A Sister's Quest

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  “I guess I don’t.” When his arm around her tightened, her breath caught at exactly the spot where her chest touched his. She gazed up and lost herself in the emerald seas of his eyes.

  An elbow bumped her, bringing her back to reality. She nodded to the hasty apology, but her brow rutted with disquiet when she saw who had struck her. Although she was not sure of his name, she knew the man was a member of the delegation from Coxe-Saxony-Colburg.

  “It is crowded in here,” Alexei said, his voice stiff with anger. “I would like to find a quieter place.” His fingers moved in a slow, meandering path along her arm. “Do you want to come with me, Liebchen?”

  Alexei clearly recognized the rude man and wanted to avoid a confrontation that would add to her embarrassment. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”

  She clasped his arm as they walked off the dance floor, paying no attention to the curious stares that had bothered her when she was with Bartholomew. In other times, in other places, she might have cared what was being said about her. Nothing was going to be allowed to intrude on her happiness of being with Alexei.

  He led her into a short hallway. No decorations covered the painted walls. At the end was a door. When Alexei opened it, he bowed with a deep flourish. “My lady, would you wish to enter paradise?”

  Michelle could not even gasp as she walked into a miniature Garden of Eden. Plants of every type sprouted in abandon, reaching for the glass ceiling two stories above them. It was wild, free, and urged her to pull off her slippers and dance among the trees and flowers.

  “This is incredible!” she said softly.

  “The English enjoy their greenery, either in their gardens or like here, in this conservatory.” He closed the door behind them. The gentle strains of the orchestra seeped past to soar to the ceiling and then rain back on them in a soft shower. “There is a path amid the plantings. Would you care to explore?”

  She smiled. “Yes.” When she held out her hand to him, he slipped his fingers through hers.

  Sleet coated the windows, but cold could not invade the green world where they might have been the only two humans alive. As she walked by his side, she exulted in how perfectly her fingers entwined with his. The soft hush of water ran throughout the conservatory’s garden. At a small bridge arching over a tiny stream, she paused to look at the water tumbling over smooth pebbles. His hands rested on her shoulders, and it seemed perfect to lean her head back against his chest.

  He took her hand again as they continued along the path of crushed stone. Gazing up at the trickles of rain and sleet that created changing patterns along the windows, she whispered, “It is so beautiful in here.”

  “I thought you would like it.”

  “How did you know it was here?”

  He drew her behind a thick bush that was bright with purple flowers. “What better place for a spy to lurk than in the jungle?”

  “Don’t talk about that. You ruin this beauty with talk of that dirty business. I do not want to think of anything but the aroma of the flowers and the warmth of your hand in mine.”

  “You French have so much poetry within you.”

  “We French? I left France after my father died during the Terror. Maman decided we would be safer in Zurich. I have lived there since I was less than a year old.” She laughed softly. “I have never considered myself French.”

  “But you are.”

  She paused and faced him when she realized his reply had been in French. “Alexei, I thought you spoke little French.”

  “Very little.” He sat on a low wall surrounded by flowers.

  Knowing how much she risked, she stroked his shoulders. She wanted to touch him, to revel in his fettered strength beneath her fingers. Her hand at his nape tilted his head closer to hers. “But French is the best language for lovers, isn’t it?”

  She gave him no chance to answer as her lips found his. All the powerful sensations she had experienced in his arms were diminished by the fierce surges that weakened her knees. Alexei’s mouth incited a savage rapture that overpowered her, growing stronger and more demanding. She leaned against him, needing his strength as much as his caress. Her fingers sifted through his blond hair as she explored his lips.

  He drew her down to her knees as he slid off the wall to kneel beside her. When he pressed his mouth against her neck, her delight burst forth in a heartfelt gasp. Her fingers clenched on his coat, then loosened to stroke the firm planes of his back. Deafened by her own pulse, she shivered as each swift breath brushed her body against his.

  With a soft moan, she pressed him back into the soft grass amid the flowers. He tugged her over him, then, with a laugh, pushed her onto her back. She moaned softly when he lifted his mouth from hers.

  “Is this my Michelle?” he whispered as he reached to pluck the pins from her hair. “Is this my Michelle who snarls like a wet cat when I speak to her?”

  Because he spoke in German, she answered in the same language. She smiled as she ran a finger along his aristocratic nose. “I have not changed. I am still not your Michelle.” She paused, then whispered, “But I want to be.”

  “Do not jest with me, Liebchen.”

  “I am not.”

  “Do you realize what I think you mean?”

  She took his hand and pressed it to her breast. “Yes, and it is what I mean. I want you, and I want you to want me. You said you would be my teacher, Alexei. Teach me.”

  His groan came from deep in his gut as he captured her lips. She answered his kiss with her own need. When the tip of his tongue moistened her lips, they warmed. His tongue sought within her mouth for the slick, succulent treats awaiting him. Taunting and pleasuring, his mouth moved along her face, each kiss a new thrill. He tasted the soft whorls of her ear as his breath swirled through her, inflaming the longing into a fierce wildfire. She wanted his mouth to touch all of her.

  She quivered when his hand slipped up beneath her gown to stroke her legs. She entwined them with his as his mouth coursed along the curved neckline of her gown. When his tongue delved between her breasts, caressing each, she reached for the cravat at his collar.

  She tossed it aside as he drew her up so he could loosen the buttons along her back. In this hidden bower, she wanted to make her dreams come true, and she undid his waistcoat and his shirt beneath it. Her fingers slid up his chest, and he pulled her tightly to him. His kiss revealed that his need was as overmastering as hers.

  As he drew aside the bits of silk she wore, his mouth sought along her body. Each flick of his tongue against her burned lightning hot into her skin. She laughed softly when he traced a moist path along her shoulder and down her arm. As his lips teased the downy skin along the inside of her elbow, unexpected sensations shimmered along her.

  She whispered his name with near desperation as she guided his mouth back to hers before he stripped her of all sanity. Lowering her gown to the ground, he slipped one finger beneath the shoulder of her chemise and drew it aside. Her breasts spilled out, and he pinned her against the ground, introducing her skin to his. The frenzy within her would not be stilled. His leg settled across hers when he had pulled away her clothes. When his fingertips trickled up her legs, she entwined them with his, moaning with unfettered longing.

  When she eased his breeches away, she admired the masculine lines of his body. Each angle urged her fingertips to explore it, and she refused to be denied. His body was hard from his rough life, but his touch was gentle. His breath burned against her mouth as she surrendered to her desire.

  She gasped when he pulled away. Her half-voiced protest became a sigh when he bent to sample the skin along her legs. On a sinuous path, his tongue seared its fire along her. Her fingers twisted through his thick hair, which was brushing her skin, but she could think of nothing other than his mouth on her. Each dazzling kiss stoked the flames within her. She wanted to beg him to stop because she could not stand a moment more of this excruciating ecstasy. She wanted to plead with him never to stop, but words h
ad dissolved into the overpowering craving.

  When he leaned over her, she looked up into his glazed eyes. She must share this joy with him. As he pressed against her with each rapid breath, his hands on her hips guided him into her. She clutched his shoulders as his unsated groan aroused the succulent madness. Watching his face, she fought to control her rapture enough so she could enjoy the pleasure fleeing across his features.

  His hand swept up through her hair to bring her hungry mouth against his. Unbridled delight captured her as she was enmeshed in the passion melding them together. She was his as he was hers, as they both were part of the need. Each motion, each breath, each pulse stripped everything from her head. When she was sure she could endure no more of the untamed ecstasy, she was swirled into a wild storm, sweeping her away from everything but the man she loved. He shuddered against the force of the tempest, taking her with him as they vanished into its might, lost in rapture.

  Michelle twitched when something tickled her nose. She batted it away. It returned. She pushed it aside. It came back. Opening her eyes, she gave Alexei a wry smile as she plucked a leaf from his fingers.

  “You are the most irritating man in the world,” she said as she tossed the leaf away.

  Drawing her head down against his shoulder, he whispered, “And you are the most desirable woman in the world. You cannot guess how much I have yearned to be with you like this, Liebchen.”

  “Then why haven’t you?” Her fingers explored the harsh planes of his face. Each angle was as severely sculpted as if the artist had only roughed them in and had never smoothed the lines.

  “How can I explain?” he whispered. “How can I explain to you what I do not know myself?”

  “Because of Maman?”

  He smiled. “Mayhap in a way, Liebchen. Mayhap I simply felt guilty for bringing you into this life Sophie clearly did not want you to have.”

  “It is too late for that regret, Alexei.”

  He laughed at her strict tone. “Now you sound like Fraulein D’Orage, mistress of languages at St. Bernard’s School for Girls.” His voice became somber as he reached for her clothes and handed her her chemise. “I honestly can tell you that I do not regret stopping in Zurich to find you.” His hand stroked the bare curve of her shoulder, the coarse texture of his skin scoring her with yearning to be touched over and over until her mind dissolved again into passion.

  “Must we leave?” she whispered as he pulled on his breeches.

  “You are a temptress, Liebchen, and you know the very way to drive me mad with desire.”

  “I am learning.” With a sigh, she drew her chemise over her and smoothed it along her legs. “I want more lessons from my teacher.”

  With a growl, he tugged her into his arms and against his naked chest. “As soon as we are home, Liebchen, I promise you that our lessons will continue.”

  “Our lessons?”

  “I want you to teach me what gives you pleasure.”

  “You do.” She kissed him lightly, then pulled her dress over her head. He hooked it in place before pulling on his shirt and waistcoat.

  She watched from the corner of her eye as he tied his cravat with ease. That he did everything he attempted so well was one of the things she loved about him.

  Love! The word popped unbidden into her brain. She had been trying to hide the truth from herself that she had fallen in love, not with the handsome young prince who offered her a wondrous life, but with a cantankerous, life-scarred man who promised her nothing but the joy of the moment.

  And that joy was so splendid. She would not trade it for Bartholomew’s castle and tide. Glancing again at Alexei, she silenced her sigh. He was hers for now, but she knew he would allow nothing, not even her love, to keep him from doing his work. Yet, if he had, he would not be the man she loved.

  As Michelle drew on her stockings and shoes, Alexei caught her hand in his. He touched the ring she wore on her middle finger. “How often I saw this ring on Sophie’s hand!”

  “And I never saw her wear it. Mayhap it was part of her change from being Maman to being a spy.” She drew it off and held it up to watch the light play off the lightning bolt. Tilting it, she said, “How odd!”

  “What is odd?”

  “Look at the initials inside.”

  “Initials?”

  “MML and SR.” She frowned. “Sophie Rameau was Maman’s name before she wed, but who is MML?”

  “Mayhap she was married before?”

  Michelle shook her head. “No, that could not be. She told me often enough about how she and my father met at a gathering along the Loire.” Her forehead threaded. “’Tis odd that she told me that story over and over, but told me nothing else about him save about his death.”

  “There must be an explanation.”

  “Yes, but what?”

  He smiled. “It may be one that we will never know, for all her secrets are buried with her. Odd, I often forget she was married, although I knew she had a daughter.” Drawing her to her feet, he locked his hands behind her. “I never guessed her daughter would be such a delight.”

  She laughed as he pulled her to him. She answered his fierce desire with her own. His hands stroked her enticingly, and she slipped her fingers beneath his coat to rediscover his coiled strength beneath his silk waistcoat.

  “Release her, Vatutin, or you will die!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  At the imperious order, Alexei sighed. Prince Charming! When Michelle became rigid in his arms, he turned her so she could see the fury on Prince Charming’s face.

  “Bartholomew, what are you doing here?” she asked.

  “A question I need not ask you.” He reached toward her loose hair.

  Alexei stepped between them, blocking Prince Charming’s hand. “Your Highness, I do not understand your continued intrusion into Fraulein D’Orage’s private matters,” he said smoothly. “She has told you that she has no wish to become your wife. Therefore you have no reason to trail after her like a slobbering pup.”

  “Alexei,” Michelle began, but Bartholomew’s vicious curse silenced her.

  “Vatutin, you have done me grave dishonor. I demand satisfaction.”

  Alexei shook his head. “I do not duel, Your Highness.”

  “Afraid?”

  He laughed, wondering if Prince Charming would be so eager for a fight if he knew that, in a box somewhere, Alexei had a fancy medal he had won as a sharpshooter and an even fancier one for his fencing. “I have seen enough dying during the war. Your honor has not been damaged. Michelle was never yours.”

  “If you are dead, she might come to me, a man who can offer her more than an ignoble position as a bed warmer. She deserves better than that.”

  “But she does not want you.”

  When Bartholomew took a deep breath, Michelle asked, “Will you both stop talking about me as if I were not here?” She glanced at Alexei. A smile curved beneath his mustache. She wanted to let his mustache caress her. First … “Bartholomew, even if I had agreed to be your wife, your father would never accept me. I am not German. I am not royal born.”

  He gripped her hands, but did not draw her closer when Alexei shifted from one foot to the other and closed his hands into fists. “My love, if my father will not accept you at first, he shall learn when you are the mother of his grandson.”

  “No.” She tried to tug her hands out of his, but he tightened his grip. When she saw the challenge in his eyes, she realized he wanted her to protest. Why did Bartholomew want to incite Alexei into protecting her? When she saw shadows move beyond him, she understood. He had brought his personal guards.

  “Yes, Michelle,” he said, his eyes twinkling maliciously, “I have asked you too many times. This time you will say yes.”

  When he dragged her closer, she wanted to call for Alexei to halt him. She did not, for the sparks in Bartholomew’s eyes warned of danger.

  Alexei’s hand on her arm gently but firmly drew her away from Bartholomew. “Your High
ness, will you ask her to consider your suit each time you meet?”

  “She shall be mine.”

  “No!” she cried. “I don’t wish to marry you, Bartholomew.”

  He said in a sneer, “You wish to stay with Vatutin? Where will you go when he tires of you?”

  “St. Bernard’s School for Girls.”

  Bartholomew’s eyes widened at her quick answer. On her arm, Alexei’s fingers tightened. Had she said the wrong thing when she spoke of where she had been living? Too late now to take back the words as Bartholomew’s lips tightened with rage. He raised his hand, but his motion was blocked by Alexei.

  “I suggest you retire, Your Highness,” Alexei said, “before you do something a gentleman would regret Michelle has given you her answer.”

  “Vatutin, stay out of this!” At his low growl, his guards burst out of the green dusk. The silent quartet formed an arc behind him, their expressions warning that they awaited his order to attack.

  Michelle shuddered, but whispered, “If you cared for me at all, Bartholomew, you would know that I hate this abhorrent behavior.”

  “Then come with me.”

  “Is that what you truly want, Bartholomew? Do you want to coerce me into coming with you because I wish to protect Alexei from your men?” When he opened his mouth to answer, she asked more intensely, “Is that what you really want?”

  His blue eyes hardened. Whirling on his heel, he snapped an order to his men. They followed him back along the twisting path among the conservatory’s flowers. The sound of their angry footsteps echoed eerily.

  When she heard a chuckle behind her, Michelle turned to see Alexei sitting on a bench. He held out his arms. Without hesitation, she slid into his embrace.

  He brushed her loosened curls back from her forehead and kissed her lightly. “Do you wish to go back to the ballroom, Liebchen, or go home?”

  “Home.”

  “Where we may resume this.”

  “Resume?” She laughed. “How romantic you are, Alexei! Is this how you Russians woo your women?”

  “I don’t know about anyone else,” he murmured, “but this is how I wish to woo you.” He branded his answer into her lips.