I am aware of the titles and their implications, as well as my geography.” Stifling a yawn, covering his mouth with a lace-edged silken square he extracted from his sleeve cuff, Justin allowed his heavily lidded eyes to glide along the view of armed soldiers. “Tell me, and I make this inquiry only out of idle curiosity, Major, are you by any chance expecting an imminent assault? Should I be sending Wigglesworth here hot-footing back to my coach to procure my sword?”
The major’s neatly manicured yet hairy face reassembled itself into a bit of a scowl. He stepped closer, speaking softly yet forcefully. “You were not informed? I was told you would be informed, and respond accordingly. Her ladyship is in some danger. Where is your contingent of guards?”
Lord save him from serious men. Justin indicated Brutus with a languid wave of his handkerchief. “Behold. My army.” He turned his head to reassure Wigglesworth. “No offense, my friend. You possess your own unique talents.”
The major clearly was not pleased. “One man? You bring one man to protect your betrothed?”
“One very large man, you’ll agree,” Justin drawled. “There is also myself.”
Luka Prochazka’s lip curled as he ran his gaze up and down Justin’s fashionably dressed form. Or at least the baron thought the man’s lip curled; again, with those elaborate mustachios, it was impossible to say for certain. “You leave me no choice but to ignore my orders to dismiss the guard once her ladyship has been passed into your protection. They will accompany us to London.”
“Oh, hardly, sir. A contingent of foreign soldiers, armed and appearing quite lethal, parading about the English countryside? Many would consider such a thing an act of war. That cannot possibly have been your king’s intent.”
“I will have her safe.”
“I will have her to wife,” Justin countered, a hint of steel creeping into his lowered voice, although the smile never left his face. “What is mine, I protect. Better that we were friends, Major. A fool judges by appearances only. You would not like me as your enemy.”
The major didn’t even blink. “I have heard stories…”
“No, Major. You haven’t. When it comes to Baron Wilde, should anyone dare to inquire, your knowledge of him resembles nothing more than it would a blank slate. Now, if this no-longer-amusing pissing contest has reached its limits, shall we see the lady we have surely kept waiting long enough?”
At last, Luka smiled. “On the contrary, my lord. It is the lady who keeps us waiting.”
“Cowering in her cabin, is she?”
“Hardly, my lord.”
“Justin. As I was informed you are to remain in England for the foreseeable future, we either become informal, Luka, or we kill one another.”
“Justin it is, then. I’ve killed enough men.”
They set off down the length of the dock, their heights similar, their long strides matching perfectly, yet looking as outwardly dissimilar as any two men could be. “That’s the spirit. Always believe you’ll be the winner, even when it is painfully obvious that the outcome will not be in your favor.”
“Oh? We’d duel with handkerchiefs?”
“Only if you fancy mine stuffed halfway down your gullet,” Justin quipped with a smile as he gave the handkerchief one last flourish before it disappeared up his sleeve.
As they approached the ridiculous red carpet, one of the two females turned toward the gangplank, hiked up her skirts and returned to the ship, only to reappear moments later, her eyes downcast as she once more took her place.
Justin halted at the edge of the carpet and removed his hat, his dark hair immediately being blown about in a rather stiff breeze coming off the Channel. Behind him, Wigglesworth sighed.
“I sense her ladyship enjoys making an entrance?”
“Lady Alina is her own person,” Luka said, and this time Justin knew the man was smiling beneath that great mass of mustache.
“Does it itch?” he asked impulsively.
Luka turned to look at him, a question in his eyes for a moment, before he nodded. “And acts as a poor strainer for my food, yes. But all officers are required to be so adorned. When this commission is successfully completed, I plan to resign from the army. Just so that I might shave the damn thing off.”
Justin threw back his head, laughing, feeling that he and this fierce-looking soldier would have no problems now that they had survived their initial introduction. But the smile faded abruptly as a small figure appeared at the head of the gangplank.
She was cloaked in emerald velvet from head to foot, the hood edged with ermine, ermine tails scattered here and there as decorative tassels. Interesting. Queen Elizabeth had favored ermine at her coronation, to symbolize her virginity.
Her ladyship was more than a smidge of a thing, but much less than a tall, stately figure. The hand that reached for the rope railing was ungloved, the fingers long and slender. The face, however, remained in shadow. Teasingly, tantalizingly.
Justin’s thoughts about his prospective wife, and they had been few and far between, if truth be told, had conjured up a meek and obedient woman who could give him an heir and then retire to her knitting while he went about his own pursuits. Now he felt his first stirrings of concern.
Her left hand lifted to the hood and drew it back, slowly at first, and then with a flourish, revealing a mass of shining black curls and a face that drew astonished and admiring gasps from the multitude of interested observers.
Every notion of feminine beauty Justin had ever considered paled into nothingness as Lady Magdaléna Evinka Nadeja Valentin raised her perfect, softly rounded chin and surveyed all the conquered who stood below her on the wooden dock.
Her skin was the finest cream, her brows like delicate ravens’ wings above enormous, tip-tilted eyes the color of old gold coins. The nose, regal, the mouth, wide and softly curving, the cheekbones, high, turning all of her beauty slightly yet wonderfully exotic.
In the suddenly quiet crowd, and without the slightest idea who this creature could be, several of the women curtsied, many men bowed or touched their forelocks. The lady acknowledged this homage with an infinitesimal nod of her head, accepting the gestures as her due.
“Merde,” Wigglesworth breathed, staggering where he stood, his eyes filling with tears of thanks and delight.
Luka’s voice seemed to come to Justin from a distance. “Lady Alina, my lord. Your affianced bride.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Justin murmured under his breath, “the impertinent chit has upstaged me.”
Worse, and for the first time in his memory, Baron Wilde realized that he might actually be experiencing some uneasiness—and a small modicum of anxiety for his own well-being.
CHAPTER TWO
HER HEART RACED SO RAPIDLY Alina feared it might stumble over itself and stop.
Tatiana moments earlier had whispered into her ear that the Baron Wilde was not an ancient ogre, but young, and a near-god,
