At Her Service

by Susan Johnson

  Whether she would or not was the question.

  Since he’d not met any of the general’s staff on his brief walk from headquarters to the hotel, her plentiful escort must still be upstairs with her. A disconcerting thought, he decided, although, through force of habit, he wasn’t inclined to parse the full extent of his feelings.

  The impression he had of her after their ride into town might be wrong. He may have misread their mutual attraction. Also, it was possible that, attraction aside, she didn’t fraternize with Tatars. Such prejudices were common enough. She may favor handsome, young Russian officers, all of whom she could be entertaining at this very moment.

  He hadn’t realized how unpleasant the notion was. Scowling faintly, he slid into a slouching sprawl, stretched out his legs and sullenly contemplated his options. He tried to be realistic; after all, he barely knew this woman. That he was feeling like some sulky adolescent was completely inane. Since when did it matter whom he fucked?

  As he calculated the decade and more since it hadn’t mattered, two of Osten-Sacken’s officers suddenly appeared on the staircase.

  His mood abruptly lightened.

  At least it did to a marginal extent as he watched the officers reach the bottom of the stairs and stroll away. Unfortunately, there were still four men upstairs with her.

  His mind racing, he shoved himself upright in the chair. Had he judged her incorrectly? In these turbulent times, people faced more than the usual moral quandaries. Lives hung in the balance, normal conventions were cast to the winds. Was she living for the moment like so many in this city under siege?

  His brows suddenly rose. Well, well, well—look at that. Another pair of officers were smiling and chatting with each other on their way downstairs. Apparently Miss Clement was experienced enough to dismiss her suitors without them taking umbrage. He smiled. She wasn’t a tyro then. How nice. Not to mention, two more players had exited the game.

  His percentages were improving.

  And should all his competition fall away, he had a feeling that Miss Clement would favor his suit. Correction—he was feeling more and more confident that she would.

  She had resisted temptation this morning for whatever reason.

  As had he. For equally unknown reasons.

  She had also avoided meeting his gaze at dinner—always a good sign. He in turn had enjoyed her presence across the table and had taken every opportunity to observe her. Which no doubt contributed to both his impetuous pursuit and his champing impatience.

  His gaze narrowed. Another officer was descending the stairs.

  Bloody hell.

  So one lucky winner remained after all, he thought, uttering a litany of expletives under his breath. He was thoroughly pissed when he had no right to be. When she could take whomever she wished to bed. Christ, get a grip, he silently commanded. He hardly knew her, while many of these officers might know her very well.

  The thought about exactly how well further rankled him.

  Coming to his feet in a surge of anger, he suddenly found himself at a loss. Deprived and usurped, frustratingly routed, he could go back to Zania he supposed, but the thought displeased him. He could call on any number of other women he knew despite the late hour, but he took no pleasure in that option either. If he was sensible, he would go to his apartment and get some sleep. He could use it.

  Exhaling in indecision, he was reminding himself of his busy schedule tomorrow when out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a white dress uniform. Looking up, he saw Lieutenant Benkendorf standing at the top of the stairs, his mouth pursed—clearly hesitating.

  Darley stood utterly still, suppressing an almost overwhelming impulse to rush up the stairs and carry Benkendorf down. Go, go, go, he silently urged.

  A small smile slowly began to lift the corners of his mouth.

  The lieutenant was moving down the stairs.

  The marquis watched Benkendorf’s slow descent, watched him stroll across the lobby, felt an elation out of all proportion to the mundane event as the lieutenant exited the hotel.

  So the lady was discriminating. Or maybe just tired.

  The question was which or how tired, exactly.

  He was also curious to see whether he’d correctly interpreted her interest in him. He prided himself on reading nuance in a woman; maybe he wanted to prove himself right. But matters of nuance and success aside, more elemental desires were primarily at play. She excited him. Perhaps his first sight of her standing in that lush sable coat had struck some involuntary, carnal chord.

  He wanted to have sex with her, no question about it.

  Then and now.

  Would she throw him out on his ear like all the rest, he wondered as he moved toward the stairs.

  Chapter 7

  Darley had almost reached the base of the staircase when Cafer caught up with him.

  “I brought two different kinds,” he said, handing Darley a small parcel tied with twine. “I hope the lady’s brother enjoys them.”

  The marquis smiled. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Kotchubey is going to take almost everything we brought in, so don’t worry about getting up at dawn. He was so short of inventory he was waiting at the warehouse. Half our supplies are already on his store shelves.”

  “You kept our bribe materials?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Sorry. Lack of sleep.”

  “You should think about getting some rest.”

  “Maybe later.”

  “She’s very beautiful, I agree.”

  Darley shrugged faintly. “Who knows, she might not be interested. I could be back soon.”

  Cafer grinned. “So humble, my friend.”

  “There’s always a first time,” the marquis replied, grinning back. “Speaking of first times, the Russians have some green recruits coming down from Moscow. Osten-Sacken expects them in two weeks. Four thousand, he thought. The conversation at dinner was informative as usual. We’ll get a dispatch to Raglan tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to see if Miss Clement is in a friendly mood before I fall asleep on my feet.”

  “You could come back to the apartment and actually sleep.”

  Darley’s eyebrows lifted.

  Cafer Giray’s white teeth flashed against his bronzed skin. “You don’t have to fuck them all.” He could have ridden with Ghengis Khan, his dress unchanged from centuries past, his lean form taut and honed from living on horseback.

  “You should talk.”

  “It’s a busy day tomorrow—that’s all.”

  “I know. Don’t worry.”

  “Just a reminder—first thing in the morning, I’m taking tobacco and chocolate to the outer ramparts. I heard they’re running out of canister shot. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “I’ll be back by eight if not sooner. It all depends on Miss Clement’s inclinations.”

  “I don’t doubt you can persuade her to indulge them.”

  Darley held up crossed fingers, then turned and walked away.

  For a small gratuity the concierge had given him directions to Aurore’s suite, and short moments later Darley stood outside her door.

  He lifted his hand to knock, then lowered it, Cafer’s words about indiscriminate fucking suddenly giving him pause. Was he unnecessarily compromising Miss Clement? Was he so tired he was misinterpreting what he perceived as her interest?

  Was this a mistake?

  As he was unaccountably debating the moralities, the door suddenly opened and he came face to face with Aurore. She was holding a fur-lined velvet cape over one arm and didn’t look as surprised as he.

  “I thought I heard someone walk up,” she said.

  “And you open the door for just anyone?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Only my friends know my suite number.”

  He understood from her sardonic tone that he did not fall under her description of a friend. “Forgive my incivility in arriving unannounced.” He held out the small package. “But I
found some marmalade for your brother and wished you to have it.”

  She gave him an assessing look. “That was fast.”

  He could say the same about her change of clothes; she’d had little time to discard her evening wear and don this simple gown. “One of my men brought the package to the hotel,” he said instead, careful to keep his gaze well above her breasts since the soft cashmere of her gown was tantalizingly clingy.

  “I see.”

  Her tone was unequivocally cool. Apparently, he had been wrong about Miss Clement’s interest in him. “Please take this with my compliments,” he murmured, pressing the package into her hand, well aware that the rules of chance were hit and miss. “And I apologize for calling so late. I should have left the marmalade with the concierge.” He took a step back.

  She held up her hand to stop him but didn’t immediately speak, as though she were weighing various possibilities. When she finally spoke, she did so with a degree of hesitation. “Thank you—for your…thoughtfulness. I know Etienne will enjoy the marmalade.” She seemed to have made some decision, for her voice took on a new certainty. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”

  Not really, he thought. “Thank you, I would,” he said instead.

  She waved him in. “Excuse my initial rudeness, but I’m very tired.”

  “I’m in complete sympathy,” he said, walking through the door and closing it behind him. “I haven’t slept in days.”

  “So we may be impolite together.”

  “Anything you wish, of course.”

  She looked up, about to drop her cape on a chair. “How practiced you are, Gazi. But then Zania doesn’t like amateurs, does she?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

  “What a gentleman.” She smiled for the first time. “Sit. I’ll get us tea.” Turning away and moving toward a samovar on a table, she said over her shoulder, “Having escaped the general’s clutches, I was about to visit my brother. I have excellent news for him. Would you like to hear it?”

  Her voice suddenly held a distinct buoyancy—almost a giddiness. “Tell me,” he murmured, standing where he was, surveying her cautiously from under his lashes. Her moods shifted wildly—from her previous cool assessment to a polite civility to now, this patent jubilation. “Good news in these difficult times is worth hearing,” he said, wondering how unstable she might turn out to be.

  “The general has signed a release for my brother! Isn’t that wonderful? Tomorrow I take him to Simferopol and once there he will recover completely!”

  An unmistakable note of hysteria rang through her voice. “That’s excellent news.” Gratified there was an explanation for her mood swings, Darley suspected her brother’s condition had turned grave. He also suspected she’d anticipated the general requiring something of her for his favor—her phrase escaped his clutches pointed. He inwardly winced; his intentions were no better. “Allow me to offer you my lodgings in Simferopol,” he said, as though in atonement for his iniquitous impulses. “They are clean and fully staffed.”

  Setting down the teacup in her hand, she turned around in a swish of petticoats. “Truly, you have lodgings we can use?” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “I have been beside myself with fear that we should be forced to stay in hospital there.”

  “Rest assured, my home is at your disposal,” he replied, all well-mannered grace. Although, the thought of Miss Clement in his home was certainly not to be discounted in terms of a further friendship.

  Her bottom lip trembled. “I am so very grateful for”—her voice broke, she swallowed hard. “Etienne must get better—oh dear,” she whispered, putting her hand over her mouth in an attempt to contain her emotions.

  Fruitlessly, as it turned out.

  She burst into tears.

  Even discounting the general’s unwanted attentions, Darley understood she’d been under a tremendous strain all evening. He also understood that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time—the seriousness of her brother’s condition not conducive to a seduction. Furthermore, women’s tears made him uncomfortable. “Please, Miss Clement,” he restively murmured, “there is no need to cry. I am delighted to be of assistance. I’m sure your brother will soon be fine,” he added, shifting on his feet with unease. “Don’t agitate yourself unduly. All will be well.”

  “I’m—sorry.” Aurore hiccuped between sobs. “I don’t—mean…to embarrass you. I know—how men…dislike tears. But—I’m…so worried…about Etienne. I’d take him—away…right now…if we could…manage—the road…at night.” Her breathless little sobs punctuated with erratic little gasps rhythmically lifted her lush breasts, the soft flesh rising and falling with infinitesimal quivers.

  Witnessing the delectable sight at such close range was doing disastrous things to Darley’s self-control. He reminded himself that the timing was inopportune. Seducing a woman in tears over her dying brother was completely improper. So he did what courtesy required. “Come, Miss Clement,” he murmured, reluctantly moving toward her, “everything will look better in the morning, I assure you.” No one wanted to hear the truth at a time like this. Taking one of her clenched fists in his hand on reaching her, he offered a further platitude in his effort to offer comfort. “Remember, it always seems darkest before the dawn.” After which gross dishonesty he found himself at a loss. It wouldn’t be proper to take her in his arms, although he was sorely tempted. Nor could he conjure up any more hollow phrases considering the possible dire state of her brother’s health.

  As the silence lengthened, he considered how best to extricate himself from this increasingly awkward situation. On the other hand, the longer he stood with her hand in his, with the sweet scent of Parma violet wafting into his nostrils, her vulnerability perversely nullifying whatever virtue still remained in him, the less inclined he found himself to leave.

  Aurore was not immune to Gazi’s discomfort. He had courteously come to her aid, offering her assistance of the most material kind both this morning and now. The least she could do was pull herself together and ease his embarrassment. “Let me…get you—that tea,” she said with a sniffle, gazing up at him with a shaky smile.

  “I’d rather have a drink, if you don’t mind,” he said, releasing her hand. Seriously, he needed a stiff drink with his reason and desire so sharply at odds. This was definitely not the seduction he’d had in mind.

  With another sniffle, she pointed to a table holding decanters and glasses. “Please—help yourself…”

  “If you think it’s getting too late,” he murmured, not sure if he was gallant or still looking for an excuse to flee.

  “I’d like company for a few minutes”—she smiled again with a trifle more assurance—“if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” What else could he say? “May I pour you a drink?” Maybe it would help her stop crying. Or maybe he wanted to stay whether she was crying or not.

  “Perhaps a glass of sherry,” she murmured, dropping into a chair with a small sigh. “I apologize again. I am not normally so unsteady.”

  Nor was he normally so selfless in overlooking his own pleasures. It must be the war. “You have every reason to be upset,” he graciously replied.

  “I’ll have a drink and rest for a moment. Then I’ll go to the hospital and give Etienne the good news.”

  “I’ll walk with you if you wish. You shouldn’t be alone at night.”

  The unintentional implication in Darley’s last sentence brought a moment of silence—both struck by the significant phrasing at the last.

  Not to mention, Darley was incredulous he’d even said what he’d said.

  She should refuse his offer of an escort, Aurore thought. She was much too intrigued by him and life did not allow such frivolities at the moment.

  While Darley was wondering if he should apologize for his slip of the tongue, Aurore was in the process of ignoring the little voice inside her head telling her to resist.

  “I’d appreciate your escort,” s
he said. “Thank you.”

  Darley was gratified out of all proportion for her simple reply. He didn’t know why, nor did he care to question his feelings. The grim reality of war made one less prone to analyze happiness when it came your way. “In that case,” he said, pouring her sherry, “I look forward to meeting your brother. I expect he’ll be delighted with your news.”

  “Indeed he will.” And for the first time all evening Aurore felt a real, true unmitigated joy. The kind that warmed her down to her toes and gave her hope. “If Etienne’s awake, you must tell him of your trading routes,” she cheerfully remarked. “He knows the countryside much better than I since he and his friends were forever riding off to one race or amusement.”

  “While you were the sensible older sister, I gather,” he said, walking toward her with their drinks in hand.

  “Not entirely sensible,” she lightly replied.

  “Under different circumstances, that would be excellent news,” he drawled.

  Taking her sherry from him, she dipped her head in acknowledgment. “If only things were as they once were,” she murmured. Exhaling softly, she lifted her glass and smiled. “To better times, Gazi.”

  “To better times,” he agreed, dropping into a chair opposite her. “Now tell me about your vineyard,” he suggested, determined to keep the conversation innocuous. He preferred seeing her less agitated, her tears gone, her smile radiant once again.

  He particularly liked that she was smiling at him.

  Chapter 8

  Etienne was awake when they arrived, his sleep more restless of late with his wounds festering. But he took one look at his sister and smiled. “The general must have been amenable. You’re grinning from ear to ear.”

  “He was most amenable. As you can see I am quite giddy. We leave for Simferopol in the morning.”

  Etienne smiled widened. “So Osten-Sacken succumbed to your charm.”

  “He’d better. You know how many of his tedious dinner parties I have been obliged to attend.” That she gathered information for the French army at those dinners was unknown to her brother. “Darling, I’d like you to meet the man who helped me this morning when the carriage broke down.” She beckoned Darley forward from the doorway. “Etienne, this is Gazi Maksoud, Gazi, my brother. He was at the general’s dinner party tonight and kindly offered me his escort.”