“With utmost pleasure.”
Vasili drew her onto the dance floor before Dimitri could protest again. He stared after them, unaware that he was scowling, making every effort not to go after Katherine and yank her back to his side, as was his first inclination. It was only Vasili, he had to remind himself. Vasili wouldn’t make any advances toward her, knowing how Dimitri felt about her. But he didn’t like seeing another man’s hands on her, even his friend’s.
Ten minutes later, when Vasili returned alone, Dimitri exploded. “What the devil do you mean you turned her over to Aleksandr?”
“Easy, Mitya,” Vasili said, taken aback. “You saw that he cornered us before we left the floor. What could I do when she agreed to another dance?”
“You could have damn well warned him off.”
“He’s harmless, and—” Vasili had to jerk Dimitri around when he started for the dance floor. He pulled him to the side, away from curious ears. “Are you mad? You would cause a scene just because she’s dancing and enjoying herself? For God’s sake, Mitya, what’s wrong with you?”
Dimitri stared hard at Vasili, then let his breath out slowly. “You’re right. I—oh, hell, lovesick was putting it rather mildly.” He smiled in apology.
“Haven’t you won her yet?”
“Why? You think that will lessen this obsession? I assure you it won’t.”
“Then what you need, my friend, is a distraction. Natalia is here, if you haven’t noticed.”
“I’m not interested.”
“No, you dolt, I know that,” Vasili said impatiently. “But she has narrowed down the field and finally has a name for you, or so she confided to me earlier. Your perfect future bride. Remember you asked her—”
“Forget it,” Dimitri interrupted curtly. “I have decided not to marry.”
“What?”
“You heard me. If I can’t marry Katherine, I’m not marrying at all.”
“But you can’t be serious!” Vasili protested. “What about the heir you need?”
“Without a wife, it will be perfectly acceptable for me to adopt any children that Katherine gives me.”
“You are serious, aren’t you?”
“Quiet,” Dimitri hissed. “Aleksandr’s bringing her back.”
For the next hour, Dimitri didn’t let Katherine out of his sight, and she loved every minute of it. He danced with her again and again, teasing her mercilessly about stepping on his feet, when she didn’t, not once. He was in such good humor, and she was having the most marvelous time of her life—until he left her in Vasili’s care while he went to fetch them a cooling drink, and Vasili was immediately commandeered by a brazen countess who wouldn’t take no for an answer and dragged him off to the dance floor. If Vasili had still been there, he would have taken Katherine out of earshot of the group of gossips standing behind her, who didn’t seem to care that she was within listening distance. She should have moved away on her own, but at first she was amused, hearing:
“But I told you, Anna, she’s English, one of his relations from his mother’s side. Why else would Mitya guard her so closely?”
“To make Tatiana jealous, of course. Didn’t you see her come in with her fiancé?”
“Nonsense. If he were going to make Tatiana jealous, he would be staying close to Natalia. She’s here too, you know. After all, Tatiana knows Natalia is his mistress and has no doubt heard that Mitya has been visiting her again since Tatiana chose Count Lysenko over him. Did you hear how furious he was about that?”
“Not furious, Anna. The poor boy has been so depressed that he came straight to St. Petersburg and has rarely left his house these last three months.”
“Well, he certainly seems to have gotten over his depression tonight.”
“Of course. You don’t think he wants Tatiana to know how miserable he’s been, do you? It was really too bad of her to end their courtship by introducing her fiancé to him. And after Mitya came to Moscow only to resume their courtship.”
“Then you think he still loves her?”
“Don’t you? Just look at her, over by the orchestra. Tell me what man wouldn’t love her?”
Katherine couldn’t help herself and looked at Tatiana as well. She quickly turned away, and walked away too until she could no longer overhear the comments. But the damage was done. The Princess Tatiana was the most beautiful woman Katherine had ever seen. Did Dimitri still love her? How could he not?
He’s used you, Katherine, and lied to you about being out of the country. Why? Was he so upset over his princess that he simply forgot to send you home in time? Why does he bother with you? Why this grand pretense of wanting you when you can’t hold a candle to such a gorgeous creature as Tatiana Ivanoval?
“Lady Katherine?”
She almost didn’t turn around, it had been so long since she had been addressed so. But she did, recognizing the voice. She groaned inwardly, and then saw, out of the corner of her eye, that Dimitri had returned. But he halted in midstride only a few feet away, his face gone deathly pale on hearing the man address her. She couldn’t worry about him now. She had the Ambassador to deal with first, her father’s dear friend—good Lord, how could she have forgotten the possibility that she might meet up with him here?
“What a surprise, Lord—”
“You’re surprised! I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you dancing past a while ago. I said no, that can’t be little Katherine, but it is you, by God. What the devil are you doing in Russia?”
“It’s a long story,” she replied evasively, immediately changing the subject. “I don’t suppose you have heard from my father recently?”
“Indeed I have, and I don’t mind telling you—”
“Did he mention anything about my sister—a marriage perhaps?”
This time Katherine managed to distract him. “As a matter of fact, Lady Elisabeth has eloped with Lord Seymour. Remember him? Nice enough chap. But the Earl was furious, of course, until he found out that some information he had on young Seymour was all wrong.”
“What!” Katherine fairly shrieked in her surprise. “You mean it was all for nothing?”
“What was? Don’t know anything about that,” he said gruffly. “Your father only mentioned your sister’s marriage in telling of your own disappearance, because you both vanished the same day. George was expecting an elopement, you see, so for a while he simply thought you had gone with them as chaperon, you know. It wasn’t until the newlyweds returned home some two weeks later that he learned otherwise. They think you’re dead, my lady.”
Katherine groaned miserably. “My—ah, my letter explaining everything must have been misplaced somehow. Oh, this is terrible!”
“Perhaps you should write your father another letter,” Dimitri said tightly, coming forward at last.
Katherine turned to see that he had recovered completely from his shock. In fact, if his current expression was any indication, it looked as if his famous temper was about to explode. Now what the devil did he have to be angry about?
“Dimitri, my boy. That’s right, you know Lady Katherine St. John, don’t you? Saw you two dancing earlier.”
“Yes, Lady Katherine and I have met, and if you will excuse us, Ambassador, I would like a few words with her.”
He didn’t give anyone time to protest, least of all Katherine, as he literally dragged her out of the ballroom, and out of the house. On the stairs outside she caught her breath, but as she was about to upbraid him, she was pushed into a carriage, and Dimitri got the first word in.
“So it is all true! Every bit of it true! Do you know what you have done, Lady Katherine? Do you have any idea of the repercussions, the—”
“What I have done?” she gasped incredulously. “What the devil are you raving about? I told you who I was. You are the blasted know-it-all who wouldn’t believe me.”
“You could have convinced me! You could have told me what an earl’s daughter was doing on the street, dressed in rags, alone.”
“But I di
d tell you. And those were not rags I was wearing, but my maid’s uniform. I told you!”
“You did not!”
“Of course I did. I told you I was in disguise so that I could follow my sister, because I thought she was eloping. And you see! Elisabeth did elope. And I could have prevented that if not for you!”
“Katya, you told me none of that.”
“I tell you I did. I must have.” At his continued glower, she snapped uneasily, “Well, what’s the difference? I gave you my name, my status. I even gave you a list of my accomplishments, some of which I have since proved nicely. But to this day, you were still too pigheaded to accept the obvious. Good Lord, Marusia was right. You Russians take top honors for inflexibility of first impressions.”
“Are you finished?”
“Yes, I believe I am,” she replied tightly.
“Very well. Tomorrow we will be married.”
“No.”
“No?” he shouted again. “Just yesterday you wanted to marry me. You were even furious when I explained that it wasn’t possible.”
“Exactly,” she retorted, her eyes glittering suspiciously with moisture. “Yesterday I wasn’t good enough for you. Today suddenly I am? Well, no thank you. I won’t marry you under any circumstances.”
He turned away, glaring murderously out the carriage window. Katherine did likewise. If she had known Dimitri better, even just a little bit, she would have realized that his anger wasn’t so much for her as for himself. But she didn’t know that. And she took his castigation to heart. How dare he blame her for this? How dare he offer to many her now, when he didn’t love her, when it was only to satisfy some misplaced sense of atonement? She wouldn’t have it. She didn’t need his pity. She didn’t need a husband to marry her because he felt he had to. She had more pride than that, by God.
Chapter Thirty-seven
The smooth blanket of snow, unmarked as far as the eye could see, gave an impression of a land untouched by man, empty of life, desolate, or reborn, washed clean of all the ravages of civilization. It was so blindingly beautiful, this scene—bushes turned into little hills with heavy white coats, naked birches thrusting dark fingers into the overcast sky—so silent, so peaceful to a troubled mind.
Dimitri stopped on the road, or what he assumed to be the road, for the snowstorm that had blown through this area had obliterated it as well as any landmarks that might tell him he was still on the right track. He had been warned by his host, Count Berdyaev, not to venture out this soon, that he should stay over another night just to be certain the storm had really passed. Dimitri had refused.
What had begun as the simple need to get off by himself for a while so he could think without Katherine’s distracting presence nearby, had turned into nearly a week’s absence from St. Petersburg. He had been on his way back from an aimless three-day ride when the storm arrived so unexpectedly, forcing him to spend several more days as the Count’s guest. Now he was in a welter of impatience to be home. Katherine had been left alone too long as it was, and his running off the very night of their argument didn’t help.
There was another incentive for his leaving Berdyaev’s as soon as the storm let up. Tatiana Ivanova had shown up there in a party of ten, which included Lysenko, needing shelter from the storm just as Dimitri had. The situation in the house was intolerable, made worse when he had the misfortune to witness Tatiana breaking her engagement to Lysenko. If looks could talk, the fellow obviously blamed Dimitri for this turn in events.
In the stillness, the report of a gun was deafening. Caught off guard, Dimitri tumbled backward as his horse reared. His landing was cushioned by a half-foot of snow, but the wind was knocked out of him for a moment. When he glanced up, it was to see his frightened horse disappearing into the distance, but that wasn’t what concerned him.
He rolled over into a crouch and scanned the forest behind him. He saw Lysenko immediately, for the man made no effort to hide himself. Dimitri’s heart stilled. He was in the process of raising his rifle for another shot—yet he hesitated. Their eyes met across the distance, and the anguish Dimitri saw gave him pause. Then Lysenko lowered the weapon and jerked his horse around, riding hellbent back the way he had come.
What devils could drive a man to do something like this? Dimitri was afraid he knew. Tatiana. Lysenko obviously thought Dimitri was responsible for his losing her.
“What’s wrong with you, Mitya? The man just tried to kill you, and you’re standing here making excuses for him.” He sighed disgustedly. “Sweet Christ, now I’m talking to myself like she does.”
He turned to see if his horse had stopped down the road, but it hadn’t. It was nowhere in sight, though easy enough to follow. Dimitri sighed again. Just what he needed: a long walk through the snowdrifts. But at least he was able. That idiot had had a clear shot, but hadn’t taken it. He supposed Lysenko had a conscience after all.
Dimitri changed that opinion when he found his horse an hour later with a broken leg and had to dispatch it. He was left with the annoying suspicion that Count Lysenko had known exactly what he was doing. Unfamiliar with the area, hours away from Berdyaev’s, with no houses or villages in sight, and the sky looking uglier by the minute, Dimitri had the feeling that he wasn’t only stranded but also in danger of being caught in another storm without shelter. His chances in that case were none.
He set off immediately in the direction he had been heading. He had come too far from Berdyaev’s to try and make it back there, so his only hope of finding shelter before nightfall was to continue on.
It wasn’t long before the cold seeped through the leather of his gloves and boots, and his extremities grew numb. His fur-lined coat was some help, but not when the temperature dropped as evening approached. But at least the snow had held off. And just before the last of the daylight dimmed completely, he found a little shed, an indication that he had drifted onto someone’s property. As much as he would have liked to find the owners of the property, with no house in sight he didn’t dare. His strength was too depleted from trudging through the snow all day, and the light was gone.
It was apparently an abandoned shed, perhaps used for storage at one time, but empty now, too completely empty. There wasn’t a single item that Dimitri could use to start a fire, unless he wanted to tear down boards from the walls and lose what little insulation from the cold they offered. It wasn’t much. The cold still managed to slip in through cracks in the walls, though most of the wind was kept out. Still, it was better than nothing, and once morning came, he would be able to find the house that had to be near.
Dimitri curled up on the cold dirt floor in a corner, wrapped tightly in his coat, and went to sleep, wishing he had Katherine’s warm body beside him—no, he had better reserve his wishes for simply being able to awake come morning, for that was one of the bitter results of being exposed to Russia’s icy weather: falling asleep in it and never waking up.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Katherine came to him out of the fog, warm and sultry, and she wasn’t angry with him anymore. She didn’t blame him for the ruin he had made of her life. She loved him, only him. But the snow fell again and she began to fade. He couldn’t see her through the snow, couldn’t find her, no matter how far he ran, no matter how loudly he called for her. She was gone.
When Dimitri opened his eyes, the sight that greeted him made him so certain he was dead that he might have had a heart attack if he didn’t as quickly see Anastasia and Nikolai too. His eyes came back to the apparition.
“Misha?”
“You see, Nastya.” Mikhail chuckled. “I told you there was no need to wait until he recovered more.”
“You didn’t know that for certain,” Anastasia protested. “He could have had a relapse. I know I would have, confronted with a ghost.”
“Ghost, am I? I’ll have you know—”
“Sweet Christ!” Dimitri exhaled sharply. “Is it really you, Misha?”
“In the flesh.”
“How?”
“How?” Mikhail grinned. “Well, I could tell you how my cowardly comrades left me with three saber wounds to let my blood nourish the earth. Or I could tell you how the Armenians dragged me back to their camp to make sport of me before I died.” He paused here for effect, his blue eyes crinkling. “Or I could tell you how the chief’s daughter took one look at this notorious Alexandrov face of mine and badgered her father into giving me to her.”
“So which will you tell me?”
“Don’t let him rib you, Mitya,” Nikolai put in. “All of it’s true, if we’re to believe him, and I suppose we must, since he brought that same Armenian princess home with him.”
“Is it too much to hope that you married her, Misha?” Dimitri ventured.
“Too much to hope?”
Nikolai laughed. “He would find that of particular interest, since Aunt Sonya hasn’t let up on him ever since you were reported dead, Misha. There was nothing for it but for poor Mitya to many and get himself an heir before there were no Alexandrovs left.”
Dimitri scowled at this brother. “Trust you to find humor in that. I assure you I didn’t.”
“Well, you can relax now,” Mikhail informed Dimitri proudly. “I not only married her, but she’s already given me a son, the reason why I was so long in returning. We had to wait until the boy was bom before she could travel.”
Dimitri did relax, but in simple weakness. “Since your ghostly appearance has been explained, would someone mind telling me what you three are doing surrounding my bed and how the devil I got here? Or did I only dream of being stranded—”
“It was no dream, Mitya.” Anastasia sat down on the bed to offer him some water. “You have been so sick that for a while we weren’t sure you would recover.”
“You’re ribbing me again?” But not one of the three faces was smiling. “For how long?”
“Three weeks.”
“Not possible!” Dimitri exploded.
He tried to get up, but was assailed with dizziness and sank back onto the pillow, closing his eyes. Three weeks of his life gone, not remembered? The emotions that possibility stirred overwhelmed him.