Love At Last Page 11

  “Somehow you have managed, though, to acquire an excellent command of English, Prince Peter,” responded Cecilia admiringly. “What has been your secret?”

  Natasha gave a throaty laugh.

  “It was very easy, Lady Cecilia. Prince Peter was brought up with both an English Nanny and an English Governess.”

  Peter waved a dismissive hand.

  “My dear parents were determined I should have every advantage.”

  He gave Cecilia an intimate look.

  “I am sure, Lady Cecilia, that you will have had an English Nanny and perhaps a Governess, as I did?”

  Ivan saw with distaste that he was flirting with her.

  Cecilia smiled winningly at Peter.

  “But, of course. But was your Nanny as ferocious as mine? It was the slipper almost every day. I was black and blue before I was three. She said that it was the only way to bring up an aristocratic child!”

  At first Ivan could not believe his ears. Then he saw the sparkle in Cecilia’s eyes and realised that she was teasing his cousin.

  Mystified but entertained, he relaxed.

  “But, yes!” exclaimed Peter. “Always at night-time – the spanking.”

  Ivan was sure that Peter’s Nanny did no such thing.

  “And did you then complain to your mother? My Nanny said it would be a lack of backbone if I did.”

  Peter leaned forward earnestly.

  “The same! I soon appreciated that it would make a good soldier of me. Your Governess too, was she like that, Lady Cecilia?”

  “Oh, no. By the time I was three I was a very well-behaved little girl ready to study my books.”

  Cecilia looked rather demure and Ivan had a sudden picture of her as a little girl with a small face, huge eyes and wide mouth looking quite irresistible.

  He stirred in his chair and moved his left arm in its sling to a more comfortable position.

  Natasha gave him a laughing glance.

  “Ivan, did you, as well, have an English Nanny who prepared you for the battlefield?”

  “I regret not.”

  Ivan silently apologised to his greatly loved Nanny Brown, who had never spanked him, but had nevertheless managed to instil gentlemanly conduct in him.

  “Maybe that is why you are both so different even though you are cousins,” Natasha remarked, looking deep into Ivan’s eyes in a most intimate way – and it was almost as though they were alone together in the drawing room.

  Ivan saw Peter give Natasha a look full of vitriol and yet the next moment she was giving his cousin exactly the same sort of intimate look.

  “ – And why you, Prince Peter, are such a devil in war?”

  Her voice was soft, almost a purr and Ivan saw his cousin immediately relax and return her look.

  “My dear Natasha, you know nothing at all about the soldier on the battlefield,” he retorted.

  And then at that poignant moment Lady Broadstairs and Rosalind returned from their luncheon.

  Ivan rose.

  His sling was immediately noted and Rosalind was all concern as Cecilia explained what had occurred.

  Ivan saw Peter listening with great interest.

  “A shot!” he exclaimed and turned to Ivan. “You told me it was a graze!”

  “A graze from a bullet.”

  Then Peter was introduced to Lady Broadstairs and Rosalind and the conversation became more mundane.

  As later, with Yuri’s help, Ivan changed for dinner, he thought over everything that had happened.

  Yuri was clearly worried.

  “I said you should not go downstairs, Prince,” he said in Rusitanian. “It is too early after your injury and you should rest. Now you have no energy for anything, not even for talking to your Yuri, who is so upset about you.”

  Ivan allowed his valet to tie his bow tie and smiled.

  “Do stop fussing, Yuri. It is not my wound that is concerning me, it is the way my dear cousin appears to be attempting to woo Lady Cecilia.”

  “Ah, Prince, that is truly a problem,” he sounded sympathetic. “Tell me, the lady, does she respond? Are you losing her?”

  Ivan gave a brief laugh.

  “Losing her? Yuri – ”

  About to say that he had never had any intentions towards Cecilia, he was silenced by a thought blinding in its simplicity and after a moment he grunted,

  “If Lady Cecilia falls for my cousin’s wiles, she has less intelligence than I credit her with. Now I need you to ease this sleeve over my arm.”

  Downstairs Ivan joined the rest of the house party in the drawing room and was given a glass of sherry.

  Peter, he saw, was pursuing his suit with Cecilia, who was laughing at some comment he had made, but Ivan thought there was a slight note of desperation in her voice.

  Just as he was about to join them, Natasha entered and Cecilia was quick to draw her into conversation with Peter.

  Ivan walked over to Rosalind and Algy.

  She seemed to be getting on particularly well with the Honourable Algy and he, for once, appeared to be more relaxed in her company than Ivan had seen him with any female – other than a showgirl.

  Dinner seemed endless.

  Sir Guy had been demoted from sitting beside the hostess and sulked between Lady Broadstairs and Peter, who had been given his place.

  Ivan watched cynically as his cousin monopolised Cecilia and every now and then Peter would address some remark to Ivan designed to lower any esteem Ivan might have in their hostess’s eyes.

  Noting the dangerous gleam in Cecilia’s eyes, Ivan decided not to allow Peter to ruin any chance he might have at securing her affections.

  When the butler attempted to top up his wine, Ivan shook his head.

  Cecilia gave him an approving nod.

  “That is very sensible,” she said in a low voice.

  Peter heard her and he gave a brief laugh.

  “Ivan is always sensible. It makes him very dull,” he sneered provocatively.

  “Whereas I am sure you enjoy being reckless every now and then?” Cecilia countered.

  Peter gave a loud laugh.

  “My men love to see me in action,” he boasted.

  “Could I suggest,” Sir Guy suddenly interrupted, “that perhaps recklessness was a reason why Voskia lost out in its campaign against Rusitania?”

  It was so out of character for the normally ultra-conservative Sir Guy that the whole table was silenced.

  Peter grew red, but before he could reply Cecilia said firmly,

  “I am certain, Guy, that Prince Peter would enjoy explaining to you the complexities of the conflict.”

  Guy stiffened, but Cecilia held his gaze.

  “Harrumph – I was, of course, merely expressing an interest in a war that has been so difficult to understand from – our point of view.”

  Ivan looked curiously at Peter.

  Would he be embarrassed and turn the subject to one less damaging to his reputation?

  No, it seemed Peter was happy to rehearse obscure Treaty details, border disputes, trade rivalries and slights going back to the previous century.

  Cecilia smiled at Ivan.

  “Can I really believe you are actually cousins?” she murmured in an even lower voice.

  Ivan smiled and, despite the pain in his chest and shoulder, brought about by abandoning his sling to avoid the humiliation of having his food cut up for him, he felt happier than he had for some time.

  He grinned at Cecilia.

  “You cannot know just how relieved your comment makes me,” he responded, deciding that any further chat along these lines could be dangerous.

  “May I compliment you on your chef?” he intoned instead. “This meat is superb.”

  “Beef from our own farm,” replied Cecilia happily. “Tell me, what is the state of agriculture in Rusitania?”

  Ivan soon found himself peppering her with endless statistics on the various reforms he was making to farming in his country.

  Then
he caught himself.

  “This must be unutterably boring for you and I do apologise.”

  “My dear Prince, I did ask you and, no, I am not bored. My father and I maintain a strong interest in the Yarlington estate. Not only with the farm and many of the reforms you refer to have been implemented here as well.”

  “Ivan likes to think he is a man of science,” Peter suddenly came in across the table. “But man of science he is not! Has he by any chance told you about the time he blew up his father’s study?”

  Ivan laughed as it was an old story.

  “Papa made the mistake of giving me a chemistry set for Christmas. Unfortunately I was far too interested to read the instructions properly – there was an explosion and some very unpleasant smells. Mama was very cross.”

  “And the damage?” queried an amused Cecilia.

  “Destruction of a table and the shirt I was wearing – nothing serious. I seem to remember, Peter, that we both enjoyed the explosion and the mess.”

  Peter laughed and for a moment it was as if they were boys together again.

  Not long after that Cecilia rose and took the ladies off to the drawing room, no doubt to enjoy gossip before the men rejoined them.

  Ivan moved with the others down to the Earl’s end of the table for port and cigars.

  Ivan noted that Peter, who had frequently had his wine glass topped up by the attentive staff, attacked the port with the same enthusiasm – for one horrified moment Ivan thought his cousin might lean across the table and grab the decanter instead of letting it pass round the table.

  It was many years since Ivan had been in such close proximity with Peter and he was genuinely shocked at his lack of manners.

  The Earl seemed to realise the volatility amongst the company around his table. He concentrated on drawing out Sir Guy on his Parliamentary ambitions, then got Algy to relate some amusing and risqué tales of the Music Hall and that allowed Peter to add stories of his own that were in far worse taste.

  The Earl soon rose.

  “Shall we join the ladies, gentlemen?”

  Back in the drawing room Rosalind was performing another of her sweet songs.

  Peter clapped as the song ended.

  “Charming, quite charming!” he brayed.

  Ivan saw Natasha sitting quite close to the piano.

  The moment Rosalind finished, she looked across at Cecilia, who immediately suggested,

  “I am sure we should all appreciate the Countess giving us another of her brilliant displays.”

  Natasha almost hustled the other girl off the piano stool and then sat down, flexing her hands in an affected manner.

  Ivan noted Algy escorting Rosalind to a seat. Their two heads were close as Natasha plunged her hands down on the keyboard for another virtuoso piece.

  “Bravo,” called Peter as the piece came to an end. “Now, my dear Lady Cecilia, may we hear you play?”

  She looked at Ivan and he knew with a leap of joy that she was remembering their concert the night before and he regretted that he could not hold a violin that night.

  “Yes, my dear,” agreed the Earl. “Please give us my favourite, Für Elise.”

  Cecilia rose and Natasha reluctantly made way for her at the piano.

  She moved at once into the lyrical Beethoven piece.

  Listening absorbed, Ivan wondered who Elise had been. If the music was anything to go by, she must have been charming, lovely and full of spirit. Had she the same character and intelligence displayed by the current player?

  Cecilia made a delightful picture in a superbly cut dress of heavy champagne silk, her only adornment being fine pearl drops in her ears.

  The contrast with Natasha in a black taffeta gown and a necklace that Ivan had given her at the beginning of their relationship and diamonds in her ears, could not have been more striking.

  As the last notes of Beethoven died away, there was loud applause and calls for more.

  “It was too short,” Guy called out.

  Cecilia looked across at Rosalind with a question in her eyes, but Rosalind shook her head.

  “Well, then, how about a Rondo by Mozart?”

  With a mischievous glance round the room, Cecilia began a witty rendering of a lively piece that could not have been more of a contrast to Beethoven.

  The Rondo was quite short – far too short for Ivan.

  He could, he mused, listen to his hostess playing all night. Her deep feelings for music matched his own and he hoped that it would not be too long before he was able to enjoy another duet with Cecilia.

  There followed another fine song from Sir Guy and shortly afterwards, they began drifting to bed.

  Natasha beckoned to Ivan.

  “Please, I need to speak to you,” she breathed at him. Her décolletage was daringly low, her creamy skin and voluptuous curves an open invitation.

  Ivan was immediately on his guard.

  “Is this necessary?” he asked curtly.

  To his dismay tears appeared in her eyes.

  “Please,” she urged him, this time without artifice. “Come next door.”

  This was too much for Ivan.

  He distrusted Natasha.

  There was no footman on duty in the hall, so he led her to the porch, which offered a certain amount of privacy without the opportunity of him being caught unawares by any seductive approach by Natasha.

  “I was so shocked by what happened this morning,” she began, speaking in Rusitanian. She made no attempt to wipe away her tears. “I hope you do not think I was in any way involved?”

  Ivan stood very still.

  “What about my beloved cousin, Peter? Can you swear he had nothing to do with the shooting?”

  More tears appeared and she trembled.

  Ivan waited –

  Then came a cry from the drawing room.

  It sounded very like Cecilia and it was followed by a crash.

  Ivan rushed into the drawing room.

  Peter had Cecilia pinned against the back of a sofa.

  There had obviously been a struggle, a table laden with porcelain and miniatures had been knocked over.

  Peter was attempting to kiss his hostess!

  She was kicking at his legs and moving her head from side to side, frustrating his attempts.

  “You have been teasing me all evening,” Peter was panting at her. “You will be mine!”

  Ivan rushed over and pulled him away, thanking Heaven that there was nothing wrong with his right arm.

  He took it back and knocked Peter to the ground.

  “You despicable cur,” he growled.

  There was a flurry of black taffeta and Natasha cast herself down beside the stricken Prince.

  “How dare you, don’t you see he is drunk?” she flung at Ivan and all-caring, she tried to help Peter stand.

  Ivan turned to Cecilia.

  “Did that beast hurt you?” he enquired gently.

  Her face was shocked but unafraid.

  “No – you came just in time. Thank you,” she said, her voice unsteady.

  “I should never have left you with that idiot. I did not realise that everyone else had gone upstairs.”

  Where he and Natasha had stood, he could not see the staircase.

  “I was just about to excuse myself when he, well, the only word I can use is ‘pounced’ on me.”

  “You are a heartless tease,” Natasha screamed at Cecilia her expression one of hatred.

  Never before had Ivan seen this side of Natasha and he then suddenly realised that she was a deeply dangerous woman.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cecilia glanced at Natasha’s mask of hatred and felt real fear. She moved closer to Ivan and felt a protective arm go round her.

  Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she snarled,

  “Don’t think you will succeed there, my dear! Too many have tried and failed.”

  Peter groaned and sat up and Natasha immediately renewed her attempts to help him stand.

  “W
e must leave this house,” she cried. “And we must leave now!”

  There was nothing Cecilia wanted more than to see the back of these least desirable of her guests, all the same, as hostess she felt honour bound to say,

  “This late? Please don’t be ridiculous. Quite apart from the fact there is no train until the morning, you will only cause scandal. And not for my father and myself, but for yourselves.”

  She drew herself up a straight as she could with Ivan’s arm still round her shoulders and she immediately felt cold and despondent.

  “I will arrange for a carriage to transport you to the station tomorrow morning. After the incident involving Prince Ivan, no one will be surprised if the party breaks up earlier than expected.”

  Peter managed to stand upright and there were the beginnings of a large bruise over his left eye where Ivan’s fist had hit it. By the morning he would have a black eye – serve the fellow right, thought Cecilia.

  “Good night,” she stated firmly.

  Natasha took hold of Peter’s arm and steered him firmly out of the door. Neither of them said ‘good night’.

  Cecilia turned to Ivan, standing absent-mindedly rubbing his fist.

  “Have you hurt yourself?” she asked softly. “You should not have done that.”

  “He deserved it.”

  “I know and I am glad he received his deserts, but I’m worried that you may have opened your wound – it was such a powerful blow.”

  Ivan looked inside his jacket. His arm sling had not been replaced after dinner and hung out of his pocket.

  “No blood,” he declared cheerfully.

  Cecilia took the end of his sling, pulled it free and, reaching up to her full height, slipped it over his head and then arranged his left arm inside it.

  He stood quietly allowing her to perform the task.

  His nearness made her tremble, as with an effort, she carefully pulled the material over his elbow and then stood back.

  “There,” she said, trying to look at the result with a professional eye.

  “Are you sure you are all right?” Ivan asked again. “You look very flushed.”

  Cecilia nearly said that it was nothing to do with Peter’s attack on her, but instead she sighed,