A Magnificent Match (9 page)

Even though Megan had learned much in the freer atmosphere prevailing in the Russian capital, she was shocked by her hostess’ crude insensitivity. “You are cynical, ma’am.”

“I am practical,” corrected Princess Kirov. She folded her hands. “Now, you will tell me which offer you will accept.”

“I have not altered my mind,” said Megan. “I will not accept any of the offers which I have received thus far.”

“You are an obstinate foolish girl. If you were my daughter, you would swiftly feel my wrath for your impertinence,” said Princess Kirov harshly. “As it is, you are the daughter of my dear friend and so my responsibility toward you is limited. I cannot coerce you to fulfill your duty.”

Megan smiled sympathetically and shook her head. “Even my own mother could not coerce me in this, nor would she wish to do so. Her ladyship is quite content to allow me to pick my own path. Believe me, my mother will not blame you for my sad lack of cooperation.”

“That is well, for I have done all that is possible. From this moment, I wash my hands of you,” said Princess Kirov, suiting action to words in a symbolic manner. “I will instruct the maids to begin packing your things at once. You are dismissed.”

Megan was startled. “I beg your pardon?”

Princess Kirov regarded her out of dark fathomless eyes. A small smile curved her thin mouth. “Surely you do not expect to continue to enjoy my hospitality when you have so adamantly rejected the efforts I have made on your behalf? No, it is time for you to return to your homeland.”

The humor of the situation suddenly struck Megan. Lady O’Connell had sent her to Russia so that she would be relieved of all responsibility of her daughter. Princess Kirov was sending Megan back for the same reason. Megan chuckled. “No, I suppose not. I shall begin preparations for my journey at once. I will send out my regrets for those functions for which I am already engaged.”

Megan rose and curtsied to Princess Kirov. “Thank you, ma’am, for an enjoyable stay in St. Petersburg. I shall remember it, and you, fondly all of my life. I assure you, I have learned much during my visit. Naturally I shall give your regards to my mother.” Megan gracefully left the sitting room.

Princess Kirov stared at the closed door, her expression unreadable. Then a slight grimace crossed her face. “She is strong-willed, that one. It is a pity that she is not Russian.”

Upon leaving the princess’s apartments, Megan chanced to meet Prince Kirov. He stopped her with a broad smile and appropriated her hand. Ceremoniously he bowed over her fingers. “My dear sister, you are ravishingly lovely today,” he said.

“You are very kind, as usual, your highness,” said Megan. She smiled up at the big man. Prince Mikhail Kirov was not dark and small like his mother. He was very tall, a blond giant of solid muscle. He had ice-blue eyes that could be disconcertingly penetrating or alight with admiration, as they were now.

Megan knew very well that the prince found her attractive. He had not hidden the fact. He had always treated her with familiarity, claiming a closer relationship than was accurate simply because she had resided in his house for these several months.

Prince Kirov frowned down at her. He retained her hand. “My name is Mikhail. Have I not told you before? You are a guest in Kirov House and part of our family. I insist that you address me by my name.”

“And I have told you that it would be an impertinence on my part to take such gross advantage of my position,” said Megan firmly. She did not deny to herself that she was drawn to Prince Kirov. It would actually give her great pleasure to address him by his given name. But she knew to succumb to the temptation would make it very hard to keep what distance remained between them. She had no desire for a greater intimacy with Prince Mikhail Kirov than what she already enjoyed as a favored guest.

“Still so cold, mademoiselle,” sighed Prince Kirov. He lifted his hand and brushed the curve of her cheek and her hair. “Fire and ice. How is it possible that they exist together?”

Megan regained possession of her hand. She stepped back the merest pace. “I do not know, your highness. You must direct your question to one better trained in philosophy than myself.”

Prince Kirov’s ice-blue eyes gleamed. “Ah, I perceive that you intend to shuffle me off with such a neat setdown. But it will not do, Miss O’Connell. I have seen the depths of your soul in your eyes. I have known these several weeks past that you are attracted to me.”

Megan felt herself blush. “Your highness, that is a highly improper statement and completely untrue, besides. One cannot read another’s soul in their eyes.”

“But one can, dear sister. I have done so. Shall I prove it to you?” asked Prince Kirov.

Megan retreated another step, eyeing the prince warily. “I am not interested in your proof, your highness. It is highly irrelevant, I am certain.”

Prince Kirov followed her, coming so close that she felt almost swallowed up in his nearness. “But it is not irrelevant at all, Miss O’Connell,” he whispered softly. “I shall kiss you, here. And then we shall see if what I have said is not true.” He touched her lips lightly with his finger.

Megan drew back. Her heart was pounding, but she did not drop her gaze from his. “Pray do not be ridiculous, your highness. I do not scheme for your kisses, nor, indeed, for any man’s.”

Prince Kirov smiled. “No, I know it well. I have watched you. You are toasted. Your fantastical beauty is celebrated. You are made love to with flowery compliments and poetical flights of fancy. You receive it all with smiling grace, yet your heart remains untouched. But I think, if I kissed you now, the sleeping passion would awaken. And I think that you would marry me.”

Megan felt stifled by her own heartbeats. There was danger here, but heady excitement, too. “Are you making an offer for me, Prince Kirov?” she asked quietly, only the faintest tremor in her voice.

He smiled down at her with a peculiar tenderness. “No, I am not so gauche or crude, mademoiselle. You are one who desires courtship, the dance of the birds or the flight of mating butterflies. I do not charge in where delicacy is required. No, I do not offer for you today. Perhaps next week, or next month.”

“Or perhaps not at all,” said Megan, tilting up her head.

“That is what you will wonder from now on, mademoiselle,” said Prince Kirov.

Megan shook her head. “No, your highness. I shall not wonder at all, for I shall be far too busy. I shall be making my debut in London this spring.”

“What!” Prince Kirov laughed. He shook his head. “No, no, you think to tease me, mademoiselle. But I shall not succumb.”

“As you will, your highness,” said Megan with a shrug and a smile. “Now let me pass, please.”

Prince Kirov moved aside, bowing. As she brushed past him, however, he suddenly caught her arm. Megan looked up, surprised.

Prince Kirov stared frowningly down into her face. “You do not tease, do you, mademoiselle?”

Megan shook her head. “No, I do not. I shall be leaving Russia in a few short hours.”

“But this is nonsense. I have heard nothing before of this,” said Prince Kirov. He glanced down the hall suddenly, realizing for the first time the possible significance of the fact that she had come out of his mother’s sitting room. “Have you quarreled with my mother? Is that why you have decided to leave Russia? No, it is wrong that you should leave like this. I shall not allow you to leave in a fit of pique. I shall go to my mother at once and force her to apologize to you!”

“Your highness, I have not quarreled with Princess Kirov. We have simply come to a mutual agreement that I have overstayed my visit,” said Megan. “Now it is time for me to return to my own country.”

“That is utterly ridiculous!” exclaimed Prince Kirov.

“Not at all. Will you please unhand me, your highness? I have my packing to oversee,” said Megan coolly.

Instead of doing as she asked, Prince Kirov shoved open a door behind them. He strode into the room, pulling Megan with him. It was the conservatory. Plants hung everywhere and there was the attractive sound of water falling into a pool. The prince shut the door. He laid his shoulder to it and crossed his arms. “Now, mademoiselle, we shall get to the bottom of this matter.”

“Do you intend to keep me here against my will?” demanded Megan.

“If I must,” said Prince Kirov.

“What if I scream?” asked Megan.

“My faithful Fedor saw me bring you in here. He will warn the servants away. I do not think that anyone will dare to enter until I open the door myself,” said Prince Kirov arrogantly.

Megan had not seen the prince’s shadow, the devoted dwarf Fedor, in the hall; but that meant nothing. The small man could practically make himself invisible if he so wished.

Megan regarded the prince for a moment. Very quietly, she said, “I do not answer well to blackmail or to brute force, your highness. You may lean up against that door until doomsday for all the ground it will gain you.” She turned on her heel and started slowly up the path, pausing now and again to sniff at an orchid blossom. She heard his bootstep on the walk behind her.

Megan half-smiled to herself. She had thought rightly. The prince was an impatient man. He would not be able to hold his pose of determined jailer for long. She turned, lifting her brows. “Yes, your highness? Was there something that you wished of me?”

“You know well that there is. Miss O’Connell,” he replied, frowning.

“A civil question will gain you a civil reply, your highness,” said Megan.

Prince Kirov smiled slightly. “Ah, you play me like a violin, mademoiselle. I do not believe that I have ever met your equal.”

Megan almost snorted. She had heard the stories of his women and his duels. Prince Mikhail Sergei Alexsander Kirov was a well-known heartbreaker. It was why she insisted upon the formality between them. “Have you not, indeed!”

“You do not believe me?” asked Prince Kirov. He placed a hand over his heart. “My whole heart is yours, mademoiselle.”

“I possess naught but a piece of it, surely,” said Megan daringly. “For there have been many women who have been given bits and pieces until there is little of it left.”

“Who dares to say so?” demanded Prince Kirov, drawing himself up.

“Why, it is your reputation that shouts it, your highness,” said Megan.

Prince Kirov looked thoughtful. He slid a glance at her. “It is true. I have known many women. But none ever dazzled me as you have, Miss O’Connell.”

Once again, Megan felt her heart thumping. There was a sheer magnetism about Prince Mikhail Kirov that was very hard to resist. She turned out her hands in a curious gesture. “So you say, your highness. But you make love so charmingly to everyone. Is it possible for a woman to trust your words? Or should I listen even more closely to the warning given me by your reputation?”

Prince Kirov closed the distance between them. “Believe this, mademoiselle.” He caught up her hand and placed it firmly against his breast. She could feel the strength of his heartbeat beneath her palm. Her fingers trembled. He looked deeply into her startled eyes. “And believe this.” He gathered her very gently into his arms.

Megan lifted her head to meet his kiss. She had been kissed many times since she had come to St. Petersburg, with everything from an avuncular smack to a passionate salute. But she had never been kissed by a man whom she found so compellingly attractive. His lips were firm and possessive, tasting of cinnamon and wine.

“Now, mademoiselle, I shall ask you a civil question,” said Prince Kirov softly. His thumb traced her sensitized lips. “Why are you leaving Russia?”

“Your mother is displeased with me. I have refused to accept any of the offers that have been made for my hand,” said Megan quietly. She felt the queerest light-headedness. She thought that if she moved she might fall.

“Ah.” There was a wealth of satisfaction in his voice.

Nothing could have snapped Megan back to herself faster than that conceited inflection. She drew back, putting distance between them. A little belatedly, she realized as she stared up into the prince’s smug expression. This is what came of giving in to temptation, she thought in self-disgust. “And precisely what does ‘ah!’ mean?” she asked.

Prince Kirov shrugged, a massive roll of shoulder. “It is just as I thought. I read your soul. You will have none other when I stand before you, mademoiselle.”

Megan was instantly angered. “Indeed!” she said in her coldest inflection. “You are very taken with yourself, your highness.”

Prince Kirov laughed suddenly, his white teeth gleaming.

“Your eyes shoot sparks when you are annoyed.” He reached out his hand to caress her hair. “My little firebird.”

“I am not your anything!” exclaimed Megan. She whirled around him and started back toward the conservatory door. “You enjoy playing with a woman’s heart, but I shall not be a toy for your entertainment!”

“Megan!” Prince Kirov followed after her.

She reached the door and opened it. Her cheeks were flaming and her eyes shone with anger. “I am leaving at once! And you need not attempt to stop me, for I am very certain that Princess Kirov will be quick to remonstrate.”

“You will not leave today,” said Prince Kirov.

Megan’s breast rose in indignation. He had thrown down the gauntlet and she snatched it up. “Won’t I just!”

He shook his head and smiled. “You will dine with me tonight. Then perhaps you will leave tomorrow.”

“I will not dine with you tonight. I am leaving,” said Megan.

“It is Monday. We Russians are a superstitious lot. You have been long enough in my country to know this. There is not a Russian coachman alive who will begin a journey on Monday,” said Prince Kirov.

Megan was furious. She had completely forgotten the Russian aversion to traveling on Mondays. She had made herself look foolish and he was grinning at her. “Tomorrow, then. I shall leave first thing tomorrow.”

“And you will dine with me tonight,” said Prince Kirov.

Megan did not deign to answer, but swept through the doorway with her head held high.

Megan did dine with Prince Kirov, along with several hundred others. It was a small soiree, as Russian standards went, and it ended typically. The younger members of the gathering put on their furs and ran outside to the
troikas
and the smaller
drozhkis
that had been converted to sleds for the winter.