The Brigadier's Daughter (13 page)

‘I am sure your husband will agree with me.' And with that rather curt observation and a slight nod of her head she departed, closing the door with a snap.

In the ensuing silence Jane murmured gently, ‘It's only seven now, mum, I'll bring you up some tea and a bite to eat.'

‘Thank you,' replied Sasha, and then stalled the maid with a hand on her forearm. ‘Is Major Bowen back, do you know?'

‘No, mum.' The maid shook her head, the ribbons of her little white cap fluttering as she bobbed a curtsy at the door. ‘I don't think so.'

Sasha went to stand by the window, for the hundredth time that day, her figure reflected in the dark panes and the darkness of the city punctuated by yellow lamp lights. Her sense of foreboding had increased. The next two hours seemed both far
too long and swiftly over. Her hand shook a little as she drank a cup of fragrant Earl Grey tea and nibbled on toast, ravenously hungry yet slightly nauseated by the anxiety of her thoughts. She tried to convince herself that she was worrying about nothing, and if Reid were here at this moment he would laugh aside her fears. At last the glass-domed clock on the mantel softly chimed the ninth hour and Sasha took a deep breath. As she descended the carpeted stairs, alone, and heard the distant strains of an orchestra, she wished more than anything that Reid was at her side, tall and strong and capable.

 

Sasha stood in the doorway of the ballroom, a solitary figure as she gazed upon the magnificent scene. The high ceiling was beautifully decorated with gold leaf and murals, and supported by six marble-and-onyx columns. Along the walls hung several vast mirrors in ornate gold frames, reflecting the colourful array of the guests. The silk and satin of the ladies' gowns contrasted with the dark coats of the gentlemen in tails, only the braided uniforms of the military officers outshining the beautiful ball gowns and sparkling jewellery of the ladies. An orchestra played in a gallery at the far end of the room, the poignant strains of a Strauss waltz filling the room with vibrant melody as couples on the dance floor swayed and whirled smoothly about.

She moved forward quickly, before anyone could take too much notice of her arrival unaccompanied; as she did so a familiar face emerged out of the crowd. She looked up at him with a smile of relief.

‘Captain Turnbull, how very nice to see you.'

The Navy man, in full dress uniform, bowed to her and offered her a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, ‘The pleasure is all mine, Mrs Bowen.' He winked at her. ‘You look a bonnie lass tonight, I must say.' He looked about. ‘And where is the Major?'

‘I believe he is galloping about on the plains with Russian
Hussars.' She sipped golden liquid from the narrow flute glass, the bubbles tickling her nose.

He snorted on a laugh. ‘Then we should not expect him back any time soon.'

‘Oh?' Sasha looked up at him askance, with a sideways glance. ‘Why is that?'

‘My dear, they do like to drink, the Russians. Vodka, and plenty of it.'

‘Well…' Sasha frowned. ‘I hope he won't arrive in a—a foxed state.'

The Captain laughed. ‘In the meantime—' he set aside his glass, and hers, offering his arm ‘—please do me the honour of the next dance.'

‘Of course.'

Sasha smiled and spent a pleasant time dancing and chatting with Captain Turnbull, who then introduced her to friends of his, and she danced with the surgeon from HMS
Dorset
, and enjoyed conversations with several people, her fluency in French and Russian holding her in good stead and drawing much admiration and interest. Yet her glance frequently went to the door, in search of Reid. She so much wanted to share the pleasure of the evening with him. Despite being entertained by the company, the dancing and the champagne, she felt tension coiled in her midriff, her yearning for Reid increasing.

‘Bonsoir, ma petite.'

A smoky, very low, yet strangely familiar female voice sounded close to her ear and Sasha turned to gaze upon its owner. It was as though she looked upon a twin of her mother, except this woman was slightly taller and her magnificent figure in its cream-and-gold gown the very perfection of tiny waist and voluptuous bosom. She had an alabaster swanlike neck and dark glossy hair coiled on her head, crowned with a diamond tiara.

‘I knew at once that you must be Georgia,' the woman purred in English, her husky voice pleasantly accented. ‘You are the spitting image of your mother.'

Sasha smiled, and inclined her head slightly. ‘I could say the same,
madame
, although even my lovely mama could only claim to be a poor likeness.'

The woman laughed, an enchanting sound that drew glances from those standing nearby. ‘Please, call me Irena.' She glanced covertly about and gently laid her gloved hand under Sasha's elbow. ‘Come, let us find a corner where we can talk, before the Dragon Lady discovers that I have found you.'

‘You mean Lady Cronin?'

‘Of course.' Countess Irena wrinkled her delicate nose. ‘I think she does not approve of me.'

Sasha merely smiled, realising that she could not possibly comment on Lady Cronin's true opinion of this very beautiful woman. Her curiosity was aroused, however, and despite the warning, she was eager to get to know the cousin who had grown up with her own mother and knew of her childhood. Judging from the many male glances that slid her way as they moved through the throng of guests, Countess Irena also had the allure and charm to attract admiration that every woman secretly longed for. Sasha glanced at her from the corner of her eye. Her face was a classic oval, the nose slightly aquiline, full ruby lips evenly shaped, and her dark black eyes fringed with thick, smoky lashes that Sasha suspected were outlined with a hint of kohl. No respectable woman would go about in public with a painted face, but Countess Irena seemed to be a law unto herself, and no doubt a very rich one. Sasha noted the glittering diamonds on her fingers, at her earlobes and sparkling in a delicate necklace upon her bosom, as well as the diamond-and-pearl tiara gracing her head.

They found two gilt chairs in an alcove and sat down.

‘I am very surprised, Countess Irena, that Lady Cronin even let you in the door.' Suddenly realising how rude that must sound, Sasha held her fingers to her mouth. ‘Oh, I'm sorry, I did not mean—'

Irena laughed, a throaty, husky sound. ‘She could not very
well refuse. My escort is godson to the Tsar and a very influential young man.' She laid a reassuring hand on Sasha's wrist. ‘Do not worry, I am quite sure that Lady Cronin has already made known to you her own strait-laced and narrow views on the entire population of Russia. Without even so much as leaving the Residency. Now, my darling Olga's darling girl, tell me all about yourself. I believe you are recently married to a British officer? Is he very handsome?'

Sasha's cheek dimpled on a smile, warming to this exotic cousin once removed. ‘Oh, yes—' she sighed ‘—he is very handsome indeed.'

Countess Irena was no fool and she was quick to pick up on the wistful note in Sasha's voice, nor did she fail to notice the downcast expression in her eyes. ‘A bride should be radiant and glowing after only a few weeks of marriage, but I sense this is not so, my dear?'

Sasha blushed and looked away, the restrictions of her English heritage far too ingrained to begin discussing personal and intimate matters in public. And yet, glancing again at Countess Irena, she realised that there was no one else to confide in and she was most certainly a woman who would have knowledge and experience of—Sasha blushed—
relations
between a man and a woman. Dare she ask her advice on how to win Reid, body and soul?

‘Perhaps this is not the time or the place,' murmured Countess Irena, delving into the sequined reticule dangling from her wrist. She extracted a card and pressed it into her hand. ‘We will talk when you call at my home.' She rose from her seat. ‘I see my escort, it seems we are about to leave.' She leaned down, wafting a subtle scent of expensive perfume as she kissed Sasha upon her cheek. ‘I am sure Olga said in her letters that her daughter Georgia was fair.' She stared hard at Sasha for a moment, and then smiled.
‘Au revoir, ma chérie.'

S
asha watched as Countess Irena swept away upon the arm of her escort, a Russian prince bedecked in the splendid regalia of a military uniform, his jet-black moustache matching his hair and eyes. He seemed quite a few years younger than Irena and Sasha envied the Countess her grace and beauty. She rose from her seat and glanced down at the card in her hand, about to discreetly slip it into her reticule when Lady Cronin barked, ‘Georgia, I hope you have no intention of having anything to do with that dreadful creature!'

‘I— I—' Sasha flushed, hiding her hand behind her back and desperately searching for a reply. Her first choice was a scathing one, but then it would not do to alienate the wife of a man Reid must work closely with. As her mouth opened and closed she suddenly felt warm fingers press into her waist, her slender back encircled by a scarlet-sleeved arm.

‘And what dreadful creature would that be?' asked Reid. ‘Don't tell me my wife has a roving eye already!' He frowned ferociously and said in a mock voice of deep anger, ‘Wife, I shall beat you soundly!'

‘Oh, no, not at all!' exclaimed Lady Cronin. ‘I— I merely meant—'

Sasha glanced up and smiled with pleasure as well as relief at Reid, standing tall and very handsome in his dress uniform of scarlet-and-gold tunic, dark blue breeches and gleaming boots, a sword latched to his waist.

He winked at her and turned her away from Lady Cronin towards the dance floor. ‘My apologies, ladies, for attending this magnificent occasion so late. Come, my little wife, I shall teach you to be obedient to your husband!'

Lady Cronin gasped, her eyes flashing with shock, for it was obvious from Reid's slurred tone of voice and the way he pulled Sasha close against his body, that he was well oiled and dancing was not the only obedience he had in mind. Sasha let him take command as they swept away into a waltz, the sensuous strains and Reid's surprisingly nimble footwork wheeling them about the dance floor in perfect rhythm.

‘Look at her, the old trout.' Reid laughed. ‘What's got up her nose, then?'

‘Shh,' Sasha berated him, glancing about to see if anyone had overheard, and then looking up into Reid's face as he pulled her even closer against his chest, her slender body fitting between his legs as he manoeuvred her about. She gasped and shivered as his lips toyed with the curve of her ear. ‘Are you drunk, Major Bowen?'

‘As a lord, Mrs Bowen.' He groaned, his hand moving from her waist to clasp her bottom. ‘Let's go upstairs.'

Sasha arched her neck away from his exploring lips and snatched his hand away from her bottom, placing it firmly on her waist. ‘Behave yourself. People are beginning to titter.'

‘Titter?' Reid threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh, my little virgin, how delightful you are!'

Sasha was now greatly alarmed and dragged Reid from the dance floor. ‘For goodness' sake, do be quiet!'

Reid swayed, peering at her, his hair ruffled and grinning as he replied in a mock whisper, ‘Sorry, old girl, almost gave the game away.' He took her hand. ‘Come on, let's go to bed.'

Sasha thought it best to comply, fearing that Reid would blow their carefully constructed charade and bring disaster upon both their heads. Glancing about, she managed to catch Captain Turnbull's eye and with his assistance they led Reid up the stairs and to their bedchamber.

‘Thank you,' Sasha said, as Reid began singing and tossing off his jacket, ‘I can manage from here on.'

Captain Turnbull smiled, and made a swift drinking motion with his hand. ‘It's the vodka, Mrs Bowen.'

‘No doubt.' Sasha closed the door and then ran back to the bed as Reid began fumbling with the belt at his waist, singing a bawdy song at the top of his voice as he divested himself of his military trappings.

‘Come here, you beautiful little thing.' He grabbed hold of Sasha about the waist and began to waltz her about the room. ‘Where have you been all night?'

Sasha grimaced, clinging to him and trying desperately to stay on her feet as he whirled and dashed about. ‘I have been here all the time. Where have you been, sir?'

‘Oh, God!' Suddenly he stopped, holding a hand to his head as if the room spun in dizzy circles. ‘Where's the bed? I think I'd better lie down.'

‘Yes, I think you'd better.'

Sasha guided him to the vast bed and he sat down gingerly on the edge. ‘Be a sport, sweetheart, and fetch me a glass of water.'

‘Shall I ring for a pot of coffee?'

‘No, water, please, got an almighty thirst.'

She went to the ornate bedside cabinet and poured a glass of water from the carafe left there by the maid. She gave it to Reid and he drank quickly, holding out the glass for more. After his second glass he handed it back to her and then flopped back onto the bed with a groan.

‘God, what a day!' He lifted his head and looked up at Sasha, patting the space beside him. ‘Come here, you're too far away and I don't have the energy for shouting.'

Sasha kicked off her shoes and climbed up onto the bed, kneeling beside him, her skirts billowing in a froth of silk gown and chiffon petticoats. She looked down at Reid as he lay on the bed, her eyes caressing the flaxen locks of ruffled hair that fell across his forehead, his straight nose and wide mouth, the very dark blue of his eyes, the strong column of his throat.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?' he asked, his hand reaching out for her waist and pulling her down to lie beside him.

Sasha caught the whiff of alcohol on his breath and suddenly she became aware of the heat of his body and how big and powerful he was. She lowered her eyes demurely and shrugged, instinctively aware that Reid in this condition was an unknown quantity, and all her own anxieties of the day and their situation making her nervous.

His fingers grasped her chin and tipped her face up so he could see her eyes. ‘For God's sake, don't go all prudish miss on me now,' he growled, raising himself up on one elbow and leaning over her, turning her so that she lay upon her back, beneath the heavy weight of his broad chest and shoulders. His eyes devoured the pink curves of her tender mouth, moving down to the pale skin of her neck and the arousing swell of her bosom. He groaned, and lowered his head to kiss her.

At the first touch of his lips on her own Sasha melted, her hands lifting to his shoulders and sliding down his back, her fingers digging into the hard strength of his muscles, her mouth opening. Yet as his kiss deepened and she felt the weight of his body, heard his heavy breath and felt his fingers fumble to lift the hem of her gown, she felt a cold sense of panic.

He became aware of her hands pushing at his chest and her mouth leaving his as she turned her head away from the deep plunging force of his kiss. ‘Whar's wrong?' he slurred.

Her heart was pounding and her breath came in loud, ragged pants as panic flared through her. ‘No, Reid, we agreed to wait until we are married.'

He groaned. ‘I can't wait that long.'

‘It's only until tomorrow.' She stared up at him with a dawning suspicion. ‘You did arrange it with the minister, didn't you?'

Reid paused as his fingers pulled down the tiny sleeves of her bodice, considering the simple question with obvious difficulty. ‘I think so. Damned if I can remember.'

‘Oh, Reid!'

‘Don't worry, sweetheart, if not tomorrow, then another day!' His hot mouth grasped at her smooth breast, his teeth gently scraping her soft skin as he felt the sudden urgent force of desire building inside of him, the sweetness and nearness of her body driving all thoughts from his mind except the need to be one with her, with sweet, generous, clever little Sasha. Suddenly it dawned on him how right it felt, how good it would be with her, yet he struggled with his ardour and the dull ache of too many vodkas to convey this fact properly to her, and he grasped her chin to kiss her more thoroughly, hoping that kisses would achieve more than muddled words.

Sasha gasped, and pushed at him, frightened now as her efforts failed to make him move away. ‘No, Reid, not like this.' She struggled in earnest when his knee spread her legs and his fingers reached beneath her skirts to grasp the silk bow holding up her drawers. ‘Stop it, Reid, you're drunk, I don't want you to.'

He laughed then, his mouth pressing rough kisses on her neck as he tugged at her drawers. ‘Of course you want to, you've been eager for me to take you from the first moment we met.'

‘Get off!' Outrage warred with embarrassment at the grain of truth amongst his words and Sasha lifted her hand, slapping him smartly across one cheek with her open palm. Her hand stung, the sharp sound ringing about the room, yet it had the desired sobering effect and Reid suddenly rolled away from her.

He rose from the bed and strode away, throwing over his shoulder, ‘If you were Georgia, we'd be rolling around naked
by now, with her on top, panting and enjoying every moment! She's the sort who knows what a man wants.'

His words cut her to the quick and Sasha turned her face away, closing her eyes at the sudden spurt of tears. She did not open them again until she heard the click of the door and looked up to find herself alone.

 

Just before noon the next day Jane brought a tea tray and a somewhat terse note from Lady Cronin. Reid did not stir when Sasha woke, roused by Jane's knock and the rattle of cups. With a sigh she sat up, pushing back the waves of her long dark hair as she unfolded the note, and greeted Jane good morning in a soft whisper, glancing at Reid as he continued sleeping, lying on his back with one arm stretched above his head. He had returned to their bedchamber some time during the night, but she had feigned sleep and remained in a curled-up position on her side of the bed, as far from him as possible.

‘Morning, mum.' Jane poured her a cup of steaming tea and handed it to her, asking, ‘Shall I run you a bath, mum?'

Sasha nodded with a grateful smile as she sipped her tea and read the note that summoned her to the drawing room as soon as she was presentable. Her heart fluttered a little; she was never one to enjoy confrontations and wondered if Lady Cronin intended to administer a lecture. Glancing again at Reid, she refrained from waking him. The note was addressed to her specifically and after last night's events she had no wish to see or speak to Reid any time soon. With a sigh and resolute straightening of her shoulders, she thrust back the warm covers and jumped out of bed. She bathed quickly in the deliciously hot water Jane had drawn for her, dressed with the maid's assistance in a modest skirt and jacket of warm burgundy wool, with a cream blouse buttoned to the throat, and her hair demurely swept up into a chignon at the nape of her neck.

Downstairs she knocked on the drawing-room door, opening it and peeking in. Lady Cronin sat in an armchair beside the fire
hearth, a pair of pince-nez balanced on her nose as she gazed at a sheaf of papers in her hand. She looked up and imperiously crooked her finger at Sasha, indicating that she should enter.

Sasha walked into the room slowly, resisting the temptation to twist her hands behind her back like a naughty schoolroom chit about to be disciplined by her governess.

After a long moment of silence, Sasha said quietly, ‘You wished to see me, ma'am?'

‘Indeed.' Lady Cronin removed her pince-nez and fixed Sasha with a glowering stare. ‘I feel most unhappy about having to speak to you in this fashion, Mrs Bowen, but far better that I should be the one, rather than involve my husband.'

Sasha felt pins and needles of alarm rush through her limbs. Her glance strayed involuntarily to the papers, perhaps letters, that now lay discarded in Lady Cronin's lap. Had they been found out? Was disaster about to fall upon their heads?

‘Of course I realise that you are young, and that is why I am prepared to be lenient and grant you the benefit of ignorance. But last night I felt your behaviour was most—' she hesitated for a moment, searching her mind for the right word ‘—reprehensible.'

Sasha stared at her, trying hard to conceal her dislike for this cold and imperious woman, her anger lighting a slow fuse that she only hoped would not explode before she left the room.

‘I did warn you that Countess Irena was
persona non grata
and I do feel that it is not in your best interest, or that of the British Embassy, for you to consort with such a woman. And in addition, I think you would do well to speak to Major Bowen and make sure that in future he…well, he restrains himself from making public shows of…affection. I realise that you are newly married, but I am afraid it is not at all dignified.'

For a long moment Sasha was silent, then she smiled tightly and asked, ‘Are you finished?'

‘I think that will do, for now.'

Sasha lifted her chin, ‘Fortunately, Lady Cronin, we are to
leave this house today and my behaviour, or that of my husband's towards me, is none of your concern.' With that she turned sharply on her heel, ignoring the gasp that hissed from Lady Cronin's thin mouth.

She closed the door with a snap, her heart pounding uncomfortably hard in her chest as she began to hurry up the stairs with quick, sharp footsteps spurred by anger. Halfway up, though, she stopped, suddenly taken by an impulsive urge to thumb her nose at Lady Cronin. Why, she would go and see Countess Irena this very moment, while Reid was still sleeping. Indeed, she would spend the rest of the day with her and never return to this hateful house! She realised then that she would need her cloak and the card with the Countess's address printed on it. She returned to the bedchamber, opening the door quietly so as not to disturb Reid. But as she entered the room and closed the door, her swift glance to the bed found it to be empty. Disappointment was her first reaction that yet again Reid had gone, without even saying goodbye, and then relief as she remembered their tussle of the night before. His comment about Georgia had wounded her and still hurt even now in the bright light of day. There was a lump in her throat, holding in a well of unshed sorrow, as it dawned on her that whilst his thoughts and desires were all still for Georgia, they could never truly be man and wife.