A scream of frustration and rage rose and caught in Camille’s throat. He was using her against her will, and Camille did not want to take part in what Dmitri desired. She hoped he would finish what he began and go away.
***
The soft caresses he hoped to enjoy were absent. The little movements, which had encouraged him to continue even as she asked him to consider their vulnerability to discovery, also ceased. Camille was unresponsive. It was as if a cold chill removed all emotion from her. Dmitri felt his desire fade and ended his attempts to revive their lovemaking; he left without another word.
Back in his room, Dmitri lit a cigar. Clothed only in undergarments, Dmitri sprawled in the large chair before the unlit fireplace lost in thought. As he blew smoke into the air, he recalled the first night he and Camille spent together.
She withheld nothing from him then. Camille also responded to him on the ship and again in this room. This time, she held back. For what reason? Did she find him repulsive in the daylight?
In all honesty, Dmitri did not believe his scars to be the cause. Camille enjoyed his attentions well enough out of bed. In the ten years since Anya's death, more than a score of women came to his embrace. He may have pushed her too far, by insisting they make love in the daylight.
Camille must realize no one would intrude until bid to do so? Then again, if she did not allow them entrance at once, they would suspect she was indisposed, perhaps even mating with her husband.
What was so remarkable about it? Dmitri had a difficult time understanding her aversion to being found out. Everyone in the household knew they had married. It was what married people did; they copulated.
A piece of cigar ash fell on his bare chest; it stung for a moment. Dmitri tapped off the remaining ash into the fireplace, then shook his head in disgust at his stupidity. He expected too much of her. Dmitri considered his knowledge of Camille's background. She was not like any woman he had encountered before.
His life with Anya could never have prepared him for Camille. He and Anya were lovers from the moment they discovered their mutual physical attraction. They explored each other with abandon.
His fingers went to the small bite mark just under his arm. Anya had marked him when they were only fourteen. It had hurt, but her little hand was fondling him, caressing his growing erection as her teeth ground into his flesh. The moss was a thick cushion under them, and he writhed beneath Anya's touch. The recollection caused his body to tighten in need.
Dmitri hadn’t realized how much the lack of a woman in his life affected him. True, he felt no love for Camille. There was desire, responsibility and perhaps even pity. Pity for the things she had endured before their marriage. But, who knew, love could come.
Only if she does not hate you. 'The voice of his 1conscience attempted to interject caution into the storm of unfulfilled sexual tension raging inside him. The memory of Camille's hand on his flesh drove reason away. He must have the other woman Camille hid inside until the lights went out and the curtains drawn.
Desire was paramount at this moment. He wanted her and desperately wanted to share the intensity of his need with Camille. Instead of satiating his longings, she frustrated them.
Dmitri sat lost in thought until he heard Helena fussing about in Camille's room. He rose to close the connecting door between his room and the dressing room. God only knew what Camille would do if she and Helena both caught sight of him parading around seminude. Most French women he had met were not prudes. He wondered what was at the root of Camille's behavior.
***
Dinner was peaceful. Anya ate with Dmitri and Camille. The child was faithful to her promise. She was civil to her stepmother. Camille asked nothing from Anya. After dinner, each retired to their separate rooms.
Camille returned to the chaise lounge with her book. The book did not hold her attention as she hoped and her concentration wavered. She noted the page and closed the thin volume. Camille turned her attention to the enigma of her husband.
Dmitri seemed to have retreated into some world of his own. He was again the cool stranger Camille found herself married to just a few days ago. Had she hurt his feelings, or was his coldness in retaliation for her rejection of him this afternoon? With an impatient toss of her head, Camille attempted to drive all thoughts of Dmitri Bressoff from her.
The light faded, and the sky filled with a pink glow. Camille laid the book aside to watch the spectacle from her window. A haunting melody filled the growing darkness that surrounded the house. A violin poured out its anguish to the world.
The girl rose from her couch and followed the sound to its source. Camille drifted down the stairs, then walked to the back entrance. She opened the door and moved to stand in the dark shadows on the porch.
Half hidden beneath one tree at the edge of the clearing, the musician played. Violin tucked beneath his chin, Dmitri's long fingers brought the music forth. Camille watched his set face; his single eye was closed as he played, lost in the melody. The song faded, and another took its place.
She never imagined an instrument could cry. The dampness of tears trailed across her cheeks and Camille brushed them from her face. There was no reason to cry, yet the music wrung tears from her. If ever she thought this man cold and hard, she would never do so again. The music died as Dmitri lowered the instrument.
For a moment, the well-muscled shoulders slumped, as he stood with blonde head bowed. His body sagged as if exhausted. The light breeze which teased the shore freshened in the dying light and plucked at his hair. Camille wanted to run her fingers through the curls on the nape of his neck.
She thought of the fair, crisp curls clustered on his chest and heat rose in her cheeks. At least, the shadows hid the evidence of her emotions. Reluctant to move, Camille forced herself, knowing she must break the spell his music created.
But she could not just walk away. One step took her from the shadows, and she walked to the edge of the porch. Camille stood with her hand on one of the massive log pillars supporting the roof.
Dmitri stared at her as he pulled himself erect. "How long have you been there?"
His tone was curt. Camille was sorry she allowed him to see her. It seemed he was angry with her, for having invaded his privacy.
"Long enough to know I love your music. It was beautiful. What were you playing?" Camille smiled tentatively at him. There was no answering smile. He was cool toward her still.
Dmitri walked toward her with the violin beneath one arm. "It was gypsy music. It is late Camille. I believe it is time we retired." He strode up the stairs to the porch and paused long enough to place a hand beneath her elbow.
Camille found herself propelled across the expanse of the wooden floor into the house. He pulled her along with him, making no attempt to slow down for her shorter stride.
Dmitri released Camille at her door. "Good night, my dear."
Camille heard the rejection in his curt tone. With a slight nod of acknowledgment, she entered her room and prepared for bed. Why was he behaving as if she had committed a wrong against him? He forced himself upon her this afternoon. She did not ask for or encourage his advances. Didn’t she have a right to reject him? Men!
Another of Leontine's sayings crept into her thoughts. "No matter what, you must always apologize to a man, they are never at fault."
Indeed! Camille slid beneath the covers and pulled them up around her shoulders. She wished Leontine were somewhere nearby. She needed her advice and help.
The dream woke Camille. She sat up, awash in a wave of misery and regret, tears flooding her eyes. The room which seemed so comfortable only a few hours ago now appeared hostile. It was impossible for her to spend the balance of the night alone. There was only one place she could go, Camille threw off the covers and fled the room. After stumbling through the dressing room, she threw open the door to Dmitri's chamber.
"Camille? Is it you?" There was a note of surprise in his voice.
As her eyes adjusted to the dark, s
he picked her way to the edge of the bed. Unsure of what she might say to him, Camille's searching fingers found a nightstand; she clung to the smooth wood with no idea of what she should do. What would he say to her for disturbing him at this hour?
"Please. I.. I." She halted, unable to ask for comfort.
Dmitri sat up in bed, trying to focus on her. "The nightmare again?" His voice was soothing, not at all angry. The covers rustled. "Get in here, little one. Come to bed."
She crawled beneath the bedding he held to one side. Unsure of her welcome, Camille wrapped the blankets around herself, careful not to touch Dmitri. She turned to her side trying to keep her wet face away from him.
Strong arms embraced her; Camille found herself pulled against him. The long fingers, which made the violin cry stroked her hair and then her cheeks. Like a sick child, Camille cuddled against him. With a muffled sob, accompanied by a few hiccups, she went to sleep.
***
Tired, he wanted to go back to sleep but realized sleep might well prove impossible. He tucked the blankets about the both of them.
Dmitri recalled the nights Anya spent with him in her eighth year. Racked with fever, refusing to be comforted by anyone other than Poppa, his daughter insisted on sleeping with him. Dmitri cuddled the child wrapped in her favorite blanket, close to him. Now he cuddled Camille. He lay awake in the dark, listening to his wife's soft breathing.
Once, she stirred, then turned her head, which caused a strand of her hair to fall across his chest. That, and the soft arm lying across him started an ache deep within.
What price must he pay for his folly? For how long would the accounting go on? Did she know how much he wanted her? He doubted she did. It must be her immaturity, which held her locked away from realizing they both had needs.
His reality was a longing to possess her again and again. It was her warmth he was seeking. It assuaged the loneliness which haunted his life for the past ten years. Dmitri needed to belong to someone. The women he had used, and he acknowledged he had used them, only eased the hurt for a short time.
A wife was what he needed, yet had rejected so often in the past. But, he could not lay the ghost of Anya to rest then. Now, he must. With a sigh, he drifted into sleep.
Dmitri awoke, as Camille tossed in the midst of some dream. Turned on her side, Camille had her back pressed against him. Early morning light crept into the room from the edges of the thick curtains. Dmitri moved the neck of the nightgown to one side. He placed a kiss on her shoulder. There was a slight lift to one corner of her sensual lips as Camille smiled in her sleep. With a slight wiggle, she pressed closer to him. Dmitri bent his head to kiss the corner of her mouth. For an instant, she stiffened and he knew she was awake.
"It is time to get up." He shook her shoulder before moving away from her. Camille rolled over on her back and turned her head to watch him.
"Would you like to go with me to the village this morning? If so, then you must get up and get dressed. I intend to leave early."
She placed her palm on his cheek. Her eyes were dark as she searched his face. "Thank you."
In the half light, Dmitri smiled at her. "I understand hurt."
Her lips trembled. Without thinking, he kissed them. Camille's mouth opened beneath the pressure of his kiss. Dmitri lifted his head unsure of her reaction if he went farther. "Where else does a wife belong, if not in her husband's bed?"
Camille laughed. The sound throbbed in the surrounding air. Dmitri rose, leaving, even as temptation urged him to stay. He paused for a moment, then smacked her on the rump.
"Arise, my dear. There is too much to be done for us to laze the morning away."
She giggled as she rose from bed, rubbing the place Dmitri slapped. Her eyes sparkled. Dmitri knew she was not angry at him. "Mon Dieu! What did I do to deserve a beating?"
Her playful comment was just what he wanted. It allowed him to treat their being together with humor. He needed to do so at this moment. Eyebrows lifted, Dmitri put his hands on his hips, then leered at her.
"Tarry longer my sweet and you may get more than a little slap." Dmitri felt his blood rise even as the words popped out.
Camille smiled back at him until she glanced downward. With a gasp, she blushed to the roots of her hair, before racing from the room.
Dmitri chuckled, then roared with laughter.
***
In the safety of her room, Camille drew herself up and stamped one foot in exasperation. Why was he laughing at her? Then, as his laughter continued, she felt a response rise within. With a chuckle, Camille considered her reaction to his statement and his condition. She had made a rather quick exit.
A sobering thought occurred. Did other wives run from the sight of their husband's manhood? Was this not an ordinary, natural thing? Confusion set in. Camille found she had questions beyond measure, with no one to answer them. In his bed she had a sudden wish to laze away the day. Then she wondered at her reaction. What made today different from yesterday? She did not have the slightest clue to her feelings. This morning she wanted something from Dmitri but was afraid to explore what the something might be.
Helena knocked on her door, forcing Camille to turn her attention to preparing to face the day.
Shaved and dressed in work clothes, Dmitri joined Camille in the dining room. After breakfast, they walked down the path to the village. This morning Dmitri carried a rifle. Camille glanced at it.
"There was so much traffic on the road; what with the wagons going back and forth to the dock, I did not think it necessary to take this along on our excursion. This morning is different. The animals have had time to realize things are once again quiet. Moose use the path."
His explanation was not enlightening. Camille was about to ask more questions when Dmitri glanced down at her slippers and frowned.
"I wish you had some decent walking shoes or boots. I will have to speak with Kuzma. He makes boots for most of the village. We will get you a pair so you can get around without danger of stumbling."
The change of subject reminded Camille of other questions she meant to ask. "May Helena and I use some of the material in the storeroom?"
"Certainly," he smiled at her.
"I asked Tatiana to bring me the inventory ledger. I have other things that must be added to it from the bills of lading accompanying the shipment the Laurie carried. If we do not keep accurate records of what is here and what we use, we will find ourselves out of staples."
He shrugged. "I do not know why I did not give it to you earlier. Remind me this evening and I will do so."
Dmitri tucked her arm through his, Camille watched the path before her, so as not to stub her toes on roots or rocks. What a puzzle this man was! He could be a perfect gentleman. Then again, there was that temper of his lurking very near the surface. Dmitri was kindness itself last night. She owed him.
Camille looked up at him. "I am grateful Dmitri for..."
The man halted, and his strong hand gripped her wrist. He spun her around to face him. Dmitri’s single eye glared down at Camille, and his mouth was a hard slash on his handsome face.
"Please! Do not saddle me with gratitude! It is something I have no need of. If you wish to repay me for anything, I will tell you what you may do for me,"
Camille felt dwarfed by the scornful arrogant man facing her. She did not understand his anger. Dmitri gazed down at her as if she were a bug which had attempted to bite him and got caught in the act.
"Try being a woman, Camille."
Woman? What did he know of woman hood? She wondered. Camille believed he had used women before for various purposes; to provide him with an heir, to satisfy his desires, perhaps to meet any urge he might have had for companionship.
Camille tried to pull away from him. "I am a woman! Twice married and widowed. I am a woman."
With a jerk, he pulled her arm up and gave it a sharp shake. "Are you? No, my dear, I do not see you as a woman. I doubt another man in my place would either."
&
nbsp; Camille twisted her wrist out of his hand, uncaring of the pain she caused herself. Dmitri was impossible! She was angry, angrier than she had ever been with anyone, ever.
"As you wish." Camille stepped away from him. "I will not bother you with anything as trivial as gratitude again. It seems you cannot deal with that particular emotion."
Her skin was raw to the touch. Camille cradled her arm in her free hand. "I would advise you to give thought to what you desire of me. I might find it easier to comply with your needs if you were more mindful of mine."
Anger removed the governor from her tongue. "I had clothing, a roof over my head, and food in my mouth. My aunt and uncle provided those necessities. Companionship and compassion are other matters yet again. I think you have been without a woman far too long to know how to deal with one. Ladies of the evening can be treated in any manner you wish since you have paid for their services. Wives are another concern. Think on that." Camille turned away from him and strode down the path.
***
For a moment, Dmitri was too astounded to move. Camille had presented some valid points. Perhaps his need for her in his bed blinded him to her feelings. He had sworn to proceed at a slow pace with her and had not. She was several yards down the path when he recovered his equilibrium.
"Camille!"
The command stopped her. She turned to look over her shoulder at him.
"Wait, please. It would not do for everyone in the village to know we have been quarreling."
"Certainly," she inclined her head as she waited.
When Dmitri reached her side, Camille fell into step with him. In silence, they walked the balance of the way to the village. The tense reserve between them gave way to the sound of children laughing and shouting to each other. On rounding the bend and entering the clearing, Dmitri and Camille found six of the older boys skidding logs down the main street of the village from the forest beyond.
Behind the Raven Mask Page 12
