doubt, the Prince Regent would be also.

She had yet to have even the briefest glimpse of the Prince Regent, but all of Europe knew his reputation. Meg, Alex’s Scottish nurse, had said he was as handsome as a prince in a fairy tale, but that had been decades ago. He was no longer young, or handsome.

At that moment, Calder turned and saw her. She felt herself go bright red with embarrassment. She swore under her breath. Of all the difficulties of playing her role as a man, this was the worst. She had never been able to control it. And of course, this time, she had reason to blush. Calder was going to make her appear before the Prince Regent and take responsibility for the Emperor’s whims. Why had she put herself forward? There had been no real need, for Major Zass would undoubtedly have found a way out of the difficulty. But that might have involved some implied criticism of the Emperor. Such a thing was unacceptable.

‘There you are, Alexei Ivanovich. It is time we left.’

‘My apologies, Calder. My orderly had taken my shako away to brush it.’

Calder looked her up and down. ‘I must admit that the Hussar dress uniform is a most splendid one. Though perhaps,’ he added with a smile, ‘not the most practical.’

Alex relaxed a little. They were getting back to their earlier friendly banter. It felt very comfortable.

‘Come,’ he said briskly, ‘we had better go. The carriage had great difficulty getting here and may have even more in leaving.’ He shouldered his way through the press of people and flung open the door of his waiting carriage.

Alex had to admit he had remarkable presence in that powerful body. She followed in his wake, removing her shako. Its white plume was too tall to be worn inside the carriage.

‘Carlton House,’ Calder ordered sharply. ‘Quick as you can.’

The carriage moved off, but only slowly, for the crowds were in no mood to make way for anyone less than a visiting monarch. Alex glanced back at the hotel. The Tsar, his sister, and various of his officers were standing on the balcony. The crowd was cheering itself hoarse.

‘I fancy this may be quite a tedious journey,’ Calder said with a sigh.

Alex nodded and leaned back in her corner.

‘You will forgive my curiosity, I hope, Alexei Ivanovich, but I cannot help remarking that you are very young to have seen even one battle. Yet I know from the cross you wear that you must have done. It was won at Borodino, I was told.’

Alex launched into the answers she had long ago learned by rote. ‘I am not nearly as young as I look, Duke. I have been serving in his Majesty’s army for more than five years now.’

‘Borodino was not your first battle then?’

She shook her head. ‘I suffer from my lack of beard, but my comrades soon become accustomed.’

‘I’m sure they bait you unmercifully.’

She shook her head again. ‘The amusement soon palls. My youthful appearance has long been accepted. It is only when I meet new people, such as yourself, that it is remarked upon. What matters to my comrades is that I should be an efficient officer and that my soldiers should obey me without question. As they do.’

‘I’m sure they do. You seem to me to be a remarkably resolute young man.’

‘Not so very young, Duke. I am twenty-four years old.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Indeed? Now that I would not have believed.’

She laughed. Usually, at this point in her recital, she would be feeling uncomfortable. But, with this man, it had not happened. Perhaps it was that brotherly kindness? She told herself that it could be nothing else.

The carriage stopped so suddenly that they were both thrown forward. The Duke swore. Then, letting down the glass, he stuck his head out to speak to the coachman. Returning, he said, with a grimace, ‘We are stuck here, I fear. Marshal Blücher has arrived at Carlton House. Even a man on horseback cannot get through.’

Alex picked up her shako. ‘Shall we walk, Duke?’ she asked, with a slight smile.

‘If you wish.’ He reached for the door handle. ‘But wearing that fine Russian uniform, you, too, may find yourself being mobbed.’

Alex put a hand to the hilt of her sabre. ‘Have no fear, sir. If you should be attacked, I will spring to your defence.’

The Duke looked down at her from his superior height. For a fraction of a second, he appeared totally thunderstruck. Then he burst into laughter. ‘With you at my side, Alexandrov, I do believe that anything is possible.’

At the gates of Carlton House, the crowd was enormous, the noise deafening. Dominic had had to use his height and weight to force a path through. For all young Alexandrov’s bluster, he would never have been able to do it by himself. He was fiercely proud, and as brave as a lion, but physically he was as slight as a girl. Such a strange combination in a young man. Yet an immensely likable character, nonetheless.

Dominic decided it was impossible to go any further by the direct route. The crowd was shouting for Blücher, with even more enthusiasm than their earlier huzzas for the Emperor, outside the Pulteney. ‘Come, Alexandrov. Let us go round by the stables.’

The young Russian nodded and followed, holding his sabre tight against his side so that it would not impede their progress.

‘At least I won’t lose you, even among all these people,’ Dominic shouted over his shoulder. ‘With that incredible plume, I could find you in a throng of thousands.’

Alexandrov grinned his response.

The lad responded very well to being roasted. No doubt he was used to it. Yet he had begun to look a little nervous now, probably at the prospect of apologising to the Regent in person. Dominic suddenly felt ashamed of himself for tricking the lad into believing he must do so. That had never been his intention. Was he seeking revenge for the fact that Alexandrov’s voice disturbed him still? Unworthy, if so. It was not Alexandrov’s fault that Dominic’s mind was playing tricks on him.

The stable gates were closed and manned by soldiers. ‘Let us in,’ Dominic ordered. ‘I am the Duke of Calder and this officer is on the staff of his Majesty the Russian Emperor.’

‘Daren’t do it, sir. Er…your Grace.’

‘Nonsense. Open up at once.’

The soldier stood stiffly to attention. He made no move to obey Dominic. ‘We’ve only just managed to get these gates closed, sir. We opened them for Marshal Blücher’s carriage and were almost crushed by the people flooding in around him. There are still hundreds of them inside the house. You’ll have to go in by the main gate. Sorry, sir.’

‘Fetch your officer.’

It did not take Dominic long to convince the young lieutenant that he ought to be able to open the stable gates just enough to admit two gentlemen. And that, if he was any kind of officer at all, he should be able to ensure that none of the milling crowd could force a way through.

Within minutes, Dominic was leading the way into Carlton House. They arrived in the grand hall just in time to see the Prince Regent and Marshal Blücher emerge from the Regent’s private apartments. The crowd cheered ecstatically. For Blücher, of course. But the Prince had not lost his sense of theatre. In the midst of the huge throng, he invited Blücher to kneel so that he could fasten a medallion on the old man’s shoulder. Dominic fancied that the portrait on the medallion was of the Regent himself. That was very much his way. The Marshal, however, seemed to be overcome by the honour. As he rose, he kissed the Regent’s hand.

‘Wait here,’ Dominic shouted into Alexandrov’s ear. ‘I’ll go and make sure the Regent’s aides know about the Emperor’s change of plans.’

‘But if I am to apologize—’

‘You are not,’ Dominic said firmly, glad to be able to clear his conscience at last. ‘I’ll say all that is necessary on your behalf.’

‘But you cannot—’

Dominic did not wait to listen to the young man’s protests. All he wanted now was to pass his message and then to escape from this infernal circus. Prinny might delight in it all. But for ordinary mortals, the next few weeks were going to be a continuing trial.


Chapter Four

Dominic ushered Alexandrov through the front door into the sudden quiet of the spacious hallway. Withering, the Aikenhead family butler, bowed as he took their hats. ‘Lord Leo has just this minute arrived, your Grace. I believe he is in the library.’

‘Excellent. Thank you, Withering.’ Then, reverting to French, ‘Come and meet my brother, Alexei Ivanovich. Must say I wasn’t expecting him.’

‘Perhaps he could not resist all the London festivities, Duke?’

‘I take leave to doubt that. But you shall judge for yourself. Come.’ Almost as an afterthought, Dominic said, ‘Send in some of the best Madeira, would you, Withering?’

‘It is already done, your Grace. Lord Leo—’

Dominic laughed. ‘I should have known. My brother makes free with my cellar whenever he favours me with his company.’

As Withering flung open the double doors to Dominic’s library, the solitary figure in the room rose from the leather armchair and strode towards them, grinning widely. ‘Dominic! Hadn’t thought to see you tonight, old man. Assumed the Regent would have you running round in circles until dawn.’

‘In other words, you thought you’d have hours yet to make free with my Madeira,’ Dominic retorted, trying not to show just how pleased he was to see his brother.

‘But of course,’ Leo said smoothly, throwing a questioning glance towards Dominic’s companion.

‘Forgive me, Alexandrov,’ Dominic said quickly, reverting to French. ‘That was bad manners on my part. You will allow me to present my brother, Lord Leo Aikenhead? Leo, this is Captain Alexei Ivanovich Alexandrov, one of the aides-de-camp to his Majesty the Emperor Alexander.’

The two men bowed to each other and exchanged courtesies.

‘Surprising that you are both off duty so early,’ Leo said in his accentless French. ‘Or are you?’

‘Yes. Until tomorrow morning. Is that not so, Alexei Ivanovich?’

‘His Imperial Majesty has no further need of me this evening. He dines with the Grand Duchess. However, if he rides out before breakfast, as he usually does, I shall be on duty then.’

‘No hard drinking for you tonight, then, Captain? What a pity. Thought to introduce you to some of Dominic’s better bottles.’

‘I—’

‘I must ask you to forgive my brother, Alexei Ivanovich,’ Dominic said quickly. ‘He is incorrigible. And in spite of his efforts to paint himself as a drunken sot, I can assure you that he is only trying to humbug you. And me.’

The young Russian smiled first at Dominic and then at Leo. ‘Believe me, I have had much worse from my compatriots. But I should perhaps warn you that I very rarely drink.’

Leo’s eyes widened, but he was too polite to make any comment. Dominic, by contrast, was not at all surprised. It was such a pity that they were, so to speak, on opposite sides, for Alexei Ivanovich was a remarkable and admirable young soldier, the kind whom Dominic would have been happy to call his friend. Alexandrov had an inner core of steel. In the space of only a day or so, Dominic had learned that he was not the sort of man who would conform where it did not suit him. And that he was definitely a man who should not be underestimated.

Alex put down her half-empty glass. Her invariable rule was to permit herself no more than one glass of wine, and always with food. On this occasion, she had been very tempted to break her rule for the Duke’s splendid wine. But she did not dare. Not with gentlemen as astute as the Duke and his brother.

The Duke tried again. ‘Will you have a little more wine, Alexei Ivanovich?’

Alex shook her head, smiling across at him. ‘No, Calder, I thank you. Your wine is truly excellent, but I never have more than one glass.’

‘Haven’t even had that,’ Lord Leo interposed, gazing pointedly at her glass. ‘If I were a betting man, I’d be tempted to wager that you don’t really like wine at all. Am I right, sir?’

‘I—’

‘Don’t bother to reply, Alexandrov,’ the Duke said quickly. ‘My brother has a disreputable habit of trying to provoke others, even when they are our guests. I have spent years trying to cure him of it.’ He sighed theatrically. ‘I’m afraid I have failed.’

‘Not true, brother mine. Never provoke my guests. Only yours.’

Alex, astonished, looked from one to the other. The Duke was trying, unsuccessfully, not to laugh at his brother’s wicked comment. Lord Leo had an expression that was…almost angelic. Angel laced with grinning devil. Was this what it was to be brothers, and to be truly close? It seemed more than wonderful. With no sisters, and only one, much younger, half-brother, Alex had never experienced anything like this. What’s more, as a mere female, she had been expected to spend all her time acquiring domestic skills. Even if she had had sisters, she doubted that her stepmother would have permitted anything bordering on frivolity. A girl’s role was to learn what she needed in order to be a good daughter first, and then a good wife to a man chosen by her parents. Duty was everything. Enjoyment, and laughter, had no place at all.

As she stared, wide-eyed, at the Aikenhead brothers, she was visited by a subversive thought. If her own Scottish mother had brought her back here, would her life have been totally different? Would she have been happy to have remained in the role of a girl? Her restlessness had been largely her father’s fault, of course, for he had brought her up in a military environment while he himself was serving in the Hussars. She had absorbed the life through every single pore of her body until she had been living it every minute of every day. She had ridden like a Hussar, eaten like a Hussar, thought like a Hussar. It had become the life she loved and the life she wanted. So, when her father had left the army in favour of a civil post, it had been as if Alex were cast into prison. Particularly so when her father had married again, to a shrewish woman who believed that the role of an unmarried girl was silence and sewing. And to be addressed, formally, as ‘Alexandra’, rather than the familiar Scottish ‘Alex’ that had always seemed so loving.

The butler returned to clear the plates. ‘Lord Jack has just this minute arrived, your Grace,’ he said quietly.

Calder raised an eyebrow. ‘Strange. The wine is in here and Lord Jack is not. You must have seen an apparition, Withering.’

Alex looked down at the table and pursed her lips hard, trying to conceal her amusement. Calder must not suspect that she had misled him about her knowledge of English. Oh, this was becoming so very difficult.

‘Lord Jack,’ Withering said in a lofty tone, ‘was informed that your Grace had a foreign guest at the supper table. He therefore repaired to the library.’

‘And my Madeira,’ laughed Calder, slapping the table with his hand. ‘Not an apparition then. Tell my brother, if you please, that we shall join him shortly.’

The butler bowed and withdrew.

Calder then explained, in French, that his youngest brother had just arrived. ‘I should warn you, Alexei Ivanovich, that Jack is something of a scapegrace. In fact, he’s even worse than brother Leo.’

‘Thank you, Dominic,’ Lord Leo said calmly.

Calder’s mouth quirked at the corner, by just a tiny fraction. He continued, as if his brother had not spoken, ‘Jack will lead you astray, if you give him half a chance. He is about your age, and he thinks that Leo and I are now old and staid, quite beyond redemption. He will try to lure you off to gaming hells, and heaven knows what else.’

Alex hoped fervently that she was not blushing again. ‘I am grateful to you for the warning, Duke. But I do not gamble.’ The brothers’ surprise was evident. Alex decided to give them her usual lie. ‘I’m afraid I cannot afford it. My family may be noble—as you probably know, that is a requirement for officer status in the Russian army—but that does not mean we are rich. I cannot, and will not, wager my next meal against the turn of a card. I apologize now if that is a disappointment to you.’

‘Not to me, Alexei Ivanovich,’ Calder said. ‘The Prince Regent tasked me to take particular care that the Emperor’s officers did not get into trouble through playing for high stakes here in London.’

‘And how, pray, were you supposed to ensure that?’ Lord Leo asked innocently.

‘No idea.’ Calder grinned. ‘Perhaps Prinny thinks I have a magic wand?’

Lord Leo grinned back, shaking his head.

Alex swallowed, feeling a little embarrassed. Was it permissible to criticise the Regent in this way? No Russian officer would ever say any such thing about the Emperor. Never.

‘Forgive me, Alexandrov. I did not mean to embarrass you. Like all monarchs, the Prince Regent sees it as his role to issue commands. It is for others to find ways of carrying them out. Practicalities are for underlings. Among whom I number myself.’

Alex’s eyes widened. A duke? An underling?

She felt a slight draught as the door opened at her back.

‘I’ve finished the Madeira, brother,’ said a new, younger voice. ‘Would you have me start on the brandy now?’

Dominic was glad that both his brothers had arrived to help entertain the young Russian. It gave him an opportunity to watch the lad, to judge his motives. And to rid himself of that strange fancy, from Boulogne. Alexandrov’s remarkable voice still seemed to be able to stir strange feelings, deep in Dominic’s innermost core. He must banish them. He must. Alexandrov was a man, confound it! All that smoke must somehow have addled his brain.

Dominic forced himself to concentrate on his mission. He would have to find some way of testing the lad, even though he was definitely on his guard. He thought carefully before he spoke. On the other hand, his face did sometimes betray his emotions. That was one of Dominic’s mother’s failings, too. It was excusable in a woman, but not in a soldier. Alexandrov had clearly shown his astonishment, for example, at the Aikenhead family banter. He must be a lad with no older brothers.

‘What have you seen of London so far, Captain?’ Leo asked. Leo knew that Dominic’s ability to judge a man was better than his own, and so he willingly drew all the attention on to himself, leaving Dominic to observe. And deduce.

The young Russian seemed to have relaxed a little. He smiled at Leo and sat forward in his chair, picking up his half-full wine glass and turning it round and round in his strong, lean hand. It was a ploy, Dominic was sure. Had there been, somewhere in his past, a drunken episode of which he was ashamed? He struck Dominic as the kind of lad who would take such indiscretions extremely seriously.

‘His Majesty arrived only today, Lord Leo. So far, I have seen the inside of the Pulteney Hotel, the inside of your brother’s carriage, though not for long, since it proceeded at a pace resembling a one-legged snail, and—’

‘Do snails have legs in your country, Captain?’ Jack had adopted that high-handed tone which meant he was bent on mischief. ‘In this country, they seem to have lost their legs, somewhere along the way.’

‘I meant…I meant…’

Good grief, the young man was blushing. Well, well, well. He really was just like the Dowager. Not so manly after all, perhaps? No wonder he was avoiding alcohol, if it was so easy to put him out of countenance. It could be useful to know that.

‘It is…it is a…a family joke, which does not translate well. I meant only that Calder’s carriage was unable to proceed. And so we had to walk to Carlton House,’ Alexandrov continued, more fluently than before. ‘It is very grand inside.’

‘Far too much gilding for my taste,’ Jack muttered.

‘You must excuse my brother,’ Dominic said quickly. ‘His taste tends towards the furnishings of gambling dens and the like. We don’t often let him into polite company. In fact, we’ve been telling the world that he’s not our brother at all, but a changeling.’

Jack gasped and started to rise from his chair.

‘Unfortunately,’ Dominic continued calmly, ‘he looks so much like me that no one will believe us.’

Alexandrov nodded, rather pensively. ‘Perhaps you are both changelings, Duke,’ he said with an air of studied innocence. ‘Perhaps the true heir is Lord Leo, who looks nothing like either of you?’

Jack burst out laughing.

Beside him, Leo was grinning, too. ‘Seems to me that our Russian guest can give as good as he gets. I’d watch your tongue if I were you, Dominic.’

‘I shall clearly have to. I fancy that Captain Alexandrov must spend a lot of time being roasted by his fellow officers and sharpening his wit on them. Is that the way of it, Alexei Ivanovich?’

‘I find it does not do, Duke, to accept jibes meekly. The occasional riposte reminds my comrades that my role is not solely to provide sport for them.’

‘How true,’ Dominic said thoughtfully. He waited a moment more before striking. ‘And what, would you say, is your role, exactly?’

There was a decided pause before the Russian spoke again. ‘I…why, I am a captain in the Mariupol Hussars and have been honoured with the appointment as an aide-de-camp to his Imperial Majesty. You are already aware of that, I think.’

Dominic nodded slowly. ‘Just idle thoughts that came to me.’ He picked up his glass and took a long swallow. ‘It seemed to me that his Imperial Majesty already has a great many young officers in his suite. I simply wondered why you had been added to their number.’

‘Oh, that is easily explained, Duke,’ Alexandrov replied smoothly. He was fully in control now. ‘His Majesty had not seen me for some years, since he did me the honour—’ He reddened slightly and touched the Cross of St George on his breast. ‘His Majesty was gracious enough to wonder about my progress. Court Minister Volkonsky suggested that I might be attached to the staff for the duration of this visit.’

Now that, Dominic thought, was a well-rehearsed line, but he doubted that it was the whole truth. What kind of monarch remembered to check up on the progress of one young officer among so many? Especially one not seen for years? The fact that Alexandrov had a ready tale suggested that he had something to hide.

Dominic leant forward. ‘When did you—?’

The door opened again to admit the butler. Dominic raised his head, frowning. This was just the wrong moment for an interruption.

‘Excuse me, your Grace, but a messenger has this moment arrived. I understand it is a matter of some urgency. Will you see him?’

Dominic rose. Withering had given no indication of who the messenger was. Which meant that the man was possibly from Horse Guards. Or from the Foreign Secretary himself.

‘Thank you, Withering. I will come at once. No doubt it is yet another concern of the Regent’s. Possibly about the colour of his coat.’

The moment the door closed behind the Duke, Lord Jack launched into a stream of questions about Alex’s home and her family. She answered as best she could, trying to betray as little information as possible, but still she found herself saying more about her parents and her home than she had intended.

The two brothers had just begun a lively discussion on the dangerous topic of boxing when the Duke returned. He was looking grave, but his face softened at the sight of his brothers. ‘Arguing again? And in front of our guest, too.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought you had better manners, Jack.’

‘I’ll have you know, Dominic—’

‘Excuse him, if you would, Captain Alexandrov. He has always been an unruly brat and, unfortunately, Leo has never yet learned to keep him under control. He spoils him, you see.’

‘If you weren’t my brother, Dominic, I’d call you out for that!’ Lord Jack had jumped to his feet, fists clenched.

‘After that comment, I’m first in the queue,’ Lord Leo growled.

The Duke grinned. ‘I wouldn’t dare take you on, Leo. Even if I had choice of weapons, you’d best me every time. Jack, on the other hand… Well, Jack is improving with his fists, at least.’ He strolled forward to the table, lifted his wine glass and sipped. ‘And now, if you will allow me, Alexandrov, I will escort you back to the Pulteney.’

‘There is no need, Calder. I can certainly make my own way back.’

The Duke snorted. ‘This, from a pint-sized sabre-carrier who speaks not a word of English? No, my friend, the Regent has charged me to offer all assistance to the Emperor’s suite. I should be failing in my duty if I allowed you to be trampled underfoot.’

It would be most impolite to argue further. Besides, the Duke probably had business to discharge. Business resulting from that urgent message. She must do what she could to find out about that. Major Zass would be expecting her report on the Duke. ‘You are very good, Duke. And I willingly accept your company, if it is not an inconvenience. If you are required at Horse Guards, I could easily take a hackney back to the Pulteney.’

The Duke’s mouth twitched. ‘You might take one, but I doubt it would get you there. There are still crowds of people in the streets.’ He turned for the door. ‘Now, if you are ready, Alexei Ivanovich…?’

Alex felt a sudden glow. It must be his continued use of the Russian form of address, she decided. Familiar. Friendly. It could not be the Duke himself, for he was a daunting figure, one to beware of.

But then, as he ushered Alex out into the hall, he dropped an arm across her shoulders, in a brotherly fashion. Her heart stopped dead. Her insides plummeted down to her boots. Suddenly, she felt quite light-headed, as if she had drunk far too many glasses of champagne.

How could she think that, she who had never drunk more than one glass in her life? What on earth was happening to her?


Chapter Five

Late though it was, the streets were still packed with people. They seemed to be generally good humoured, but there was no mistaking the pervasive smell of gin. Looking over his shoulder as they pushed their way through towards the Pulteney, Dominic realised that young Alexandrov looked incredibly small and vulnerable. That sabre of his—which had no doubt tasted blood in battle—would be no help here in London.

‘Oi! Who d’ye think ye’re pushin’?’ A couple of feet behind Dominic, a man with arms like prize hams had turned a furious face on Alexandrov. The ruffian was at least three parts drunk and seemed to be spoiling for a fight. He raised a huge fist to strike the Russian.

Alexandrov’s hand went to his sabre-hilt and began to draw, just as Dominic moved to put himself between them. ‘Sheath it,’ Dominic cried, keeping his eyes fixed on the drunk. If he had to, Dominic could easily knock the man down, but that would be almost as risky as Alexandrov’s damned sabre. A fist fight could quickly turn into a street brawl and then a full-scale riot. ‘This is one of the Russian Emperor’s officers.’ Dominic was almost shouting to make himself heard. ‘We’re here to cheer the Russians, aren’t we?’

The drunk was beginning to look confused. His clenched fist had slackened a little. Around him, the crowd was muttering. One or two were trying to pull the drunk away.

‘Three cheers for the Emperor Alexander,’ Dominic cried. To his relief, at least a dozen voices responded. By the third cheer, it was probably fifty. And the drunk was cheering, too. His furious face now wore a beatific smile.

Dominic breathed a sigh of relief and pushed on through the crowd until they were out of danger in a fairly quiet side street. He had to warn Alexandrov about the risks he was taking. The young fire-eater would not always have Dominic at his side to calm the mob. ‘May I suggest, Alexei Ivanovich, that you would be unwise to brave the London streets alone?’

The young man bristled visibly and started to protest.

‘I intend no slur on your honour,’ Dominic said quickly, putting a hand on Alexandrov’s shoulder and gripping it lightly. He might need protection, but he was much too proud to admit it. ‘Your bravery is beyond question. I meant only that, with the London mob, it is remarkably easy to provoke a riot.’

Alexandrov had not attempted to shrug off Dominic’s hand, but he had become rather flushed. It seemed he was just as quick to anger as he was to put his hand to his sword.

‘I do not for a moment suggest that you would do so intentionally, Alexei Ivanovich. But if you had actually drawn that sabre of yours, their mood could have changed in the blink of an eye. They’re not overfond of foreigners, you see, even foreigners who have helped to defeat Bonaparte.’

‘Helped?’ exclaimed the young man, with savage emphasis. ‘You mistake, Duke. If one compares the losses of the Russian army with your own—’

Very quick to anger, Dominic decided. ‘I do not seek to belittle you, Alexandrov, or the Russian army.’ He patted the lad’s shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way. It did not seem to be helping, for Alexandrov flushed even more. ‘I seek only to assist you. You do accept that, I hope?’

As soon as Dominic removed his hand, Alexandrov’s angry flush began to subside. He even made a half-hearted attempt to smile. Did he feel he was being patronised? Was that the cause of his evident ill temper?

Another burst of cheering drowned Dominic’s attempted explanation. In the distance, he could see that Emperor Alexander had appeared once more on the balcony of the Pulteney Hotel. The crowd’s reception was rapturous.

‘That does not look to me like a lack of fondness for foreigners, Duke.’

‘Agreed. But please remember, Alexei Ivanovich, that the London mob has one characteristic above all. It is fickle.’

The young man appeared to consider Dominic’s words with rather more care than before. ‘I do understand your warning, Duke. I admit I was rash. And I ask you to forgive my display of…of ill temper. It was unwarranted.’

‘Doing it too brown, my friend. You have nothing to apologize for.’ Dominic smiled with relief. He had found himself unaccountably warming to this strange young warrior with the hair-trigger temper. The last thing he wanted was to offend him, even inadvertently. ‘Look! Your Emperor is leaving the balcony. Poor man, it seems the cheering crowd will give him no peace. Is he received in this way in Russia?’

‘Yes. No. Not exactly. The Tsar is “the Little Father” to his people. The…the relationship is not the same.’

Dominic frowned, wondering. A father to his people? For a second he imagined the Prince Regent in the role. It was so absurd that he had difficulty in keeping his face straight. A sideways glance showed him that Alexandrov was set to take offence again. He was quick to see slights to his beloved Emperor, was he not? ‘Forgive me, Alexei Ivanovich. In my mind, I could not help but compare your Emperor with our Prince Regent. He has been called many things, but “a father to his people” would be the most unlikely of all.’

‘You are not very respectful, Duke.’ Alexandrov looked puzzled.

‘It is our way, Alexandrov. The English are fiercely loyal to throne and country, but unwilling to be blind to their faults. And the monarch does not have absolute power here. The scandal sheets and the cartoons lampoon the Regent, his mistresses, his extravagances… It is our way.’

Alexandrov shook his head wonderingly. It was clear that he was finding it difficult to grasp the English attitude, so different from Russian ways. Yet he was at least trying to understand which, in Dominic’s experience, was unusual. Definitely an intriguing young man.

Dominic clapped his companion on the back. ‘Worry not, my friend. Such things will not happen to your Emperor while he is here. Besides, all London is determined to celebrate. What better figurehead than your young and virile Emperor?’

Alexandrov had flushed again. He swallowed. ‘Our beloved Tsar is a great man,’ he said simply.

They had reached the entrance to the Pulteney. Dominic fancied that the crowd was now beginning to thin a little, possibly because it was so late. It would be thoroughly unreasonable to expect the Russian Emperor to appear again. As the pair passed into the foyer of the hotel, he said as much to Alexandrov, adding, ‘But that will probably not prevent them from trying. I doubt that your “Little Father” and his suite will get much sleep tonight. Or any other night.’

‘The Emperor does not seem to need much sleep, Calder,’ Alexandrov said with a touch of pride. ‘I dare say you will see for yourself in the next few days. He is a man of enormous energy.’

‘If you can keep up with him, Alexei Ivanovich, I am sure that I can also. I’m not that old, you know.’ Dominic raised an eyebrow, expecting a witty retort.

Instead, Alexandrov reddened like a schoolboy. ‘I beg your pardon, Duke.’

Dominic shook his head and grinned widely. The boy had much to learn.

Alexandrov relaxed a little. ‘What I meant was that the aides-de-camp do not go everywhere with his Imperial Majesty. We each have specific duties. I, for example, attend his Majesty when he goes riding. But I am not required to attend him to balls, and such social events.’

‘Your are fortunate. Balls can be remarkably tedious affairs, I find.’

The lad was blushing again. ‘I…I have not attended many balls, Calder. But I would not say that those I have attended were…er…tedious.’

‘Oh? How would you describe them?’

From the look on the lad’s face, Dominic fancied the appropriate word would be ‘terrifying’. Now, why would he be afraid of such an event? Surely most young men would be delighted to be in the company of pretty young ladies?

‘I am afraid that I do not dance, Duke. When Mother Russia was fighting for her very survival, it would have been dishonourable for a soldier to spend time on learning such frivolous skills. Sabre-drill was much to be preferred.’ He spat out that last statement with considerable pride.

Dominic knew better than to pursue the matter. ‘Will Major Zass go riding with you, do you think?’ Riding in the park would provide a good opportunity to make contact with the Major in an informal, friendly way. Zass might even let slip something useful.

‘He may do. He does ride when he can be spared. His Majesty insists that we all ride, for the benefit of our health. Exercise is most important, he maintains.’

‘And his Majesty is right, of course. Tell me, Alexandrov, how shall I know whether his Majesty plans to ride in the mornings? Does he decide these things the previous evening?’

‘I fear not.’

‘Ah. Then I must send a servant here each morning, to find out what his Majesty’s plans are. May I instruct the servant to ask for you?’

Alexandrov smiled. ‘Of course. I always rise early, usually at first light.’

Dominic allowed himself a theatrical groan. ‘You would not do that if you had been dancing till four in the morning.’

‘No, perhaps not. Though his Majesty does. Often.’

‘I must be getting old,’ Dominic said ruefully. ‘Now, I must not keep you from your duties, Alexei Ivanovich. My servant will wait on you tomorrow. Will six o’clock be early enough?’

Alexandrov put his head on one side. ‘Well…’ he said slowly, ‘his Majesty often sets off before seven. Would six o’clock give you enough time to prepare yourself, Calder?’ He allowed his gaze to roam over Dominic’s immaculate evening clothes. ‘I have heard that London gentlemen take many hours to dress for the day. The tying of a cravat, I am told…’ He shook his head slightly.

Dominic felt his mouth twitch. ‘That may be true of Brummell, Alexei Ivanovich, but it is not true of me,’ he said, vehemently. ‘I have not slept with my horse on the eve of battle, as you have done, but I can assure you that if my servant brings me word before half past six, I can be riding in the park by seven.’

Alexandrov grinned mischievously. ‘Always assuming, of course, that you have not been dancing till five? I take it, Duke, that you are not going to a ball after you leave here?’

‘No, I am going to— I have a number of calls to make, Alexandrov. You have still to discover exactly what your monarch plans to do tomorrow. I must do the same for mine, even though my main duty is to attend on your Emperor. No doubt we will meet in the park tomorrow. I look forward to it. Meanwhile, I will bid you good night.’ He bowed to his companion and turned for the door.

‘Calder.’

Dominic turned back. Alexandrov was smiling at him, looking very small and trim in the huge foyer of the hotel. The picture of a boy soldier. Except that he was not a boy.

‘You did not give me a chance to thank you for your hospitality this evening. And for your help with the crowd. Thank you.’ He bowed formally.

‘My pleasure, Captain. And my brothers’. By the way, don’t believe everything they tell you. I am not nearly as bad as they paint me.’

Alexandrov merely bowed again and turned towards the stairs.

Smiling to himself, Dominic left the hotel and walked into Piccadilly. He was an interesting young man, Captain Alexandrov. And an entertaining companion, especially when he gave his wit free rein. It would be a pleasure to cultivate him further, Dominic thought warmly. Then icy duty intruded, spoiling his sunny mood. Alexandrov would have to be used, to provide an entrée to Major Zass and possibly to others of the Emperor’s court. And Dominic must say as much to Castlereagh, who would now be waiting impatiently for his report.

Tomorrow, in the park, Dominic would hope to further his acquaintance with Major Zass. And to judge just how well young Alexandrov sat a horse.

Alex managed to run nonchalantly up the stairs and round the first landing. Once she was out of sight of the foyer, she stopped, gripping the baluster rail tightly for support. Her free hand was shaking.

On the landing above, a burst of laughter forced her back to the present. Her brother officers had obviously been enjoying an evening off duty. One of them might spot her at any moment. She forced herself to straighten her back and march up the stairs, with her normal jaunty gait. No one must see any difference in Captain Alexandrov’s demeanour.

Almost all of the Tsar’s suite was in the reception room on the first floor. Some of them had clearly been indulging very freely in their Emperor’s hospitality. A couple were stretched out on the sofas, snoring loudly.

‘Alexei Ivanovich, where have you been?’ cried one, lurching towards Alex as if to fling an arm round her shoulder.

She sidestepped neatly. ‘Where is Major Zass? He is expecting my report.’

‘Wha’ report?’

Her thoughtless words had penetrated the drunken fog in the man’s brain. What report, indeed! She had been tasked by the Major in private and now, stupidly, she was talking about her mission in the midst of her drunken comrades.

Concentrate, Alex! What has happened to you? You are not usually so unaware. You have plenty of experience of dealing with men such as these.

But not with men such as the Duke of Calder, said a little voice from somewhere in the recesses of her mind. Calder had upset all her equilibrium. The moment he touched her, she had—




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