Royal Renegade by Alicia Rasley Read Free Book Online Page B

these traders grew almost to strangling proportions. They were men, of course, and commoners, and that made the difference. They were free to sail here and there, meet with this rug merchant and that spice importer, purchase this load of silk and sell that shipment of opium, all without regulation or qualm. In contrast, Tatiana was constrained both by her gender and her royal birth to be merchandise rather than merchant. She had only herself to trade, and that was already contracted for. Whatever concessions she had exacted from Alexander, she was still nothing but cargo, soon to be forced into the most intimate of covenants in return for an international contract.
    Almost she wanted to escape, to tuck her hair under her cap and sign on as a cabin boy on one of those sleek merchant vessels. But a rare moment of common sense restrained her, that and an odd feeling of hope. Perhaps something would happen in England. Perhaps Cumberland would, contrary to all accounts, turn out to be a charming man. Perhaps the alliance would collapse before it formed and her Romanov blood became anathema to the English royals. Perhaps she would have her freedom without cost. Perhaps.
    The sun was just burning red above the water when a young man sauntered toward the hotel. He carried a small grip, as if he were just on a short journey. Tatiana glimpsed a bronzed face above a blinding white cravat, a lean body in a coat of a subdued gray and rakish cut. But she knew immediately that this was he, the escort sent from her future homeland. If it is, she thought superstitiously, he will look up and see me here. Then I shall know he is my destiny.
    Romantic fancy, perhaps. But then he raised his head, shielding his eyes from the sunlight with his hand, and stared straight at her. Delighted, she waved, but he only turned away and entered the hotel.
    "He's here, he's here!" she cried, dancing into the sitting room, dodging around a dusty gold wing chair, and skidding to a halt in front of her companion. "Our English escort is here! We will be leaving soon!" She ran to the nearest window and pointed down to the street, calling excitedly to her companion. But Buntin remained resolutely in her chair with her needlework, and anyway, he was vanished now, her English knight errant.
    Buntin finally put down her tambour and sighed wearily at her charge's antics. "I know you're restless, dear, but you are giving me palpitations. Now how could you know that our escort is here?"
    "He looked right at me. And, oh, Buntin, I think he's handsome. I couldn't tell exactly, for the sun was in his face, but he was slim and tall and walked with such command. Wouldn't it be lovely if he was wondrously handsome and gallant?"
    "I don't know what use that would be, since he's only to deliver you to your bridegroom," Buntin observed. "Besides, I fear you are mistaken, for surely they will send a whole group of men to escort us. After all, Britain is at war with France."
    But a knock at the door interrupted her. "I knew it," Tatiana said triumphantly. She flew across the room to the door and flung it open, only to discover Colonel Arbatov, their corpulent, confused envoy from the palace.
    Her disappointment vanished, however, once he said in his careful French, with a great to-do of winking and gesturing, "Mademoiselle, your brother has arrived. I have engaged a parlor for your private conversation. Please to follow me."
    Tatiana took only a moment to smooth her golden peach muslin gown and pull a gray Kashmir shawl around her shoulders. Buntin inspected her charge from head to toe, and shaking her head with rue, tried to smooth the unruly red curls. But Tatiana twisted away and, her silver ribbons streaming behind her, ran through the door and down the short hallway to the designated parlor. She paused outside the doorway, waiting for her breath to return and Buntin to catch up. Then, with a dignity only slightly compromised when she stumbled a bit on the threshold, Tatiana came