A Sister's Quest

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  Michelle was not sure if he was being honest or jesting. “If you wish to be inconspicuous, I don’t think that is a very good plan.”

  “Do you have another?”

  “Have you considered the truth? That you do not speak French well and that I am traveling with you to assist you. Very simple and the truth.”

  His finger moved along her cheek in an aimless caress. When she inched back, his hand on her waist halted her. Resting his cheek against hers, he murmured, “But no one would believe that.”

  “Why not? It is the truth.” She quivered as he chuckled, the warmth of his breath swirling into her ear and through her like a summer storm. His fingers slipped along her back and drew her closer. The brush of his rugged face urged her to soften against him, to touch his muscular arms, to delight in the texture of his skin.

  His voice was rough as he whispered, “The truth will not work because nobody would believe that Alexei Vatutin would have a lovely woman like you by his side and let her sleep alone.”

  “I—” Her voice caught as his fingers cupped her chin and brought her mouth beneath his. Slowly, so slowly she wondered if this was some exquisite torture he had devised, he lowered his face toward hers. His hand roved along her back to press her to the unyielding wall of his chest.

  Suddenly he cursed and released her. She gripped the footboard of the bed as she watched him stride to pick up the damp cloth and toss it into the bucket. Struggling to regain her breath, she wondered how long she had been holding it.

  His hand fisted. When he pounded it against the ceiling that brushed the top of his head, she flinched. A dozen questions filled her mind, but she did not dare let a single one pass her lips.

  “Alexei?” she whispered.

  He faced her, and she wished he had not, for his eyes gleamed with green fire. Walking back to her, he lifted a strand of her hair from her shoulder. “There shall be times when I must hold you,” he said, each word squeezed past his straight lips. “You cannot act as if you have never been in a man’s arms before.”

  “I haven’t—I—”

  His laughter halted her. “I guessed that, but now you have been.”

  When he walked away again, Michelle resisted snarling a curse after him. He considered this amusing, but it was not. Quietly she said, “I think it would be best if I returned to St. Bernard’s in the morning.”

  “I think you are wrong.”

  “This was not what I agreed to do.”

  Alexei turned to her. As he regarded her without comment, a blush banished the cool ashen color from her face. If she was embarrassed by such a slight hint of intimacy, she had much to learn before they reached Vienna. The lessons needed to begin now. She must learn to accept his arms around her without emotion … as he must.

  Loosening the cravat at his collar, he watched her eyes widen. She could be spectacular in this role, for one touch had shown him how her composed exterior covered an inner tempest. She must throw aside her virginal ways and pretend to be sophisticated in the ways of diplomacy and of love.

  “You agreed to help me,” he said.

  “But you never said anything of such a licentious situation.”

  “Licentious?” He closed the distance between them. When she pressed back against the bed, her dress pulled across her breasts. He thought of those soft curves against him when he had carried her to that bed, and an answering need ached all along him. She was beautiful, vibrant, and possessed a sensuality waiting to be tapped.

  His fingers combed through her hair as he brought her face to his. Her lips parted, but he did not let her voice her protest. He silenced it beneath his mouth as he succumbed to the temptation to sample the flavors waiting there. Then he silenced his own groan of denial when he raised his mouth away after only the briefest touch.

  “That,” he said through gritted teeth, “is the most licentious thing you shall have to endure in my company. I vow that to you.”

  She put her fingers to her lips. Astonishment filled her eyes, but she said nothing. Beneath his fingers, her trembling warned him to cloak his own reaction. He must not yearn to do more with this woman.

  “What do you say?” he asked when she remained silent. “Are you going to hide in that girls’ school, or will you come with me?”

  “I should go back.”

  “Yes, you should.” He smiled coldly when she stared at him. “But will you? Will you be Fraulein D’Orage, mistress of languages, or will you be Michelle D’Orage, presumed mistress of Alexei Vatutin? Will you hide yourself away, or will you be as brave as Sophie D’Orage, who never backed down from a challenge?”

  “Sophie D’Orage?” she repeated with a gasp. “You know—You knew Maman?”

  “Briefly. Sadly, too briefly.” He released her and sat on the chair. Folding his hands between his knees, he looked up at her. “She occasionally did work for my government.”

  “Maman?” Michelle frowned, lowering herself to the bed, but keeping the footboard between them. “You must be mistaken.”

  “Why do you think I came to St. Bernard’s and asked for you? I had hoped Sophie had passed on her skill for subterfuge to her daughter.” He rested his hand on the other side of the footboard and caught her eyes. She wanted to look away, but froze as he asked, “Did you know nothing about the work your mother did? How do you think she managed to pay for you to attend that expensive boarding school?”

  Wanting to tell him he was mistaken, she could not keep from thinking of the box of gold coins. Maman had gotten that money somehow. But as a spy? That seemed impossible. There must be another explanation, but what? “Mayhap we aren’t thinking of the same woman.”

  “D’Orage is not a common name, and you look just like her.” Pain flashed through his eyes so fast she was not sure if she had seen it. “Even if your appearance had not been enough to persuade me, that would have.” He pointed to her finger and the ring her mother had left for her. “That was Sophie’s ring.”

  “You’ve seen her wear it?”

  He nodded. “Often, for it was her wedding ring.”

  “It was?”

  “You didn’t know that?”

  “No.” Rubbing her finger along the raised lightning bolt, she glanced up as the sable softness of a shadow moved along her.

  She watched Alexei trace the design as she had. “One evening I was admiring the fine workmanship, and she told me your father had a set of rings made at a jewelry shop in Paris called Mauriac’s.”

  “Why would you remember that?”

  He put his hand on the foot of the bed and smiled. “Your mother is impossible to forget.”

  “I know.” She stood and wrapped her arms around herself. “I think of her so often.”

  “As I do.” He touched the ring again. “Sophie told me the rings were designed as a play on their name. Orage is French for storm, so I guess Michel used the lightning bolt to signify that.”

  “Michel was my father’s name!”

  “So Sophie mentioned often. She loved him very much. He must have been an extraordinary man.”

  “I wish I had had a chance to know him.”

  “So do you believe me now? Will you come with me?”

  She turned away and twisted the ring on her middle finger. If Alexei was telling the truth—and he knew so much about her family she had to believe him—there had been a side of her mother’s life she had been too blind to see.

  Now it all seemed clear. Those infrequent visits to her mother’s apartment must have been when her mother had not been working for a foreign government. Tears bubbled over the edges of her lashes. She hated weepy women, but she could not halt the sobs that burst from her aching heart. Why had Maman not been honest with her?

  “Michelle?”

  She whispered, “Today is the anniversary of Maman’s death, but the pain makes it seem as if it were yesterday.”

  “And you have no one else.”

  Surprised that he did not make it a question, she nodded. “You know so
much about me.”

  “I know about Sophie.”

  “You remember after six years?”

  “I know.” He smiled wryly. “I never forget the most minuscule details, although I must own Sophie’s death was not minuscule. My memory is why I am considered so valuable to my government. They know I won’t forget anything I hear.” He looked directly into her eyes. “I do know a little about you, Michelle. Enough so I suspected you would be willing to come with me to Vienna to help combat those whom your mother fought to keep them from controlling Europe.”

  “Maman was a spy?” She nearly choked on the words, which were as bitter as bile.

  “There are nicer terms for it, but that is what she was.”

  “And you?”

  “You must know that if I worked with your mother, I have been involved in espionage, too. Now the war is over, and I can travel as Alexei Vatutin. This assignment is something of a reward for what I have done in the past.” He stroked the tears from her cheek. “Will you come with me, Michelle? I intend to enjoy Vienna. We could have such fun.”

  She put her hand over his. “Yes, I will come with you.”

  With a laugh, he planted a smacking kiss on her cheek. Then he slapped her on the bottom. When she gasped, stunned by his outlandish behavior, he chuckled again. “I thought you would see sense.”

  “If you ever do that again, I shall—”

  “Do what? This?” He tapped her bottom again. When she started to whirl away, he grasped her arms and pulled her to him. His voice dropped to a roguish whisper. “Or this?”

  There was nothing teasing about his mouth over hers. Fire seared her as her hands slipped up his back. He tugged her more tightly against him until every inch of him urged her to soften. A breathless sigh burst from her when his lips tasted the curve of her chin and traced heated joy along her throat.

  Rapid flicks of his tongue teased her skin as the sparks deep within her grew into a flame. When her hand curved along his neck, she discovered the warm skin beneath his loose collar.

  His mouth found hers again, but demanded entrance to the shadows within as his tongue sought to explore every sleek surface. Urging her to caress him as intimately, he twisted his fingers through her hair. She delighted in the splendid sensation of his mouth. When he drew away, she slowly opened her eyes to see his glistening with passion he made no effort to hide.

  Softly he asked, “Which did you mean?”

  “Both, I fear.”

  “I feared that as well.” He released her, and she gripped the footboard again to keep her wobbly knees from collapsing beneath her. Brushing her hair back from her face, he said, “We shall do well together, Michelle. We have much to speak of, but for now, go to bed. We have many more days of traveling.”

  “Do I sleep here?”

  “Yes.” He went to the chair and got his coat. Shrugging his arms into the sleeves, he said, “I will go downstairs to be sure Rusak can polish off that last mug of beer alone. That should give you all the time you need to ready yourself for bed before I come back.”

  “You are coming back here?” She gasped.

  “Where else?”

  “Are you crazy to think that I would sleep with you?”

  He rested one elbow on the door frame. “Even I am not that crazy, Liebchen, but never forget that, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, you are my mistress. It would be very strange for me not to share a room with you, wouldn’t it?”

  “But here?”

  “There can be no chance of any word reaching Vienna that I did not sleep with you from the moment you left St. Bernard’s.”

  Heat slapped her cheeks, and she knew she was blushing when he chuckled. Too late, she understand Frau Offenbach’s puzzlement. The mistress of a grandly dressed man like Alexei Vatutin should wear something more splendid than her simple black gown.

  Blowing her a rakish kiss, Alexei went out and closed the door. It opened before she could move.

  He peeked around the edge and said, “I shall not be downstairs long. You might want to hurry and change. Good night, Michelle. Sleep well.”

  “That is unlikely,” she said to the closed door. She hurried to her bag and pulled out her simple muslin nightgown. She was glad it covered her from chin to ankle. Unhooking her gown, she shoved it over her hips. She untied her petticoats and let them fall to the floor as she pulled on her nightgown.

  She sighed with relief as she scurried to the bed. Taking two of the pillows, she pulled off the coverlet. She placed them on the chair. Let Count Alexei Vatutin sleep on the floor, for he would not sleep with her.

  As she pulled back the remaining covers, she glanced at the door. She did not dare let him so close again. With an ease that was frightening, he had orchestrated her into his arms like a conductor leading his musicians to a crescendo. To let him hold her again when they were alone would be madness, for she had been unable to resist his kisses.

  With her palm beneath her cheek, she stared at the silhouette of the candle dancing on the wall. She tried to think of something other than his fiery touch. Something … anything.

  Maman!

  Why had Maman told her nothing about this other life she had led with Alexei? Had she kept the truth from Michelle because she did not want her daughter to be involved in this world of half-truths? Mayhap that was why Michelle had been sent to a straitlaced girl’s school. If that was so, it all had been for naught when Alexei Vatutin invaded her life.

  Her thoughts were interrupted as the door opened. Only the clatter of a key locking it kept her from looking up. She shut her eyes and forced her breathing to slow.

  Low noises warned her of every motion Alexei made. She heard him curse as he pulled off his boots. Without a bootjack or a valet, the tight boots must be nearly impossible to take off. She hoped the shadows hid her smile at his grumbles. It was a pleasure to discover that the almost too perfect Count Vatutin could be bothered by something as commonplace as boots.

  “She makes her opinions quite clear,” he mused in a whisper, and she knew he had seen the pillows and coverlet.

  Feeling his gaze on her, she froze. She wanted to tense and pull the covers to her chin. With every bit of her strength, she kept from moving as he came to stand by the bed. While he drew the covers over her shoulder, his fingers brushed her cheek lightly, but he walked away as she fought to submerge the fiery river flowing through her.

  She dared to breathe again only when she heard him arrange his makeshift bed. Even when the soft rhythm of his breathing filled the room, every inch of her ached for him. She must learn to control this longing for his touch, or she feared that, by the time they reached Vienna, there would be no need to pretend to be his mistress.

  Chapter Four

  The second day of their journey proved even more difficult than the first. Exhausted from not sleeping, Michelle fought the sway of the carriage, which reminded her of a roughly rocking cradle. More than once her head drooped against Alexei’s shoulder. He said nothing when she was routed awake.

  If her relationship with Alexei had improved even slightly, she could not say the same about Rusak, who tried to ignore her. When it was impossible, he made it obvious with gestures that he found her company disgusting. She did not mention to Alexei how much Rusak’s coldness bothered her. She was sure he would tell her to learn to live with Rusak.

  The schedule of their journey did not change. They paused only to rest the horses or stop at an inn at night. Slowly Michelle became accustomed to sharing her bedchamber, but she made certain every night that a pillow and a blanket were set aside for Alexei. She did not care if he slept on a chair or on the floor. Just as long as he kept his promise not to sleep with her.

  She wanted to believe she was worried about nothing, because, after the first night, Alexei treated her with the kind indifference of a big brother for a vexing younger sister. Yet, when she finally convinced herself of that, she would catch a glance from him that she was not supposed to have seen. The barely
quiescent sparks in his eyes cut through her defenses, suggesting ideas that should not be in her head. He was an impossible man, and she hoped he would change when they reached Vienna.

  On Sunday morning, Michelle woke as the sun peeked into the window of the Gasthaus where they had taken a room high under the eaves. She heard the soft chime of church bells. After the past week’s confusion, hearing something so familiar was like unearthing a treasure.

  She drew on her dress under the covers and slipped her nightgown over her feet. Hooking her dress, she slid out from beneath the blanket. She wrapped her braids around her head and pinned them in place. It was not neat, but with her bonnet, no one would notice.

  Her eyes widened when she saw Alexei sleeping on the floor not far from the door. If he had chosen such an uncomfortable bed each night, she had seen no sign of it. The hard floor of a Swiss Gasthaus must seem heavenly in comparison to nights of camping with the Russian army.

  Michelle tiptoed across the floor. As light as her footsteps were, she was not overly astounded when Alexei’s hand gripped her ankle.

  Half-asleep, he grumbled, “Where are you sneaking off to at this godforsaken hour?”

  “To church.”

  “Church?” He muttered something.

  “Go back to sleep.” She tried to pull away.

  Alexei released her ankle and stood. He stretched, revealing his bare chest. Her gaze moved along that firmly muscled expanse. She had never seen so much raw masculinity. Heat as strong as a fever oozed up her cheeks as she realized he was amused with her stare. She thought of snarling at him for being so vain, but such an admonishment would be a waste of her breath.

  “Something wrong?” He laughed. “Your face is the color of the rising sun.”

  Again she was tempted to retort. She said nothing as she reached for the door latch.