Page 13 of You Belong to Me

  The only thing Vasili had alluded to at all was her unique way of keeping him faithful. If she thought that was all it would take to make him break the betrothal, she could relax, but he hadn't been nearly angry enough the first time she'd used that ploy, proving that much more was needed to finally make him disgusted enough to sever their association. Not that she wasn't going to continue to cur­tail his sexual peccadillos, publicly and pri­vately. Doing so privately wasn't as satisfying or as scandalous as making a public scene, but he had been careful not to proposition any more women in front of her. Because the em­barrassment had been worse than his sexual frustration?

  If that was the case, perhaps another "scene" was in order. Maybe a simple demon­stration of temper this time, something com­pletely unrelated to Vasili, to show him that even if he was on his best behavior, she could still be an embarrassment to him. The idea had some definite merit, and when she dis­cussed it with the Razins that day, they agreed it couldn't hurt to give it a try.

  Timofee volunteered to be the cause of her anger, but Stenka argued that he wanted the privilege, so she assured them it would be a pleasure to scorch both their ears. And the reason? She decided that one wasn't necessary and that if Vasili asked about it, she would merely tell him it was none of his business.

  She would have preferred to stage the "scene" in a town, where it would be even more public, but when they didn't reach one before dark that night and ended up making camp again, she was too eager to see Vasili's reaction to postpone the demonstration. She still had to wait, however, because as usual, he was riding far in advance of the party and it would take a while for him to realize they weren't going to catch up with him.

  But it took Vasili more than an hour after dark had fallen to return, long enough to make Alexandra begin to suspect that he had found himself a willing woman somewhere up ahead. So when he rode into camp and she immediately began cursing the twins at the top of her lungs, she really was as angry as she sounded.

  Unfortunately, her knowledge of vulgarities was rather limited. And not having consid­ered that lack beforehand, Alexandra was forced to pause in her diatribe to whisper to the twins, "I've run out of names to call you. Quickly, give me some more."

  Timofee was too busy covering an unre­pentant grin with his hands, but Stenka was happy to oblige, and Alexandra's eyes wid­ened and her cheeks bloomed with color as she shouted the new names at him. But with her back to Vasili, he couldn't see her reaction, could merely hear her outrageousness, so she wasn't worried about his noticing her own embarrassment.

  She was impatient to know his reaction, however, and couldn't resist another whisper to Stenka. "Is he properly scandalized yet?"

  "I hate to say it, Alex, but he's laughing."

  She was too surprised to answer for a mo­ment, but then her shoulders dropped and she said in disgust, "Well, hell, what does it take to shock that man?"

  Stenka could no longer hold back his own chuckles. "You could try dancing naked around the camp. That ought to get a reaction out of him, and the rest of us would, of course, look the other way."

  "Of course you would," she replied dryly before tossing out a few more invectives for each of them, this time quite sincerely.

  She marched off then, annoyed with them, annoyed with herself for somehow failing at her objective—again—and furious with Vasili for not reacting as he ought to. Why would he be amused to hear such terrible language coming out of her mouth? Didn't he realize that if she could do something like this here, she could as easily do it in a drawing room where his king might be present?

  He sought her out among the horses, where she had gone to take advantage of the sooth­ing effect they usually had on her. Usually. It wasn't working tonight. She continued to move among them, though, ignoring the pres­ence she felt behind her, knowing instinctively who it was. And that was another thing that kept her from calming down. She didn't like it that she was able to sense Vasili, just as her mares could sense when one of the stallions came near.

  He didn't wait for her to turn around and acknowledge him. "Perhaps you will tell me why you were so angry with your Cossacks."

  "Why should I?"

  "Because I ask."

  She changed her mind about saying it was none of his business, for the horses gave her an adequate lie. She turned to give it to Vasili, but, as happened too frequently, she was dis­turbed by his handsomeness. Anytime she was this close to him, she found it difficult to breathe, much less have a conversation.

  But she finally got out, "They let Prince Mischa cover one of the mares today."

  "So?"

  "So they know I am to be present for every breeding," she explained, and that much was true.

  "You actually watch?"

  From his expression, she realized she had finally shocked him, and by something she did do, rather than what she'd been doing only for his benefit.

  "Of course I watch. These are my babies, and I have better control over them than any­one else. I have to assure that the mares aren't hurt—exactly as any other conscientious breeder would do."

  "But—"

  "Yes?"

  Her tone dared him to object because she was a woman, especially when she'd been doing her damnedest to appear and act un­womanly for him. And he must have remem­bered just that, because he dropped that subject to address another.

  "Where were you that you didn't witness it?"

  She smiled at him. "Didn't you know? You aren't the only one who goes riding off alone—" She started to add, "in search of amusement," but he didn't give her a chance to.

  "You did what?"

  "Of course, when I ride," she continued, "I don't stick to the road as you do. I find the countryside much more—exhilarating."

  She managed the insinuation this time, but instead of pouncing on it, he said with com­plete confidence, "You're lying, Alex."

  She ground her teeth before retorting, "Of course I am, but what made you think so?"

  He was suddenly frowning. "What do you mean, 'Of course I am'? Do you make a habit of lying?"

  "Certainly," she replied offhandedly. "It makes life so much more interesting, don't you think?"

  "No, I don't," he said sternly. "Life is inter­esting enough without complicating— Never mind. You're a grown woman. Far be it from me to change any of your—habits."

  His condescension infuriated her this time, and she'd much rather take out some real anger on him than pretend to be angry at her friends. And she did it with a smile.

  "How positively magnanimous of you, Pet-roff. Don't expect me to be as generous, though. But then, we already know what hab­its of yours I'm changing, don't we?"

  He didn't take the bait, but his smile was as false as hers. "Habits you think you're chang­ing. But as for how I knew you were lying, if s because one of my men would have found me to tell me if you'd ridden off on your own, and another would have followed you."

  "I'm being spied on? Well, then, I'll have to return the favor, won't I? And I'll start by finding out tomorrow what you were doing today."

  His brows rose. "You mean at the farm­house I discovered—"

  "You philandering—!"

  "Now, now, what are you accusing me of?" He was almost laughing, he was so pleased by what she was thinking. "As it happens, it was already getting dark when I found the place, so I didn't have time to dally. But as long as we're on the subject, let me remind you that your own behavior had better re­main completely virtuous—at least until after you've borne me an heir. Then you can do whatever you like."

  "Oh, I intend to do whatever I like, but I won't wait until I have your permission. You, on the other hand, have had your last tawdry liaison."

  He was no longer pleased, but frankly incredulous. "In other words, you can, but I can't?"

  "You men have had a monopoly on that sentiment for far too long. You should have known that someday a woman would turn the tables on you."

  "But it isn't going to be you, sweetheart," he s
aid with a cold, sharp edge to his tone. "You're fond of cutting off ears? I'll cut off a hell of a lot more than that from any man who puts his hands on you—at least until after—"

  "Yes, yes, you've already said that," she snapped, out of patience. "What makes you think I can even bear children? Maybe I've al­ready tried and failed."

  She struck a nerve with that barb. "Then maybe we ought to find out beforehand."

  "Don't even think it, Petroff, or I'll cut off more than ears."

  They were glaring at each other nearly nose to nose. Stalemates were so unsatisfying, but they each knew that they'd reached one.

  And then Vasili's nose suddenly twitched and he leaned back to say, "Damn, what is that smell? I thought it was the horses, but it's coming from you."

  Alexandra blinked, then stopped herself just in time from laughing. "Me?" She tried to sound indignant. "I don't smell any different than I always do."

  He was really scowling now. "Woman, you did not stink when I met you."

  She shrugged. "I had just had my monthly bath when you met me."

  "Monthly?" he choked out.

  She opened her eyes wide. "You think that's too often? I always thought so, but Papa in­sisted."

  Vasili walked away in disgust.

  Alexandra grinned from ear to ear.

  18

  Alexandra's embarrassment lasted for two days. She should have taken Vasili at his word, but no, she'd had to stop at that farm­house he'd mentioned—and find out that the only inhabitants were an old couple and their two grandsons.

  Whether he had dallied or not, it wouldn't have been with the old woman there unless he was really desperate, and apparently he wasn't, because he had been laughing when Alexandra had come back out to mount her horse. And he'd been smiling ever since, or so it seemed. That round had definitely been his, damn him.

  But he had gone one better. When they'd stopped at an inn last night, he had sent a bath to her room with a message she couldn't ignore. Use it or I will be pleased to assist you. And the insufferable popinjay had sniffed her when she had come down to dine afterward.

  But when an opportunity came for her to get even, she pounced on it, not realizing just how effective it would be.

  The town they arrived at later that week had a small but elegant hotel, and as usual, it was an establishment that Vasili was already familiar with, since they were retracing the route he had taken to her home. She had at first worried that the hotel would have too many women on staff for her to keep track of them all, so she determined that she would have to keep track of Vasili instead.

  But she found out that he had spent only one night at the hotel the last time he'd been there, even though the rest of his party had stayed much longer. This was where they had stopped for an entire week, and not because a member of his group had been ill. Vasili had lied to her father. He had caused her to pack and leave her home with less than a day's no­tice. Why?

  The lady's name was Claudia Shevchenko, a young widowed countess, and Vasili had spent the entire week in her bed, or not far from it. Her home was down the street from the hotel, and he had met her the night of his arrival in town, when she had been at the ho­tel dining with friends.

  The story had been easy enough to obtain because the two had created quite a scandal. It wasn't a large town, after all, and the widow was well known here—and suppos­edly pious; at least she used to be, before she had met one extremely handsome Cardinian who could seduce an angel if he cared to try. Or so the story went.

  So Alexandra was surprised that Vasili didn't once try to leave the hotel the night they spent there, that he went to bed and ac­tually stayed in it, according to the report she had from limofee as soon as she left her room the next morning. What didn't surprise her was to find him absent when she joined ev­eryone outside the hotel to leave.

  It was Lazar, looking extremely uncomfort­able, who had apparently been chosen to tell her, "Vasili has already departed."

  "Has he indeed. How long ago?"

  "Ten minutes."

  She didn't doubt that Lazar had a number of excuses ready to explain this change in rou­tine if she cared to hear any of them. She didn't. She looked to Konrad for confirmation of the time that had passed since Vasili had left. At his affirmative nod, she simply smiled and rode out of town.

  She decided she would give Vasili twenty minutes and no more. If he didn't show up to join them by then, she would return and find him, because she didn't believe for a second that he was on the road, merely riding ahead of them, as had become his habit.

  Vasili was at that very moment knocking on the door of the redhead who had entertained him so well the first time he'd passed through this town. And as his luck was holding, she happened to be the one to open the door, in­stead of one of her servants—and slammed it abruptly in his face.

  "Go away!" he heard her shout hysterically from the other side of that solid, and now locked, barrier. "I like my ears just as they are!"

  For the briefest moment, he doubted his hearing. But then his fingers slowly curled into fists, his face suffused with heat, and a low growl rumbled from his chest.

  And he reached Alexandra in much less than the twenty minutes she'd figured on.

  She heard him galloping up behind her and swung Sultan's Pride about to face him. They nearly collided. It was damn close.

  "Over there," he said ominously. "Now! Or there will be hell to pay."

  He'd pointed to a lone tree that was at least a quarter mile away, and he rode directly to it without waiting to see if she would follow. As angry as he appeared, she considered staying right where she was—but no, she was too hopeful that this was it, the end she had been working toward. Her friends weren't as opti­mistic. She had to order them to remain with the wagons.

  On Sultan's Pride, she reached Vasili in no time at all. He had already dismounted and was pacing beneath the tree. He didn't give her a chance to dismount herself, but dragged her off her horse, then let go of her instantly to resume his pacing.

  She'd never seen him like this, never imag­ined that a popinjay like him was capable of such fury. And there was no mistaking that he was furious.

  Warily, she tried to put some distance be­tween them, deciding she could wait to hear whatever he had to say. But as soon as she moved, he closed the distance in a flash and was towering over her, and his eyes—heaven help her—seemed aglow with an inner fire.

  "I won't stand for it any longer," he said, and he was just short of shouting. "There will be no more threats from you, Alexandra. I will bed any woman I please, when I please, and if you cause one more to hide from me in terror, I'll bed you instead."

  That wasn't what she had hoped to hear, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been ei­ther. So she crossed her arms and replied calmly, "No, you won't. As long as you be­long to me, you'll be faithful to me. I don't know why you keep making me repeat that. And you won't be bedding me until after we have a wedding. If you want your women back, Vasili, you know what you have to do."

  "And you think I'll abide by that?" This time he was shouting, and quite loudly.

  She knew it would be an insult to him if she continued calmly in the face of his fury, but that was what she did. "No one says you have to abide by it, Petroff. You'll just have to accept the consequences if you don't."

  That started him pacing again. He was re­ally quite fascinating like this, so volatile, even unpredictable. She ought to be fright­ened, but she wasn't. Nervous, yes, but that was all—until it occurred to her that they wouldn't be having this discussion if he hadn't gone to that woman. And he'd gone to her to bed her, and would have done so if Alexandra hadn't been told about her and sent along that little message. He was guilty by in­tent. What she felt about that didn't bear de­scribing.

  Suddenly he demanded, "How the hell did you find out about—about—?"

  "Claudia?" she prompted.

  "Yes, Claudia, or whatever her name is."

  That he wasn't sure what
the woman's name was should have appeased Alexandra some­what, but it merely disgusted her all the more. The man obviously had so many women that he couldn't keep track of them. She'd already figured as much, but hated seeing proof of it.

  But he wasn't going to know how disturbed she was, so she shrugged before answering. "You'd be amazed at the kind of information you can gain with a few coins placed in the right pockets."

  "And you paid her a visit? When? You didn't leave the inn."

  Apparently his spies hadn't gotten much sleep last night either. "I didn't bother seeing to it myself," she said, striving for a tone of indifference. "I sent someone with my mes­sage. It must have been delivered accurately."

  "Oh, I don't doubt that," he sneered. "Your people are thorough."

  "It's called loyalty."

  "Are you implying that I have none?"

  She gave him a tight little smile. "You said it, I didn't."

  He bristled at that, too, though he sounded merely indignant. "I'll have you know my loyalty is beyond reproach, but reserved for only a select few."

  She knew the answer, but still wanted con­firmation. "And I'm not one of the few?"

  "You said it, I didn't," he shot back at her with a nasty smile.

  She could no longer keep her voice from rising. "Not even if I become your wife?"

  "You'd better hope you come to your senses before then," he growled.

  "You'd better hope you do, Petroff!"

  Once again, they were standing nearly nose to nose, she glaring up at him, he scowling down at her. Her bosom was heaving. He noticed, and there was no unusual odor to distract him this time.