“This is England,” he reminded her. “Perhaps they think differently here.”
“We have been here before, Vladimir. You never had this trouble before. I tell you she is in love with someone. But there are drugs that can make her forget, make her memory fuzzy, make her more agreeable—”
“He will think she is drunk,” he replied sternly. “That will not please him at all.”
“At least he will have her.”
“And if it does not work? If she remembers enough to fight him?”
Marusia frowned. “No, that will not do. He would be furious. He does not need to take a woman by force. He would not. They fight each other to throw themselves at him. He can have any woman he wants.”
“He wants this one, who does not want him.”
She gave him a disgusted look. “You begin to make me worry now. Do you want me to talk to her to see if I can find out what she objects to?”
“You can try,” he agreed, willing at this point to do anything.
She nodded. “In the meantime, go and speak to Bulavin. It may be nothing, but he was bragging last week that he knew a way to make a woman beg him to make love to her, any woman. Maybe he has some kind of magic potion.” She grinned.
“Nonsense,” he scoffed.
“You never know,” she teased. “The Cossacks have ever lived close to the Turks, and you never hear of those sultans having trouble with their slave girls, and most of them innocent captives.”
He dismissed that notion with a wave of his hand and an annoyed scowl, yet he would speak to Bulavin. He was that desperate at the moment.
Katherine couldn’t sit still. She walked circles around the room, every few minutes glaring at the huge wardrobe that had been shoved in front of the only window by the two guards. Her small weight couldn’t budge it, even empty as it was. She had tried for half an hour to no avail.
It was a fairly large bedroom she was being detained in, a room not in use. Even the large bureau was empty. Pink-and-green wallpaper (the Queen approved of that combination) covered the walls. The furniture was in the Hope design, the rather clumsy style that favored Greek and Egyptian influence in decoration. An expensive green satin spread on the bed. Wealth. Cavendish Square, she was sure. If she could just get out of this room, she could be home in no time—but to what good? Elisabeth, last seen waiting alone on the corner, would have met William by now.She’ll be married before I get home.
This stupid masquerade, this appalling predicament, all for nothing. Elisabeth married to a fortune-hunting blackguard. That and that alone made Katherine furious with these Russians. That barbarian, that pig-headed idiot who had brought her here—because of him Beth’s life was now ruined. No, not him. He had only followed orders. His prince was really the responsible one. Who the devil did he think he was, sending a servant after her for such a salacious reason? What arrogance!
He’ll get an earful from me, and then some, Katherine thought. I ought to have him thrown in gaol. I know his name. Dimitri Alexandrov—or would it be Alexandrov Dimitri? Whatever. How many Russian princes can be in London at the moment, Katherine? He won’t be hard to find.
The idea was nice to think about, but she wouldn’t do it. The scandal would be worse than the crime. That was all she needed: the St. John name dragged through the mud.
“But if Beth isn’t home when I get home, and isn’t still unmarried, I will do it, by God.”
There was a hope, however slim, that Elisabeth was meeting William today only to talk to him, to make plans. She needed to cling to that thought. All would not be lost then, and this would be just an irritating experience that she would do her best to forget.
“I bring you lunch, miss, and another lamp. This room is so dark with the window blocked. You speak French, yes? I speak it very well, because it is the language of our aristos. Some of them, they don’t even speak Russian.”
This flow of words came as a woman hurried across the room with a heavy tray and dropped it on a low, round table between two chairs. She was half a head taller than Katherine, middleaged, with brown hair in a tight bun, and kindly blue eyes. She hadn’t knocked. One of the guards had opened the door for her and closed it as well.
She straightened the things on the tray. A thin vase holding a single rose had fallen over. Fortunately it contained no water. The lamp she moved to the marble mantel. It was already lit, and the extra light welcome. Then she moved back to the tray and began lifting covers.
“Katushki,” she explained, revealing a plate of fish balls in a white wine sauce. “I am the cook, so I know you will like it. My name is Marusia.”
She wasn’t at all what one would expect of a cook, being slightly on the thin side, Katherine thought, as she glanced at the food. There was a little loaf of rye bread next to thekatushki, a chicory and fruit salad, a piece of cake for dessert, and a bottle of wine. A very appetizing lunch. Thekatushkismelled delicious. And Katherine had missed breakfast. A shame she was too stubborn to eat it.
“Thank you, Marusia, but you can take that away. I won’t accept anything in this house, including food.”
“It’s not good that you don’t eat. You are so small.” Marusia said this with awe.
“I am small because… I am small,” Katherine said stiffly. “It has nothing at all to do with food.”
“But the Prince, he is so big. See?”
She practically shoved a little picture beneath Katherine’s nose, so she couldn’t possibly avoid looking at it. The man in the miniature was…impossible. No one could really look like that.
