by Elsa Holland
His face was taut, his anger clearly restrained under the surface.
“Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.” He said in English finally, then looked out the window.
They sat in uncomfortable silence. Had father manipulated the situation? He was a crafty man when he set his sights on something. Yet, he was so transparent, she always knew when he was ’fudging’ with her, when he was underplaying their financial position or the risk of a scheme he had landed them in. All discussion around her betrothal had been fond, contained stories of his friend Mikael and of young Prince Vladimir.
“I would ask that you do not repeat your suggestion that I cancel the betrothal.” She asked in Russian.
“We are at odds then.”
“It is very offensive how clearly you speak of both yours and your family’s disregard for the betrothal and your opinion of my father’s and my motives.”
He turned back to look at her. “It is not my intention to cause unnecessary harm or distress, however if your father will not tell you the facts surrounding your betrothal then I must.” He said in English.
“Prince Vladimir is honor bound to marry me.” She said in English even though she already wished to release them from that betrothal. However, it was a matter of principle that it was by her choice, rather than because of being badgered.
“He is.” With that he turned to look out the window again. The gaslights threw extra light on his face as they passed, one moment lit up, the next in shadow again until the next light, a flickering of flames as if they rode through hell.
“Why didn’t he come to discuss these matters himself, with my father, with me?”
He made a sound which showed some frustration. “It is my job to do that and here I am.”
“Surely it is his, since the betrothal is with him?”
“These matters are best dealt with by me.”
“Why not even meet me? Why even bother to send those paintings if Vladimir was so against the betrothal? You said Vlad never does anything he doesn’t want to, yet he sat for those miniatures.”
Demetri simply looked at her under hooded eyes. “The miniatures are always done in multiples. No doubt someone else wanted to have one.”
That was simply hurtful.
She shook her head no. “There are more?” It hurt her throat to push the words out. She was such a fool.
He was silent. Maddeningly silent while she tried desperately to forget how delighted she had been when each one arrived.
Slowly Georgie reached into her purse and pulled out the damn miniature. Heart squeezing tight, she slid the carriage window open and dropped it out onto the roadway before she could change her mind.
Demetri sprung to life, banged on the carriage roof and shouted out for the driver to stop. He jumped out of the carriage muttering words she could not understand but which clearly conveyed his agitation. Georgie leaned out to see him scouring the ground. A strange sensation rippled through her, an ache, a hurt mixed with longing. She stepped outside into a soft swirl of snowflakes and walked to where he was searching, that want, that need building with each step.
“Please return to the carriage. It is cold.” He waved her away.
She stood taller. “What are you looking for?” She knew. They both knew but it made no sense.
He muttered Russian words she didn’t need to understand, as his tone spoke volumes.
A few more minutes, and a few yards further down the road he bent down, picked up what must be the miniature, took out his handkerchief and polished it. Tears pricked her eyes. He walked over to her, caught her arm and walked her back to the carriage.
She turned at the step and he patted the snow from her cape, “You asked me to release your brother and now you act annoyed that I let his portrait go.”
He handed the miniature back to her then helped her to step up, his wide strong hand an anchor for hers. “They are two entirely different things.”
Just at that moment the horses moved, and the cabin lurched.
His hands came around holding her steady and ripples of sensation fanned from his hold from her waist throughout her body.
“I’ve got you.” He growled in her ear as his chest pressed against her back and he half lifted her into the carriage ensuring with his body she would not fall. An awkward but delicious hold as he moved her inside. The warmth of him washed over her and her body flared to life.
The horses tugged again as she was pressed down on the bench with his leg between hers and just like that she throbbed, ached for things she had yet to experience, yet her body seemed to know.
“Easy. Easy,” cajoled the driver to the horses. “Whoa.”
Demetri looked down at her and as one second stretched endlessly into the next, something passed between them. His face unveiled what usually he so cleverly kept hidden. She was not the only one affected. His eyes were pools of dark hunger.
His hand lifted off the bench and he ran his fingers over her chin. “I scratched you too hard.”
She shook her head. No. She remembered the feel of his rough skin and now in this moment, with him so close and her body flaming she wanted him to scratch her all over with his stubble and then trail behind with kisses soft and hot.
“I feel like I have known you…forever...” she whispered
And just like that the mask closed over his face again and he righted himself moving to the bench opposite and tapped his cane on the roof.
Georgie looked at the miniature still in her hand and back at him.
“How alike are you and your brother?”
He turned his face to look out the window. “I am taller.”
“He has blonde hair like you?”
He turned, face exasperated. “Are we really doing this Georgina?” he asked in Russian.
“Da.”
He shook his head. “Darker….” Their eyes met and her heart beat faster.
“Tell me the truth. You owe me that much for all the gossip and pity.”
He gave a single nod.
She took a deep breath and leapt off the cliff. “Those images…they were of you, weren’t they?”
He stared at her for a few seconds, each one making heat inch up her chest.
“Yes.”
Her world turned. Tipped and tumbled. That was why she felt so comfortable with him. He didn’t just look like the miniatures; those portraits were of him. She had grown up looking at his face, telling him her heart’s deepest secrets. “I carried them everywhere,” she whispered.
Silence.
“Why?” she asked.
More silence. She sat up straighter, wrapped her hands tighter into her cape.
“Didn’t you ever wonder about the girl who would get them?”
He was back to looking out the window, his face might have been carved in stone.
“Demetri?”
“They took hours,” he said harshly as he turned. “I resented the time.”
A tear fell then, ripped from her, hot and full of aches despite her best efforts.
He pulled out a handkerchief and leaned forward. “Call off the betrothal Georgie.”
She slapped his hand away, shook her head no. And next moment she had launched herself at him and was pummeling his chest releasing a stream of words, anger, tears.
His arms came around her, strong and firm, drawing her across to sit on his lap, pulling her tight against his chest, crooning nonsense to her as she cried big shaking sobs at the depth of betrayal. Her childhood was a mockery of affection totally unreturned. And here she was in the arms of a man she had loved all her life from his image, and he wasn’t even the man she was betrothed to.
He held her like that, whispering sounds which soothed her until they reached her home. The carriage drove in and stopped under the portico.
Georgie, pulled herself together, straightened her cape. He guided her to sit as he leaned over to the door and opened it after the driver pulled down the steps. He held her hand to steady her as she stepped d
own.
“I’ll see you in,” he said.
“No need.” She moved past him. His face hardened and he didn’t answer, rather asked the driver to wait then saw her into the foyer, slipped off her cape and handed it to the footman. Out came that handkerchief again and he dried her cheeks, the fabric warm from his body. She felt all twisted inside but still she leaned in for any small touch of affection.
“Bushka…rest, sleep and it will feel better in the morning.” A pained expression passed over his face, a rare reveal. He leaned down and kissed first one cheek and then the other. The breadth of his shoulders, the heat off his body sending tingles over her skin leaving her cloaked in the scent of his cologne.
A strange look sat in his eyes.
“Good night, Georgie.”
She waited until she heard the carriage pull out.
Oh…she would make sure it would be a good night.
Chapter 10
The third tray of coffee arrived, the last had included refreshments as he waited for her. Demetri picked up the paper and read for the hundredth time the social column.
Perhaps we now understand the Russian’s attraction to the neglected kitten. Said kitty was seen in four salons last night, tailed by a known Baron, and proved to be more than delightful. What are the Russians playing at? Which brother has the kitty-cat, and which one wants it? Or are they simply luring a feline out to play with the rest of us?
He slapped the paper back down on the table. She couldn’t have failed to have read it. He had read it, come straight over and was she sitting at home keeping a low profile? No, she was out…for hours.
He didn’t know what infuriated him most. That she had gone out again after he had deposited her safely at home, or that she wasn’t at home now while he waited, or that he cared.
His being affected by her had never been a part of his plans. It was never something he even considered he’d have to contend with. From the moment he first saw her on the stairs, remaining unaffected had been impossible. Beauty she certainly had, and yet he’d known many beautiful women. She sparred with him from their first meeting, and yet Russian women were no push overs; she was an exceptional hostess judging from the dinner she had arranged for him, however one would expect that; and…and she spoke Russian, no small feat for a woman living in England with no Russian relatives.
He knew what it took to learn another language. He spoke four of them well and another three well enough not to be rude or swindled in any negotiation. In preparation for marrying into his family, she had taken it on herself to speak their tongue. Each one of these things was attractive and admirable, together they were quite special, but take them all away and he was sure he would still feel the way he did, like metal placed before a magnet.
He was getting ‘attached’ as his mother was so fond of chastising him. A telegram from her had arrived this morning.
IS IT DONE YET STOP. EVEN IF YOUR FATHER DIDN’T REMEMBER YOUR FAMILY’S HONOR STOP. YOU MUST STOP DON’T GET ATTACHED STOP.
Any woman would have taken offence to the slights delivered over the years and especially during this visit, but it seemed that the daughter of an investor and profiteer was made of sterner stuff. It frustrated and pleased him at the same time that she was clearly determined to hold her ground until she had the opportunity to speak directly with her betrothed.
The door opened, and there’s a moment’s disappointment that Georgie’s form didn’t grace the doorway but her father’s.
“General Demetri, our apologies. I have been out, and I think Georgie is doing some last-minute shopping before the trip.”
Demetri stood, clicked his heels and gave a minimal bow as Mr. Franklin entered. This was good. He would work on the father. Although Mr. Franklin had blackmailed his father into the betrothal surely, he didn’t enjoy having his daughter embarrassed or knowingly send her to a marriage and family where she would be unwelcome.
“I must ask you if you will be allowing the betrothal, given my brother’s actions while here in London.”
Mr. Franklin went over to the sideboard and poured a drink, lifting the bottle and motioning it towards him in offer.
“Thank you.” He needed some fortification. The way he felt at the moment, he was not sure what he would do if Georgie came through the door. What was she thinking? One salon visit was dangerous for a respectable single woman. A slew of them was downright reputation destroying.
“I take it you have read the papers this morning. Why was Miss Georgie allowed out today? It would be best for her reputation that she remained quiet while it blows over.”
The father walked over and handed him a glass of amber fluid. “Blows over….I see. Is it yourself General, who is upset or your brother, the Prince?”
“I know the Prince’s mind in this matter.”
“Ahh.” The father sat down. “That seems a little unfair given the enjoyment your brother and if you’ll forgive me, yourself, have had at the salons. Naturally she wanted to see for herself what it was all about and understandably hoped to meet her betrothed.” The father took a sip of his drink.
Demetri widened his eyes, “You are not upset that she could have ruined any reputation that she might still have? What kind of a father are you?”
“I am the kind of father who trusts his daughter enough to allow her to have the freedom to explore her life.”
“Explore her life as long as she marries a man you have arranged for her.” His chest heaved with frustration. At Georgie who still wasn’t here and at Mr. Franklin who was in no way concerned with managing her and the situation.
Mr. Franklin didn’t seem upset. He simply waved him to sit down. Which he did, taking a sizable swig of the brandy.
“Do you play?” Mr. Franklin nodded towards the chess board.
“Which are you?”
“Black?”
“Your opponent has you in checkmate with bishop or rook four.”
The old man looked equally chuffed and assessing. “Georgie is my opponent.”
Demetri nodded his head. “I didn’t know she played.”
Mr. Franklin leaned back in his chair. “Quite an oversight failing to visit her, don’t you think? Poor form.”
Demetri’s jaw tightened, the plan had seemed so much easier when he hadn’t met Georgie, when he hadn’t come to have some feelings for her. Yet his obligations to his family were clear.
“The Prince has had matters of state to attend to.”
“The salons?” Mr. Franklin spoke softly. Not the anger Demetri expected, rather, the man sounded disappointed.
“If you don’t mind me saying, I expect all of this is not the fashion in which your father would have wanted my daughter to be treated.”
“What my father would have wanted?” The anger which had grown over the years over the betrothal, over his father’s weakness in accepting it and how it had upset his mother, rushed to the surface. “Oh, and you would know what my father would expect?” He stood as he spoke and found himself glowering at the man who had locked them all into this farce.
“Yes. You may not be aware, but I knew him quite well.” The man then had the audacity to indicate the brandy bottle over on the sideboard and lift his glass for a refill.
Demetri stalked over, poured more into his glass, then went over and filled the blackguard’s glass.
Demetri stiffened. “What my father owed you and the deference he gave in accepting the betrothal is not a matter the family has understood, if you don’t mind me saying.” He then sank back into the chair and took another large gulp of the warming liquid. “Where is Miss Georgie?” he growled.
“She’ll come along in her own time.” The father leaned forward. “This betrothal was something that your father was most eager to see take place between our families.”
Demetri scoffed and leaned forward in his chair. “The Prince suggests that Miss Georgie call off the betrothal. He is unsuited to marriage.” A tightness settled in his chest at the words. Words his a
nd his family’s honor demanded.
“We will not do that. Do you know anyone who makes caviar and vodka? I have investors in the passenger liner business.”
Demetri looked over at the man as if he were mad.
“So, you will force Georgie to marry a man who has little regard for her.”
“He has no knowledge of her. I am confident that, if he is as your father wrote, he will do the honorable thing. And I am confident that, when he finally takes the time to get to know her, he will become as enchanted with her…as even you are, General Demetri.”
Demetri sat back. “Me?” His heart beat faster and he took another much-needed gulp of brandy.
“Perhaps your father selected the wrong son….?”
Demetri stood. “You go too far.”
The father stood. “And you and your brother do not go far enough. Your behavior has hurt Georgie, the indifference over the years but most notably this week. It is a testament to her character that she has stood by the betrothal despite wishing otherwise.”
A strange flurry went through his chest, pleasure and yet…not.
“Miss Georgie has expressed a desire to break the betrothal?”
“Do you blame her?”
“And you will not allow her?”
“It is not as your father or I wish.”
“My father is dead, and the rest of the family do not understand the arrangement.”
The father poured another glass. “Here,” he motioned to the bottle, “you’d best have another as well.” Demetri strode over with his glass and her father filled it.
“So, you don’t know anyone in caviar and vodka?”
“I would not introduce you if I did.” Again, Mr. Franklin did not take offence to the slight.
“Pity. What of the travel plans?”
“So, you are holding us to the agreement?”
“I am.”
“And Georgie?”
“She has agreed.”
Demetri threw down the liquid and felt its warmth as it went down. His strategy of making Georgie and her family so incensed with their behavior they would call off the betrothal had failed. There was some hope in that Georgie had wanted to, the knowledge gave him an unexpected pleasure. Her blackmailing father would not let the arrangement end.
