"When did Alexi leave?" Natasha asked. She'd seen her grandson's face when he'd left the room a few hours ago, and knew he would not return until Sam and Angela were gone. She knew his heart had shattered at the news. She'd felt his pain to the very core of her heart.
Sam walked to the window overlooking the stables. "This very moment," he said, running his hands through his hair. "If it would do any good, I'd go after the boy, beg him to return and work this out. I don't know the whole story, but I wish I did."
"He can't marry her," Natasha interjected quickly. "You and I both know the only other option is entirely unsuitable for you and for her. She is far too precious to live the life of a mistress. Alexi will come to terms with this situation. He has to. So much is at stake here."
"I would kill him," Sam gritted out, his hands fisted tightly at his sides. "If he's hurt her in any way, I will find him, hunt him down and make sure he pays for any crimes against her."
Natasha smiled grimly. "You could try. You would not succeed."
"One of us would die," Sam went on. "I would have to defend her honor."
"If either of you died, it would make her life even lonelier than it will be now. She loves him."
"She wouldn't have gone with him otherwise,'' Sam agreed, his voice shaking with emotion.
"I have a suitable heiress in mind for him. I vowed I would not interfere, but I have. In time..." Natasha paused long enough to wipe a tear from her cheek. "In time they will both forget." Natasha knew those words for what they were--lies.
She had once loved like that: a love so enduring and so intense she felt it still when she thought of the man who had stolen her heart so many years ago--then married another. She would never forget that, nor could the emptiness inside her ever be filled.
"What will she do?" Natasha asked, realizing Alexi would want to know.
The question was entirely unsuitable, and Natasha knew it. What Angela would do when she returned to America was none of her business.
"I would like her to go to school, but I'm afraid she won't have anything to do with finishing school now. She's been on her own, had her adventure..."
"She is a willful lady."
"Yes, she is. Stubborn to a fault."
Natasha moved to the door, tired of speaking in hushed whispers. "Would you like some tea?" she asked, moisture filling her eyes, sadness filling her soul. She suddenly wished for a different ending to all this, a way to make Alexi happy, a way to heal his broken heart.
He would be devastated when Angela left, when he returned to a home that no longer sheltered his lover. He'd ridden off understanding that Angela would be gone when he returned. Alexi had thought his leaving until then was for the best.
Perhaps it was.
Natasha had no doubt these two were lovers. She also had no doubt that Angela carried Alexi's child. There were signs that only a woman would recognize. Little things.
She would not be the one to tell Alexi.
If Alexi knew, he would never let Angela go.
Never.
He would search the earth for her and his child.
~ * ~
Jabbar was tireless. Alexi road hard and fast. Exhaustion would not claim him, nor did he receive solace from the grueling pace he set each day. Day after day he rode farther into the mountains, higher and higher until he could barely breathe the thinning air.
Summer rapidly turned into autumn, yet here in this land surrounded by the Black Sea, one could scarce tell. Sweat trickled down his back and between his shoulder blades.
Alexi felt the subtle changes in the air.
His life spun chaotically.
He wanted nothing more than to rid himself of Angela's image. He could not. She had become an integral part of him, and he didn't know how he would survive without her.
He could not sleep. When he closed his eyes he saw the wheat color of her hair, the sky blue of her eyes. He could feel the soft brush of her lips against his own, hear the throaty sounds she made deep in her throat when he pleasured her.
He could not eat. He prayed that if he pushed himself hard enough and long enough, he'd find respite.
That was days ago.
Now he knew there was no relief, understood nothing would ease the emptiness deep inside.
He had become a hollow shell of a man.
And still he rode. Jabbar's sides heaved with exhaustion, yet the stallion moved to his master's will, his loyalty beyond compare.
Deep in the mountains, he found little solace. Nothing he could think of would make his life easier. Proposing marriage would have solved one problem, but in the process would have created more.
She was right in leaving him. He could never give her what her heart desired, what she deserved.
Selfishness had pushed him to demand so much from her, and she'd given even more. He was a fool.
His gaze shifted to the ocean, toward the west. Without slowing his mount, he jumped from Jabbar's back. The horse slowed then stopped.
Alexi held his hand high, a gesture of farewell and resignation. He was well and truly alone. The light and the heart of his life had left on a morning tide, never to return.
Only yesterday he believed he could not hurt any more. He did.
The Mystic should have sailed days ago, should be slipping through the Sea of Marmara on its way to the Mediterranean. The sea would be a wondrous sky blue, nearly the color of her eyes. Dolphins would follow the ship, playing alongside, singing to and chatting with the sailors--and Angela.
Angela's laugh would float with the wind. He remembered all too well the light in her eyes when she had seen her first dolphins, the way she clapped her hands together in childish glee.
Allah, if he could stand to go home, he would. He would work his fingers to the bone if there was a chance in hell he could ease the pain.
Standing on the top of the mountain he could see for miles around him. The cliffs were rugged, yet not as formidable as the Rockies. The rivers were crystal clear, yet they were not as clean and fresh as the Colorado River. The sky was a polished blue that sometimes melded with the Black Sea, but it was not as beautiful as the sky over Denver.
He had become a hollow shell of a man.
This land of his, he no longer considered home. This land where he inherited a title was not his to rule. The title meant nothing to him. Others could command in his place. Stephan could have it all. Once she thought about Stephan inheriting the title as well as the land, Natasha would not mind. Stephan was as much a grandson to Natasha as he was. Perhaps more so because Stephan belonged in Russia, and was willing to fight for his country and its people.
Stephan would understand, would make an admirable leader.
He felt the wind blowing off the sea. Closing his eyes, he absorbed the sounds and smells of this country. He let his thoughts sweep throughout him until they took hold. Suddenly, on the winds of time, he let out a wild cry. It freed his heart and his soul.
Alexi Popov, alias Devil Blackmoor understood what he must do. For several more hours he stared out over this land that had once claimed him. Memorizing all he could see, he stored the sights away so he could someday tell his grandchildren of its beauty. He recalled the folktales his grandmother had told him and committed them to his memory.
He sat down cross-legged on the mountain grass and asked Allah for guidance and the patience needed to fulfill his dreams and conquer his fears.
When he finished, he mounted his horse and rode back to the estate. A serenity he'd never felt before gave credence to his actions. What he had in mind would take a few months to achieve, possibly more, but with patience and diligent work he would convince Stephan to take over for him, and he would teach Stephan how to keep the books, and run the vast estate. Then he'd return to America. And he would find his angel. Pray to Allah she would still be waiting for him.
~ * ~
Beneath a sky of hammered gold, the Mystic skimmed past the minarets of Constantinople. Through clouded, vacant eyes
Angela watched the sun go down like a blinding ball of white light, dolphins jumping playfully out of the water. Yet she could not smile. The world seemed unreal, almost unnatural.
Had it really been less than three months since she'd left New York?
While she stood at the bow, looking forward, the ship sailed through the Sea of Marmara then into the Mediterranean away from Alexi. One hour passed into the next. Glittering stars filled the midnight sky, and a full moon slanted a shimmering swath of light on the water. She didn't know how long she stayed at the bow of the ship.
She didn't care.
A burnished sun rose in the east, sending much-needed warmth across Angela's back. The chill within did not ease. Tears that burned deep inside were not shed.
"Angela," Sam whispered. "You've got to come below."
She'd lost count of the times her father had come to her, asking her to sleep or to eat. She didn't have the heart for either.
His fingers settled on her shoulders, his intentions well meant. If only his strength could flow from him into her. She longed for the power to feel again.
"I can't," she said on a whispered sigh, her voice barely perceptible. She felt her father stiffen, felt the change in his deep, even breathing.
"Then drink this." Sam handed her a steaming cup of coffee loaded with cream and sugar.
For the first time since she'd boarded the clipper once again, she turned from her view of her future. She accepted the drink and sipped gingerly. She didn't want to hurt him.
"Drink it all," he said.
She nodded. "Thank you."
Nothing more was said between them. It seemed her father meant to stay with her, bringing her self-imposed isolation to an abrupt end. He leaned on the railing of the ship, silent, never taking his eyes from the waters in front of him.
She would not fight him, she determined. If she did, he would dig his heels in and she would never find another moment's peace. Already she sensed his frustration, his sadness.
Truly he had her best interests at heart. But she'd left her heart in a foreign land, in the hands of a man they'd labeled Devil Blackmoor out west.
Weariness washed through her, her eyes closing despite her commands to herself to stay awake. She felt her knees give way as strong arms encircled her and lifted her. Giving in to memories of her childhood, she let her father carry her to her room without protest.
The coverlet he pulled over her was warm and soft. He kissed her forehead. Then he pulled the curtain closed on the window, on the light and on the past. That was good. The brightness of day served only to remind her of all she'd lost in the name of survival.
"Good night, Angela," he whispered. "I'm sorry, but you wouldn't listen to reason."
I'm sorry ... you wouldn't listen to reason. For a long time those words whirled around in her head.
Finally there was only a black emptiness. And for the first time in her life, Angela didn't care if she ever woke up.
~ * ~
When she did wake, her father was in the room. He was eating. His plate was piled high with sausages, eggs, potatoes and bread.
A new sense of reality lightened her heart. The sight and the smell of the sausages and the fresh-baked bread made her mouth water and her stomach rumble hungrily.
Her dreams had been filled with a little boy, a child who looked just as Alexi must have looked. He had dark brown eyes that twinkled with mischief, a lopsided smile that melted her heart, and a tenderness about him that made her wonder at her selfishness.
She carried a child deep inside her. She had so very much to live for, because she wanted this child to be born healthy and happy. She meant to make his life as wonderful as she could.
It wouldn't matter that the boy would not know his father. There were plenty of men in her life, men who would make her son feel wanted. After all, she had Trey, Dakota and her father.
Angela pushed her hair from her eyes and gave Sam Chamberlain a well-deserved smile. "Thank you," she told him.
His grin widened. "I take it you're feeling better.'' He spoke softly, almost as if he was afraid he'd break her.
"Much better." She swung her legs off the bed and tried to rise. Instantly she sat back down.
Sam was beside her. "Stay in bed a little while longer," he said.
"What did you do?" Her words were accusatory.
"I gave you a little something to make sure you'd sleep peacefully."
"I should be very angry with you."
"But you're not. And if that smile on your face means anything, I have no regrets," he said.
"I was a fool," she said, her hand resting on her stomach.
His gaze was filled with love and admiration. "No, Angela. You were hurting. But given your condition I couldn't let you heal on your own or find your own solutions. I had to step in."
Shock ricocheted to her toes. "You know." She didn't need to ask him. She knew the answer.
He nodded, a strange sadness in his expression, but joy in his eyes. "Does Alexi?"
"If he did, do you think for one moment he would have let us leave?" Angela answered. She hadn't told him because she knew he would never have let her go if he'd known the truth. Guilt was not a pleasant emotion. Alexi should know about his child.
"You can write him. We will mail the letter in the next port. In any case, it will give him time to decide how much he cares about you."
"I don't want him to know, at least not yet."
Sam hesitated, his lips thinning to a grim line. "Care to tell me why?" he asked.
''If he comes to America again, I want to know he came for me.'' With that said Angela managed to stand without swaying and make her way to the plate of food her father had brought her. She ate until she couldn't stand the sight of the food left in front of her.
Chapter Twenty
Dressed from head to toe in black, his hat sitting low, Devil Blackmoor watched the babe pull himself up and on unsteady legs toddle toward its mother. He counted backward.
Allah, but they'd made love only once.
Pride filled him--then a blinding rage so strong the blood pounding in his head blurred his vision. He could have never foreseen this. Willing his shattered nerves to calm, he absorbed the scene before him.
In motherhood, Angela was even more beautiful than he remembered. She wore her buckskins and a white shirt. He held back the smile that threatened. Still, she courted rebellion. Her hair was braided in one single plait, and at the moment it lay over her shoulder. The knife she'd always kept handy was at her waist, a shotgun rested against the same tree trunk she leaned against, and she wore a pistol she had strapped to her leg.
The baby let out an excited little coo at some new discovery. Alexi smiled, and happiness seeped through him. The emptiness he'd felt for over a year now--almost a year and a half--seemed to be fading slowly, his heart swelling with unbound love.
His child.
At least, he thought, surely the little one must be his. He'd asked questions at the trading post only five miles away. He'd seen Dakota and Emma for a few hours before continuing his journey. No one had mentioned a child.
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