Awakened By The Prince’s Passion

She could throw it all off and begin again if she chose. But how would she do that? Beyond the theoretical guilt she might feel, there were practical issues. How would she support herself? How would she live? Where would she live? Would she become another face in this Soho district Ruslan talked about? Ruslan would certainly give her an allowance to start out on should she ask and she had no doubt he’d see to the arrangements, but what then?

She could not lean on him, could not live off his largesse for ever, which begged the next question. Could she choose to live in restrained circumstances? A woman with a name that had no history except that which she acquired? She would be a fraud of sorts the rest of her days. Silk dresses and maids proffering jewels would be a thing of the past. It might be worth it, though. There was a certain appeal in anonymity. In time, she could become the wife of another émigré, perhaps a nice man who taught music or dancing to wealthy gentlemen’s daughters. They would live in shabby gentility and no one would ever importune them for favours. She would never need to worry about being used or manipulated. She might make real friends.

But she would never know the truth of her identity. Or if she did, she’d never be able to acknowledge it, not even to her husband. However, the chances of that seemed slim. Ruslan’s doctor had said the more familiarity she surrounded herself with, the better her chances of recovering her memories. Her ‘familiarity’ was a thousand miles away. The best chance for her to know who she was lay in going back. The best chance for peace lay in going back; the best chance to help her country lay in going back. The reasons were mounting, tipping the scale against the one niggling ‘what if’ that remained.

What if she wasn’t who Varvakis thought she was? Was it enough doubt to risk the fate of a nation?

It would be so much easier if she could simply believe the Captain.

* * *

‘You believe the Captain. You’re going to help them,’ Stepan said with characteristic boldness and no small hint of accusation as they sat over early evening drinks at White’s. The table between them was cluttered with bottles in varying degrees of emptiness. It was always drinks, plural, with Stepan. A little vodka, a little samogon, a little whisky on occasion. Stepan thought Englishmen were too boring, too predictable with their predilection for a constant brandy.

Ruslan sat back in his chair. The emptiness of the bottles was making them both bold. ‘Is there a reason I shouldn’t? Perhaps it’s my patriotic duty. A soldier travels across a continent and an angry sea with the only surviving member of the ruling family, shows up on my doorstep and asks for help in the name of a peaceful transition, a transition you and I were exiled for, if I might remind you. That seems like a good reason to help.’

Stepan took a long swallow from his glass. ‘For a man who considers all angles, you’re taking a lot on face value, including the most basic question: Is Varvakis telling the truth? It’s rather convenient for him and for the Moderates to be in possession of such a valuable commodity as Dasha Tukhachevskenova and have her remember nothing, not even who she is. That doesn’t even begin to explore the profit in being able to produce this valuable commodity at the right time. Need I point out how this will position Varvakis and his friends for the future? Right behind the throne?’

Something clenched inside Ruslan. He didn’t like Stepan discussing Dasha as a commodity, yet that’s what she was, what she had to be if he were to keep his detachment. Objectivity was crucial to an organiser, especially one who specialised in organising escapes. Risk analysis, he liked to call it. Without it, bad decisions were made. Dasha was merely another cargo to transport from one destination to another. ‘Are you suggesting she’s not who she says she is?’ Ruslan swirled his drink, not wanting to admit Stepan might

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.