The threat appeared to be over, but given that intrigue was a way of life in the Imperial Court, she didn’t wish to take any chances.
“The idea of staying abed is awfully appealing.” She brushed back a tangled lock of hair from his brow, savoring its silky texture against her fingertips. The challenges of the mission had at last dispelled the lingering shadows of guilt and self-doubts, stirring her old fire up from the dark embers. Her personal life was shining bright again. As was Tsar Alexander’s future . . .
The Tsar.
Arianna reluctantly sat up. “But much as we may wish to linger, I had better rise and prepare myself to pay a visit to the Winter Palace.”
The earl huffed and called the Tsar a rude name.
“Yes, he is a donkey’s arse at times. But for all his weaknesses, he’s an important ally of Britain, and Grentham considers him a better ruler for Russia than a cabal of corrupt aristocrats and xenophobic religious zealots.”
“Grentham is a donkey’s ass, too,” grumbled the earl, but he said it with a smile.
“He appears to have made some amends for his earlier behavior,” observed Arianna. “But I shall leave that for Sophia to judge.” She swung her legs out from under the covers and grabbed up her dressing gown. “Come, we need to ready ourselves for a royal visit.”
Over the early morning libations, they all agreed that Arianna should have a private audience with Tsar Alexander, not only to return the Rurik Medallion, but also to handle the delicate task of convincing him that it was in his best interest to part ways with Mrs. Schuyler as his spiritual advisor.
“So, how do you intend to talk the Tsar into parting with his Muse?” queried Grentham, looking up from his shirred eggs and kippers as she entered the dining room.
Arianna smiled. In fact, she and Mrs. Schuyler had concocted a rather clever script, but she had no intention of revealing it to the minister.
Tit for tat. Given that he was the master of myriad secrets and was exceedingly careful about how he doled them out, she had decided that there was nothing wrong with the ladies besting him at his own game.
“Never mind,” she replied. “All that should matter to you is that I get the job done.”
Mrs. Schuyler and Fitzroy entered the room together—a fact on which Arianna decided not to comment. They were both experienced in the ways of the world, which hadn’t dealt them the best of cards. Still, they had managed to parlay their own savvy and skills into forging a path that allowed them to control their own destiny.
She had nothing but admiration for them.
“Get the job done?” repeated Fitzroy. “I don’t think anyone but you could have managed that, dear sister. How you put all the pieces together . . .”
He shook his head in wonder. “Indeed, the Tsar should kneel down and kiss the hem of your gown when you return his cursed medallion.”
Arianna shrugged. “Let’s just say that when the ladies put their heads together, we proved to be more than a match for the villains.”
“Let that be a lesson for anyone who underestimates the feminine intellect,” drawled Grentham as he forked up a piece of fish.
“I’ve known that forever,” announced Wolff as he came through the doorway. “Or at least, since the day I encountered Arianna.”
The banter continued as the others arrived for breakfast. Everyone had good reason to feel exhilarated, especially the love birds. Prescott and Tatiana couldn’t stop smiling at one another and announced that their wedding would take place as soon as possible.
Grentham surprised Arianna by refraining from making a sarcastic comment about matrimony. She wondered whether that had any significance for his own future plans.
Looking around the table, she found herself smiling. For a group of pragmatic souls who had few illusions about Life being all sweetness and light, there was a remarkable amount of sentiment stirring beneath the outer show of cynicism.
Friendship and love.
Those two powerful forces had perhaps been the reason they had ultimately triumphed. And luck, of course.
Arianna reflected on how fortunate she had been in both Luck and Love.
A discreet cough from just outside the doorway drew her out of her musing. “Milady, the sleigh is waiting,” murmured José. “Are you ready to depart?”
“Areyou sure you don’t want me to accompany you to your audience with the Tsar?” asked Saybrook. Grentham had gone off to confer with the British ambassador, but it had been deemed wise for the others to avoid making an appearance at the Imperial Court. The rumors swirling through the ornate room would be wild enough without further provocation.
“Tsar Alexander and I have a special rapport. I don’t want you to spoil it by threatening to darken his deadlights when you catch him staring down my cleavage.”
“If he puts a hand on your bum, I’ll break every bone—”
