From Governess To Countess. Marguerite Kaye
She was here for a very specific purpose, and if he wanted to take advantage of her skills, he could not risk being distracted by her body. He was a rational man, he was a man who had forged a very successful military career by putting discipline above all else. Now was not the moment to change the habit of a lifetime.
But on the other hand, must a desire to conclude his business here as quickly as possible preclude enjoying the company of the woman who would help him do just that? How long had it been since he’d been able to indulge in even the lightest of dalliances? Months? It felt more like years. He would not go so far as to say he deserved the tempting Miss Galbraith, but didn’t he deserve some sort of mild flirtation?
But what if he was mistaken? What if he was imagining the attraction to be mutual simply because he wanted it to be? And really, wasn’t he getting his priorities all wrong?
As if in agreement with this very point, the double doors were flung open, the servant announced her, and Allison made a curtsy. ‘Good morning, your Illustrious Highness.’
* * *
He looked just as striking as he had at the ball, Allison thought to herself. Last night had not been a dream, then.
‘Good morning,’ the Count said, ‘and it is Aleksei while we are alone, if you please. In company, Count Derevenko will suffice. Hearing Your Illustrious Highness makes me want to glance over my shoulder to see my brother enter the room. Though actually he preferred Your Serene Highness. Michael was a stickler for etiquette, with a predilection for pomp and ceremony. As you’ll have gathered from our surroundings,’ he added, waving vaguely at the huge reception room in which they were ensconced.
‘What I gather, is that it is decidedly not to your taste,’ Allison said, crossing the room to join him.
‘I’ve been away on active service for so long, I have no idea what my taste in interiors is,’ the Count—Aleksei—replied with a faint smile. ‘It mostly revolves around canvas tents and wooden trunks. Last night at the Winter Palace, I felt even more of a foreigner than you.’
She took the seat opposite him, the same one she had occupied yesterday. He handed her a cup of black tea into which, to her relief, he had already added three sugars. Allison took a tentative sip from her cup. The taste of the tea was odd, the contrast of the sweet and bitter one that she could, despite her reservations, grow to like. Opposite her, the Count—no, Aleksei! She tried his name out for herself, mouthing it silently as she studied him. It suited him. Strong. Forthright. He was not wearing his uniform today, for which she was—shamefully—grateful, for it was true, what the courtier had whispered salaciously last night, there was something about a man in uniform. Or at least, something about this man in uniform. Though if she was being scrupulous about it, his attraction was in no way diminished by the austerity of his breeches and short boots, the long black coat and pristine white shirt with its starched collar. There was a rebellious and endearing kink in his hair, almost silver compared to the dark blond, which stood up on his brow like a comma. The slight frown which seemed to be permanently etched into his face was bisected by a faint scar which she hadn’t noticed yesterday. He sat awkwardly in the little chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his shoulders hunched, grasping the delicate teacup with both hands.
‘What is it that you find amusing?’
She hadn’t realised she was smiling. ‘You look like a giant squatting on a child’s seat.’
He grinned. ‘The furniture in this room is designed to discourage use.’
‘Similar to the chairs in the ballroom last night.’
‘No one would dare sit in the presence of the Emperor—or his deputy.’
‘Arakcheev.’ Allison couldn’t repress a shudder. ‘I most sincerely hope that was my first and only encounter with that odious man, if you don’t mind me being so blunt.’
‘I don’t, it’s what I much prefer, and you’re the only person in this city who’s likely to indulge me.’ Aleksei drained his tea in one gulp, a soldier’s habit, Allison assumed, and set the cup on the tray before leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. ‘So! I promised you last night that I’d come clean with you, and I’m a man of my word. But before I do, I must stress that everything I’m about to tell you is in the strictest confidence.’
‘As I said last night, you can trust me, Count—Aleksei.’
‘And as I said last night, you can have no idea how much trust I’m about to place in you. The Derevenko name is a venerable one. My brother was one of the wealthiest men in Russia. He was also the figurehead of one of the most powerful dynasties in the country, with the ear and the protection of the Tsar himself. If anyone in this city got wind of my suspicions, all hell would break loose, whether I’m right or wrong.’
Allison stared at him, quite confounded. ‘I am not sure—what is it you suspect?’
‘Assassination.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘I think perhaps I misheard you. Or perhaps your English—though it is most excellent. But you can’t have meant...’
‘I suspect my brother Michael was murdered,’ Aleksei informed her matter of factly, ‘and I need you to help me to discover whether or not I am correct.’
Utterly thrown, Allison ran her fingers through her hair, forgetting that it was not tied simply back but in a tight chignon, disrupting several pins in the process. ‘How on earth can I help? I am no Bow Street Runner, I’m a herbalist.’
‘Precisely! As far as the world is concerned, my brother died of natural causes, and that is what the world must continue to think until we can prove otherwise. I suspect he was poisoned, which is where you come in.’
‘Couldn’t you have consulted a local expert? Why send halfway around the world for me.’
‘I thought I’d made that clear,’ Aleksei replied with a hint of impatience. ‘You had a glimpse of what St Petersburg is like last night. Gossip is a way of life here, everyone’s life is an open book. I need an outsider with no ties here. No one knows you. Though the reality is that my wards require neither English lessons nor nursing, no one will question your notional title of governess.’
And all would assume that her duties extended from the schoolroom to Aleksei’s bed. Allison rubbed at her temples, distractedly pulling out several more hairpins. ‘Did The Procurer know your real requirements?’
‘She did. I heard of her from a fellow officer. He did not tell me the particulars of his own case, only that he had been obliged to be scrupulously honest in his dealings with her. He’d tried to pull the wool over her eyes, and she almost refused the commission. I decided I couldn’t take that risk, and so I was brutally honest.’
‘She was not quite so truthful with me.’
‘Clearly.’ Aleksei eyed her quizzically. ‘Would you be here, if she had been?’
Her hand instinctively clutched her locket, concealed beneath the neckline of her day gown. The Procurer had given her the opportunity, but it had been her grandmother’s belief in her which had given her the strength to take it. Now it was up to Allison to make the most of it. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am that I did.’
Aleksei smiled at her, and she could have sworn that his smile tugged at something, an almost tangible connection between them. ‘I’ve no idea if I can help you,’ Allison said, ‘but I can promise, hand on heart, that I will do my utmost to do so. Tell me, in plain and simple terms exactly what it is that you suspect and why.’
* * *
‘Plain talking.’ Aleksei automatically made for the samovar, in need of another cup of tea, that panacea for all ills and aid to clear thinking. ‘What I have always preferred, though it is anathema here in Machiavellian St Petersburg. The starting point,’ he said, resuming his seat, ‘was when I received a letter from Michael’s man of business informing me that my brother and his wife had died within a few days of