My Angel (19 page)

With that Misha laughed again. It was a slow, warm chuckle coming from deep in his chest. Despite the fury and the anger Sam held in check until he caught up with Devil, he liked this man, Misha.

"With a father as determined as you are, perhaps he will, although I see little hope for a marriage between the two of them." Misha looked sad, his indrawn breath almost a hiss. "A great love perhaps, but never marriage."

~ * ~

"Misha writes us that Alexi is traveling with a woman, a commoner. Can you imagine that?" Feodora asked, her tone filled with spite and malice.

"What Alexi does is none of your business," Natasha, Alexi's grandmother, countered.

"It will be." Feodora pouted, her lips pursed and her eyebrows drawn into an ugly scowl. "When he becomes my husband."

White lilies adorned the table, and a soft spring breeze spread the curtains wide. Outside, the sky was a brilliant blue, and a few white clouds peppered the horizon.

Natasha Popov bent her head and played the keys of the grand piano fiercely, evoking all the dizzying sensation she held within. Her fingers wildly roamed the keyboard, back and forth, the melody intense and violent. She'd been playing the piano for hours now, her fury at her grandson and his newest paramour almost spent.

"That will never happen.'' Natasha looked up from the piano long enough to say the few words that needed to be said. "You should pack your bags and be gone from here."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Feodora' tone was condescending. "Now I'm not good enough for your grandson. Is that it?"

Natasha's anger at Feodora would never vanish, and she
sought a way to drive the young woman from the Popov home. "Very much," Natasha said. "Any woman who whores is not fit to be the wife of Alexi. He would never condone it."

No, she could never forgive the lady reclining on the couch, eating sweets. Feodora was a beautiful woman, and her family was well respected. But she was no gift from God, as her name implied. Feodora was a cold, calculating bitch with the morals of a practiced courtesan.

Natasha regretted with all her heart ever telling Feodora's father that Alexi might marry the chit. But she had. And now she must find some way to undo the damage she'd inadvertently created.

She needed to bend all her energy into seeing that the marriage would not take place. Short of an execution she could not think of one ploy.

Two mornings ago, Natasha had gone into the stables and found Feodora naked and in the arms of Ivan, the riding master. Three weeks ago she'd heard rumors of a longtime relationship between Feodora and some count living somewhere along the
Danube
. Feodora would not make a biddable wife for Alexi, and Natasha could not bear the thought of Feodora being mother to Alexi's children.

"He dare not bring her here," Feodora continued. "He'll rue the day he flaunts a mistress under my nose."

"You are not wed yet, nor are the two of you betrothed in his eyes," Natasha said, trying to calm her voice. "You are putting the cart before the horse, as they say, making demands on his actions and his life. Alexi is not a man to be ruled by a woman."

Natasha suddenly stopped playing, her fingers resting lightly on the piano keys. Critically, she studied the woman she'd once thought the perfect mate for her grandson. Old ladies should not try to play matchmaker; they inevitably fail, she told herself. Alexi was capable of finding a mate. Her intentions had been good. Selfishly, she'd meant only to hurry the process along.

"Have you changed your mind, then, about the marriage?" Feodora rose from the couch and minced toward the piano. "I would wager you have not. You need the fortune I would bring with me to renovate this crumbling heap you call an estate.''

Feodora leaned over the keyboards, her plush, ripe breasts pushing against the low cut of her bodice. Natasha wondered what she'd ever seen in the spoiled young woman standing before her.

"I need nothing you have. The choice is my grandson's to make,'' Natasha said.' 'Be careful what you say. This crumbling estate is the home I love."

"And you will tell him all that you've heard about me. The rumors are all lies." Feodora's lips pursed slightly, a practiced gesture, one she used to bring a man to heel.

"No." Natasha smiled serenely, knowing Alexi would see through Feodora's seductive ploys. "He will not need me to tell him anything. I would never presume to spread gossip. The truth of your character will be seen by him soon enough. A whore cannot hide behind her money or an innocent game. He has enough experience with women and whores. He'll know the truth without help from me."

Feodora bristled, her anger turning her gloriously beautiful face into a hideous creation. "Witch!" she exploded.

Natasha relaxed and her fingers drifted into a slow waltz, the music calming her and offering her respite from the error of her own actions.
I will never play matchmaker again,
she vowed silently.

Feodora left the room. Natasha was sure the lady would go to one of her lovers for soothing, perhaps to Ivan, whose loyalty to Alexi was strong. It was all right with her. Perhaps by the time Alexi returned, Feodora would be huge with child, a bastard child.

She had personally thanked Ivan for seducing Feodora. He'd grinned and told her it was his pleasure. Karim, Alexi's father, had sent him with the express purpose of protecting Alexi and discovering the truth about Feodora. Natasha understood why Ivan had seduced Feodora. He'd seen beneath her character to her darker side, and he'd made sure the prince would never marry her by spoiling her himself. But then Ivan had confirmed the rumors to her personally.

As suspected, Feodora had been no innocent maiden when she'd bedded Ivan in the hayloft. Feo knew well what she was about.

Natasha said a silent prayer that Alexi was out of the country and could not be accused of fathering a child on Feodora. Yes, perhaps this would all work out for the best.

Feeling more lighthearted by the minute, she began to play a favorite of hers, "Oh, Dem Golden Slippers," then changing the tune quickly to "Little Brown Jug."

Chapter Seven

Feodora let the back door slam shut behind her, rage building inside her. She would have it all, Alexi and his money. She'd taunted the old lady about the condition of her estate, but the truth of the matter was, she had nothing: no money, no estate, no name and no future. Her father had been desperate to be rid of her. No nobleman would have her for a wife simply because they'd all had her as a lover.

"Bah! Men!" They were good for only one thing.

She liked the stable master better than any of the aristocratic dandies she'd bedded. He was a real man. If she'd had money, she would have never agreed to her father's schemes. Well, she still intended to have it all: the title of princess and the famous lover who'd learned how to give pleasure in a Turkish harem. If she could accomplish the feat, she meant to have both Ivan and Alexi.

"Ivan," she called out, her voice a sultry purr. When he didn't answer, she bristled. "Where the hell are you?"

A tall, broad-shouldered man appeared from the back of the stables. His hair was blue-black, his eyes a dark, smoldering brown. At the moment his shirt, unbuttoned, hung loosely from his shoulders, his muscles rippling, sweat sliding down his chest. She wanted to touch him so badly she ached.

His smile widened when he saw her. He was handsome, and he knew how to give a lady her pleasure. She was damp with
need just looking at the man, her nipples taut, hard buds beneath her blouse.

He stepped closer and touched her cheek. "Little darling." He smelled of straw, horse manure and sweat, but Feodora didn't care. She ran her hands up his chest, pushing the fabric aside. Her fingers slipped beneath the material, her nails raking over his flat male nipples. With her sharp little teeth, she nipped and teased his flesh.

"Eager, aren't we?" he asked, a slow grin spreading across his face, one callused hand running up and down her back. "But you see, my darling, I've got work to do, and I don't have time for a dalliance in the hay. Perhaps you should come back another time."

"This won't take long," she said, her finger shoving the shirt from his shoulders. Stroking his back and his buttocks, she squeezed and rubbed and thought,
How could I have waited so long for this man, my lover?

He tugged at her loose-fitting bodice until he'd uncovered her breasts and her arms were pinned to her sides by the constraining fabric. "How very clever of you, Feo. No underclothes?" His mouth closed eagerly over one breast, his hand over the other. The suction came hard and insistent. She arched back and groaned, satisfaction throbbing within.

"Ivan..." She sighed his name in a throaty whisper. "Do it to me. Please, Ivan. Take me here. Right now."

"Shameless hussy." His tone was endearing.

"You love it."

His hands were beneath her skirts, molding to her buttocks, caressing her from behind, squeezing, loving her as no other man had.

"Little Feodora, you must learn patience. A good tumble in the hay takes time." He laughed. His teeth clamped down on her nipple, his tongue teasing her, his fingers taunting her carnal appetites, bringing her so close and then backing off until she was a raging, seething bundle of sexual tension and need.

"Ivan!"

"I like my name on your lips," he told her, his voice calm. "I want to hear you scream it with pleasure."

She writhed in his hands, thrusting her belly against his arousal, feeling the length and heat of him through the fabric of their clothes, and he laughed again.