Regency Romance: The Rake's Fake Marriage (Historical Arranged Marriage Romance) (19th Century Victorian Romance)

by Sarah Thorn

  Dimitry let out a roar that hurts Pavel's ears. ''And why did you keep silent about it for so many years?''

  ''We were all young and scared. Abram was well connected in the army and at home. He had some pretty powerful friends. It was brushed under the carpet, and we all went about rebuilding out lives.''

  ''Are you telling me, that but for Abram Volkov, my brother would have been alive today?''

  ''Yes, as I said it, was the evening before we were due to travel home.''

  Dmitri got up and walked to a cabinet in the corner of the room. When he opened it, Pavel saw an arsenal of weapons he didn't like the look of. ''One more question before I make preparations to blow his head off. Why should I believe you?''

  ''Please come with me, if you would be so kind,'' Pavel said as he stood up and headed for the door. They crossed the courtyard again, and Dimitry nodded to the man to open the door. When they were on the street, Dimitry saw two men leaning against his wall. ''Alexander, Sergei, come over here,'' Pavel shouted. The two men dropped their cigarettes and stamped on them. ''Would you please tell this man who killed Nikolai.''

  ''Abram Volkov,'' they said in unison.

  Pavel handed Dimitry a note. He looked at it. ''What is this?'' he said.

  The address at which you will find Abram Volkov. He is on his way over from the USA. Please give him a day or so. And if I may make one request.'' Dimitry nodded. ''Please do not harm Katya, his mother.''

  *****

  ''Pavel thank you for all you have done for my parents,'' Ella said. ''They are proud people, and they took so much persuading to move, I can't tell you. But their house is just right. Detached, not too big. Dad can't get enough of the yard and Mom loves the neighbors. I'll never be able to repay you.''

  ''You already have,'' he said as he looked down at their tiny daughter.

  *****

  THE END

  The Russian’s Secret Love Child – Octavia’s Story

  A BWWM Russian Romance

  ''Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen,'' the Russian Ambassador to the United States began. ''I am honored to welcome you to the Russian Embassy this evening.” The Ambassador glanced at his most special guests. “I am particularly pleased to be able to welcome you, Mr. President and your lovely daughter, Octavia.''

  The President of the US, Daniel Wahlberg, nodded in recognition as the Ambassador continued. ''I am very grateful to you for your support in the initiative our two great countries have embarked upon together. As you all know, terrorism is the number one threat to civilization in modern times. That is why, it is so important that we have managed to agree on terms to set up the Russian - US Initiative to Prevent Nuclear Terrorism. Now I am sure you don't want to hear me talking all evening, so I would just like to say, I hope you enjoy yourselves this evening.''

  The Ambassador climbed down from the podium in the Russian Embassy in Washington DC and gratefully accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter.

  ''Mr. President, as I said in my speech, thank you for attending this evening.''

  ''Not at all, it is a magnificent initiative that deserves my support. If a terrorist got hold of one of these weapons, it would be the greatest disaster that has ever befallen us.''

  Daniel Wahlberg looked at the Ambassador. He didn't like or trust him, but the President was an experienced politician who made everyone feel they were his friend. Stanislav Kuklov was a big man. Probably six feet two and very broad. He had a round face with a scar down his right cheek. His eyes were particularly noticeable because they were gray or very faintly blue if one was being polite. Unlike the President, he had a full head of black hair and sun-tanned skin.

  ''Mr. President, may I introduce you to my son, Slava. He's over here on vacation.''

  ''It's nice to meet you, Slava,'' the President said, as he shook the young man's hand.

  ''The pleasure is mine, sir,'' Slava replied.

  ''Have you met my daughter, Octavia?'' he said looking at his twenty-year-old daughter.

  ''No sir, I have not. It is a pleasure to meet you too Octavia,'' Slava said as he lifted Octavia's hand and kissed it.

  Octavia laughed at the manner of his greeting; she thought it old-fashioned but extremely quaint. ''I can see you are a perfect gentleman,'' she replied, referring to the hand kissing.

  ''Ah, where I am from, that is quite normal.''

  ''Mr. President, shall we leave these two young people to chat? I would like to talk to you about a matter that has been on my mind for some time.'' The President nodded and Slava and Octavia found themselves standing alone.

  ''If I may say so Octavia, you look quite stunning this evening. I have of course seen many photos of you in the press, but in real you are even more beautiful.''

  Octavia looked at him before she replied. He was her age, around twenty, tall and dark, like his father. Unlike his father, Slava was handsome. She took an instant liking to his relaxed manner and blue eyes. When he smiled, it made her want to giggle, like a school girl.

  ''It's very kind of you to say so. Is it customary in Russia to comment on a ladies beauty so soon after meeting her?''

  ''If I have offended you, I apologize. It wasn't my intention to....''

  ''No, you didn't offend me. Your remarks made me feel wonderful. I only ask because it happens so rarely in the US. Mostly people are more interested in criticizing what I have chosen to wear.''

  ''I have seen your photo in many magazines and newspapers, and I can say, I have never seen you wearing anything I didn't like. It must be tough being the President's daughter. In the US you are akin to royalty,'' Slava said.

  ''It is not easy, you are right. But I am privileged, and that is something I mustn't take for granted. Most people in the world are less fortunate than me, and I mustn't forget it.''

  ''That is an interesting comment, one I have often used myself. However, I believe everyone has their problems, and just because they don't have worse problems than others, doesn't make it any easier.'' Octavia was impressed by his thought. He seemed different, someone who rationalized, unlike most people she knew who were uptight and always ready to criticize.

  Slava knew it was impolite to stare, but he couldn't drag his eyes from her. He loved black women, and he'd read many times about the President's beautiful daughter, but he hadn't realized quite how lovely she was. She was almost as tall as him, which made her five feet ten, although he noticed she was wearing heels. Her hair was combed to one side with long curls hanging down to her shoulder. He had the urge to kiss her neck. It looked so elegant and fragile. She was wearing a satin evening gown and a diamond necklace with matching earrings. He didn't want to look down at her body in case she noticed and moved away to talk to somebody else, but unable to resist, he afforded himself a quick glimpse. He'd seen many pictures of her in various magazines, and what he'd liked most about her, was her beautiful shape. Her breasts looked heavy and inviting, and her hips and bottom were curved just as he liked. All the women back home in his social circle, were tall and slender, with little bust and no hips. He was bored by them. Octavia was a real woman with all the attributes he craved. In fact, he would never admit it, but whenever he'd seen her picture in a magazine or newspaper, he'd stare at it for as long as he could.

  ''So what do you do Slava? I mean for a living?''

  ''My father wants me to be a career politician or a diplomat like him. I am studying politics and economics at Moscow University.'' Octavia noticed how his expression had changed when he'd mentioned his father's expectations.

  ''Your father wants you to be a politician. Is that what you want as well?''

  ''No I want to sail,'' he said as his eyes lit up and his smile returned. ''I love yachts, or, in fact, any boat. Most of all I would like to sail around the world and design breathtaking yachts.''

  ''And why don't you do that?'' Octavia asked. ''Sorry, that was rude of me,'' she added quickly. ''I'm afraid I already know the answer. You see I'm in the same boat,'' she stopped at the unintended p
un, and they both laughed. ''I mean my life seems to have a similar pattern. I'm studying law at Harvard. But I really just want to be a writer.''

  ''Really? What kind of things do you want to write?''

  ''Romance books. I love getting lost in silly romances. Please don't tell anyone, though. If it got out, the press would call me a lightweight.''

  ''I would never think you a lightweight, whatever you did,'' he said. He was mortified to feel himself blush.

  Octavia noticed, and she leaned to him. ''That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you so much.''

  *****

  ''Hi Slava. How are you?'' Octavia asked as he appeared on her laptop. He looked every bit as handsome as he'd been when they'd met just a few short days before.

  ''I'm well, how are you? I can see you perfectly. Skype is amazing isn't it?''

  ''Yes. Did you get back from the US okay?''

  ''It's a long way and a long flight, but I managed. I read some books and looked at a few magazines. You were in one of them.''

  ''Oh really? What was I doing?''

  ''You were interviewed about what it's like to be the daughter of the President of the US. It was interesting to read, especially now I have met you in person. I liked the photos too.''

  ''Was I standing in front of a Christmas tree?''

  ''Yes that's the one. Standing in front of a Christmas tree with a red hat on. A bit like one of Santa's helpers,'' Slava joked.

  ''Thanks,'' she replied ironically. There was a pause in the conversation and then they suddenly tried to tell each other the same thing. ''Sorry Slava you go first,'' she said.

  ''I just wanted to say what a lovely evening I had at the Russian Embassy with you.''

  ''I enjoyed it very much as well,'' Octavia said. She wasn't wearing any of her expensive jewelry as she sat in her room at Harvard, but Slava found her just as stunning.

  ''Octavia?'' he said as if he were going to ask her something of the utmost importance. '' What are you going to do when this semester ends in June?''

  ''I don't know, I guess my parents will have all sorts of tasks lined up for me. Why do you ask?''

  ''Because I wanted to invite you onto my boat for a few days.''

  ''Oh that would be fantastic,'' she said spontaneously. ''But hang on,'' she said suddenly realizing something, ''I don't know if my security will allow me to travel to Russia and get on a boat before they have checked it out thoroughly.''

  ''That's a good point. I didn't think of that. I suppose you have far more security than me, after all you are the President's daughter. I'm just the son of an Ambassador.''

  ''It's a perfect pain in the butt, all this bodyguard stuff. I can't move without someone watching me.''

  ''I tell you what, I'll charter a yacht in the US, and we will sail along the Eastern Seaboard. Your security will be able to follow at a discreet distance, and they'll be much more accommodating of the idea if you are in the US.''

  ''That would certainly help. Oh, I'll really look forward to that. Thank you for asking me. I took a boring exam today, and I'm not sure if I passed, so you have brightened up my day no end.''

  ''Who needs stupid exams. You can sit on the boat and write your first novel while I sail us around. That sounds idyllic doesn't it.''

  ''Yes it does. How cruel reality is.''

  *****

  Octavia stood on the quay at the New York Yacht Club and watched Slava carry her bags on deck. ''It looks like you chartered a floating palace,'' she commented.

  ''She's a sixty-five feet motor cruiser. Six bedrooms and more luxury than enough,'' he shouted as he walked up the gangplank. The harbor was full of expensive boats, but it seemed Slava had managed to get his hands on the largest of them. Octavia watched him. His legs were long and thin in his white jeans. He was wearing a blue shirt that made him look every bit the sailor. His boar shoes were navy with white souls.

  ''Why do women always need so many clothes,'' he asked as he came back for the final two bags. ''You're going to be wearing shorts most of the time or swimwear. But I hope you didn't forget your cocktail dress,'' he joked.

  ''I know it seems like a lot, but you never know who we will bump into when we put into harbor. I am a terribly important woman don't forget,'' she jested.

  ''What makes you think we'll put into a harbor, maybe I'll turn into a horrible pirate and keep you hostage on the high seas.''

  ''I couldn't think of anything better,'' she quipped, ''but I think my bodyguard may have something to say about it.''

  Slava looked at her and smiled. When she smiled back, there was a moment. A moment when they knew what was going to happen on the yacht and were looking forward to it.

  ''Has my bodyguard spoken to you?'' she asked.

  ''Yes, he's briefed me. We are to stay in US waters, and we're not to exceed twenty knots, so he can easily keep us in his sights.''

  ''Okay. Then when are we leaving?''

  ''As soon as I have put your extensive baggage into your bunk.''

  An hour later, Octavia was standing at the bow of the boat as they set off. It was a beautiful day without much wind. Octavia hadn't done much sailing in her life, and she was slightly apprehensive about being sea sick. She'd put on a pair of white shorts and pink blouse. Her hair was tied in a pony tail and she'd added just the miniMum amount of makeup. As Slava looked down at her from the bridge, he felt a feeling he had never felt before. It was a fluttering feeling that burnt right to his core.

  When they left the harbor, the yacht began to sway gently. Octavia was perfectly at ease, and she sat down, tossed her head back and looked at the summer sky. Her thoughts began to wander to Slava. She liked him more than any man she had ever dated, she thought. He was handsome and charming, and she was convinced she was about to find out how good a lover he was. She knew her parents wouldn't approve if anything came of their relationship. They wanted her to marry an all-American boy, and preferably one with a political career ahead of him.

  ''Hey, come up here and keep me company,'' Slava shouted when he saw Octavia lay down. ''You don't think I'm going to stay here and drive all the time without having the benefit of your company, do you?''

  She laughed and got up. She walked up the narrow staircase and onto the bridge. There were hundreds of dials, and a few screens on a huge dashboard in front of Slava, but she didn't know the faintest thing about how any of them worked. Slava was sitting in a Captain's chair. In front of him was a wheel and what seemed to be a lever that made the boat go faster or slower.

  ''Come here,'' he said as he jumped out of the chair. ''Sit here and take over.''

  ''I can't possibly do that,'' she complained.

  ''Nonsense, you can drive a car can't you?''

  ''Yes but....''

  ''Well this is the same, just a bit slower. Octavia sat in the chair and held onto the wheel.

  ''Now push that lever forward gently,'' he said. She complied, and the boats engines began to roar. As their speed increased, he looked at her. ''Shall we throw your body guard?''

  ''If we do they'll only send someone to get me and the trip will be over. Do you know they're a real pain? Do you remember what you said to me, that evening in the Embassy?''

  ''About people's problems?''

  ''Yes.''

  ''Well I've thought about it, and you are right. I feel trapped. I hate what I'm doing, and I hate being watched all the time, especially by a media that doesn't understand that when they print bad things about me, it hurts.''

  ''I understand,'' he said, as he watched her face become sorrowful.

  ''I never wanted to go to Harvard, and now I'm there, I actually hate it more than I thought possible. Most of all, I hate what I'm studying,'' Slava put his hand on hers in a show of solidarity. Much of what she was saying applied equally to him. ''I've spent hundreds of evenings sitting in front of my books wishing they would go away,'' she continued. ''I have zero interest in the law, and even less interest in the type of people I'm studying with.
Most of them are pretentious and shallow,'' Slava thought he saw a small tear in the corner of her eye. ''My parents are control freaks who think I should only marry a politician. I really don't think I can stand many more years in Washington. It's such a shallow existence.''

  ''Octavia,'' he said, as she quickly gathered the tear she thought he hadn't seen. ''I really like you. You know that don't you? I don't just want to be friends with you. I want more.''

  She looked at him and ran her palm over his cheek. ''And I like you very much too and I have no intention of just being friends. You are far too handsome for that.''

  Slava put his hand onto hers and pulled the lever she was holding back until it would go no further. The boat slowed, and eventually the engines cut. All they could hear was the water lapping under the boat and the odd seagull. ''What did you do that for? We're just drifting now,'' she said.

  ''Then let's do something about it. Pull that lever there,'' he said pointing to a long lever against the wall, to the side of the Captain's chair. Octavia leaned across and pulled it. There was a loud sound at the bow and stern of the boat and Octavia realized that she had just lowered the anchor. ''There, we won't move far now. We're about three miles off the coast and perfectly placed to pull into to Gladesville harbor for the night.''

  ''Why have we stopped?'' she asked.

  Slava didn't speak. He leaned to her and kissed her. When Octavia stood up, he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately. She put her hands around his neck and held onto him. ''Oh, I've wanted you to do that since the moment I saw you,'' she said, when their kiss finished.

  ''Me too. I have just kissed the daughter of the President of the United States, and she tastes wonderful,'' he said as he threw his arms up in the air like a soccer player who had just shot the winning goal in the World Cup. ''Come with me,'' he added. He took her hand and led her down some steps to the lounge. It had a gold ceiling and a floor made of beautifully polished wood. There were gold colored sofas down both sides, and high windows, through which it's occupants had a superb view of the ocean. He went down another flight of stairs and through a narrow door. It was the master bedroom, and even Octavia, a woman accustomed to luxurious surroundings, gasped.