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. "If 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 footst
eps 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—"
Alexandra had to interrupt at that point because Fatima had reached them and was about to throw herself at Vasili. "Hold it right there," she said, her voice so commanding it would have stopped a battalion. The ex-slave obeyed instantly.
Oddly enough, Alexandra wasn't angry, though the woman's position in the house was pretty obvious. She should have been angry, probably would have been mere days ago. But today her mood was so gloomy with hopelessness that it didn't leave much room for any other emotions.
If she didn't have to remain consistent for Vasili's benefit, she might not have stopped the girl at all, might have just quietly left so the two lovers could enjoy their happy reunion. At least she understood now why he hadn't wanted to bring her here. And she could see that he was braced for her attack, expecting the worst.
She surprised him instead, merely telling Fatima, "You'll have to find somewhere else to work."
"But I live here, mistress."
"Not anymore. Your master is getting married."
Fatima turned to Vasili, apparently thinking that, as the man, he was going to have the last word on the subject. And to make sure his decision would be in her favor, great fat tears appeared in her pretty eyes.
That was when Alexandra got angry. Of all the rotten, female things to do, to use tears to appeal to his protective instincts. As if he had any. It was his rutting instincts that were going to be swayed, but not while Alexandra was there to witness it.
Vasili saw her unhook the whip from her belt, but she'd already snapped it once before he could reach her. The sound brought back to him the painful memory of the welts he still wore, but that wouldn't have stopped him if her intent had been to do damage. Since all she'd done was crack the lash to regain Fatima's wide-eyed attention, and was even now rewinding it, he decided not to tempt her further ... the hell he wouldn't.
He snatched the whip from her hand, but she merely gave him a disgusted look and chided, "You should recall that I always give fair warning first, Petroff—and I have other whips." Then her expression turned positively menacing as she fixed her dark blue gaze on Fatima to say, "You want to share his bed some more, you're going to pay a price for it. Are you sure you want to?"
Fatima was too frightened to answer. She simply shrieked and ran toward the back of the house. Vasili was torn between going after her to assure her that she wasn't in danger of losing any skin, at least not yet, and wringing Alexandra's neck. He took a step toward Alexandra.
She backed up, but her expression didn't change. If anything, she looked like she was about to scratch his eyes out now that they were alone, but it was a verbal attack she unleashed first.
"You are the most perfidious, lecherous, despicable man in creation! You went to collect a bride, but kept your mistress installed in your own house? You couldn't even move her to another house?"
She was shouting at him. He answered her almost too quietly as he forced her to retreat another step. "I went to Russia to get rid of a bride, not bring her home with me. You were supposed to have sense enough to see that we wouldn't possibly suit. But rest assured, my other mistresses are in other houses, and Fat-ima will be installed elsewhere before the end of the day."
"But you won't get rid of them?"
"I warned you I wouldn't, sweetheart. So why don't you rejoice and realize that that gives you grounds to end this thing?"
"I'm not just bound by that betrothal contract, you fool, I'm bound by my own word to marry you. When are you going to realize that that means it's going to happen no matter what you do, with only one exception? Refuse to marry me, and that will end it."
Another step had her backed up against a wall, and he braced his arms on both sides of her. "I'm beginning to look forward to this marriage, just so I can spend the rest of my life making you miserable."
Alexandra was too angry to be intimidated. "Misery loves company, sweetheart," she shot back. "So don't think I'll be suffering mine alone." She slipped out from under his arm and marched out the door.
29
Bojik had been waiting on Vasili's doorstep for Alexandra to appear. She chided herself for forgetting about him. Ever since the snowstorm when he had been unable to find her, he hadn't let her far from his sight... and what could have possessed her to lose her temper like that again? She really didn't care how many women Vasili had. Others? He'd said others, the son of a ... no, dammit, she didn't care. It was necessary to do something, yes, to remain consistent, but she didn't have to mean it. She could only be thankful that he hadn't remembered what he'd warned her he would do if she ever threatened another one of his women. She could also be thankful she had gotten out of there just in time, because he had been too close physically. Those feelings that now seemed to well up within her anytime he came near her had definitely been on the rise. And she was afraid she knew what would happen if she lost control of them again.
Vasili kept his eyes squeezed shut, but he could still smell the scent of her, still see the fury in her midnight-blue eyes, such passion, such...
He groaned and banged his head on the wall again; he hadn't moved from there since she'd slipped away from him. He could control this, he really could. He just had to keep his distance from her. He'd managed to until today. And what had possessed him to give in to her demand? He should have called her bluff and let her camp in the street. If she got arrested, he wouldn't say a word to prevent it. But when she came before the magistrate, he'd arrange to have her placed in his custody—and the fantasy that that inspired had him groaning again.
His mother was his only hope now, and this hell he was caught up in could conceivably be over by the end of the day. Maria's first encounter with Alexandra could do it and ... Jesus, she'd left, slammed out of here, and she was too angry to wait for him outside. He had visions of her lost in the city. The way she was dressed, and alone, men wouldn't think twice about accosting her. And he had her whip. He'd left her defenseless.
He felt such fear, he broke out in a sweat, and sure enough, when he got outside he saw that the footman held only his horse. Alexandra's was gone. "Did the lady at least ask you for directions to my mother's house?" he asked the man as he mounted, but was met with confusion.
"The lady?"
"The wench who arrived with me!" Vasili snapped.
"No, sir—but I heard her tell her dog to find Nina, whoever that is."
That news didn't exactly relieve Vasili, and he took off, hoping he could catch up with Alexandra before she got into trouble. But he arrived at his family home without sighting her, and by the time he located his mother in the conservatory, he was out of breath from running.
He also shouted without realizing it. "Where is she?"
Maria, wide-eyed and indignant, said, "Three months' absence and this is the greet-ing I-"
"Mother, is Alexandra here?"
"No, she isn't," she huffed. "And why isn't she with you? Only her servants have arrived so far, the last one just minutes ago."
That gave him pause. "Was the last one a woman?"
Maria frowned. "I suppose that's possible. I mean, now that you mention it, yes."
The fear was gone instantly, leaving him so weak he had to sit down on a nearby bench. Maria, observing him closely, said suspiciously, "You aren't going to tell me that woman was Baroness Rubliov."
Anger should have overtaken him by
now, for what he'd just gone through, but instead Vasili found himself grinning. "I'm afraid so."
Maria was horrified. "And I sent her to the servants' quarters!" At which point he started to laugh.
"I've never been so embarrassed/' Maria later told Vasili. "Why didn't she say anything?"
They were in the drawing room, waiting for Alexandra to join them for dinner. Vasili had gone to the palace to let his cousin know he was back, but Stefan had been in conference with his ministers, so he'd left word that he would see him tomorrow. By then, he'd had only enough time to return home and change for dinner with his mother, which he wasn't going to miss for the world, and to try to calm Fatima.
That had been a lesson in exasperation. She hadn't stopped crying, and while he'd always given in to her tears before, he couldn't this time, not when he knew Alexandra had her ways of finding out things—her people were too clever by half. And he'd found it much easier to send Fatima away for the time being than to deal with Alexandra's temper again. Yet even when he'd told Fatima that her leaving would just be temporary—he hoped—she had not been relieved.
He supposed the easiest way to have assured her that everything would be all right would have been to make love to her, but incredibly, he couldn't dredge up the least desire to do so. Fatima's small, delicate body simply didn't tempt him the way it used to, not when all he could think of was lush curves and breasts so large his hands couldn't contain them ... Jesus, not again!
He dragged his mind back to his mother's question. "Alexandra didn't say anything because she doesn't care about such things. You probably could have put her in the stable and she would have been happy."
"What a ridiculous thing to say," Maria admonished. "And why was she dressed that way? Did something happen to her clothes?"
He shrugged. "She came with a mountain of trunks, but if there's a dress in one of them, I wouldn't know. The way you saw her is the only way I've ever seen her dressed."
Maria narrowed her eyes so he wouldn't mistake her displeasure with him. "You're determined to persist in teasing me, aren't you? Really, Vasili, I don't find it the least bit amus-ing."