You Belong to Me (17 page)

Pavel’s feet went up as he went down. His nose was definitely broken, but he wasn’t aware of it at the moment. He was out cold, and Vasili felt completely vindicated, having downed the man with only one punch—at least he felt that way until he recalled his own throbbing aches.

“If you were going to do that, Petroff, why the hell didn’t you do it sooner?”

Alexandra had come up behind him, and her tone was about as castigating as it could get. He didn’t turn around, was going to ignore her completely, but the words came out anyway when she appeared on his left side. “Shut up, Alex.”

Lazar came around his other side. “The shoulder isn’t bleeding bad, but you should have it cleaned and bandaged before we leave.”

Alexandra had retrieved her whip from where Vasili had dropped it, and he knew it was too much to hope that she would have heeded his advice.

“And this is a flick,” she said and demonstrated.

The coil flashed across the room, the tail curling around the leg of a chair, and the chair came sliding across the floor, to bump into Vasili’s knees. His frown was turning thunderous, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Sit down and let your friend tend you,” she told him,
ordered
was more like it, and still in that bossy, chastising tone.

“Shut up, Alex!”

She was treating him like a child again, and in front of Lazar and everyone else this time. And her angry advice during the fight might not have come only because she thought him so inept, as he had assumed at the time. It could also have come from concern, and the mere possibility, unlikely as it was, was mak
ing him panic, which didn’t help him handle the situation at all well. If she showed the least bit of gratitude on top of the rest, he’d probably murder her.

Alexandra was experiencing her own emotional upheaval that was two-thirds panic, but hers had started last night, when she’d heard they were so close to Cardinia. What was turning her irrational and bitchy now was her actually having been afraid for Vasili during the fight, and that absolutely infuriated her. And it didn’t help that she was definitely beholden to him now. Feelings of gratitude in connection with this man just didn’t sit well with her. And that she was going to have to own up to it was galling.

But the worst of it was her knowing that he was in pain, and having the ridiculous urge to ease it for him somehow, not knowing how, and not daring even to try. All in all, her emotions were making her crazy, and she had about as much control of them as he did right now, which was none.

If it were otherwise, she might have noticed that he wasn’t himself, that it wasn’t the pain making him testy, but Alexandra herself. She really should have heeded him and said no more. Stubbornness definitely had its pitfalls.

“I have to thank—”

Vasili stopped her before she went any further. He knew one sure way to get rid of the gratitude he didn’t want from her, and short of murdering her, as had been his earlier thought, he didn’t hesitate to use it.

“Before you say something you’ll regret, Alex, you should know that I didn’t get those horses back for you. If the worst comes to pass and we end up married to each other, I wasn’t going to lose the profit they’ll bring me when I sell them.”

She took that news exactly as he’d expected. For a moment, he was in danger of her using the whip in her hand on him, and with a skill he wasn’t likely to appreciate. He knew it. Even Lazar knew it. Vasili had never seen her more furious.

Yet amazingly, she answered him with a degree of calm, for all that each word was gritted out. “You’re not selling my horses.”

“I don’t believe you’ll have any say in the matter,” he replied.

The dam broke then, her voice raised to the rafters. “I’ll see you in hell first!”

He responded in kind. “You’ll be putting me in hell if you don’t end this damn betrothal!”

“I told you, I can’t. I made a promise!”

“Jesus, women break promises every day. What makes you so different?”

“Honor,” she said acidly. “Something I’m not surprised you aren’t familiar with.”

Having delivered that deadly insult, Alexandra stalked off. Lazar had to pull Vasili back when his fury made him start after her.

“For God’s sake, let it go, before you end up with worse welts than you’ve already got.”

Vasili turned on him, demanding, “Did you hear what she said?”

“Yes, and you asked for it, if you want my opinion,” Lazar said bluntly. “What the hell possessed you to tell her you’d sell her horses?”

“That was necessary, or didn’t you hear her? She was about to shower me with gratitude.”

“Well, heaven forbid.”

“Gratitude and hate don’t go hand in hand,” Vasili said, trying to explain his reasoning, but then he sighed. He even sat down in the chair Alexandra had fetched for him, suddenly exhausted. “You know, Lazar, this damn feeling I have of being trapped isn’t going away.”

The change in subject and Vasili’s sudden deflation made Lazar wary, yet he replied, “Possibly because you’re depending on your mother to now settle this matter, and you don’t quite trust her to react to Alexandra as you hope.”

“No, she’ll be horrified by Alex, I have no doubt, so it’s not that. It’s as if something’s trying to tell me I’m never going to escape the wench.”

T
he royal city of Cardinia was a jewel in a fog-shrouded valley, glittering brightly despite its present gloomy setting. That was how Alexandra saw it from afar, and the dismal weather on the day of their arrival matched her mood perfectly. Even when the fog lifted long before they reached the first cobbled streets, and the sun actually made an appearance, her mood didn’t improve.

It was a large city that had spread far beyond its original walls, which were so old they were crumbling in places and showed evidence of removal rather than repair. Out with the old, in with the new. Too bad betrothals didn’t fall into that category, she mused.

The fog had appeared the morning they’d left the Carpathian foothills, after having spent the night in King Stefan’s private hunting lodge. “Private” described that dwelling well, since it turned out to be a place the king visited when he wanted to be alone, and its one and only bedroom assured he wouldn’t
be bringing friends or family along with him. He had other lodges, of course, that were much larger, but this one was nearest to the mountains.

The stable hadn’t been large enough to accommodate all of the horses, but the snow hadn’t reached the lowest foothills, where the lodge was nestled, and the climate wasn’t much worse than what they had experienced on the Russian plains. As for so many people to bed down, it had been fortunate the hall of the lodge was large.

Alexandra, still in a simmering rage over Vasili’s revelation about selling her horses, hadn’t asked if she could have the single bedroom for the night; she’d simply informed him she was taking it.

He hadn’t been in the best of moods himself and had seemed inclined to argue. “Is that so?”

“You might as well get used to being inconvenienced,” she’d told him. “You’ll have a wife soon.”

“At which time we’ll share—”

“Don’t count on it!” And she’d slammed the door in his face.

She hadn’t spoken to him since. But her anger hadn’t lasted very long and had soon turned into dejection. The past few days had been gloomy, with the fog following them and her mood at its lowest point since she’d begun the journey to Cardinia.

Nina and her brothers hadn’t been able to cheer her up either, even though Konrad was
of the opinion that Vasili hadn’t meant what he’d said about her horses.

“He’s too rich to need or want the profit the whites would bring. Why would he sell them?”

“To get even with me for not saving him from a fate worse than death,” had been her rejoinder.

Konrad had simply said, “If he wants to be saved, he can do the saving himself.”

“You think I haven’t pointed that out to him?”

And Nina hadn’t helped yesterday by informing her, “Lazar asked me why you don’t want to marry Vasili.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”

With the most innocent of expressions, Nina had replied, “Was it supposed to be a secret?”

“It’s none of their damn business.”

To which Nina had snorted. “It most certainly is Vasili’s business, and you should have told him.”

“He never asked—you didn’t tell Lazar everything, did you?”

“You mean about all those wasted years—?” At Alexandra’s blush, Nina had lied, “Of course not. I told him to ask you.”

And Alexandra had to assume that since he hadn’t approached her, he’d lost interest in the matter. And she could only hope he wouldn’t mention it to Vasili. But she wasn’t even sure why she felt that way.

It wasn’t as if Vasili’s learning about Christopher would make any difference. If he was
going to do the noble thing and bow out because of another man, he would have done it for his own sake. And it wasn’t as if she was worried that he might care. He wouldn’t.

She supposed it was her own embarrassment. She simply didn’t want him to know that she’d waited seven years for a man—and was still waiting.

Now, as they rode through the city that Alexandra had been so sure she would never reach, she was more despondent than ever. She had done everything she could think of to get Vasili to cry off, but she was still betrothed to him, and her time was running out.

She was being taken to his family home. Someone had mentioned that to her, she wasn’t sure who. But she knew she’d be meeting Vasili’s mother there, and she was dreading the meeting because it was going to make the betrothal so final.

And she hadn’t decided yet if she was going to continue her rustic ruse for the countess or give it up, since it certainly hadn’t made much difference to Vasili that she acted like an uncouth provincial. Would it matter to his mother? If it did, did she have enough sway with her son to get him to change his mind? Probably not, but Alexandra supposed that if there was even the smallest chance, she’d have to take it. Yet it was going to be so much more difficult to be outrageously ill-mannered in the presence of another noblewoman, rather than just Vasili and his men. And this
noblewoman had been the wife of her father’s best friend.

And then there was a small, wicked voice inside her that had been intruding ever since they’d left the bandit village in the mountains, telling her that she ought to stop fighting it and marry the man. Of course, she refused to listen. There were a hundred reasons she couldn’t marry him or didn’t want to, and only one reason she wouldn’t mind doing that, and
that
reason she shouldn’t have learned about at all, at least not before the wedding.

She could chide herself for thinking about it, even ignore it—most of the time—when Vasili kept his distance. But when he was near, or when she caught herself staring at him, she would remember his lovemaking so vividly, it would almost render her breathless. And at night, with nothing else to distract her, she was assailed by the memory. What was increasing her despondency was her fear that if the worst happened and she was forced to marry him, she might forget about all the reasons he would make a terrible husband, and compromise herself for mere pleasure.

She could tell herself it wouldn’t happen, but she would have been the first to deny that she’d ever succumb to the temptations of the flesh, yet she’d already done so once. So it could happen, and not wanting it to didn’t seem to be much consolation for her lately.

She didn’t want to be in Cardinia either, yet here she was, soon to be married. When
would the wedding take place? She didn’t even know that. In days, or a week? No matter when, it was going to be too soon for her. And whatever delays she came up with wouldn’t last for long.

One of those delays was more than likely going to be legitimate, because she was actually making herself sick, worrying about it. Or was it nervousness over meeting Vasili’s mother? If that lady welcomed her with open arms, she’d probably puke all over her.

Alexandra shuddered, imagining it, and decided that the meeting, at least, could be delayed right now with a little detour. With that objective in mind, she moved Sultan’s Pride up beside Vasili’s roan.

“Do you live with your mother, Petroff?”

He looked surprised, which was feigned, she was sure. “You’re speaking to me again?”

She could play that game. “You actually noticed that I wasn’t?”

He gave up too quickly, sighing. “I wish I hadn’t noticed that you are again.”

“My question?”

“No, I don’t live with her.”

“Then show me where you live.”

This time he looked genuinely surprised. “Now?”

“Certainly now.”

He thought of Fatima and her exuberant welcomes whenever he had been away for even a short time, and shook his head. “It’s a bachelor residence. It wouldn’t be proper to take you there before we’re married.”

Being told no only made Alexandra more determined. “If you were worried about ‘proper,’ you wouldn’t be marrying me. Show me your house or I’ll camp right here in the street.”

“That will get you arrested.”

“Really?” she asked with interest. “You think I wouldn’t prefer a jail cell—”

He was getting angry. “How about a dungeon cell? That can be arranged.”

Cardinia didn’t happen to have any dungeons, but at the moment, Vasili was thinking about having one built just for her. And she was beginning to get suspicious of the prevaricating he was doing over a simple little request.

“Is there something about your house you don’t want me to know?”

“I merely have a great many things to do today, now that I’m home, and they don’t include giving you a guided tour—”

“Fine!” she cut in sharply. “Then I’ll view it some other day, when you’re not around to be bothered. I’m sure someone at your mother’s house can direct me.”

Any one of his mother’s servants could do just that, and nothing might happen if Alexandra showed up at his house when he wasn’t there. Then again, she had threatened to cut off too many ears for him to take the chance.

“Are you always going to be this difficult?” he asked, not trying to hide his vexation.

She gave him a tight little smile. “For you, Petroff, I will certainly try.”

“Then by all means, welcome to my humble abode,” he said dryly, and his extended arm indicated the house they had just passed.

She gave him a sour look at that point. “This was really going to take
so
much of your time, wasn’t it?” she said with frosty sarcasm, and turned her mount toward the not-so-humble town house.

Vasili didn’t answer. He was shouting at Lazar, who had ridden up ahead, to continue with the wagons and the horses. When Alexandra realized she was going to be left there alone with him, she nearly changed her mind. But the large, three-story house undoubtedly contained servants. Anyone who claimed to be as wealthy as Vasili wouldn’t dismiss his retainers just because he was going to be gone for a month or two.

And she was proven correct when he joined her at the front door and knocked for entrance. While they waited, she sensed that he was more than just annoyed about her putting him to this bother. He seemed…nervous? Was he actually worried about what she would think of his home?

Highly doubtful. She must be imagining it, and what did she care anyway? She was too disappointed that his house had been so close and that visiting it wouldn’t take as much time as she had hoped it would. Her despondency was returning, and with it, some self-defensive apathy. What difference did it make
if his mother didn’t like her? What did it matter if her father was mortified when he learned of her behavior? So what if Christopher would be lost to her if this marriage took place?

The door opened, and Vasili was being greeted by a crusty-voiced servant who surprised Alexandra by his very size. He was the tallest, largest man she’d ever encountered, a giant, really, and ancient, with white hair and wrinkles. By the look of him, he should have been retired twenty or thirty years ago. He was certainly too old to be a butler, which he apparently was since he began directing several waiting footmen, including sending one out to see to the horses. But she had to allow that in his day he must have had no problem keeping out unwanted visitors—What was she thinking? He still wouldn’t have any problem.

Vasili was telling him—Maurus, he called him—that he wasn’t staying now, but would be back late that evening. He didn’t bother to introduce Alexandra, so she ignored them and glanced around one of the loveliest entrance halls she’d ever stepped into.

The white marble floor reflected the jewel tones of the mammoth stained-glass window above the door, which cast a rainbow of colors that turned even the three large crystal chandeliers hanging from the second-floor ceiling into glittering gems. It was a long hall, and quite wide, with a grand staircase centered at
the end and corridors on either side of it going deeper into the house.

Many closed doors lined the left side of the hall; only two sets of double doors were on the right, the first set open, revealing a glimpse of white carpeting. She could also see a few pieces of furniture in rosewood, and light-blue-and-gold upholstery on a sofa and some chairs, indicating a drawing room.

Along with an array of paintings in all sizes that filled the high walls, there were a number of ornate mirrors in thick frames, with hothouse flowers on pedestals or long wall tables set before them. The flowers were such a welcome sight in winter. Above some pink roses, Alexandra caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors and winced.

She wasn’t as dusty as usual—the roads they had traveled since yesterday had been well maintained—but as always with her fine locks, she had hair escaping from under her fur hat. She’d also picked up a black smudge on her chin, she couldn’t imagine from what. Her clothes, of course, were wrinkled, and she looked tired—exhausted, actually—but that wasn’t surprising either. A trip that could have taken three weeks had taken five because of the wagons, but Vasili had still managed to keep them on the road for most of the daylight hours of each day. The circles under her eyes, though, were caused by lack of sleep—that little voice that had been bothering her the past couple of days did so mostly late at night.

She wondered whether she should be glad that she looked so terrible for her first meeting with Vasili’s mother, or if she ought to take a few minutes while she was here to improve her appearance. She couldn’t do anything about the circles under her eyes, but Vasili apparently had a typical staff which would include someone who could give her clothes a quick press. And her hair was easy to—

“Master!”

Alexandra turned abruptly. She first saw Vasili rolling his eyes, then followed the sound of the rushing footsteps to the staircase, where a small, black-haired woman in a flowing silk caftan of floral print—a thin garment more suited to the bedroom—was running down the stairs. She appeared to be in her early twenties and was exquisitely lovely, her long black hair nearly reaching her knees, her dark brown eyes large, her body delicate, graceful even in her rush, her features exotic and sensual.

Alexandra merely lifted a brow and said to Vasili while the woman was still a distance away, “Master?”

“Fatima was a slave when she was given to me,” he said in exasperation. “I freed her, but she was born in a harem and persists in calling me—”