The Keys of Love Read online

  Prince Vasily of Rumania stood quietly stroking his moustache before he then leaned down and scooped up the unconscious Henrietta into his arms.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “She is stirring.”

  “Step back there, give her some air.”

  “Water, somebody.”

  Henrietta felt the rim of a glass thrust onto her lips, then water. She drank a few sips and opened her eyes.

  She was lying on a couch in what seemed to be the library. Anxious faces peered down at her.

  Neither the Duke nor Romany nor Lady Butterclere was there, but she recognised Eddie, Kitty and Nanny.

  She glimpsed the Prince of Wales as well, watching with concern from the doorway.

  Of Prince Vasily there was no sign at all.

  Nanny clapped her hands in such relief as Henrietta struggled to sit upright.

  “Thank Heavens,” crowed the old lady.

  Eddie hurried to put a cushion at Henrietta’s back.

  “What happened, Harrie?” he asked.

  “I was out on the terrace and I must have fainted.”

  “The first we knew of it was when that gentleman carried you in,” commented Kitty.

  “T-that gentleman. W-where is he now?”

  Kitty glanced about and shrugged.

  “Not here. He deposited you on the couch and then faded into the background. I think he needed a drink!”

  Henrietta beckoned to Nanny and she leaned close.

  “D-did you recognise him?”

  “No, to be honest, dear, I was too concerned about you. Why, who was it?

  “Prince V-Vasily,” Henrietta told her quietly.

  Nanny’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “But he wasn’t in his costume at all. He was got up like an English gentleman. In evening dress with a cape.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  Henrietta sank back and closed her eyes.

  Her heart was trembling in her breast. What was Prince Vasily doing in England? What was he doing at the ball? Had he been invited or had he come seeking herself?

  “Harrie?” It was Eddie kneeling by the couch.

  “Yes, Eddie?”

  “I’ve got to get the orchestra going again. Do you feel up to playing?”

  “Could I have just a little while to myself?”

  “Sure. We’ll play a few more waltzes. Those don’t need the piano. You join us when you’re ready.”

  The Prince of Wales called from the doorway.

  “How is the young lady?”

  “She’s okay, Your Royal Highness. What she’d like is for us all to leave her so she can compose herself.”

  With sympathetic murmurs all the guests who had flooded into the library now moved away.

  Nanny was the last, hovering at the door.

  “You’re sure, you’re all right?” she fussed.

  Henrietta nodded and Nanny closed the library door behind her.

  The silence was most welcome. There was just the faint crackle of logs in the hearth and then, from the distant ballroom, the violins struck up.

  How amazed the guests must have been as Prince Vasily burst through the terrace door, Henrietta in his arms.

  The Duke, Lady Butterclere and Romany must not have been present. No doubt they were ensconced in his study discussing the character of Miss Harrietta Reed!

  Henrietta twisted her hands together unhappily.

  How meanly the Duke had treated her and his poor fiancée.

  He had meant to kiss her, she was sure of that.

  She was equally sure that she would have let him.

  She could not forget the magic of his touch nor the flare of passion in his dark eyes. The dance had unleashed in her a scalding desire to be in his arms.

  She thought of Prince Vasily. Her skin crawled as she envisaged his hands on her body her breast crushed against his.

  Where was the ghastly creature now, she wondered.

  This was no good!

  She must compose herself, as Eddie had said. She had to go to the piano and play as if nothing had happened.

  She took another sip of water and swung her feet to the floor. She rose feeling unsteady. She would just take a few steps round the library till she felt fully herself.

  Firelight flickered on endless leather bound books.

  Henrietta trailed her fingers along the spines as she circled the room. She always loved reading and she paused at a section devoted to works in Latin.

  Here was Julius Caesar’s Gallic Wars.

  She took the book from the shelf and opened it.

  “So as well as hunting and shooting and poker, you read Latin as well?”

  Henrietta almost dropped the tome from her hands.

  The Duke stood surveying her from the doorway.

  “I yes, I do Your Grace.”

  “I suppose you read French too and even German?”

  “B-both,” Henrietta confessed reluctantly.

  She turned and slipped the book back into the shelf, her intention being to leave the library as soon as possible.

  The Duke, however, had other ideas. He stepped in to the room and closed the double doors behind him.

  He advanced on Henrietta, who could feel herself shrinking against the bookshelves.

  “You are a most intriguing creation,” he murmured, as he halted not three feet from her.

  “C-creation?”

  “Why yes.” His eyes ran appraisingly up and down her body. “A young lady who rides akimbo and yet reads Latin. A painted showgirl who can play the piano like a professional at the Conservatoire. Just who are you, Miss Reed, and from whom do you hide?”

  “H-hide?”

  “Are you a parrot, that you echo me so?”

  “P-parrot?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, answer me!” he exploded.

  Henrietta felt her head swim with alarm.

  The Duke was suspicious.

  Suppose he forced the truth from her lips that her blood was as blue as his, that she was disgracing her class and her good family name.

  The damage this might do to her father’s reputation made her feel sick with remorse.

  She began to sway, her hands groping the shelves behind her for support. Colour drained from her cheeks and she felt herself slide slowly down

  The Duke was all attention. He sprang forward and caught her, lifting her in his arms and carrying her back to the couch.

  “You did not rest long for enough,” he scolded her solicitously. “Should I call for Mrs. Poody?”

  Henrietta shook her head as his hand wavered.

  “Why is it I cannot keep away?” he whispered, so low it was almost to himself. “Why is it I cannot heed my stepsister’s warnings?”

  He traced a finger across her eyelids and down her cheek and it seemed as if he scored a trail across her flesh, so exquisite was the combination of pleasure and pain.

  Pleasure that it was his hand and pain that it was his hand too. For it must not be, it could not be, should not be. This hand should caress Romany not Harrietta Reed.

  Yet pleasure won.

  His hand so close by was too much of a temptation. She caught it in her own and brought it lovingly to her lips.

  The Duke’s nostrils flared above her.

  His eyes flashed. He twisted his hand so that hers was trapped, clenching hard so that her fingers felt crushed.

  His voice was choked, husky and urgent.

  “Madam, I must ask you are you free to do that?”

  Henrietta’s eyes widened.

  “Am I free?” she gasped.

  How dare he broach the subject, when his fiancée was only yards away, dancing in blissful ignorance?

  The Duke seemed unrepentant of his question.

  “Oh, God, God,” he groaned. “If only I knew who or what you are and to whom, if anyone, you belonged!”

  Henrietta tugged her hand free of his and stumbled to her feet. She must end all this now. She must not give in to her longing or fu
rther compromise her position.

  “Where are you going?”

  She was already at the door.

  “Your Grace, I must rejoin the orchestra.”

  “Ah. Eddie Bragg is awaiting!” said the Duke with a degree of bitterness.

  “My companions are waiting for me,” she replied firmly.

  With that, she opened the door and fled.

  *

  “You played as well as Paderewski!” pronounced the Prince of Wales enthusiastically.

  “T-thank you, sir, t-thank you,” muttered Henrietta, barely conscious of the Prince’s words.

  She did not know, in truth, how she had managed to perform. Her fingers seemed to move of their own accord while her frantic eyes scanned the throng of dancers.

  She was aware that the Duke had entered and was dancing with Romany, but for the moment at least, though her heart ached, the Duke was not her focus.

  No, it was Prince Vasily she was trying to track.

  On more than one occasion she had looked up from the piano to see him watching her with a curl of his lip.

  And then she glimpsed him circling the floor with a partner Lady Butterclere. This sight had set her pulse racing in horror.

  What might he divulge?

  “Ah, and here is our host to add his congratulations to mine,” the Prince of Wales was saying.

  Henrietta stiffened as the Duke approached.

  “I was just saying that Miss Reed here displays a touch of genius at the piano,” enthused the Prince.

  The Duke did not look at Henrietta.

  “She has displayed a touch of genius throughout the evening,” he concurred icily.

  Henrietta reddened.

  “Well,” added the Prince of Wales, “I must have a word with the rest of the orchestra. They were all superb.”

  “I will accompany you, sir,” suggested the Duke.

  As they turned away, her heart pounded. She must find out how or why Prince Vasily was attending the ball. She must tell the Duke about him, although God knew she wished herself a hundred miles or so away from his all too powerful presence.

  “Y-your Grace?”

  “Yes?”

  He stopped and turned, his eyes cool.

  “T-that man, dancing with your stepsister ”

  “Yes,” he said impatiently. “It was he who carried you in from the terrace. His name is Prince Vasily and it was Miss Foss who requested he be invited. What is it you wish to know about him?”

  “N-nothing ”

  Henrietta shrank into herself in horror.

  Romany Foss had invited Prince Vasily! How on earth was Miss Foss acquainted with him?

  The Duke, somewhat despite himself, was intrigued by the way she seemed so concerned about Prince Vasily.

  “Were you by any chance already acquainted with Prince Vasily before tonight?” he enquired slowly.

  The way her stricken eyes flew answered him.

  “What other secrets do you harbour in your breast, Miss Reed?” he remarked grimly.

  Henrietta, dismayed beyond any measure, could do nothing else but turn and rush from his side.

  She stumbled into the hall and sank into a chair and closed her eyes, having no strength to mount the stairs.

  The idea of being Miss Reed had at first struck her as an adventure, playing with the orchestra a jest. A stay at Merebury seemed fortuitous, a fun way of exploring where her fascination with its owner, the Duke, had originated.

  Now it was turning into a nightmare. She had been a fool an immature and untried fool.

  She buried her face in her hands how she longed to be safely home at Lushwood!

  “You are suffering, I hope, Miss Radford?”

  Henrietta’s eyes flew open.

  “You!” she gasped.

  “I yes,” leered Prince Vasily.

  “W-what do you want?”

  “Only to tell you, not to worry. If this Duke does not want you and I will make certain he does not want you then I do.”

  She swallowed, looking desperately around the hall for a friendly face.

  “You are mad,” she whispered. “Mad!”

  Prince Vasily regarded her idly, his fingers running along his thin moustache.

  How had she ever found him in any way attractive?

  “W-what are you doing here?” she asked him.

  “Ah, my history since you sent me away? I will tell you. I discover you are leaving, so I sail with you ”

  “You were on The Boston Queen? And you were the man who was arrested on board?”

  He shrugged, spreading his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness.

  “A small disagreement with a card player. Such a fuss. In my country, these matters are settled without the law.” He loomed in menacingly over Henrietta. “Just as affairs of honour are settled without the law!”

  She stared at him. Spittle hung on his swollen lip.

  “But you escaped the law. How did you get here?”

  “To Merebury?” he smirked. “Hidden right behind a trunk, my sweet, like a common coach boy.”

  ‘So he was the stowaway too,’ she mused, ‘and, no doubt, the thief the Duke had pursued.’

  She gazed fearfully up at him.

  “Y-you have been following me?”

  “Oh, yes, little lark. If I desire a woman, does she ever escape me? Never!”

  “But tonight how is it that you are dressed like that and at the ball?”

  Prince Vasily licked the spittle from his lips.

  “How? I tell you. I acquire a little money.”

  “By stealing from this very house,” she muttered.

  Prince Vasily seemed not to hear.

  “I go to town to take lodgings,” he continued, “and then I go to buy clothes. I recognise Miss Foss and Lady Butterclere. I have seen them in the coach coming here, when I am a secret passenger.

  “When Miss Foss is alone I introduce myself to her. I am a lonely Prince, travelling Europe. How I would love to visit one of the great English houses. I make the eyes at her and she is flattered. She invites me to the ball.”

  He spread his hands in a wide gesture.

  “Do I not have the ingenious mind?”

  “Not so ingenious, Prince. For you have revealed yourself to me and I will make it known that you are a thief and and an imposter.”

  Prince Vasily showed his teeth.

  “An imposter? Like you, Miss Radford?”

  Henrietta had half risen, but now she sank back.

  Of course! She should have realised at once.

  If she exposed him, he would expose her.

  He watched her, his face creased with satisfaction.

  “Did I not warn you, so many days ago, in Boston,” he sneered. “You will regret such treatment of me!”

  “You are a m-monster,” moaned Henrietta.

  Prince Vasily leaned closer, until his face was only inches from hers.

  “Tell me, have you ever been kissed by a monster, Miss Radford?” he whispered.

  Before she could reply, his mouth was on hers, his tongue forcing itself through her lips.

  She broke away panting, only to see, watching with malicious glee from the foot of the stairs, Lady Butterclere.

  “I was about to retire,” smirked Lady Butterclere. “But how can I, when such interesting things are going on

  in the hallway, of all places!”

  Prince Vasily wiped his moustache and gave a bow.

  “Lady Butterclere,” he waved his hand at Henrietta. “I am just renewing my acquaintance with this lady.”

  “Are you? Your attentions seemed most welcome, I must say.”

  Henrietta scrambled to her feet, her breast heaving.

  “His intentions are not welcome, Lady Butterclere, and never will be!” she cried.

  Lady Butterclere regarded her icily. “Your reputation, if you do have one to speak of,”

  she sneered, “is rapidly becoming mud! Mud!”

  She turned and pro
ceeded haughtily up the stairs.

  Prince Vasily’s amused eyes danced over Henrietta.

  “There is only one way to restore your reputation, my lark,” he said. “And that is to marry me. Which, for a consideration from your Papa, I would agree to do.”

  Henrietta shrank from his gaze his lascivious and unwelcome gaze.

  “Never!” she wailed. “Never!” His laughter echoed in her ears as she ran down the

  nearest corridor, careering into a bemused footman.

  She did not know where she wanted to go, except to put as a great a distance as possible between herself and the revolting Prince Vasily.

  Her flight was feverish and unthinking. She tugged the wig off and threw it to one side, as if she might thus discard the whole sorry evening and leave it all behind her.

  On she ran, passing kitchens and pantries, on and on, until she hurtled through a large oak door and almost fell into the sweetest of night air.

  She was in the same courtyard where she had first met the Duke or Joe the groom, as she had believed then.

  She paused, blood thumping in her temples. Then she went on, out under the arch and into the gardens at the back of the great house.

  She stopped running and gazed about. To her right was the entrance to what looked like a maze. To her left, steps led down to a lake, gleaming under the moonlight.

  Henrietta began to descend the first flight of steps.

  She felt calmer now and decided to walk to the lake and back. Then she would go back to her bed.

  First thing tomorrow morning she and Nanny must leave and with luck they might shake off Prince Vasily.

  She was about to descend the second flight of steps when a voice from the darkness called out to her.

  “Who’s there?”

  She spun round and from a bench in the shadow of a wall the figure of a man rose and came forward.

  It was the Duke.

  For a second they both stood as if turned to stone. Neither could tear their eyes from the other.

  The Duke’s face in the moonlight was a marvel of granite, chiselled to perfection. His mouth was set, his lips stern. His eyes were black as pitch, black and unyielding as the night. Yet there was heat in his gaze.

  Henrietta had a wild look about her. Her hair had fallen loose of the pins that had secured it under the wig. It now lay dishevelled over her shoulders, stirring in the night breeze.

  Her eyes were huge, as if full of moonlight. The black flounce about her neckline had come away.