by Elsa Holland
She whimpered.
He crooned, “my Bushka, beautiful Bushka, my heart, my siren,” as he lowered over her, the heat of her skin burning against his chest, one hand cupping and squeezing her breasts. He kissed her, swallowed her gasp as he pressed in, felt her catch of pain as he took her maiden hood, then stilled when he was fully seated. He blanketed her but she engulfed him. The softness around his cock, the heat… the blooming in his heart, his emotions were indescribable.
In the quiet, Demetri held her face, kissed her, kissed her and tasted her. Her arms wrapped around him, clutching him. The feeling of being wanted, of being exactly where he needed to be, was a first. Never had a woman given him that. Never had he sought or wanted it and now that he had tasted her, she held his very heart at her mercy.
He withdrew, an exquisite slow tease before pressing back in, holding her face in both her his hands gazing at her as he did it again, seeing what he hoped was love, shining out of eyes with pupils blown with need.
Then her hips moved, and the dance began in earnest. He brought her to the edge and stilled, withdrew and drove her crazy as he touched, kissed, and squeezed before slipping back in and thrusting her into another frenzy, then stopping. The third time, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms clamped around him, fingers clawing into his back to halt his retreat. He placed his hand over her mouth then he pushed them over the edge.
She screamed.
Screamed his name, muffled and caught in his palm…in his ears, and dangerously deep into his heart.
Part III
The Reveal
Chapter 20
Georgie opened her eyes as the bed sank with his weight.
Between her legs was deliciously sore and her skin was so sensitive when he sat on top of the covers and the sheets pulled tighter.
“What time is it?” she stretched, her back arching. He was getting dressed.
She rolled over on her side, watched as he pulled his shirt on and looked over his shoulder at her. “Three or thereabouts. I should get back to my room before people start to move about.”
“I am glad it was you,” she couldn’t help grinning as she said it.
He said nothing. Of course, he didn’t, but there was an intensity in his gaze that sent her nerves tumbling.
“Are you alright?” he asked, the implication clear.
Color heated her face and she gave a single nod.
His face tightened, yet he said nothing, turned away, and stood up as he drew on his trousers.
She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Demetri?”
He turned, his face impossible to read, dark, soft, hard, a contradiction of emotions.
“What is it?” Her heart beat faster. She sat up, sheet clutched to her chest, her hair an explosion of curls around her and over the bedding.
He groaned, his face pained as he crawled across the bed muttering nonsense in Russian as he drew the sheet down her body and proceeded to worship her with kisses, touches, caresses, and strokes until she called his name in bliss again.
Now as she woke for the second time, he sat against the headboard with her cradled in the crook of his arm stroking her hair.
He kissed the top of her head, “We’ll have to call you Sleeping Beauty if you fall asleep every time,” he murmured.
Every time…Her heart bloomed.
“I’ll have you know I am quite fit,” and the innuendo of riding men at Madam Debuverey’s salon now made the most perfect of sense. “I have been known to ride a horse for hours…” She grinned, pressing her face into his shirt.
His chest shook as he laughed. She pinched his side. He didn’t flinch, of course he didn’t, and she had never been as happy in her entire life.
His hand came under her chin and tipped it up, lips demanding as he took her breath away. His eyes were black orbs when he drew away, still holding her face.
“Come with me, Georgie. Forget the betrothal, forget everything, just us.” His Adam’s apple lifted and fell.
“What are you saying?” Her heart raced.
He kissed her again hard. “Elope with me. Come away tonight; we’ll be married by tomorrow.”
Her heart raced, it leaped, it sang an aria of pure happiness. This man forever…maybe it could be.
“Choose me, Georgie…” Those eyes of his seemed to become transparent pools right to his heart and she saw him. Saw how hard this was for him, how much it meant to him.
“Your family?” She drew the sheet up as she sat up and faced him.
He ran his hand through his hair. “We’ll work through that.”
Her father, the loan. Her stomach churned.
“I’ll need to talk with my father. I’ll need some time.”
His eyes bore into her as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Your father?”
She went to answer, and he spoke over her, jaw hardening. “Is it the money? The status?”
He moved off the bed and she grabbed after him.
“Demetri…”
“I am prepared to face my family’s displeasure and you want to talk to your father?” He paced. “Your father who blackmailed my family, besmirched our honor and put you through a betrothal where you were not valued?”
“It’s complicated…” She wriggled towards the side of the bed wrapping the sheet around her.
“It’s money.” He swore.
Tears were collecting in her eyes, her chest hurt. “For my father…yes. But we have nearly got a solution.”
“We? You are complicit with your father’s plans?”
“It’s not like that,” she reached for him. “I gave him my word. Wait till we get there and see how things unfold with the betrothal.”
“You intend to extort us for money.”
“No!” He couldn’t be serious. There were many things her father would do for business, but this would never…never be one of them.
He collected his jacket and shoes.
“I will not be the instrument of more shame for my family, Georgie.”
His face…the look on his face as his gaze ran over her, anger, hurt, longing…loss. It was raw across his features, tearing at her heart.
She clutched the sheet to her, swung her legs to the floor and stood. He was already walking to the door.
“Demetri…Demetri wait.”
He didn’t even look back as she tripped on the sheet. He closed the door.
Chapter 21
After a fitful night Georgie joined her father in the hotel’s dining room for breakfast. Other guests were scattered throughout the small room with its bay window overlooking the street. She kissed her father’s cheek and looked around for Demetri.
“He’s already left.”
Georgie sat and a waiter opened a napkin folding it over her lap as she ordered breakfast.
“He has business?”
“He asked to give you this.” Her father handed a small envelope. “I understand he’s taken an early train to St. Petersburg. We are to follow on the ferry as planned.”
He’d left her to travel alone…
Georgie opened the envelope. It was her note returned to her, torn in two. The burning ache in her chest increased.
“Father, I really must call the betrothal off, you realize that don’t you?”
A pot of tea arrived along with a basket of pastries, curled butter and preserves.
“It’s the young Demetri isn’t it?” Her nerves fluttered. Of course, it was…
Her face must have said enough because softness seeped into her father’s eyes. “I remember the heady days when I first meet your mother.” He breathed in deeply and half closed his eyes. “She was a goddess. I spoke total nonsense every time I approached her. To this day I don’t know what she saw in the man I was then.”
Georgie reached out and squeezed his hand across the table, “I remember her being very happy. You make me happy…although very frustrated over this matter,” she threw in. He gave her a trust me, trust me look, stand
ing up, folding his napkin and placed it on the table.
“Just a little while longer sweet-cheeks, just a little while longer. Caviar and vodka, caviar and vodka.”
And then he rushed off.
The ferry trip to St. Petersburg consisted of nothing but tossing and turning in the cabin’s narrow bed. When they finally arrived, transport awaited them, their luggage was collected and stowed away, and they were whisked to the Petroski residence.
Her head spun as the carriage pulled up, it was a palatial residence in the heart of St. Petersburg. The reluctance at the betrothal fell into place. She’d thought them like so many of the titled families in this part of the world, merely titled not necessarily wealthy.
“Did you know?” she accused her father.
“Mikhail was a very forward-thinking man, he did well for his family.”
Father, you could have told me.”
He looked at her as if she were mad. “I did.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. She’d thought he’d exaggerated to make her happy, to let her dream. “I am telling the Prince as soon as I see him,” Georgie told her father as the carriage pulled up in the grand cobbled forecourt. In fact, most of the Russian families of influence in London had the appearance of wealth yet few had it in reality. “I need you to source alternate accommodation.”
Her father simply nodded and patted her hand. “You do what you need to do sweet-cheeks.”
“You have the matter resolved?” The carriage door opened. Georgie waited for his response.
He gave her a slow nod.
Chapter 22
The letter with its official seal trembled in her hand as Georgie sank down onto the bed and read it again. Her heart raced and her face flamed with each mortifying word. They had just been shown into their suite. A sumptuous set of rooms with enough gold embellishment on cornices, picture frames and furniture details to make everything sparkle as if it floated out of the realm of the gods. A lady’s maid had been assigned to her and was busy selecting a few items out of her luggage…she would not be unpacking. The young girl had swooned with delight when she greeted her in Russian.
My brother has relayed the nature of your relationship together. The covetous focus on my family’s position and wealth were expected. Your indiscretions with him were not. I have in my possession certain postcards. I expect you to call off the Betrothal unless you wish to have them shared with your father and, if need be, circulated wider.
Enclosed is a statement annulling the betrothal, simply sign and return it to the gentleman waiting outside your door. Safe passage for you and your father has been arranged for tomorrow morning on the train.
Prince Petroski
For the first time, she felt shame over what she and Demetri had done, and she didn’t like it. Hated that something so precious and special was now being waved in her face as if it were vile. Anger exploded through her as she thought of the years she had wasted, thinking what a wonderful person her betrothed would be, holding and confiding in miniatures, portraits of Demetri. Georgie stalked to the door. Russet tweed skirt and French lace shirt would have to do for her first meeting with her betrothed. Not weeks ago, she’d had a fit, worrying she didn’t look presentable enough when Demetri had arrived unannounced. Today, she didn’t care that her hair was already slipping out of its pins, that she wore no powder to hide her freckles, that she had dark circles under her eyes from a sleepless night reliving word for word her last conversation with Demetri, wishing again and again she had thrown it all in the air, and leaped into his arms with nothing but yes, yes, yes on her lips.
She would tell him now, would beg him to forgive her, tell him about her father’s loan, that she had wanted to end the betrothal.
The servant who delivered the message stood waiting.
“I’d like to talk with the Prince’s brother.”
“He is not in residence.”
“He returned the day before us.”
The man’s face was impassive. “He has not as yet returned, Miss Franklin. We expect him late afternoon.”
Georgie swirled back towards the room. No! She whirled back.
“Take me to Prince Vladimir.” She would confront that spineless cruel man who was her betrothed face on.
“I was instructed to return with a letter.”
She waived the parchment she had received in the man’s face. “The only response returning is with me.”
The man was silent for a moment, then responded “As you wish. Please follow me.”
She followed the man who said he was Prince Vladimir’s secretary down a myriad of corridors, with highly polished wood paneling, stone inlaid floors and ornate gold embellishments around cornices, door frames and windows. The final corridor held larger-than-life sized portraits of the Petroski family.
And then way too soon, but not soon enough, she stood at a set of double doors.
“If you will wait here, I will inform the Prince you wish to see him,” the secretary said.
“He is in there?” she asked.
With the first signal of affirmation, Georgie moved past the man and pushed open the doors.
Demetri stood at the window in a large room with desk and open fire blazing.
He turned.
Confusion burst through her. “Demetri?”
His face hardened.
A large portrait of Demetri hung over the fire.
She turned to the secretary.
“You said the Prince’s brother was not in residence.
“He isn’t.”
“That will be all.” Demetri excused the man.
“I asked to see the Prince. He sent me this letter.” Georgie rushed over to him, relief instant. “Demetri…did you talk to him of us? All those…wonderful moments…he made them sound vulgar and wrong…” Tears broke, yet Demetri stood away from her, stony, hands clasped behind his back.
“Demetri?”
“Only family members call me Demetri.” He replied in Russian, voice cold as he walked behind his desk. “I assume you received my letter.” He opened a desk drawer and drew out the postcards and placed them on the table. “I assume this is what you have come to collect. Now if you will sign the annulment, I will proceed with arrangements for the announcement.” Her stomach dropped.
“You are my betrothed?” Her ears rang and her body felt a million miles away.
“Not for much longer,” was his clipped and stone-faced reply curling around what remained of her heart and squeezing so tight her chest hurt.
Georgie found herself moving through the room toward him, rounding the desk as he again stood like stone, hands clasped behind his back. A loud noise and her hand stung as red spread over his cheek. Her heart pounded in her throat.
“You set up an impossible situation,” she accused. “You wanted to call it off.”
“Of course, I wanted to call it off. Your father blackmailed mine into the betrothal. There will never be a Petroski who will allow it to stand. My father shamed the family name by accepting the terms of the betrothal.”
“But what about us…we were not the betrothal.”
“We were always the Betrothal.”
An invisible knife stabbed through her heart.
“Demetri, you can’t mean that.” Her hand reached out to touch him. Touch the man who had been everything her heart desired not twenty-four hours earlier.
He stepped back out of reach, his jaw tight and his face hard. There were dark circles under his eyes. Eyes where for a moment she thought she saw pain before they slammed shut again.
“You chose.”
He had wanted her to choose him, she saw that now. If she had agreed, if she had followed her heart and run away with him, today might have held an entirely different revelation. And yet he was choosing not to see everything she had given him, everything that showed how she felt about him.
She stepped closer. “I chose you…” He didn’t move away.
“You have all my firsts,” she w
hispered.
She placed her hand so it rested on his chest and he flinched. Yet under her palm his heart beat fast, like hers. He was not as unaffected as his perfectly controlled exterior tried to present.
“You never thought Demetri stood a chance. He was always just for the trip.”
“I never thought you would choose me over your family’s wishes.”
He stepped away from her touch. “I made the offer.”
“I am here now,” she whispered
“I am the Prince now.” He walked away from her.
“I was never going to marry a man who wasn’t interested in me but that was a matter for me to discuss with him.”
“So you say now.”
“I also promised my father. She walked up behind him and grabbed his arm turning him around. His hand clasped hers and lifted it off him. He wrapped it around to her back and drew her against him as they pressed together body to body.
“Ahhh, now we are getting to the heart of it.”
She tried to ignore the way her body lit up at his touch the way it had a sense memory of his touch.
“…I wanted to do the honorable thing and end the betrothal in person.”
“Is that so…”He looked down at her. Eyes flashing pain, hunger, anger, all mixed together. He dipped his head, pressed his mouth to her ear. “You wanted to do the honorable thing after you fucked my brains out.”
Her body rung out in shock at his words. Words whose crudity she never expected to be flung at her by him. “What a lucky man your betrothed would have been.”
He released her as if she burned him.
“Fucked by the way is…”
Her hand slapped the words away.
“You didn’t choose me, Georgie. You chose the Prince. Well, you have him. This,” he held his arms out wide, “is the Prince. Welcome to the world of politics.”
She stood there staring at him breathing hard, palm stinging as all manner of thoughts flew through her mind. His arms dropped. If she had been more forthright with him about her father’s request that she hold off until she saw her betrothed, until he had found a solution to their current financial situation, would Demetri have understood? Could they have had a chance?
