Nikolai 2 (Her Russian Protector #6) (34 page)

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Not wanting to stick around the harbor any longer than necessary, Nikolai pocketed the card and walked toward the idling luxury sedan. The driver opened the door for him, and he settled onto the exquisite leather seating. The Poirot lookalike slid into the space next to him. He retrieved a bottle of water from a concealed bar compartment and handed it over along with a discreetly palmed mint.

"Thank you." Nikolai didn't see any reason to be rude just because he loathed the man's employer. He drank some water and popped the mint into his mouth. "You can take me to Yuri Novakovksy's penthouse in Knightsbridge."

The Poirot wannabe shot him a queer look. "I can take you there, but you won't find your wife sleeping under Mr. Novakovsky's roof."

Panic gripped him. "Where is my wife?"

"With Mr. Mikkelsen, of course." The man leaned forward and tapped the glass partition between the seats, and the driver sped off into the early morning darkness.

Reeling from the discovery that Vivian was with Niels, Nikolai clenched his fists at his sides. His eyes closed briefly as he imagined the very worst. After finding him with Tatiana, Vivian might have decided that she wanted revenge. Perhaps she wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt her.

She wouldn't do that. She has too much respect for herself. She's honorable and proud.

Nikolai would forgive her anything, absolutely anything, but he prayed she hadn't crossed that line.

Chapter Eighteen

"I'm boring you, aren't I?"

I tore my gaze away from the strangely enthralling black square centered on the canvas in front of me to meet the intense stare of Niels Mikkelsen. His curiously colored eyes seemed to glitter as he studied me. A flush crept along my neck and into my face, but it wasn't the usual sort of blush that Nikolai's loving, heated gaze inspired. It was one born of discomfort and uncertainty. "No. I could never find you boring."

Niels chuckled and turned his attention back to the painting. "It's mystifying in its simplicity."

Inhaling a long breath, I titled my head and examined the piece by Malevich. "I keep looking at it, but I'm not sure why I can't stop."

"That's art for you, I suppose. Questions. Answers. More questions." Niels stepped away from the painting and moved to the next piece in the exhibit. He had used his connections to help us gain a very private, behind-the-scenes sneak peek of the Kazimir Malevich collection. The exhibit didn't open for two weeks so I considered myself extraordinarily lucky to have this chance.

I trailed him to the painting. It was one of Malevich's earliest works. "I don't like these as much. His abstract pieces speak to me much more clearly."

"That surprises me. I thought for sure you would like these more."

I flashed him a smile. "Well, you don't know me that well."

"It's not for lack of trying."

I rolled my eyes at his flirtatious grin and wiggled my left hand. "I'm married."

"A minor inconvenience," he teased.

His remark was playful, but it made me think of Nikolai and Tatiana and their secret assignation at the Four Seasons. "For some," I murmured sadly.

His smile faded. "I've overstepped the line. I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven." I moved to the next painting, and he followed me. Deciding that it was time to reinforce the line that he seemed to relish toeing right up against, I said, "Niels, I enjoy our time together, but we can only ever be friends."

"I know."

"But?"

"You are utter perfection." He dared to stroke my cheek and wrapped strands of my hair around his finger. He didn't allow his touch to linger. "There's something about you, Vivian. It's an alluring quality that I can't quite figure out." He lowered his hand and let my hair fall back. "But you've already been claimed."

I didn't step away from him. This close, I could easily read his face. He was interested in me. Maybe he was even a little infatuated. He wasn't going to make a move though. He would respect the line I had drawn.

"Come home with me."

Or maybe he not.

"What?"

He laughed. "Not like that,
min lille en.
I want to cook you dinner and show you my private collection. Perhaps you'll allow me to photograph you."

"Photograph me?"

"It's one of my passions."

"I won't ask about the others," I said with a nervous smile.

"Come now, Vivian. You're a married woman now. Surely my passions—of all flavors and intensities—are intriguing to you."

"Intriguing? Yes," I allowed. "But I don't think I'm brave enough to ask if the stories I've heard are true."

Niels leaned forward until his mouth nearly touched my ear. "They are."

I shivered and smacked at his chest. "You're impossible!"

"I'm complicated, but I think you like a complicated man."

"One of them, yes." Complicated was the easiest way to describe Nikolai. Complicated was the easiest way to describe our marriage. At least during the last week. I hadn't heard from him in days, but Kostya and Ten had both called. They had assured me Nikolai was coming to join me, but neither had been able to tell me why he hadn't simply flown over on a plane like a normal person. I had a terrible, stomach-twisting feeling about the whole mess.

Niels held out his arm. "Ready?"

Curious to see his private collection and ready to get off my feet, I took his arm and let him escort me out of the museum and into a waiting car.

"How are your friends enjoying the city?" Niels asked as we were driven through London.

"Erin and Ivan are like two kids in a candy store." My mouth lifted in the biggest smile. "You would never guess it by looking at him, but Ivan is, like, the biggest
Doctor Who
fan in the universe. They're doing a walking tour today."

"Really?" Niels seemed taken aback by that. "
Doctor Who
?"

"Apparently, watching bootlegged
Doctor Who
videotapes is one of the ways he taught himself English.
Star Wars
,
Star Trek
—he's huge into sci-fi and fantasy films and books."

"He was an orphan, yes?"

"Yes. Ivan, Dimitri, Yuri and Nikolai grew up in the same orphanage together. It wasn't a good experience."

"The understatement of the century, I'm sure," Niels murmured. "But loving fantastical fiction and films makes sense. I'm sure it was an escape for him." He stretched out his legs. "What about Bianca and Sergei?"

I nodded. "They have family visiting them here. Sergei's mother and brother," I clarified. Thinking of the night I had gone to their hotel suite to support Bianca and meet Sergei's family, I added, "It's been, um, tense. His mother isn't exactly fond of her."

"Why? I've met Bianca. She's a wonderful young woman. She's tenacious, talented, hardworking—and my God! She's beautiful. Stunning, actually. That body? Those hips? I can think of a dozen Doms who would sell their souls for a submissive like her."

My jaw dropped at his description of Bianca and the mention of dominants and submissives in the same sentence with her.

"Why so scandalized?" he asked with an amused chuckle. "Surely, with your artistic eye, you can appreciate a luscious beauty like that." His eyes darkened and glittered, and I could tell he was thinking of something highly salacious. "That
zaftig
figure in a corset? I would pay a million pounds for the chance to photograph her for my collection."

"Well don't make that offer anywhere Sergei might overhear you," I warned. "He'll break you in half with one punch."

"I daresay he would do more than simply break me in half. Although my tastes run toward the more extreme ends of foreplay, I think allowing a Russian giant to beat me senseless might be a bit much, even for me."

I let loose a shocked laugh. "You are crazy."

"Like a fox," Niels countered with a grin.

Shaking my head at his strange sense of humor, I gazed out the window and enjoyed the London cityscape. His regal mansion sat on two acres of fenced land about twenty minutes outside the city. The gatehouse was manned by a guard, and the long, winding road toward the imposing manor that ended with a burbling fountain and circular drive was like something out of a romance novel.

Niels escorted me into his beautifully restored home. A short man with a flair for vintage style waited patiently near the doorway. His three piece suit and pocket watch plus the spiffy, bright white spats covering his black shoes made him look out of time.

"Vivian, this is René. He runs the household for me."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kalasnikov." René bowed. "May I take your purse?"

"Oh, yes." I handed over my bag. "Please call me Vivian or Vivi."

"As you wish, ma'am."

"I'm taking Vivian to the gallery and then I'll be making dinner. You'll see to the rest of the household."

"Of course, sir."

Niels gestured for me to join him, and we crossed the grand foyer with its cream marble floors and vaulted ceiling adorned with twinkling chandeliers to the wide staircase. The rich, dark wood presented a stark contrast to the pale floors and bright ceilings.

"This is a beautiful balance," I commented as we climbed the stairs. "The brown and cream tones, I mean."

"The staircase is original to the home. The floors are new." Niels launched into a rundown of all the work he had undertaken during the restoration and renovation of the seventeen bedroom mansion. "I chose hardwood for the second floor. I wanted something that felt warmer than the marble downstairs."

"It's a nice contrast." Thinking of the massive size of the manor, I exclaimed, "You must have an army of housekeepers!"

"Not quite," he replied rather cryptically. "This way."

The house was shaped liked squared-off "C" with two distinct wings attached to a larger central structure. Niels had elegantly arranged his art collection on the walls. They were grouped by period and style. More than once, I stopped along the progression to simply stare and appreciate the brushstrokes and techniques.

"This is my pre-1900 collection," he explained as we examined a rather sinister and almost macabre El Greco painting. "My more modern pieces are in New York, Amsterdam and Copenhagen."

"They wouldn't look right in this house," I murmured, stepping closer to scrutinize the realistic shading to the fabric folds painted on the canvas. "It would be jarring to come across one of your Chegall's in this space."

Niels smiled at me. "You understand the dilemma perfectly."

Remembering the art theft at Yuri's mansion perpetrated by Lena's bumbling cousin, I asked, "How in the world do you keep all of these paintings safe? Aren't you worried about a burglary?"

"I don’t think there are many art thieves stupid enough to steal from me. Where would they fence the paintings? I'm one of the top collectors in the world. If one of my pieces went missing, every black market dealer on the face of this planet would be looking for it and running right back to me for the reward money."

"I suppose you have a point there." I moved on to the next selection and shook my head in wonder and awe. "I can't imagine waking up every morning and strolling by these museum quality pieces in my jammies. What a trip that must be!"

Niels laughed and then tilted his head. I sensed the sadness radiating from him. "I forget sometimes how incredibly lucky I am. It's easy to become jaded and cynical when there's nothing you can't buy."

"There are plenty of things you can't buy, Niels." I crossed the hall to a religious piece that had caught my eye. One look at the painting, and I could tell it was Spanish and probably Baroque period. "Is this a Herrera?"

"The Elder," Niels confirmed with a nod. He joined me in front of the painting and rubbed the heavily gilded frame with his thumb. Glancing down at me, he asked, "What types of things can't be bought?"

I blinked and then frowned. "Love, obviously. Loyalty. Devotion. Honor. Respect. You can buy material things, but you can't buy the things that matter most, Niels."

His thumb moved along the frame, and he cast a knowing smile my way. "I've figured out why I like you so much."

"Oh?"

"You're good, through and through, Vivian. You're sweetness and light."

"You aren't the first man to tell me that."

"No?" He seemed almost disappointed to hear that.

"Nikolai calls me his sun."

"He must find the warmth of your light wholly intoxicating after so many years in the darkness."

He used to
, I thought with a gut-wrenching pang of sadness. I turned away from Niels and walked to the next painting. We enjoyed the art in companionable silence for the next hour, moving from piece to piece until we reached the end of the east wing.

"Would you like to see my studio?"

"Of course!" I loved touring the working spaces of other artists so I happily trailed him to a room across the hall that faced out toward the gardens. What I discovered when I entered the studio surprised me.