Betrothed (Russian Hearts Series Book 1)

by Elsa Holland

  Georgie, drew herself up, lifted her chin. “Do you have proof that my father blackmailed yours for the betrothal?”

  He turned and walked to the fire. “My family are connected to the royal court, yours is unknown. My family are the legendary Vladimirs, called by every Tsar to stand at his right hand as advisors and generals. Your father hustles money from foolish aristocrats and titled families.” He turned, face again hard and those strong arms around his back. “If the circumstances are not clear in and of themselves, I also have it on sound authority that my father was blackmailed.”

  “Have you talked with my father about it?”

  “In London he did not deny it.”

  “Yet he didn’t say he had.”

  “Georgie, this is not a parlor game.”

  She saw the hurt, the anger and…and the need.

  For the longest time they stood opposite each other. The flames warming them. Long enough for the beating of her heart to slow and for her to notice other things, like the dark circles under his eyes.

  “Was it all a lie?” Her hands felt suddenly aimless.

  He remained silent. And yet there was another telltale sign, the beating of his pulse near his clavicle.

  “Did you mean it when you asked me to run away with you?” She stepped closer.

  “You will never know that now will you, Georgie.” His voice held the slightest change and then his Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. In the few short weeks she had known him she had learned to read him very well. It was all she needed to know.

  She stepped forward, grabbed hold of his arms and kissed him, kissed hard and with all the skill he had taught her. He stiffened, didn’t respond, so she kissed him again. Still he stood like stone with pupils now blown wide. She lifted off his lips and placed her hand on his chest. His heart raced with the speed of his majestic war horse.

  “You are an idiot.” She whispered over his lips.

  Then she spun on her heels and walked over to the desk, picked up the statement to break the betrothal and walked to the door.

  “If there are…consequences from that night…you will let me know.”

  She gave a single nod. “I’ll speak to my father about the betrothal. If what you say is true, you will have your signed statement.”

  “I will have it regardless, Georgie.”

  Hand on the door handle, she was almost done. “It’s Miss Franklin. And you can keep the postcards for the next time you…fuck.” She glided through the door and it clicked closed behind her; and the only thing holding her up was furious indignation. Perhaps she didn’t want such a stubborn man after all.

  Chapter 23

  Anger held him to his course as she walked out of the room with the dignity of the innocent.

  I gave you all my firsts…

  She was the only person who twisted him in knots, turned everything which should be clear on its head.

  He was angrier with himself than her. He had allowed many moments of weakness, not simply the one where he asked her to choose him. He should have simply taken what he had in Paris and called off the betrothal, called it off and come home.

  Instead he had fallen into her and lost himself.

  She was most likely not complicit in anything except not choosing him when he had his only true moment of weakness. A moment when the good of his family, of his own honor, was secondary to the affection he held for her, the dream he dreamed of what a life with her would be. That she had allowed that moment to pass, that he had regained his balance and sense of duty…he was angry with her about that.

  The anger circled around his thoughts along with the hurt and the want. They mixed together, making it much harder to know what he should do, what was right, what was true. What played on him more and more was what he had gleaned over the last few weeks of Mr. Franklin’s character. Were businessmen to be trusted? Mostly not. But what man didn’t focus on and advance his own self interests? Had he used his daughter in this? It would appear so. Yet he didn’t strike Demetri as a father who placed his daughter in a situation so unpalatable to her, one where she would not be cherished as Mr. Franklin clearly cherished her.

  These things made little sense and the state of his emotions made sorting through them unexpectedly challenging. He was trained to run their estates, to support the Tsar, to live amongst the elite. He could manage a battlefield, manage men in war, through death, and yet a single woman had launched him into such a state of emotional turmoil and uncertainty that he was starting to doubt everything. Everything except how he felt about her.

  Demetri walked to his desk, the all-too-present chasm of pain radiating from his chest. He pulled open the bottom drawer and looked at the wrapped-up portraits and unopened letters. He had never given her a chance, never contemplated that there was another perspective other than his and his family’s.

  Slowly, he sat down and did what he ought to have done years ago. He unwrapped them and sought out their accompanying letters and read them. The letter from eight-year-old Georgie made him want to laugh, from twelve-year-old Georgie made his heart soften, from fifteen-year-old Georgie ensured he would have fallen for her despite their geographical distance. At eighteen she was devastating, writing him in Russian, her photograph with eyes full of hope, eyes he could now read, that called him to her. One by one he saw the little Georgie unfold into a woman and his heart squeezed tight, conflicted. Yet she had had the chance to choose him and she hadn’t.

  Did he honestly think she was complicit with her father? No. No, he had come to know her well enough to know that was not her nature and, strangely enough, he had his doubts about her father as well. After spending time with them something was not sitting right.

  And then there were the old patterns, he had wanted the end of the betrothal for as long as he could remember. His mother’s anger at it, her mocking, her story every time it was brought up with guests, how her useless husband had allowed an untitled businessman to blackmail him into betrothing their firstborn. The smartest, most handsome of her boys wasted. Those years drove his brother to infamy and him to dreaming of destroying the betrothal his mother was so ashamed of. He never opened the portraits out of loyalty, and later anger, at the thought that he was betrothed by blackmail.

  Demetri penned a note and called out for Boris, who took his instruction. He was a fool for wanting to see her one last time.

  The last portrait was a wonderful likeness of the Georgie he knew now. He slipped it into his waistcoat pocket and read the letter which had been sent a year past. She spoke of her willingness to step back from the betrothal, that she would simply need his direction.

  Chapter 24

  “The dinner is unavoidable, Georgie.” Her father paced outside the door she refused to open. “Demetri sent the invitation and said very pointedly he expects us to attend.”

  “I don’t want to see him.” That was a lie. She was dying inside, knowing she would never see him. Knowing that he thought her capable of choosing him for his position and money, that he had attempted to use what they had done together to blackmail her into terminating the betrothal.

  “Let me open the door, Miss.” Maria drew her to sit in one of the soft chairs by a roaring fire. The room was a well-appointed and opulent parlor off the rooms which had been allocated to her. She didn’t call Maria back when she went to the door, turned the key, then spoke softly to her father before he came rushing in and over to her.

  “There, there sweet-cheeks, all is not yet lost. Be strong and be true to your heart. If you don’t love him, we can be on a train before midnight.”

  She smiled even as tears fell anew down her cheeks. “Father, it hurts.” Her hand pressed against her chest. “I feel like such a fool. And I feel shame. Shame at the betrothal and the idea we had forced Demetri’s father’s hand. That all these years I was not wanted but rather resented.”

  He took her hand and patted it. “There, there sweet-cheeks, I wish your mother was here. She had such a way of cutting to the he
art of a matter and avoiding all the pain these kinds of situations cause.” He reached into his jacket. “These are the letters I exchanged with Demetri’s father. I plan on giving them to Demetri, but I think if you read them too, you will know that the betrothal was something Demetri’s father deeply wanted for him. That it had nothing to do with wealth and everything to do with character and happiness.”

  Georgie took them. “But surely if we are leaving, the dinner is not necessary.”

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of, so comfort your bruised heart and show the man what he is letting go. Show his people you are proud of who you are.”

  Four hours later she was dressed in a green satin gown, a sumptuous necklace of the highest quality amber with matching earrings, bracelet and rings. Her hair was dressed in gold and red ribbons threaded through it in a medieval festive style.

  “You capture the celebration of Christmas, Miss.” Maria said.

  Her father collected her at six and together they walked to the room where family and guests gathered before the festive dinner.

  As she and her father entered and were announced all eyes turned toward them.

  “They hate me.” She whispered under her breath.

  “Smile.”

  Demetri came forward. He took her hand and bowed over it. “You look beautiful, Miss Franklin.”

  She tugged her hand out of his. “Thank you.” She didn’t wait for him to continue, instead strode over to the young man who looked a lot like Demetri. “I take it you are the marauding Petroski of the London salons.” She extended her gloved hand. “Georgie Franklin, your brother’s betrothed.”

  “Vladimir Ilya Petroski, at your eternal service.” He bowed over her hand and clicked his heels.

  “Eternal seems a little longer than necessary. Perhaps you would do me the honor of introducing me to the room.”

  “For the woman who hunted me through London’s salons…” he said under his breath then looked over her shoulder. She knew whom he looked at.

  He gave a devastating smile. “I would be delighted.” A nod from his brother no doubt. “Let me introduce you to our mother.”

  Her stomach churned. Demetri’s mother sat with a cluster of people around her. The family resemblance was unmistakable, the cheekbones, the eyes. “Mother, if I may introduce you to Miss Georgie Franklin.”

  “We were not expecting you. Nice of you to come.”

  “We are delighted to be here although we plan to continue our journey tomorrow.”

  The woman’s eyebrows rose. “You speak Russian, as well.” The group gave a courtly clap. “Tomorrow…that’s too soon, you will hardly be able to see the wonders of St. Petersburg in a day.”

  To her relief, the introductions progressed until dinner was called. Demetri took his mother in but when she saw Ilya heading her way, she linked arms with her father and smiled sweetly.

  Georgie held her father back as everyone else made their way into the dining room.

  “Father, I just can’t,” she said under her breath.

  “It’s just dinner.” He whisked her in, but no amount of holding onto her father’s arm prevented her being seated to Demetri’s right, his mother to his left. Her father was seated further down the table...right down the end.

  “Miss Franklin says she and her father will be traveling on tomorrow.” His mother gave Demetri a wonderful smile and patted his hand. An unmistakable gesture of ‘well done’.

  “Yes. I believe so.” Demetri turned to her. “Please allow my secretary to help with your travel plans. He can ensure a comfortable journey back home.” She showed him her teeth.

  “I am sure we are capable of making our own arrangements.” Her fluent Russian made her point. “Besides,” she sliced through the meat on her plate. “I don’t intend to go directly home.” She popped a portion of succulent flesh in her mouth and chewed slowly.

  To her great satisfaction she had no sooner swallowed than the next question came.

  “Where are you going?” his eyebrows were drawn down on his eyes. His mother glanced at him.

  “I have fond memories of Paris,” their gazes met a fission of heat, anger, hurt…longing.

  “I am glad you enjoyed Paris. From your reactions, I would have thought Stockholm might have been your favorite.” There was a smirk under that stony face.

  Georgie tried to look indifferent, slipping a softly roasted potato onto her fork and swirling it in the sauce. “I think when you have seen Stockholm once it has nothing more to offer.”

  “Stockholm has the ability to offer the kind of pleasures that a person could enjoy for a lifetime.”

  “That doesn’t seem to be on offer and beside…it was a surprisingly small city.”

  He stopped cutting his steak, eyes like smoldering orbs.

  Georgie turned to her left and enquired about the weather forecast over Christmas. His knee touched hers under the table and didn’t pull away. She waited for him to lift his fork to his mouth before giving his knee a subtle shove. The action had no impact other than to flag its intent.

  It was inevitable that the person to her left would turn to their right and start a conversation. Etiquette required her to engage on both sides at table. When she turned back, Demetri was waiting for her.

  “You mentioned India.” He said laying down his utensils signaling he was finished with the meal.

  “I hear the Orient Express offers an excellent journey to Istanbul, just a little further to India. I have a childhood friend who has asked me to visit. He has gone native and bought a spice plantation.” She beamed a brilliant smile at him. “I would love to experience another continent. I hear India is very large.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Demetri…” his mother placed her hand over his. “Catherina is coming after Christmas. I have asked her to stay for the New Year. Remember how much you loved her visits?”

  Demetri turned back to Georgie and gave her a cat-got-the-cream smile. More infuriating was that it did sting and she didn’t want it to.

  Dessert arrived.

  Later, when the gentlemen re-joined the ladies after their port, Demetri sauntered up to her.

  “I don’t think your father would approve.” He said as he handed her a small glass.

  “I don’t drink Madeira.” She looked for an exit.

  He ducked closer. “It’s Scotch.”

  Georgie took the drink, the liquid a delicious burn as she swallowed a sip. “Father has already agreed it would be a fine plan.” Her father knew nothing of it, it had been something to throw at him, anything to hide the gaping vulnerability being here in his world …rejected…devastatingly betrayed after Stockholm.

  “Is this gentleman married?” Demetri stood blocking her from the others in the room freeing him to give her a very disapproving look.

  “No, I don’t believe he has married.” She matched Demetri glare for glare. The man couldn’t possibly be jealous.

  “Would it matter that I don’t want you to go?”

  “You say that after this morning?” She threw at him in disbelief.

  “I still care. India is a long way away if something should go wrong.”

  She shook her head. “No. No, what you want does not matter.” She handed him her empty glass and excused herself. Tomorrow morning she would be gone. Demetri would be out of her life, her betrothal no more and for the first time her future would be something of her own creation.

  Chapter 25

  It was late, the guests had left and most of the household was asleep. There came a knock at his study door.

  “Enter.”

  Demetri walked to the center of the room, hope upon misguided hope it was who he imagined.

  But…no. It was the father.

  “Mr. Franklin.”

  “Demetri.”

  “The correct address is Prince Vladimir.”

  Demetri walked over to his safe, withdrew a large sum of money and placed it on the desk. “I hope this will settle your
creditors, Mr. Franklin, I seek only Georgie’s signed statement releasing me from the betrothal.”

  “Is that really what you wish, my boy?” Mr. Franklin ignored the money.

  “I am not your boy and the correct address is Prince Vladimir.”

  Her father moved over to the sideboard. “I believe you owe me a brandy. Mind if I help myself?”

  The man was immune to social manipulation and protocol. Demetri strode over, pulled out two glasses, poured, and they retreated to opposing seats near the fire.

  “I have something for you, son.”

  “I am not your…”

  The father held up his hand. “Stop the jabs for a while. I know how you feel. Let’s not trip over it on every word.” Mr. Franklin reached into his coat and withdrew a bundle of letters. “I have been keeping these for you. Had I known you were who you are in London, I would have given them to you sooner and perhaps some of the misunderstandings between you and my daughter could have been avoided.

  Demetri reached over and took them. “They are…?”

  “They are the full correspondence between your father and me over the years of our acquaintance. I have to admit, son…Prince Vladimir, that I had to re-read them several times over the last few weeks to stay the course and keep the betrothal in place to at least allow a chance for my Georgie to meet with the man your father said was his heart’s mirror.”

  Pain shot through his chest. His father had called him that on his death bed, had entrusted him with the task of living a life that was no longer available to him, to remember that the two of them were so much alike that the beauty of the life Demetri would live as his son would surely be a fulfilment of his own life cut short.

  “I have arranged an unlikely gift for you and, if I am correct, you will thank my insight for the rest of your life and find the happiness I was unable to achieve for myself,” his father had hoarsely whispered as he clutched Demetri’s hand, “Forgive my impertinence, but trust that I know you as well as I know my own heart.” When Demetri wanted clarification, his mother came in and his father had said no more. With one last intense pleading look, Demetri had been sent from the room.