“Nothing for the moment,” she answered. “Her impression is that the prince is biding his time. He’s not stupid and surely realizes that they may prove valuable hostages if his plans fall apart and he needs to negotiate.”
“What about the medallion?” pressed Saybrook. “Does she think the prince has found it?”
Arianna shook her head. “No, Tatiana says there have been a number of conversations speculating as to where it might be. Orlov seems to think that Mrs. Schuyler is double-crossing them. However, he hasn’t yet decided how to deal with her.”
“As long as the Tsar doesn’t have the damn bauble, Orlov really has no need to do anything.” Grentham cracked his knuckles, the small noise sounding unnaturally loud in the momentary silence. “All he has to do is wait for the day when Tsar Alexander must appear wearing it—and then be ready to step in when all hell breaks loose and the so-called curse foments a demand for a new ruler to take the throne.”
“Superstition still has a pernicious hold on this country,” said Prescott glumly. “And they are fanned by fanatics like Bishop Sergius, who has gained a great following among the Russian people because of his fiery preaching from the pulpit about preserving the ideals of Mother Russia, and how foreign influences are corrupting the True Faith.”
Frowning, the earl fingered his chin. “I can’t help but wonder . . . If the bishop knows of the prince’s personal weaknesses, why has he aligned himself with Orlov? His sermons hold the prince up as a model of Russian nobility. And yet my queries around the Imperial Court seem to indicate there are two other princely families who are headed by men who possess far more political savvy and moral virtue than Orlov.”
“Bishop Sergius lives in the spiritual world, not the real world,” ventured Prescott. “Perhaps he’s oblivious to the prince’s peccadilloes.”
Grentham replied to the earl’s musing with a wordless shrug. Nobody else offered any further thoughts.
“That sparks a related question,” said Arianna. “Why does Orlov need Tatiana?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question since I arrived here,” said Prescott. “And just yesterday I discovered the answer. In a word, it’s money.”
He blew out a sigh. “Orlov and his late brother have squandered the family fortune with their dissolute pursuits. And while threats are intimidating, a conspiracy also needs money to buy influence and to pay bribes.”
He slowly rolled his glass of vodka between his palms. “And the Naryshkin family is immensely wealthy.”
“But if Tatiana’s father possesses so much money, why would he allow his daughter to be bullied into a forced engagement?” mused Arianna. “Money usually gives men like Naryshkin powerful protection. And yet, Orlov appears to have the count under his thumb.”
“No amount of money can protect your family against poison or some other ghastly death,” said Prescott. “The Orlov family has a reputation for viciousness. The murder of Tatiana’s cousin was a warning.”
“And yet, by agreeing to a marriage that would ally the two families, Tatiana’s father is likely signing his own death warrant,” observed Grentham. “Orlov may have promised to let Count Naryshkin remain as the puppet head of the family, but once the marriage is made, I imagine Orlov will eliminate him—and any other male Naryshkins—who stand in the way of his gaining control over the money.”
Prescott went white as a ghost and shot to his feet, spilling what was left of his vodka. “We have to stop the dastard!”
Grentham expelled an exasperated sigh. “Ye gods, sit down, Prescott, and stop acting like a lovestruck fool. Our decisions can’t be based on out-of-control emotions.”
That seemed to rouse Sophia from her brooding. She stood up abruptly and set her glass on the side table. “I’m too fatigued to think straight, so I think it best for me to retire.”
“I suggest we all do the same, and reconvene here for breakfast once we’ve had several hours of sleep,” said the earl. “We all need clearer heads to formulate a plan to free our friends and put an end to Orlov’s scheming.”
“Actually, there is no need for a complicated plan,” quipped Grentham with a sardonic smile. “It’s simple—all we have to do is find the Tsar’s missing medallion.”
Arianna noted that the minister took pains to keep his gaze averted from Sophia as she turned and marched off.
What a maddening man. He had just revealed a glimmer of his heart to her, and now he was back to speaking so cavalierly about Love . . .
Saybrook rose and gestured to Grentham. “Come, let me show you and Prescott to the guest rooms.” They had decided that it was wise to keep their forces united for the time being. “The stoves haven’t been lit there, so feel free to bring a bottle of spirits with you.”
“The minister will follow along in a moment,” murmured Arianna. “After I’ve had a private word with him.”
Grentham turned,a wary look flickering beneath his lashes. “Can’t this wait until morning?”
“It’s been morning for hours,” she said dryly. “And besides, I think you would rather hear it without an audience.”
He looked away and held out his palms to warm them over the tiled stove.
“You’ll be hot enough in a moment,” warned Arianna. “After I finish roasting your cods over the fire.”
His jaw tightened.
“You are an arse,” she began.
