Falling Stars

by Anita Mills

  He moved behind her, and stood there for a long moment. The mirror reflected the snowy whiteness of his shirt against his darker skin. Black, curling hairs were visible beneath his open shirt. His chest rose and fell evenly. The sweet, clove scent of Imperial water floated downward. He’d probably used it to wash the brandy from his breath. With an effort, she found her voice.

  “Galena said to smile, but I cannot.”

  His mouth twisted wryly. “Galena. What a little mother she is to us, eh?”

  “Yes—and I am most grateful for her.”

  There was an awkward silence, then he reached for her brush and laid it aside. “The dress you wore at dinner becomes you, daragaya. I liked it nearly as much as the wedding gown.”

  “Thank you. Galena chose it.”

  “She will manage everything for you, if you let her.”

  “She is the kindest woman I have ever met,” she said sincerely.

  His eyebrow rose at that. “Ah, but then you are most acquainted with your mother and sister, are you not? Perhaps that explains your opinion,” he murmured. “But I did not come to discuss any of them, I think.”

  The way he said it sent a shiver down her back. “What does it mean when you call me daragaya?” she dared to ask.

  He smiled, revealing fine, white teeth. “In the English? An Englishman would say ‘sweetheart’ or ‘darling,’ I suppose.” His hand dropped to her shoulder, and he leaned over her. His black hair gleamed in the soft light. “Ah, Ekaterina, it would be easier to kiss you if you stood,” he whispered, his voice soft and enticing. She felt his lips touch her bared skin at her neck, and his breath was warm, alive. She closed her eyes briefly and tried not to shiver again. When he drew back, she rose to face him, her heart pounding so loudly that she could scarce think.

  “Are you still afraid, little one?”

  She nodded, then raised her eyes to his. “But there is nothing you could do to me that would make me hate you, Lexy,” she answered bravely.

  He smiled again and moved closer. Lifting her chin, he bent his head to hers. “Put your arms around my neck, daragaya,” he whispered against her lips. “I need the feel of you against me, if I am to do this.”

  As her arms came up to twine about his neck, his mouth sought hers, tentatively, gently, until her embrace tightened, then his kiss deepened, sending a flood of heat through her. She clung to him, letting him probe and taste, scarce noticing when his hands slid down over her back and hips. He was taking her very breath, and she did not care. This time, she would show him that he’d not made a mistake by marrying her.

  When he raised his head, there was desire in his eyes. His fingers found the tasseled ties of her wrapper, tugging at them until they loosened, and the robe fell open as his hands slipped inside. A low sob escaped when he found her breasts, and she began to tremble.

  “I’d take you to bed now, Ekaterina,” he said.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  He swung her up easily and carried her to the already turned-down bed. As he straightened to unbutton his pantaloons, she rolled onto her side and looked away. She felt the mattress give with his weight and his warm, bare leg brushed against hers. Momentary panic rose within her as he reached for her, turning her over.

  For a long moment, he stared into her face. “You are my wife, Ekaterina.”

  “Yes.”

  He waited no longer. Lowering his body over hers, he began kissing her again. Her arms came up to clasp his shoulders as she felt the heat of her own desire. When he eased the hem of her night rail upward, she remembered faintly that Galena had said he would take it off.

  His mouth found her breast beneath the thin silk, and he shocked her by sucking at her nipple. Her hands clasped and unclasped in his hair as her nipple hardened, tautening something deep within her. And then she felt his fingers between her legs. She stiffened with fear and would have pushed him away, but he shifted his weight over her and lowered his body, separating her legs with his knee. There was the feel of wet flesh against wet flesh, then he grasped her hips and thrust inside. She cried out as she tore, then her body closed around his as he filled her.

  She lay there, not knowing what to do while he rode, his body straining against hers, and then his frenzied moans rose into a loud cry. She felt the warmth inside when he collapsed over her and lay there, his weight supported by his arms. It was done.

  With an effort, he disentangled his limbs from hers and rolled away. As they separated, she felt the warm flood between her legs. Embarrassed, she could not meet his gaze.

  Still panting, he gasped, “Now you are Countess Volsky.”

  Beneath her embarrassment, she felt vaguely dissatisfied, as though there must be more to it than that. She wanted him to hold her, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned to her, murmuring, “You had better clean yourself.”

  Gathering what dignity she could, she managed to get up and pull her wadded gown down. A sticky liquid ran down her leg as she hobbled to the basin. As she poured water into the basin and dipped a cloth, she was painfully aware that he watched her. Her back to him, she lifted the night rail and washed, and when she withdrew the cloth to wring it out, she saw the blood Galena had mentioned. She was now his wife—in fact as well as name.

  “You are all right?” he asked finally.

  “Yes.”

  She finished washing, then went to her chest to draw out a clean nightgown. Stepping into the deepest shadows, she pulled off the other one and slipped into a demure lawn, which she carefully buttoned at the neck. Acutely aware of the awkwardness between them now, she hesitated.

  “Is there something wrong, Ekaterina?”

  “Uh—no. No, of course not.”

  To her horror, he rose from the bed, seemingly unconscious of his nakedness, and walked to the tray Peg had set out earlier. He poured wine into the two goblets. Turning to face her, he lifted one. “A toast, Ekaterina.” When she did not move, he held out the other. “Come, let us drink to these children we will give Domnya.”

  Not daring to look at him, not knowing what to say, she reached for the glass. It shook in her hand.

  He smiled over the rim of his goblet. “Go on.”

  She managed a shy smile as she lifted her wine to her lips. “To my husband, then.”

  Wife. Husband. It sounded so strange, but she would get used to it. And she would get used to him. She drank deeply, draining her glass.

  She awoke slowly and stretched languorously, only dimly aware that she was not alone. Then her toes touched his leg, and the memories of the night brought a blush to her cheeks. “Good morning, Ekaterina.”

  Everything was all right. She turned to snuggle close to him, burying her head against his bare shoulder.

  “Lexy,” she murmured.

  He held her for a moment, then rolled away to sit. Slapping her backside lightly, he told her, “If you do not get up, we will not get to this hunting box tonight, I think.”

  Disappointed, she turned over and reached for her wrapper, retrieving it. When he rose, she struggled to pull it on and cover herself. He padded barefooted across the carpet to find the clothes his manservant had laid out for him.

  “It does not bother you to dress before me?” she dared to ask him.

  He shrugged. “Why should it?”

  “You act as though you have been naked in front of a woman before.”

  “I am thirty, Ekaterina.” He pulled on his inexpressibles and turned around. “Aren’t you getting up?”

  “Have there been many?” As soon as the words escaped, she had to look away.

  “Many what? Women?”

  “Yes.”

  “Only one.”

  “I’m sorry—I should not have asked.”

  “But only you are my wife—only you are Countess Volsky, Ekaterina Ivanova—only you are Volskaya.” He smiled wryly. “And it is late to ask such a thing now.”

  “I could not bear it if there should be others, Alexei. Not after—”
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  “Ah, Ekaterina,” he murmured, coming to her. Leaning over, he brushed her cheek with his lips. “I shall never look for a woman beyond my own home. There, I have said it.”

  Her arms reached for his neck, pulling him down. “And I promise I shall not be like other wives also, Lexy. I will never want anyone but you.”

  “Then we must surely be happy. Now, let us eat breakfast. As Harry tells it, we have far to go today.”

  As he finished dressing, she slipped from the bed to get her own clothes. Peg had hung her new traveling dress, a pomona green twilled silk trimmed in dark green braid, on the back of her wardrobe door. And in the hatbox, there was a matching bonnet, an exquisite creation with a curled brim and two dyed pheasant feathers perched jauntily beneath a grosgrain ribbon. Galena had insisted that Lexy would like it. Katherine turned away and tried to dress without being seen.

  “I will get your maid.”

  “No!” As his eyebrow lifted, she blurted out, “I don’t want her to know what I have done!”

  “Ekaterina, it was expected. And I do not travel with a wreck.”

  “No, of course not. I can—”

  “I will send Galena up to you, and she will summon the maid,” he decided firmly. “They can get you ready while I am shaved.”

  He left her then, and she could hear him calling for his sister. It was different for a man, she supposed, but everything was still too new to her. She glanced to the bed, saw the tangled covers, and blushed anew. Hurrying to them, she tried to smooth everything over, as though she could somehow conceal what she and Alexei had done. Then she saw her bloodstained silk night rail. Stooping to pick it up, she whisked it behind her as she heard voices in the hall.

  “Ah, Lexy—and how is the bridegroom this morning?” Galena asked teasingly.

  “Leave me alone, Lena,” he responded shortly.

  There was a rapping on the bedchamber door. After stuffing the telltale nightgown into the bottom of the wardrobe, Katherine went to open it.

  “Ah, ma cherie, but you are lovely this morning!” Galena announced. “You see—everything was all right.” She walked across the room to throw open the curtains. “And what a beautiful day you will have for your trip!” She turned back to Katherine. “You are most fortunate, Ekaterina. I was wed to an older man, so I can say it.”

  It was all too new for her to discuss Alexei now. Seizing on a chance to turn his sister away from that, Katherine asked, “But did you not love him?”

  The woman shrugged. “He was pleasant enough, but it was an arranged marriage. My mother and father decided it was time I left Domnya, and it was done.”

  “How awful for you.”

  “Well, they are both dead, and now I am returned to Domnya,” Galena observed philosophically.

  “Don’t you think you could remarry someday? I should not like to think that we—that Alexei and I—kept you from your own happiness,” Kate murmured.

  “Never. Alexei—no—you and Lexy have need of me, ma petite. And it is so good to be needed,” she added smoothly.

  “But you are not old, Lena,” Kate protested. “And you are quite beautiful!”

  “I am two and thirty, Ekaterina, but that is not the problem.” She smiled. “It is so kind of you to say I am beautiful, but a man would have more than that in a wife.”

  “And you are so kind!”

  Galena sobered abruptly. “Ah, Ekaterina, I would that I could find a good husband, but he would want children, and that I could not give him.” Seeing that Katherine stared, she nodded. “I lost one babe, little one, and the doctors despaired of my life. They did everything—the leeches on my stomach to draw out the poison, purges—everything. And now they tell me there are too many scars inside. I cannot have another,” she said sadly. She forced a weak smile and took Katherine’s hand. “But you, Ekaterina—you will not mind that Aunt Galena loves your children, will you?”

  “No, of course not. I will always need you at Domnya,” Kate answered sincerely. “Indeed, but I should not know what to do without you. I mean, the language—the customs—everything! Galena, I shall know nothing!”

  “Ah, Ekaterina.” The Russian woman embraced her warmly, then held her away to look into her face. “Together we will make Alexei very happy. And in turn, he and I will make you very happy. It is a good arrangement—no?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will teach you everything, ma petite,” Galena promised. “And Lexy will see that you want for nothing. You are happy—no?”

  “Yes—yes, I am.”

  “Good. And now we must make you presentable for your wedding trip, n’est-ce pas?” Releasing Katherine, she walked around her. “Ah, yes—very good. You look very well today. Some powder, a little rouge—and a few curls at the side of the bonnet—yes, it is good.”

  “As Mama cannot spare Peg, I know not what I shall do when we are in Leicestershire,” Katherine said, sitting down before her mirror. “He will be displeased—I know it. He said he cannot abide a wreck, and that a countess must do nothing for herself.”

  “In Russia. Here he cannot expect everything, I think. But if you wish, I will speak to him.”

  “I shall always be plain, you know.”

  “But it is what Lexy thinks of you that matters, ma petite—not the lies of a mirror. Pah! What is that? Silvered glass, that is all.”

  As Galena leaned over her to reach for the powder box, Katherine could smell the warm scent of sandalwood mingled with something else. There was something so very comforting about Alexei’s sister—something that told her not to be afraid of everything. It was as though God had sent her a guardian angel.

  It had been a pleasant, quiet week, and she did not want it to end. She told herself she would remember forever the morning mists, the days spent in walking or riding about the countryside, the trips to visit the castle where Mary Queen of Scots had been held, and the tour of Bosworth Field, where the Wars of the Roses had finally ended. Now she would be going back to London a married lady.

  On this, their last morning in Leicestershire, she lay beside Alexei, savoring the sound of his even breathing. She did not want to move for fear of waking him. They would be leaving, returning first to Monk’s End for Galena, then to London, where he would depart for Vienna without her. And despite the promise of more new gowns and some jewels, the fact that he would be going on still disappointed her.

  As though thoughts could waken, he stirred slightly, then opened his eyes. Despite her welcoming smile, he yawned widely, then frowned.

  “What time is it?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked softly, hoping he meant to take her into his arms.

  But instead, he rolled away to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to her. Reaching for his discarded watch on the table, he opened it.

  “Dyevyat,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nine.”

  Reluctantly, she sat up. Leaning her head against his back, she murmured, “Do we have to leave? Could we not stay one last day?”

  “No. I will be overlate in returning to Alexander’s side already, Ekaterina, and he will not be pleased.” He pulled away, disappointing her again, and stood up. Turning back to her, he smiled wryly. “For all that he is the liberator here, you must remember he is the autocrat at home.”

  She lay back, watching dreamily as he dressed, thinking he must surely be the handsomest man on earth. And she the most fortunate female.

  “You had best get up, if we are to reach Monk’s End by nightfall,” he said, his voice muffled in his shirt. When she did not move, he became impatient. “Come on—we have not all the day.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  She sighed and rose to find her clothes. The hunting box was staffed only by a couple Harry employed to watch the place, and it was obvious the woman had never been a lady’s maid. Katherine’s dress was merely draped over a chair, her undergarments laid on top.

  Seeing that he was already nearly ready, she dressed quick
ly, then moved to the small dressing table to make herself presentable. As she sat down, Alexei left the room, saying he hoped Mrs. Crowe meant to fix a decent breakfast.

  Taking a cloth from the washstand beside her, Katherine wet it and began to wash her face. She stopped to study her reflection in the mirror. It was the same face she’d always seen, but now it did not matter so much that she was plain. She could accept it, for she had Alexei.

  “His lordship’s a-wanting his tea with his eggs, Lady Volsky,” Mrs. Crowe announced from the open door. “Would ye be having the same—or would ye prefer a cup o’ chocolate?”

  “Tea will be fine, thank you. I don’t think they drink coffee in Russia.”

  “Humph!” The woman sniffed her usual morning disapproval. “I’ll warrant there’s a great deal they don’t do there. If I was to have it, he’d be eating caviar on his toast, he says. Well, when yer ready, my lady, I’ll have breakfast awaiting ye.”

  My lady. Lady Volsky. Even the sound of it made Katherine’s heart leap. A month ago—three weeks even—if any had said she would be wed to a handsome Russian count, if any had said she would even be betrothed to anyone, she would have been the first to laugh. But it had happened. She was Katherine, Countess Volsky, and soon she would be on her way to a new life in Russia.

  For a moment, that gave her pause. There was so much she did not know about her future home. There was so much she did not know of her new family. So much that Alexei had not yet told her. So much that she’d forgotten to ask. What was Domnya like? All he’d ever told her was that it was a grand estate beside the Moskva River; “within a day’s ride of Moskva itself.”

  Moskva. The Russian word for Moscow. There was so much to learn that the task seemed nearly insurmountable. New language. New customs. New people. New places. But she would do it. She would learn whatever was necessary to please Alexei.

  “You are not ready, daragaya?”