“It means stinking drunk,” Emma replied pertly.
In a swift move that surprised her, Nikolas reached out and caught a lock of her gleaming hair between his thin fingers. “There,” he said softly. “I know a Russian folk tale about a girl who saves a dying prince…by bringing him a magic feather…from the tail of the firebird. The bird's feathers were a color between red and gold…like your hair. A bouquet of flames.”
Emma jerked away from his weak grip and scowled down at him in annoyance. “More like a bunch of carrots.” She glanced at Tasia. “I'll go home, Belle-mère. I can see that you're in no danger from him.” She invested the last word with infinite disdain, and left the room.
Nikolas struggled to turn his head on the pillow and watch her departure.
Tasia was amazed at the change that had come over him. The listlessness had gone from his eyes, and there was a touch of color in his face. “Devil child,” he said. “What is her name?”
Tasia ignored the question, beginning to roll up her sleeves. “I'm going to have the servants heat up more soup,” she said, “and you're going to eat it.”
“And then you'll promise to go away?”
“Certainly not. I'm going to bathe you and put salve on your bedsores. I'm certain you have many.”
“I'll have the servants throw you out.”
“Wait until you're strong enough to throw me out yourself,” Tasia suggested.
The bruised-looking lids half-closed. The conversation had wearied him. “I don't know if I'll get stronger. I haven't yet decided if I want to live.”
“People like you and me always survive,” she replied, repeating the words he had once said to her. “I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Nikki.”
“You're here against your husband's wishes.” It was a statement, not a question. “He would never agree to let you visit me.”
“You know nothing about him,” Tasia said calmly.
“He'll beat you,” Nikolas continued in glum satisfaction. “Even an Englishman wouldn't stand for this.”
“He won't beat me,” Tasia said, though privately she had her doubts.
“Did you come here for my sake, or to defy him?”
Tasia was silent for a moment. “Both,” she said finally. She wanted Luke's complete trust. She wanted the freedom to do as she thought best. In Russian society a noblewoman always expected to be ruled by her husband. Here she had the chance to be a partner rather than a slave, and she would make it clear to Luke which role she preferred…no matter what the consequences.
It was late in the evening when she returned to the Stokehurst villa. Nikolas had been a difficult patient, to say the least. While Tasia and the housekeeper gave him a bedbath, Nikolas had alternated between vicious insults and quiet, wretched stillness, as if he were being tortured all over again. Feeding him was another ordeal, but they had managed to coax him into keeping down a few spoonfuls of soup, and a bite or two of bread. Tasia had finally left him in a far cleaner and more comfortable condition than when she had first arrived, although he was now furious at being deprived of his vodka.
Tasia planned to return the next day, and every day after, until her cousin's recovery was certain. She was tired and depressed at the sight of Nikolas's broken body, the heartbreaking evidence of the cruelty that human beings could inflict on each other. She longed to crawl into Luke's arms and be comforted. Instead she faced a battle. Luke knew what she had done, and why she had returned at such a late hour. He would see her action as a slight to his masculine authority. Perhaps he had already decided the punishment for her disobedience. Or worse, he might be coldly contemptuous, and ignore her.
The villas was left in near-darkness. It was the servants' night off, and the house seemed deserted. Wearily Tasia went upstairs to the suite she shared with Luke, and called his name. There was no answer. She lit a lamp in the bedroom and began the process of undressing. She stripped down to her shift and sat at her dressing table to brush out her long hair.
She heard someone enter the room, and her hand froze, gripping the brush tightly.
“My lord?” she said tentatively, looking up. Luke was there, dressed in a dark robe. His face was grim. The look in his eyes caused her to drop the brush and jump up from the dressing table. Her instincts warned her to run from him, but her feet were leaden. All she could do was totter backward a few steps.
He came to her, pushed her against the wall, and held her jaw in his hand. There was no sound except their breathing; his deep and heavy, hers far more rapid. Tasia was aware of his brutal power, knowing he could crush her bones like eggshells.
“Are you going to punish me?” she asked unsteadily.
He forced a knee between her thighs, pinning her between the wall and his aroused body. His gaze burned into hers. “Should I?”
Tasia quivered slightly. “I had to go,” she whispered. “Luke…I-I didn't want to disobey you. I'm sorry…”
“You're not sorry. You shouldn't be.”
She didn't know what to say. She had never seen him like this before. “Luke,” she whispered, “Don't—”
He smothered her words with an aggressive kiss. His hand slid down her throat, found the fragile strap of her shift, and pulled roughly until it broke. His hot palm covered her breast, squeezing, circling until the peak sprang into a sensitive bud. At first Tasia was too unnerved to respond, but his mouth, his touch, his body compelled her, and suddenly she was flooded with excitement. The thunder of her pulse was loud in her ears, obliterating all other sound. Only dimly could she hear herself gasping a few words of surrender…but he wasn't listening. He held her in arms that hurt, and bit and licked her throat. Tasia let her head fall back, offering more, abandoning herself to the savage storm of passion.
Yanking the hem of her shift to her waist, he reached between her thighs. He pressed the heel of his hand against the place she most wanted it, grinding gently until the delicate fluff of curls was flattened beneath his palm. His mouth covered hers again, his tongue thrusting toward the back of her throat. She pushed against his hand, while her face became damp with sweat and her breathing turned ragged. When she was too weak to stand, he pulled her to the bed and lowered her to the mattress.
She lay passively on her side, robbed of speech or thought, her eyes closed as she waited in trembling anticipation. The hard length of his body pressed against her, his chest at her back. He pushed her top leg up high, arranging her to his satisfaction, and he entered her warm body with a skillful stroke. His hand played lightly on the front of her torso, sliding over each ripe, tender curve. Tasia writhed against him, oblivious of everything except the sweet torment. “Please,” she moaned.
“Not yet,” he said against the nape of her neck, his teeth closing on the delicate softness.
Her body contracted around him in the first spasm of release. “Oh—”
“Wait,” he whispered, slowing the rhythm, making her cry out in frustration. He kept her at the edge of the precipice for agonizing minutes, knowing her well, controlling the rising sensation until he owned her body and soul…and only then did he drive deeply into her center, making the feeling spill in a bountiful flood, sex and sensation and love blending into intoxicating pleasure.
Afterward she turned over to press against him, burying her hot face in his chest. She had never felt so close to him. For a few blinding moments they had found a place outside of time, a state of perfect understanding and bliss. A trace of it lingered even now, and she knew what Luke was going to say even before he spoke.
“You're a strong-willed woman, Tasia…and today I realized that I want no less than that. I'm glad you're not afraid of me. You're willing to stand your ground, and I don't want to change that. I had no reason to forbid you to visit Angelovsky. The truth is, I was jealous.” Luke stroked her hair. “Sometimes I want to hide you away from the world and keep you all to myself. I want all your attention, your time, your love—”
“But you have all those things,” she said s
oftly. “Given willingly and without measure. Not because you own me, but because I choose to.”
“I know.” He sighed deeply. “I was unreasonable, and selfish, and I'm not proud of it—”
“But you'll try to do better,” Tasia prompted.
“I'll try,” he said wryly.
She laughed and slid her arms around his neck. “Our life together is never going to be smooth, is it?”
“Apparently not.” He slid his palm over her round stomach. “But I'm enjoying every minute of it.”
“So am I,” she said. “I never dreamed I would be this happy.”
“There's more to come,” he whispered against her lips. “Just wait and see.”
Epilogue
The bitter November wind chilled Luke to the bone as he rode the short distance between the railroad offices and his villa on the Thames. In hindsight, he should have taken a carriage, but the day had turned out much colder than expected. Dismounting from his horse, he gave the reins to a waiting footman and bounded up the front steps. The butler opened the door and took his coat and hat.
Luke shivered at the pleasant warmth of the house. “Do you know where Lady Stokehurst is?”
“Lady Stokehurst and Miss Emma are in the parlor with Prince Nikolas, sir.”
Luke blinked in surprise. Nikolas had never come to visit before. It was one thing to tolerate Tasia's sickroom visits with her exiled cousin, but quite another to welcome him into their own house as a guest. Setting his jaw, Luke went to the parlor.
As he approached, the sound of his footsteps must have alerted Emma, who appeared in front of him with an air of explosive excitement. “Papa, the most extraordinary thing has happened! Nikolas came to visit, and he brought a gift for me!”
“What kind of gift?” Luke asked darkly, following her into the parlor.
“A sick kitten. His poor little paws are infected. The man who owned him had his claws pulled out, and now the kitten is so weak with fever that we're not certain he'll live. We've been trying to coax him to drink some milk. If he pulls through, Papa, may I keep him? Please?”
“I don't see why a kitten should be any trouble—” Luke stopped short as he took in the scene before him.
Tasia was crouched on the floor next to a striped bundle of orange, black, and white. It was about the size of a small dog. Underneath Luke's incredulous gaze, the “kitten” tottered on bandaged paws to a dish of milk and began to lap it tentatively. A pair of house maids were gathered at the other side of the room, viewing the animal with apprehension. “They eats people, don't they?” one of the maids asked in concern.
It was a tiger cub, Luke realized. Probably the Siberian variety that grew to the size of a horse. Blankly he looked from Emma's hopeful face to Tasia's apologetic one…and finally to Nikolas Angelovsky, who was seated on the settee.
It was the first time Luke had seen Nikolas since he had been in Russia. Angelovsky looked as before, except much thinner, the edges of his cheeks and nose as sharp as knifeblades. His golden skin had faded to an unhealthy pallor. His piercing yellow eyes were as startling as ever, and his smile held the same mocking curve. “Zdráhstvuyti,” he said softly.
Luke couldn't keep a scowl of dislike from his face. “Angelovsky,” he muttered. “I would appreciate it if you refrained from bestowing any further ‘gifts’ on my family. You've done quite enough for the Stokehursts.”
Nikolas's smile didn't falter. “I had no choice but to bring the kitten to my cousin Emma, the patroness of injured animals.”
Luke glanced at his daughter, who was crouched over the wobbly bundle of stripes like a worried mother. Angelovsky had chosen his gift well. No other gesture could have so effectively softened Emma's heart. “Look at him, Papa,” Emma said, while the cub made contented gurgling and puffing noises in between slurps of milk. “He's very small…He won't take up much room at all!”
“He'll grow,” Luke replied ominously. “Eventually to forty stone or more.”
“Really?” Emma gave the cub a dubious glance. “That much?”
“There is no way in hell we're going to keep a tiger!” Luke divided his glare between Nikolas and his wife. “Someone had better think of a way to dispose of it, or I will.”
Tasia interceded with gentle diplomacy, hurrying to him with a swish of silken skirts, laying a light hand on his arm. “Luke,” she murmured, “I would have a word with you in private.” Glancing at Nikolas, she added, “I'm certain you need more rest, Nikolas. You wouldn't want to ruin your recuperation by overtaxing yourself.”
“Perhaps I should leave,” Nikolas agreed, rising from the settee.
“I'll see you out,” Emma said, draping the tiger cub over her shoulder, where he lay in limp contentment.
After the pair left the room, Tasia stood on her toes to whisper in Luke's ear. “Please…it would make her so happy to keep him.”
“We're talking about a tiger, for God's sake.” Luke pulled his head back and frowned at her. “I don't like to come home in the afternoon and find the likes of Angelovsky sitting in my parlor.”
“It was a complete surprise,” Tasia said contritely. “I certainly couldn't turn Nikolas away at the doorstep.”
“I won't allow him to worm his way into our lives.”
“Of course not,” Tasia said, walking with him into the hallway. “This visit was just Nikolas's way of making peace. I don't believe he means to harm any of us.”
“I don't have your forgiving nature,” Luke muttered. “As far as I'm concerned, he's not welcome here.”
Tasia was about to argue when she happened to glance at the entrance hall. Emma was standing with Nikolas, looking up at him as she cuddled the tiger against her shoulder. Nikolas reached to stroke the cub's round head. As he did so, his fingers gently rubbed a lock of Emma's shining red hair. The gesture was brief, almost unnoticeable, but it sent a chill of warning down Tasia's spine. She had a sudden premonition of Nikolas with an older Emma…staring at her with a seductive smile, leading her step by step into a fathomless shadow…until they had both disappeared from the light.
Did it mean that Emma might someday be in danger from Nikolas? Tasia's brow wrinkled, and she wondered if she should tell Luke of her vision. No, she didn't want to worry him unnecessarily. Together they would take care of Emma and protect her. Nothing would threaten them now that they were a family.
“Perhaps you're right,” she said to Luke, squeezing his arm. “I'll find a way to make Nikolas understand that he mustn't visit often.”
“Good,” he said in satisfaction. “Now about that cub—”
“Come with me,” she coaxed, urging him to the dimly lit space beneath the grand staircase. Together they drew into the private corner.
Luke began again. “About the tiger—”
“Come closer.” She pulled his cool hand to the velvet-covered slope of her breast. Automatically his fingers slid over the plump mound, finding the downy warmth of her cleavage. Tasia sighed with pleasure. She pressed her body, lush with pregnancy, against the length of his. “You left before I work this morning,” she murmured. “I missed you.”
“Tasia—”
She pulled his head down and nipped his neck with her teeth. Blindly Luke turned and found her mouth. The kiss deepened, and he felt the warmth of it spread through his body. As always, he was aroused by her nearness, his blood stirring rapidly at the feel and taste of her. Tasia's small hand covered his, and she pressed it inside her bodice, underneath the velvet, until his palm fitted over her peaked nipple. He kissed her once more, and Tasia responded with avid pleasure, molding herself against him. “You smell like winter,” she whispered.
Luke shivered as he felt her lips brush against the side of his neck. “It's cold outside.”
“Take me upstairs and I'll warm you.”
“But about the tiger…”
“Later,” she said, loosening the knot of his cravat. “For now, take me to bed.”
Luke raised his head and gave he
r a sardonic glance. “I know when I'm being manipulated.”
“You're not being manipulated,” she assured him. She pulled his cravat free and dropped it to the floor. “You're being seduced. Stop trying to resist.”
The prospect of being in bed with her, holding her body against his, was too much for Luke. As long as he lived, there would be no temptation, no pleasure, no passion more intense than what he felt with her. Carefully he lifted her in his arms. “Who's resisting?” he muttered, and carried her up to bed.
About the Author
Lisa Kleypas is the author of nineteen historical romance novels that have been published in twelve languages. In 1985, she was named Miss Massachusetts and competed in the Miss America pageant in Atlantic City. After graduating from Wellesley College with a political science degree, she published her first novel at age twenty-one.
Her books have appeared on bestseller lists such as the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and WaldenBooks. Lisa is married and has two children.
Please visit her at www.lisakleypas.com.
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By Lisa Kleypas
SECRETS OF A SUMMER NIGHT
AGAIN THE MAGIC • WORTH ANY PRICE
LADY SOPHIA’S LOVER • ONLY IN YOUR ARMS
ONLY WITH YOUR LOVE • WHEN STRANGERS MARRY
SUDDENLY YOU • WHERE DREAMS BEGIN
SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME
STRANGER IN MY ARMS • BECAUSE YOU’RE MINE
SOMEWHERE I’LL FIND YOU
PRINCE OF DREAMS • MIDNIGHT ANGEL
DREAMING OF YOU • THEN CAME YOU
And the Anthologies
WHERE’S MY HERO?
THREE WEDDINGS AND A KISS