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In that soul-searing moment, Alexei Ivanovich Alexandrov swore a silent oath of honour and service to Tsar Alexander. Until death.
Chapter One
Boulogne, June 1814
It was the smell that woke him.
For fully three seconds, Dominic lay quite still in the Lion d’Or’s best bed, trying to make sense of the strange messages tumbling into his brain. Dark. Silence. Smoke? Fire!
He flung himself out of bed. Light! He needed light! And where the devil were his breeches?
A terrified neighing ripped through the pre-dawn silence. Then a whoosh, as if a giant were sucking in a monstrous breath. Followed by red, hellish light.
The smoke had turned to flames. The Lion d’Or’s stables must be on fire!
Dominic threw wide the half-open window, stuck his head out and yelled at the top of his voice, ‘Au feu! Au feu!’ It was surely loud enough to wake even drunken grooms.
He dragged on his breeches and crammed his feet into boots. A voice rang out below. At last! Then more voices. A woman’s despairing wail. And the ominous crackle of the fire taking hold in dry straw and ancient timbers.
Dominic took the stairs three at a time. In the yard, the silence was turning into utter chaos. Yelling, cursing men milling around in the eerie light. No one fetching water. No one saving the horses.
He grabbed the nearest groom by the shoulder. ‘Get to the pump,’ he ordered in crisp French. ‘Start filling buckets. And you—’ he seized another by his flapping shirt ‘—rouse all the men from the house. Get them into a line to pass the buckets. You two. Don’t stand there gawping. Start getting the horses out.’
In the space of half a minute, Dominic had turned the commotion into the beginnings of order. The terrified horses were being led to safety. Water was being brought. But the flames had a head start. And they were winning.
The front part of the stables and one side of the doorway were ablaze. One panicked horse was refusing to be led through. It was fighting against the halter, rearing, eyes rolling, hooves flailing. With a cry of pain, the groom dropped to the ground. The horse fled back into the stables.
Dominic lunged forward, hefted the unconscious groom over his shoulder and raced across the yard to the inn. By the door, a maidservant stood motionless, wide-eyed with fear. ‘You, girl.’ He laid the boy ungently at her feet. ‘Make yourself useful. Look to his hurts.’ He did not wait to see whether she obeyed. He had to help save the horses. Only one other man left to do that. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
The smoke was now so thick that it was difficult to see. And to breathe. Dominic looked around for something to use as a mask over his face. If only he had thrown on a shirt. But he had nothing. He would have to continue as he was. Taking a deep breath of the cooler air in the yard, he plunged into the hell of the burning stables.
Still at least half a dozen terrified horses to save. Possibly more. He could barely make out the back of the stable. It was full of smoke, though not yet ablaze. But he could hear the sounds of hooves thundering against stall boards. At least some of the horses must still be tethered. He raced to the back of the building, keeping as low as he could, to avoid the choking smoke. Let the groom deal with the horses nearer the door.
Like a ghostly apparition, a slim shape in grubby white emerged from the swirling smoke, leading a horse. No more than a boy, from the little Dominic could see, and dressed only in a bedgown and boots. But a boy who knew horses, for he had covered the animal’s eyes to quiet it. ‘Well done, lad,’ Dominic gasped as they passed. No reply. The boy had his mind on his task. Just as Dominic must.
It was taking too many precious minutes to rescue the horses. All the time, the fire was engulfing more of the building. Yet the boy in the bedgown was fearless, always going back into the most dangerous area of the stable. He had a way with the terrified beasts, too. More than once, Dominic fancied he heard the lad’s voice, murmuring strong and low, urging the animal towards the flaming doorway. He had even started to cover the horses’ nostrils against the acrid smoke. Part of Dominic’s brain registered that he would find the lad after this was all over, and reward him for his bravery. He would have been proud to have such a boy in his own service.
Out in the yard again, Dominic caught a dripping cloth tossed to him by one of the inn servants. Gratefully, he covered his head, hoping that the boy had done the same. With this, there ought to be a chance of rescuing the remaining animals. Only a few more to bring out now. He ran back into the thickening smoke.
He found himself struggling with the tether of one of the last horses. The straining beast had pulled it tight in the iron ring. Its thrashing hooves were threatening to crack Dominic’s head open. If only he had a knife. Damnation! The rope refused to come free. At this rate, they would both burn!
A strong, lean hand appeared out of the smoke, holding a knife. Bless the boy! A single slash cut the rope. Then the hand disappeared again. No time to say a word of thanks. The horse, suddenly freed, reared up to its full height with a loud and terrified whinny. Dominic ducked under the deadly hooves and grabbed the trailing rope, forcing the animal down. He had to get this horse out. The fire was really taking hold now. Soon the stable roof would be aflame. There would be no more rescues then.
At last, Dominic managed to coax the horse through the stable doorway. Someone had taken an axe to the blazing wood so that the gap was wider and the flames were less fierce. The broken, smouldering timbers lay on the ground. Dominic thrust the rope into a waiting hand and raced back inside, ignoring the prick of sparks on the bare skin of his back and chest. He had tiny burns all over his body now. No doubt he would look as though he had a dose of smallpox when this was over. But he had to be sure that there were no more horses hidden by the smoke.
It seemed the lad in the bedgown had had the same thought. His eerie figure was just visible through the swirling darkness, searching among the stalls. Dominic ran towards the boy. ‘Is that all of them?’ he yelled, trying to make himself heard above the noise of the fire.
Before the boy could say a word, there was an ominous crack above their heads. Dominic caught a glimpse of a huge, flaming beam dropping towards them. Towards the boy! Dominic bridged the space between them with a single stride, grabbed the boy and thrust him aside. The beam hit the stable floor just inches from where they stood, showering them both with sparks. In seconds, the boy’s bedgown had caught alight.
Dominic made to tear it off him.
‘Non!’ It was a scream of anguish.
The boy must be an idiot. Surely he knew that it was better to be naked than to burn?
‘Non!’ the boy cried again, ripping the tail of his bedgown out of Dominic’s hands.
There was no time to argue. And only one solution. Dominic pushed the boy to the ground and covered him with his own body, rolling them both in the dirt to stop the sparks from taking hold.
And then he understood.
This was no boy. The lithe body straining against his own belonged to a fearless, and extraordinary, girl!
His mind told him it was impossible. But his body knew better. It was threatening to go up in flames to match the blaze around them. Dear God, why this woman? Why now? Had he no self-control at all?
A loud groan brought him back to stark reality. His weight must be crushing her delicate form. And there was no time now to wonder what was happening between them. He had to get her out of this hellhole. The rest of the roof would fall at any second.
He leapt to his feet, dragging the girl up by the arm. ‘Venez,’ he rasped from his parched throat. He started for the door. But the girl was trying to free herself from his grasp. What on earth was she about? This was no time for modesty. Yet still she fought him.
With a curse of exasperation, he grabbed her slight form around the waist and slung her over his shoulder. Her small fists started to pummel his bare back, but he ignored that. He simply held her even more tightly against his body. No time to try to reassure her. In any case, the scorching smoke was burning his throat so much that he was almost sure he could not speak. He must get her out! Ducking low, he staggered towards the stable door and out into the yard. It was full of smoke still, but no flames. The men seemed to be bringing the fire under control at last.
With a groan of relief, Dominic set the girl on her feet, supporting her shoulders until he was sure she was strong enough to stand. He needed to commend her for her amazing courage. And to apologize for manhandling her. ‘Mademoiselle, vous—’ It was barely a croak, but he was not allowed to finish. Her eyes had widened at his words. It could not be fear, surely? Not with this amazing girl. With a strangled cry, she wrenched herself away from him and fled in the direction of the inn door. He was left with a fleeting image, barely discernable through the hanging smoke, of huge eyes in a pale face, cropped hair, and a wet, filthy bedgown clinging to her slim form.
He started to follow. She must not be allowed to vanish, like a ghost. He must find out who she was. She—
‘Monsieur! Attention!’ One of the men grabbed his arm and pointed. With an enormous crash, the roof of the stables inwards. Sparks were flying everywhere. The fire was out of control again. If the men did not act immediately, the inn itself would catch fire.
Dominic grabbed a bucket and began to douse the inn wall, calling to the other men to help him. Provided they all stayed at their task, the inn should be safe. God willing.
By the time the fire was finally under control, all the men were exhausted. But they were triumphant. The yard was a sea of grinning teeth in blackened faces. Dominic knew he must look just as filthy as the rest of them.
For the first time in what seemed like hours, he relaxed his shoulders. His back was aching. And all those minute burns on his skin were beginning to hurt like hell.
The inn servants were working as an efficient team now. They no longer needed Dominic to direct them. So, with a sigh of relief, he made for the inn door and the staircase to his bedchamber. His room was deserted. His valet, Cooper, must still be down below, helping to fight the remnants of the fire, and unrecognisable under the dirt and sweat. No matter. Dominic had no need of him.
The reflection in the pier glass pulled him up short. It wasn’t only his face that was filthy. His whole body was grimed with smoke. He grinned at himself. No wonder the girl had fled from him. He looked like a black demon. Even his own mother would not recognise him like this. He would have to bathe, but that would be impossible until the fire was out and the inn kitchen was working normally once more. Hot water would be the last thing on their minds at present. He would have to wait.
Sighing with exhaustion, Dominic sank on to the bed and pulled off one ruined boot. Even Cooper would be unable to save this pair. He grinned again, imagining the valet’s consternation when he saw the state of them, and of his master. With luck, Cooper would have a pot of skin salve somewhere in his baggage. But, for the moment, Dominic did not care. What he wanted was to close his eyes, just for a few minutes.
He dropped the second ruined boot and lay back on the bed, allowing his head to sink into the feather pillows. Bliss. A few moments rest. Only a few.
He was just beginning to drift into sleep when her blurry image came back to him. That girl. What courage she had. Who was she? He must speak to her again and thank her. But only later, once he was clean again, and presentable. And once he was fully in control of his body’s responses, too. He needed to show her that he was a gentleman, not a ravening demon. He found he could not quite remember her face, or the colour of her hair. It had all been too indistinct in the smoke. And later her head had been covered by a wet cloth, just as his own had been. But her hair had definitely been cropped, like a boy’s. Very strange. Perhaps she had recently recovered from a fever or some such? Yes, that must be it. Still, it should be easy enough to discover her. There would not be many girls with cropped hair at the foremost inn of Boulogne. He would find her, and thank her. He’d give her a purse of guineas, too, if she would take them. She had certainly earned them.
So much courage. He must find her again. He must.
‘Hold still, your Grace, if you please.’
Dominic cursed. Cooper was being particularly thorough with his confounded salve.
‘Exactly so, your Grace. But if I don’t catch all of these burns, they’ll turn bad and then where will we be? Begging your Grace’s pardon, o’ course.’ There was nothing in the least subservient about Cooper’s tone, in spite of his words. He had been with Dominic for too many years and was particularly officious when he knew he was in the right. As now.
Dominic sighed and held himself still until his man had finished. Cooper eased a fine lawn shirt over Dominic’s injured torso. It felt blessedly cool against his tormented skin.
‘There. Works wonders, your Grace. You’ll soon be right as ninepence. You’ll see.’
‘No doubt, Cooper,’ Dominic croaked. His throat was still raw from the smoke. He reached for the tumbler of water and drained it. For a moment, it helped.
‘I’ll fetch up some honey in a moment,’ Cooper said. He had been out in the yard, helping to pass the water buckets, but he had not inhaled nearly as much smoke as his master. He still sounded more or less normal. ‘Once your Grace is fit to meet company again.’
Dominic groaned and reached for his cravat. He had wasted too much time already. He had not intended to fall asleep but, exhausted as he was, there had been no fighting it. He must find that girl. She would be injured too, her throat burned and her tender body scarred by flying sparks. He would offer her Cooper’s salve. He would—
‘Right, your Grace. You’ll do now, I think.’ Cooper nodded knowingly at his master’s reflection in the glass.
Dominic assessed the image for a second. His mother would certainly recognise him now. It was as well that Cooper had cut out the scorch marks in his hair, though. The Dowager would certainly have had something caustic to say about those, if she had seen them.
He strode to the door and clattered down the stairs to find the landlord. He must find that girl.
‘Monseigneur.’ The landlord had instantly appeared, bowing so low that his nose seemed to be about to touch his knees. His thanks were effusive. And apparently interminable.
‘Yes, yes,’ Dominic said, with a dismissive wave. ‘Anyone else would have done the same. Say no more about it.’
The landlord bowed again, even lower. It seemed he was about to start all over again, but this time Dominic cut him short. ‘Landlord, there is a girl in the inn, with cropped hair. I wish to speak to her. Be so good as to bring her to me.’
‘A girl, monseigneur?’ He was looking thoroughly puzzled. He began to shake his head. Then, ‘Oh, the girl with cropped hair. You mean that one.’
Dominic resisted the temptation to swear at the man. The landlord had just had a major fire at his inn, after all. No wonder his mind was at sixes and sevens. ‘Yes, that one. I wish to see her. Where is she? And who is she?’
‘You must mean the corn merchant’s daughter, monseigneur. We have no other girl with cropped hair here. Poor thing, her father said they’d had fever in the family. Such a shame to cut off a girl’s hair like that.’
‘Yes, yes, but where is she? I require to see her.’
The landlord swallowed and stared at the floor. ‘Désolé, monseigneur. She has gone, I fear. Her family left several hours ago. While monseigneur was resting.’
Dominic swallowed a curse at his own weakness. He should have followed her at once. All his instincts had told him to do so. He frowned down at the landlord, but the man had not raised his eyes. ‘But she has a name?’ Dominic rasped.
The landlord hesitated for a moment. ‘I…I do not have the girl’s name, no. She was with the family Durand, of Paris. I assumed she was the daughter. Monsieur Durand gave me no precise address. It was not necessary, you understand. He—’
‘So you have no way of contacting them?’
‘I regret, monseigneur, that—’
‘Oh, very well.’ Dominic knew he was sounding bad-tempered. And he had no just cause. It was not the landlord’s fault, but it was so frustrating that the girl had gone. Why did she have to have such a common surname? And no exact address? It was as if the whole of Boulogne was conspiring against him. With a shake of his head and a curt word of thanks, he left the landlord and strode out to assess the state of the yard.
Behind him, the landlord shook his head slowly. They were strange people, these English, even ones who spoke perfect French like the Duke of Calder. What on earth could he have wanted with a ten-year-old girl? Nothing good, that was certain. It was rumoured that the English had strange and perverted tastes. As an honest and patriotic Frenchman, the landlord could not take the risk of betraying the identity of the child, even to the English Duke who had been responsible for saving his livelihood. The English were the enemy of the Empire, after all. They had been responsible for exiling the Emperor.
The landlord sniffed in disgust. Then he smiled to himself. Giving the Duke a false name and address for the child had definitely been the right thing to do. And clever. By now, she was well on her way home. And not to Paris.
Dominic strode across to where the horses were tethered in the yard, as far as possible from the ruined stables. The grooms were milling around, trying to settle them. The pervasive smell of smoke was making the animals decidedly skittish.
Perhaps, with a fast horse, he could catch her? The family must be on the road to Paris, after all, and they could not be all that far ahead of him, unless they were travelling post. That was surely unlikely for a merchant’s family?
He was on the point of calling out for a horse to be saddled. But then he remembered where he was. And the tasks that he was here to perform.
He could not leave Boulogne. Not even for an hour. He had to fulfil his orders from the Foreign Secretary, Lord Castlereagh. His lordship had treated Dominic with the utmost courtesy, but there had been not the least doubt that his soft-voiced instructions were to be carried out, and to the letter.
‘On the face of it,’ Lord Castlereagh had said, ‘your task is simple. You will be attached to the staff of Emperor Alexander for the duration of his projected visit to London. The Russian court language is French but, of course, you speak it like a native, so you will have no difficulty there. You are to do everything in your power to smooth the Emperor’s path during his stay. And you will ensure that none of his personal staff gets into any trouble while they are here.’
‘On the face of it, sir? There is something more, I take it?’
Lord Castlereagh’s smile was thin, and rather acid. ‘You have just demonstrated why I was right to choose you, Calder. There is indeed something more. The government is somewhat concerned about the Russian Emperor. He is an able man, but he is not above doing deals with England’s enemies. We know, for example, that he is unhappy about Princess Charlotte’s proposed marriage to the Prince of Orange. It is possible he may seek to undermine it, for he knows how valuable a naval alliance with Holland would be to us. He would prefer the heir to the throne of England to marry a penniless princeling, I suspect. The Regent plans to offer him hospitality so that we may keep a close eye on who visits him. Your role will be to watch also, but on the inside.’
‘If the Emperor is as astute as we are led to believe, sir, surely he will decline the services of a British liaison officer?’
‘He might try. But I can assure you he will not succeed, Duke.’
And he had not. Or Dominic would not now be in Boulogne, preparing to attend on the Emperor. Still, at least Dominic had had a little time to go home to Aikenhead Park. After spending so many months alone in France, spying for the British government, Dominic had needed a chance to relax.
It had proved to be a brief but enjoyable respite, especially as his youngest brother, Jack, had been there to welcome him home. And to roast him as usual. Although Jack was only twenty-four years old to Dominic’s thirty-six, the bond between them was strong. They had become even closer over recent years, once Jack had become the third of Dominic’s little team of spies, the Aikenhead Honours. Dominic, the eldest of the three Aikenhead brothers, was Ace, the leader. Leo, less than two years his junior, was King. Jack—Dominic always found himself smiling at the appropriateness of the name—was the Knave, and Jack’s bosom friend Ben Dexter was Ten. The Aikenhead Honours lacked only the Queen, the Lady. Dominic had never found any woman who could be trusted with their secrets. Besides, it was often very dangerous work. No woman could be asked to do it. And none would have sufficient courage, either. Except, perhaps, that girl? Now she…
Dominic shook his head, shattering his wandering thoughts. He had no need of the Aikenhead Honours here in Boulogne, on such a straightforward assignment. And he must stop thinking about that girl. She was trying to haunt him and he would not allow it. He had work to do. He still had preparations to make before his first meeting with the Russian Emperor on the morrow. Everything must be exactly right.
He walked smartly back into the Lion d’Or, mounting the stairs two at a time. He must not let his frustrations rule him. She was only a merchant’s daughter after all, no matter how courageous she was. Too high to be a mistress; too low to be a wife. He would soon forget her. Besides, he could barely remember what she looked like. And she had refused to speak to him. She had a low, melodious voice, he was sure, for he had heard her use it to reassure the terrified horses. But, for him, nothing beyond that scream of ‘Non!’ even after he had rescued her from the burning stable.
Not even a word of thanks. Just wide-eyed fear. And flight.
As from the devil himself.
Chapter Two
Alex stood on the dockside in Boulogne and gazed at the sea for the first time in her life. She had tried so hard to imagine what it would be like. She had thought about bigger versions of the many lakes she had seen. She had even tried picturing the steppes covered with water instead of earth. But she had not foreseen the movement. Yes, that seawater was definitely moving. The ships in the harbour were going up and down.
Her stomach lurched in sympathy and she felt a sudden foreboding. She had been overjoyed when she was bidden to join Tsar Alexander on his trip to England. But she sensed she was not going to enjoy this part of the journey one little bit.
In order to divert her mind from the horrors of the heaving sea, Alex at last allowed herself to remember that extraordinary encounter in the blazing stable. Until now she had not dared to think about the man. He had saved her life and she should be grateful to him. She was grateful to him. But when he had addressed her as mademoiselle, she had had no choice but to flee. Without even a word of thanks. He knew her secret and, all unwittingly, he would have betrayed it. She had had no choice.
She could still remember the feel of his half-naked body, lying on top of hers, and rolling them both around to stop the flames from taking hold. He had felt immensely strong. She was small, but she was no lightweight. Yet he had flung her across his shoulder as if she weighed nothing at all. If only she had dared to ask the landlord for his name. She could perhaps have sent him a note—an anonymous note—of thanks. Perhaps even now, she could—
No! She could not! To risk everything just to thank a smoke-blackened French servant? She did not even have the first idea what he really looked like. To seek him out, she would have to betray herself. It would be utter madness. She must force herself to forget the man, the stable and everything that had happened there.
She tried to focus on her mission instead, sternly reminding herself she must speak only French. She was under instructions from the Emperor himself not to disclose that her Scottish mother and her Scottish nurse had given her a perfect command of English. Her task was to listen, and report what she heard, no matter how unimportant it might seem. In other words, she was to spy for the Emperor. To serve Mother Russia.
A Royal Navy barge was coming in to dock. At first, it seemed tiny, and flimsy, against the vastness of the water, but eventually it moored alongside the jetty. Even tied up with ropes, it was still moving up and down. Alex felt ill just looking at it. In a desperate attempt to master her mutinous body and prevent the image of her rescuer from returning to haunt her again, she turned her back on the harbour and began talking to a group of French fishermen about their trade and their catch.
With luck, by the time she had to go on board, she would be back in control.
* * *
Dominic was leaning idly on the rail as the barge made its way into Boulogne harbour and prepared to tie up. He had satisfied himself that everything was in readiness for the Emperor on board the Impregnable. Once he set foot on French soil again, his duty would begin in earnest. He would not have a moment to himself. There would be weeks of banquets, and balls, and speeches and all the endless ceremonial deemed essential for visiting royalty.
