"Welcome home, Dmitri."
For an instant, he thought about swinging her up into his arms to carry her off to bed. Instead, he rose, cupped her chin in one hand, and kissed her full lips. "It is good to be home."
"Do you wish a brandy?" After pouring herself a small sherry, Camille turned to look at him.
"Thank you, no."
Somehow Camille looked different. In the shaft of sunlight that fell on the floor, he studied her. The gabardine suit gave her a dignified appearance. There was a hint of color in her cheeks. Her chin had a stubborn tilt to it; he had not noticed before. There was an air of challenge about his bride. As she took a sip from her glass, she gazed at him in an appraising manner. Her hazel eyes, more green than brown passed over him then flicked away.
Her cold assessment of him bordered on accusation. When she smiled, her husband sighed in relief. For an instant, he thought she was angry with him. Could she somehow have discovered his indiscretion?
"I went to the village this morning. The school building is almost finished. I asked the boys to start on furniture. Did you order the books for me?"
Dmitri nodded. "I did. They should arrive soon. The suit fits you well."
"Why, thank you, husband. Helena and I have been very busy refurbishing my wardrobe."
She took another sip of the sherry, turned and placed the glass on the small table, Camille reached for the top button of the short jacket. "It is such a lovely day. I find it quite warm."
Dmitri's gaze followed her, as Camille walked over to the window. A few soft curls escaped her chignon. As she stood observing the scene before her, Dmitri stood behind the desk, unable to look away. When she turned toward him, he swallowed hard. Her pale skin could be seen through the delicate lace inserts of the satin blouse.
***
He cannot mean he is happy to see me. Camille thought to herself as she turned away from him after the brief kiss. How could he pretend he cared after having just left another woman? Her thoughts made control a precarious thing.
The walk to the window as she unbuttoned the suit jacket gave her time to compose herself. Revealing her anger at his betrayal would not help matters. The first breath she took steadied her, the second caused her bosom to lift. The timing of the turn was crucial.
Camille watched her husband as she left the window and reached for the sherry to take the last sip. His knuckles were bloodless from the pressure of his grip on the edge of the desk. His solitary gray eye had narrowed to a slit.
Pleased with the effect of her costume on Dmitri, Camille drank the last of the sherry. She walked to the desk and placed her empty glass near his hand. When she leaned forward, he would get a good look at the cleavage revealed through the lace. Camille placed a small kiss on Dmitri's cheek.
"Come along, dear." She left Dmitri clinging to his desk as if it were a rock in a flood. "I believe it is time for lunch."
***
It took Dmitri a few minutes to regain his composure before he could follow his wife to the dining room. The events of the day left him confused. When dinner finished, Dmitri retired to his study. He sat staring out the window toward the sea. His head whirled around as if he had consumed too much brandy. But the decanter was almost full and the drink he poured sat untouched beside him.
Something had changed Camille dramatically. He reviewed the day to see if he could find a clue to the change in his shy wife.
During lunch, Camille had discussed household matters with him. But she had only required his approval on the decisions she had already made. When he asked her to ride out to the flagpole on the point with him, Camille excused herself from the outing as she explained with a smile, she was too busy with household chores.
During dinner, she picked his brain clean of information about Sitka. Camille was interested in the social aspects of the town. Or so she said. His bride sparkled. Camille captured his attention and relinquished it only when it pleased her. She wore a sapphire blue gown, which emphasized the womanliness of her small figure. Camille seemed unaware of the way her pale breasts strained against the cloth when she laughed at his anecdotes.
At times, Dmitri was positive her bosom would pop out of the low neckline of the gown. He thought at one point; he might have been too hasty in trying to remake her into a sophisticated woman. With the snifter cradled between the fingers of his right hand, he swirled the brandy and took a small sip. Perhaps he should have left well enough alone.
***
Camille allowed Helena to brush out her hair. She tried to sit still but found it impossible to do so. One portion of her mind listened to Helena's chatter about satin and lace boudoir robes. The other half worried about what Dmitri was doing in the study. She wondered if he would come to her. Camille's thoughts again turned to the Juneau woman. Was she young? Pretty? That one must be beautiful, experienced and confident.
Desperately, she tried to drive those thoughts from her mind. Thinking about his other woman, only made her cold inside. That was not good. Perhaps he would leave her alone tonight. If she could not respond to him, who knew what would happen. He might run away to Juneau again. What a horrible round robin they were caught in!
She considered using a bit of the laudanum she had found in the vial at the bottom of her sewing bag. Revulsion surged through her. Camille looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes sparkled. Her face was no longer pale and pinched. She found the shadow world in which she had existed, no longer appealed. She refused to hide from the consequences of her actions behind drug induced sleep.
Abruptly, she dismissed Helena. Perhaps she could pretend to be asleep if Dmitri looked in on her. Camille left the dressing room and darted into bed where she pulled the covers up to her chin. For all her flirting and pretense, she could not put up with his attentions tonight. The wound was too raw.
In the dark, she lay awake trying to calm herself. The flames on the grate danced. Camille watched them flicker as she prayed Dmitri would stay in his chamber tonight.
***
The lamp still burned in Anya's room, as she waited for her father's knock on her door. After a while, the book she was reading bored her. Where was he? Had he already retired? With a muttered curse, Anya slammed the book shut, then sprang from the bed. After pulling on her robe, she pushed her feet into slippers and went downstairs to the study.
A light shone beneath the doors, so the child entered without asking for permission. Her father sat lost in thought in the easy chair before the window. Her irritation abated when Anya noticed how tired he looked. As she walked forward, he looked up with a smile which died on seeing who had entered the room.
Anger boiled up within Anya and threatened to bubble over. He was hoping to see Camille. Anya maintained a placid exterior by force of will alone as she laid one hand on his arm. Her father forgot to say good night. He was upset, and Anya was certain she knew why. Camille! The act Camille put on at dinner sickened Anya. Flirting and carrying on like a loose woman. The entire show had been unbearable!
"Aren't you going to wish me good night?"
"I am sorry, love. I lost track of time." He put an arm around her waist and drew her close for a kiss on the cheek. "Pleasant dreams, Anya. Now run along to bed, my girl."
Anya ground her teeth as she turned away to do as her father asked. Lips set in a firm line, she climbed the stairs. What sort of a good night was that? It was as if she did not even matter as if she was an afterthought. Everything had gone wrong since Camille's appearance. Everything!
Anya ran into her room and dove into bed. Tears fed her anger as she lay sobbing with a pillow over her head to muffle the sound. She hated Camille! Anya pounded on the mattress with one small fist. She hated her stepmother, hated her!
***
Dmitri finished his brandy and poured out another. Why was he sitting here moping like a child? To cap it all, he upset Anya. He knew her well enough to know she was angry, no matter how well she thought the anger concealed. What an impossible situation he had
placed them all in. He should send her away. Camille would do well in San Francisco. He gulped his drink and reached for the decanter to pour another one.
His conscience told him to stop drinking and go to his room. Dmitri found he was hoping the woman he encountered at dinner, would be waiting for him there. But, he was afraid. He had a dark suspicion what had changed Camille was knowledge. She knew what he had done. He did not want her to ask the question.
Dmitri knew he could not lie to her. Not again. Another lie added to the web would only mire them both deeper. How long could they go on like this? Dmitri gulped half the liquid at once; he began to drink in earnest.
When he left the study, he was drunk. He threw open the door of his room, staggering as he did so. He expected to be taken to task by Camille, but she was not there. Why was she not in his bed where he wanted her to be? Dmitri flew into a rage. All day she had teased him. Camille's hips had swung so wickedly; the soft pale flesh had looked so inviting. The glass shattered in the fireplace when he flung it there.
He banged the dressing room door open and bounced about while making his way to the door of Camille's room. There he paused in the doorway to allow his eye to adjust to the pale glow of the fire which lit the room. When he stripped off his shirt, several buttons flew off. The trousers were next. If she would not come to him, he would go to her.
If they could not come together in love, it made no difference. He wanted her. She was his wife, and he meant to have her one way or another. Damn it, he needed her! As he ripped the covers off the bed, Camille sat up.
"Dmitri! What are you doing?"
"Take off your gown." He snarled at her.
The woman did not move. She sat there, her face hidden from him by the darkness. With a curse, Dmitri tore the gown from her body. He threw Camille backward on the bed. The back of her head hit the headboard with a small, hard sound.
Camille went limp beneath him. His anger vanished, and Dmitri shook her. There was no response.
Good God, now what! He thought as he lit the bedside lamp. The brandy fog in his brain ebbed as fear settled in. There was a small blood smear on the pillow, where she had slid downward on the bed. Dmitri felt behind Camille's head, and swore softly in Russian when he found what he was seeking.
It was imperative that he function. Draped on the wash basin, he found a cloth, moistened it and returned to the bed. There he turned her to the side and cleaned the small cut on the back of Camille's head. She struggled and mumbled as she regained consciousness. Then hysterical sobs shook her small body.
With both arms around her, Dmitri lifted her onto his lap and sat on the edge of the bed, rocking both of them. As he stroked her hair, the man whispered an apology into her ear. He had behaved like an ass. When the sobbing stopped, Dmitri tried to lay Camille on the bed.
She wrapped her arms around his neck refusing to let go. "Please do not leave." She put her cheek on his chest, pressing her body tight against his.
Dmitri exhaled. He had to stop this. Every time he drank too much something bad happened. The situation was beyond his experience. Dmitri had always controlled himself before meeting Camille.
The behavior he exhibited caused him to feel like an utter bastard. Never before had he hurt a woman. He slid sideways off the bed and got to his feet with Camille still in his embrace. Navigation of the dressing room was difficult, but he got her to his room and laid her on the bed. Staggering a little, Dmitri got to his feet and tried to turn toward the dressing room again. His purpose was to clean up the mess in her bedroom. But she grabbed his hand.
"No! Stay up here. Please?"
A sick feeling twisted his gut because he understood what she was afraid of, him. Dmitri ran one hand over his face as melancholy took hold of his mind, something which he had not experienced since his first wife's death. Bile threatened to choke him when he took Camille's hand and kissed her fingers.
"Sorry, I understand. I will not go down to the study. Give me a little time."
Back in her room, Dmitri restored it to order. After a moment of indecision, he threw the torn gown into the fireplace and asked himself who he was trying to protect from gossip, himself or Camille.
Once in bed beside her, Camille cuddled close to him as a child seeking reassurance. Dmitri felt as if he were drowning in shame. He did not want to hurt her again, but he desired her. His need overwhelmed everything else. This time, he would make sure she experienced the delights of making love to her satisfaction.
Dmitri stroked her breasts and teased the soft skin with a light touch. Hard peaks puckered and pushed into his hand. He kissed the side of her throat before sucking on her earlobe. Every kiss, every caress, he planned for her enjoyment.
***
Camille's fingers clutched Dmitri's upper arms, as he straddled her. He sucked odd areas of skin into his mouth, then nibbled at them. At the same time, his fingers traced light swirling patterns down her sides, then across her belly. The muscles contracted in a pleasurable spasm in response.
His tongue licked first one nipple, then the other. Camille strained upward against him. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling his body against hers. He throbbed against her belly but did not enter her. Instead, Dmitri pulled away and ran his fingertips down the inside of each leg. With her left foot in his hand, he kissed her instep, which tickled, causing her to giggle.
Then he pressed her foot against his cheek. Fingertips flexing; he tickled her on the other foot. When those long fingers teased the edge of her rib cage, she responded with another little giggle.
Her fears dissipated, it seemed he had come to his senses. Her hand found the back of his neck, and she pulled Dmitri's head down. When she found his mouth with hers, she brushed her lips across his. Camille experimented by running the tip of her tongue across his bottom lip.
Dmitri caught her tongue between his lips and when she was still, sucked it into his mouth. He lay against her, unmoving. Camille felt his pacifism. Dmitri lay beside her, holding her body against his using only his fingertips.
Camille ran her hands up through his hair and kissed him again. She wondered what he meant to do. The scent of the brandy was strong on his breath. When she slipped her tongue in and out his mouth he did not clutch her as she thought he might.
With his hands at her waist, he shifted position until he lay beneath her. The sensation of her nipples brushing his rough chest hair thrilled her. With both hands on his shoulders, she slid her breasts across his body until her nipples puckered into taunt bundles of nerves and the action was almost painful.
Dmitri's body tightened and his warm breath tickled her skin as he nuzzled her earlobe. She took a cue from him and ran her fingers down his body as she leaned over him.
Her husband trembled as she stroked his body with a boldness that surprised her. A feeling of power surged through her. This man was hers. She could explore and fondle him as much as she wished. Camille wanted to touch every part of him.
An overpowering urge to place her mark on him, a mark which would never disappear, overtook her. After sucking on one hard nub, she moved her head to one side. Camille bit him, hard, just below his collarbone.
Dmitri grunted in pain. Contrite, she rained kisses on his face, then over the rest of his body.
"Sorry!" She whispered. "Forgive me?"
Camille bent her head, then ran her lips over his flat stomach. His muscles tightened in the same way hers had. Dmitri pulled her upward. He kissed her with a passion which caused a strange detachment to take hold of her.
"You are forgiven. It was only a love bite; I will never complain about a love bite."
In the same state, she moved to straddle Dmitri. Camille guided him into position, then took possession of him. She heard him gasp in surprise at her action. In the darkness, she smiled. This man was her husband. No one could take him away from her.
Camille took what she wanted. Passion took control as she abandoned herself to it. It seemed they were the only two people on e
arth. Nothing mattered to her but this joining of their flesh. It was so marvelous; she cried when she lay on top of him. Camille almost missed the words her husband whispered into her hair.
"I love you."
The whispered declaration caused her to cry harder; she wondered why now. How can he say that now? She asked herself. Camille held him prisoner in her arms as she let her tears flow.
***
Camille’s hands gripped his shoulders and his arms pressed her against him. Dmitri wondered why she was crying. Had he said the wrong thing? Perhaps, hurt her in some manner? He hoped not. By allowing Camille to use him as she pleased he sought to be as gentle as he could. And it had been so good. Dmitri rolled out from beneath her. With one hand splayed on her stomach, he pulled her close so they could cuddle together, spoon fashion.
He lay awake, trying to analyze what had taken place. But his weary brain refused to respond. Dmitri hoped morning would not bring a return of the slight coldness he sensed during lunch. But the fear that Camille had learned of his betrayal lingered.
Two things had happened this night. Camille had claimed him as Anya once had. It was doubtful she had drawn blood, but he understood what she had done. The second thing was, he had acknowledged a truth to the both of them. He loved Camille but was not sure how to deal with it. Did she love him? She had not responded in kind. His weary brain refused to go further. Dmitri fell asleep, hoping she held some affection for him.
Anya fussed at Stanislaus, all the way to her uncle's village. She was in a wretched mood and knew it. It was the woman. Why did her father have to have her here? He should just send her home. Camille did not belong on their island. Trouble was all she brought with her.
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