“What are you girls doing here?” Miss Pritchard demanded.
“We wanted to help,” Rosemary squeaked out.
“You can help by returning to Atwood Manor,” Miss Morris instructed. “Does Lady Atwood know you have run off?”
Rosemary and Eliza shared a look of worry before Sophia closed her eyes. They were going to be punished for this. Lady Atwood would be frantic with worry and if she had been in her right mind, she would have discouraged Eliza and Rosemary from coming here. But, she hadn’t been and Sophia still couldn’t understand what had come over her. She was a bit shaken, and exhausted from the ordeal.
“You will wait outside and don’t you dare think of disappearing or walking back on your own. I will escort you myself and let Lady Atwood deal with you.”
“I’ll take them back and return with a carriage,” Lord Atwood offered.
“What of your boat?” Claude questioned.
“I’ll have the servants return it.” He turned to Miss Morris. “Are you well enough for me to leave?” he asked quietly.
“I will be fine. Please return the girls and see that they are put under lock and key.”
Atwood strode down the hall toward Sophia and her friends. Before he reached their side the door burst open and a large man stepped inside, his gun drawn.
“I demand to know who you are and what you are doing in my house.”
33
They were at length compelled to quit the place, without having either satisfied their curiosity,
or quieted their fears.
A Sicilian Romance
Ann Radcliffe
Sophia watched as Miss Morris’ eyes widened. Her teacher slowly turned toward the intruder. Miss Morris wasn’t alarmed or scared, but appeared more stunned and surprised. Did she know this gentleman?
“Claud—?” he began
“—Monsieur?” Miss Morris cut him off and a woman, a head shorter than the gentleman stepped into the room. “Mademoiselle Déville?”
The woman smiled gently. “It is now, Lady Severen.”
Claudia looked between the two strangers. “I don’t understand.”
“That isn’t what is important,” the man ground out. “I demand to know what is happening in my house.” He gestured to Vanko. “Is that man dead?”
Lord Atwood returned to the prone body in the middle of the hall, squatted, rolled Vanko onto his back and looked down at the man’s face. “Yes.”
Sophia turned away. She couldn’t bear to see another dead person. It didn’t matter that he had been intent on harming Miss Pritchard. Her hands began to shake anew. Why did all of these bad things keep happening? Was the world full of villains and was she just now becoming aware of them?
The stranger focused on Claudia. “Do you care to explain Claude—?”
“—I’ll explain outside.” She gestured to the door.
The gentleman gave a quick nod and stood back so the ladies could precede him out the door.”
Though she was Miss Morris to the students, they knew her Christian name to be Claudia. This gentleman must know her very well to be using her Christian name. Though, Miss Morris kept cutting him off when it sounded as if he were going to say something different than Claudia.
Sophia shrugged. Perhaps it was simply a matter of pronunciation.
“Did you hear what he said to Miss Morris?” Eliza whispered.
Sophia should have known better than to think only she noticed the oddity in the gentleman’s address to their teacher.
“Maybe he is a brother?” Rosemary suggested in a low tone.
She shook her head. The lady and gentlemen who entered were no relation to Miss Morris, but who were they and how did they know her teacher?
Natalie studied Anton. Despite the blood on his face and clothing, he seemed to be recovering from being shot. For the first time in a very long time she relaxed. A weight she had not been aware she had been carrying disappeared. Everything about her was lightened, free. How long had she lived under this strain? Since Russia? Or, had it only developed recently?
No, it was something she had been carrying with her for a very long time for she could not remember the last time she felt unburdened.
Her husband had returned and it no longer mattered what had happened when he’d first found her. What mattered was what they became from this day forward. Natalie’s heart swelled with love when she looked into the blue depths of his eyes and she couldn’t wait to get him back to the manor, to nurse him to health and begin their life together once more.
Anton turned and looked at Vanko’s body, still lying in the middle of the hall. “I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Now, I might never.”
The happiness that started to bloom in Natalie’s breast died quickly. Her husband did not know who Vanko was, why he had taken her or wanted to kill him.
“I do,” she whispered, hating she would be responsible for causing him more pain. He had been deceived by so many people in his life and she was going to only add to it. Would he even believe her? “He explained everything to me.”
Anton looked at her, confusion on his brow. “Tell me.”
Natalie shook her head. “When I get you home and settled.” She snuck a glance at Vanko’s dead body.
Anton studied her and then nodded.
It was a conversation she did not wish to have, but he needed to know. He had claimed to refuse what he was told in prison, up until he was near death’s door and Vanko spurned him to revenge. He had manipulated Anton into taking the actions he had all so Vanko could have the ultimate revenge and destroy it all. How could Vanko have kept such bitterness hidden all that time? Was he so focused on revenge that he was able to deceive Anton for over two years or simply evil?
As much as Anton wanted to find out the truth, Natasha was correct in that it was best they not discuss it here. Besides, his head was pounding and probably still bleeding. At least he would survive. Natasha was safe, he would live, and they had a future ahead of them. He wanted nothing more than to return to his run down manor and retire with his wife. Tomorrow they would begin anew, plot out their future and bask in their love.
But first, he needed to get up off of this floor.
Using the wall as support while Natasha held his other arm, Anton pushed to his feet and nearly toppled again as a wave of dizziness overcame him. Natasha’s arm went about his waist to hold him steady. “Are you going to be all right?”
He gave her a weak smile. As long as she continued to hold onto him, all would be well.
The front door opened. Miss Morris and the apparent owners of this house entered. Anton would be suspicious of the couple, but they had seemed so surprised to find them here.
“Miss Morris has explained everything,” the man said, his pistol no longer visible.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kazakov,” Miss Morris began, “allow me to introduce Lord and Lady Severen.”
The couple came forward. Anton would have offered to shake the gentleman’s hand, but it was covered in blood. Severen was a lord, but Miss Morris hadn’t explained what kind. Should he bow? He certainly hoped not because he was dizzy enough already.
“I will see that Vanko is removed,” Anton offered. Hopefully Atwood had some servants who could come retrieve the man quickly.
Lord Severen glanced behind him and shrugged. “My servants just arrived. They will see to the removal.”
He said it so nonchalantly that Anton wondered if the man hadn’t had dead bodies removed from his home before.
“Instead of taking time for a carriage, perhaps we should get you back to the manor in my yacht?” Lord Atwood offered, the three most troublesome students stood beside him, bobbing their head.
Anton’s stomach churned at the idea of sailing back to the beach when he was already still dizzy from the wound to his head.
“Allow me to offer my carriage,” Lord Severen said. “You don’t look as if you would do well at sea at the moment.”
Not only was the gent
leman undisturbed by a dead body practically in his foyer, but very perceptive as well. Who was he and what was he doing in the area? Dust had accumulated in much of the house and there were cobwebs in the corners. Nobody had lived here in a very long time so why was Severen and his wife here now and for what purpose?
Anton would have shaken the distrustful thoughts from his head except it would have hurt too much. He was simply seeing suspicion everywhere and it needed to stop. But, how could it when the man he had trusted most for the past two years had set out to kill him and Natasha?
“I will deliver the students back to the manor. Natasha will go back with you and Miss Morris. I will be by later,” Atwood announced before exiting.
Natasha helped him from the house and up the path to the carriage. Without her support Anton wasn’t sure he would have done so well. His head pounded, his stomach rioted and he remained light-headed. How long with this last? A footman came forward and assisted him into the carriage and he was followed by Natasha and Miss Morris. After he was seated, Anton realized he should be on the other side so the ladies could ride forward. He pushed up from his seat and Natasha pushed him back down.
“We don’t want to risk you becoming more ill.”
Anton narrowed his eyes on her.
“You don’t look too well,” she offered with a shrug.
His wife was also perceptive and Anton hoped he made it back to the manor without becoming ill.
“How do you know Lord and Lady Severen?” Natasha asked Miss Morris once the carriage was on its way.
“Lady Severen had been Mademoiselle Déville, my teacher when I was a girl in France.”
Natasha nodded but asked nothing further. Anton would have pried, but his head hurt too bloody much and he was too busy concentrating on not vomiting on his wife’s stained slippers. Besides, if Miss Morris had been a child in France, she most likely did not wish to discuss that time in her life since she would have been living during the Terror. A shudder slid down his spine. He would leave her past where it was as he intended to leave his.
34
The pleasure she now felt she believed would always be renewed, and in an equal degree,
by the objects which first excited it. The weakness of humanity is never willingly
perceived by young minds. It is painful to know, that we are operated upon by objects
whose impression are variable as they are indefinable—and that what yesterday
affect us strongly, is to-day but imperfectly felt, and to-morrow
perhaps shall be disregarded.
A Sicilian Romance
Ann Radcliffe
Anton lounged against the pillows of his grand bed. He watched his wife through the crack in the door as she relaxed back in the bath. His servants had gone about preparing a meal and seeing to his and Natasha’s and his comfort, including drawing a bath for his wife, as soon as they crossed the threshold.
Was Natasha aware he could see her from his position on the bed? Her sunrise hair had already been washed and wrapped in a towel and she was currently caressing the soap down her arm. Only the hint of a breast could been seen, but if he shifted... Anton stopped the movement immediately. His head still pounded and he wasn’t sure how long it would be before the pain disappeared.
A maid stepped to the door and held up a towel for Natasha, completely blocking his view of his wife. “Damn and blast,” he muttered under his breath. While he appreciated having the servants about, especially since neither he nor Natasha were in any condition to see to a meal, maids did tend to get in the way at the most inconvenient moments.
The door opened more fully and Anton had to squelch his anticipation once again. Instead of being wrapped in a towel, as he had hoped, a large dressing gown engulfed his wife, hiding many of the attributes he most admired. How soon would the maid leave them be? He and Natasha had already eaten and Anton couldn’t imagine what else needed to be done.
Natasha offered him a smile, but did not approach the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“I am feeling much better than earlier.” He shot a look at the maid who had her back turned to him, hoping Natasha realized he wanted the woman gone.
Natasha pursed her lips and shook her head before settling on a stool before the fire. The irritating maid took a seat behind her, unwrapped the towel and began combing the tangles from her hair. Certainly Natasha could do that for herself, couldn’t she?
His wife reached for the brush, winced and let her arm drop, but not before the sleeve slid up her arm revealing the dark bruising about her elbow. Anton clenched his teeth, wishing her could kill Vanko all over again.
“Let me see to your hair,” the maid insisted. “Then we will get you tucked in bed so you can rest.”
Natasha sighed, turned her back to the older woman and allowed her to comb the tangles from her long hair.
Anton studied his wife, anger rising within. Her wrists were no longer bandaged as they had been when they found her. He suspected they had been removed for her bath. About each wrist were scrapes and scratches from where Vanko had tied her to the chair. He wished he could tie Vanko to a chair, or put him in stalks, or any type of confinement that brought pain.
Natasha shifted and the firelight cast a warm glow upon her skin. She was as beautiful as she had been when he first saw her across the ballroom at Gatchina Palace. In fact, she was even more beautiful now.
“You should rest,” she suggested, concern in her eyes.
It was impossible to sleep with Natasha sitting before the fire, wearing only a dressing gown, looking delectable. Besides, one of those blasted servants had put him in a nightshirt before the doctor could tend his head. As soon as the maid vacated the room, Anton intended to rip it from his body. How could anyone sleep in one of these things? Where the hell had it come from anyway? He hadn’t owned a nightshirt since he was away at school.
“Would you like me to brush your hair until it is dry?” the maid asked. “Or, braid it while it is still wet so it doesn’t tangle.”
“Braid it,” Anton answered before Natasha could. “It is late and she should have been asleep by now,” he quickly explained. It was after midnight so his response was reasonable.
The older woman chuckled and quickly folded Natasha’s hair into one long braid down the center of her back.
“Thank you,” his wife said and rose from the stool. The maid bobbed her head and quickly exited the room, closing the door behind her.
Natasha laughed and walked to the table where half a bottle of wine remained from the dinner. She filled the glasses again and carried one to him.
He didn’t wait for the door to latch before he tore the nightshirt off his body and tossed it across the room. “That is much better.” He reached for the glass his wife offered. As much as he longed for her, he would not burden Natasha with his desires tonight. Besides, his head still pounded and movement made him ill. It would not be well done of him if he tossed up his accounts while trying to make love to his beautiful wife.
The wound to Anton’s head had been stitched by the local doctor and a fresh bandage wrapped around his head. All evidence of blood had been washed away and he wore nothing beneath the coverlet of the bed. Natalie wanted to run her fingers across his chest, feel his warmth and pretend the past few days had not occurred. But they had and he hadn’t suffered just a few days, but years. His strong, muscular chest was marred with scars. Not the long swipes as were on his back and usually left by a whip, but jagged cuts. What had her husband endured? Natalie wanted nothing more than to crawl right into bed with him and lay her head upon his bare chest and shower him with love and kindness to make up for the cruelty he had suffered.
“Are you going to tell me about Vanko?”
She breathed out a sigh. It was too much to hope that Anton would have fallen asleep and not ever asked her the question that surely plagued his mind.
“I need to know, Natasha.”
“Yes, you do.” She settled on the side o
f the bed and took his hand in hers. “Vanko is, was, your half-brother.”
A frown marred Anton’s brow.
“His mother was a mistress to your father,” she explained.
He shook his head in disgust. “My father had many mistresses. Forsaking my mother time and time again. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized where he had gone at night and why she cried in her room.”
“He also has a younger brother—Yuri.” Her eyes met his over the rim of the glass as this information sank in. Yuri, who had been his servant, visited him in prison, brought him news of Natasha, Dimitri and the trial, was related to Vanko. “Yuri spied on you and Dimitri and passed the information on in hopes of seeing you arrested.”
“The Ghost, who I knew as Warley in Russia, told me it was Vanko who wished to see me arrested and that he had a brother in my household. I did not know of our relationship.”
Natalie studied Anton. He had killed his own brother. Not that he knew they shared a father at the time, but such information must be disquieting. “Vanko had drafted a will, forged your signature, and planned to present it and collect your wealth, but he was arrested.”
“How did he come to be in the same cell as mine?” Anton frowned. “The prison is large and I can’t imagine it was pure luck.”
“Bribery.”
Her husband nodded. “Why didn’t he just kill me when he had a chance?”
Ghosts from the Past (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies) Page 22
