by Eliza Lloyd
“She may be sleeping,” Raisa whispered. She tapped lightly on the door then pushed through. Mark could not see her right away; a servant was bent over Katrina, tucking a blanket around her.
Raisa had reached her. Mark heard the whispered words, “There is someone to see you.”
“Oh, Auntie, if it is Stephan, please send him away,” Katrina whispered in English. “He should be in bed, enjoying your best vodka. We practically died tonight.” Her voice cracked.
Mark felt the punch as if a fist had been planted at his solar plexus.
“No, it’s not him. It’s the earl.”
“The earl?”
“Yes. There, there. Stay where you are. You are in no condition to get out of bed.”
“I’m fine.” She coughed, directly contradicting her statements.
“You are chilled to the bone. Amongst other ills. Being more tea,” Raisa commanded one of the servants. “He can wait until morning, dear. He won’t mind.”
“But I will,” Katrina said. Her determined words brought a smile to his face. He took a quiet step into her bedroom, bringing her into view. The covers were drawn to her chin, with several pillows fluffed around her. Whatever wounds she had suffered, whatever trauma, she was still herself. He watched as Katrina tugged at the blanket. She hadn’t tried to glance in his direction, though. “You may all leave now,” she said.
There was an except for you statement that remained unspoken. Everyone in the room understood. Raisa and the lady’s maid departed. Raisa winked at him as she walked by.
Mark was feeling better by the minute.
When the door clicked behind them, Katrina finally turned her piercing gaze to him.
“The earl? That made it sound like you know more than one,” Mark said.
“Maybe I do.” She took a deep breath; he let the one he’d been holding escape, in a lift of the shoulders.
“Your timing his particularly poor, Mark. Here I am abed, chilled to the bone, as my aunt said. Perhaps even dying. No. I am dying.” She coughed again and the shook before burrowing even further into her nest.
“I’m sure if I crawled in there with you, I could help.”
“I’m sure you will do no such thing,” she said primly. “Not in my aunt’s home.” She fussed with her covers again, her fists gripping the satin and wool of the heavy edges. “So, what are you doing here?”
“Here in Russia? Or here at your aunt’s house?”
“Here. With me.”
“A funny story, that.” He strolled to the edge of the bed and sat, about where her hip was, there in the middle of the overstuffed mattress. Too well covered by his estimation, but then she’d just been pulled from ice-cold water and lucky to be alive. Perhaps another blanket would be best. Then he noticed her arm, again in a sling.
“Baroness,” he said, trying to convey all of his fear and relief and devotion. He rubbed his knuckle lightly across the back of her hand. “First things first, Katrina. You scared the life from me tonight.”
“All of us, I think.”
“How are you?”
“Under the circumstances, I’m feeling lucky, but somewhat battered.”
“I am so happy you are safe.”
“But how did you know? And why are you here? When did you get here?” With each question, her voice seemed to raise a degree, until she ended up coughing again. She reached for a cup at her bedside and swallowed back a relieving drink. Chamomile tea, he thought.
Mark placed his hand on hers, and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “I was there, at the fesitval. I arrived in St. Petersburg a few days ago. I sent you a letter.”
“You did?”
“Yes. But I was full of indecision about what to do. You put me off so thoroughly in London, but I can’t let you go. I won’t.”
“You won’t?”
“Never.”
“Never?”
“Ever,” he said.
He gripped her fingers and squeezed lightly. “When I saw you fall through the ice, my indecision crystalized into firm resolve. I want you to be my wife. Losing you seemed like the greatest tragedy of my life. And right then, I knew it to be true.
“I mean it. I wish for you to be my wife, Katrina. I want no one else.”
She shivered and sank deeper into the covers. “I’m not shuddering because of your proposal. I really think my bones turned to icicles.”
“Do you know who pulled you from the water? He must be thanked.”
“It was chaos, Mark. Someone grabbed my hair; someone else my arm. One moment I thought I was dead. I think it was when the water started to feel warm that I knew it was over. Then the jerking, arm-breaking grab and I was out of the water, bundled up and hustled home by a complete stranger in an open carriage.
“My hair looked like frozen Medusa. So now you know the truth, I am just a klots.”
“But you are my klots.” He leaned forward a bit and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I hope that makes you warm.”
She lifted her arm and pushed back the sleeve of her nightgown. “I’ve a bruise here,” she said. He kissed that too, then saw the extent of the blue-and-black splotch. He swore seeing the damage and imagining what else could have actually happened. He kissed it again.
“All better?”
“Maybe. Did you bring me a ring?”
Mark laughed. “And that is how you know if a woman is really ailing or not. You need not worry. You can attend me when I find the largest jewel in St. Petersburg. Are you going to marry me?”
“No. But we can be betrothed for a few months until I return to London. I must enjoy the moment, as it were.”
“I’m not leaving without you.” He glanced toward the window to see several snowflakes, dancing in delight over his misery. “Though this weather makes me think twice about staying.”
“Me too. I would much rather have a depressed, chilly, mist-soaked London day any time. I am fine. Truly.” She smiled at him. One that warmed him on this cold, chaotic night.
“I love you, Katrina.”
“You’re not just saying that so I sleep well tonight?” she asked.
“I expect the hounds of hell won’t be able to wake you, once you close your eyes, but if it helps: I. Love. You.” He pressed another kiss to her lips. “I’ve missed you terribly.”
“Me? Or…?” She wagged her brows in suggestion.
“That too. And if your ring is big enough, perhaps you won’t make me wait until we get back to London for the or?
“Aunt Raisa will be guarding me. You’ll have to be extra careful in your pursuit.”
“And speaking of pursuit, who was the boy chasing you around the ice pond tonight?”
“That boy is my cousin, Stephan. A regular nuisance. He’s going to be disappointed I’ve accepted your proposal. He chases every eligible woman as if he’s the only man in St. Petersburg.”
“Good. We should let him know you’ve accepted a better offer.”
“He’s here if you’d like to visit his room. Recuperating three doors down. He truly was concerned about my health and insisted upon following me here.”
“What if I tell him and he has a relapse? My God, I can’t believe we are joking about this,” Mark said.
“What else is there to do? Our angels were watching out for us.” Katrina yawned, wide enough to crack her jaw. “I’m glad you are here though. So happy.”
“I’m sorry it took so long. Will you take breakfast with me if I promise not to arrive before ten?”
“Of course.” She yawned again and her lids drooped. “I’ll dream about being the Countess of Compton,” she said. “It will be a lovely dream.”
Mark glanced toward the tray beside Katrina’s bed. He reached for the decanter and poured a draught into her teacup. “Drink this.”
She obeyed, taking a few deep drinks.
“Your dream will be no better than mine, because the Countess of Compton will be my wife.”
She reached for him, her fingers just s
kimming his bristled check before sleep overcame her. Mark waited a few more moments, staring at her. His beautiful Katrina.
Why were men such fools when it came to love?
Chapter Thirteen
About a week later, Katrina being herself and being in love with Mark Turnbow, was most anxious to find a way to be alone with him. In a faraway land, that might seem like a romantic and endearing adventure, but she was finding it tedious and infuriating to escape from Aunt Raisa’s clutches. As if Katrina was a prim virgin, in need of constant surveillance.
Carriages were no place to enjoy sexual congress. And one’s bum in the open air was not very dignified or practical during a Russian winter.
Aunt Raisa seemed to be home anytime Mark came calling, and welcomed him, flirting outrageously, but denying Katrina the same chance.
So, Katrina decided she would have a relapse, just as Aunt Raisa was heading out to church on Sunday morning at the Vladimir Icon of the Mother of God Russian Orthodox Church. Katrina had been in awe the first time she’d return to the church with its magnificent onion-shaped cupolas and many porticos. The entire household was usually whisked away for the ecclesiastical ritual, so Katrina’s only task was to get a message to Mark well before everyone returned home.
A quick note and a single coin had a young boy off and running to Mark’s lodgings, braving the blistering cold in spite of a deceptively full sun and blue sky. Mark knocked at her door twenty minutes later.
“How much time do we have?” He gathered her in his arms. She gripped his lapel and went to her toes in order to give him a proper greeting.
“Since I’m supposed to be ill, I think you should stay in my room all day and sneak out tonight.” Mark was freshly shaven and smelled like a pinewood forest. His cheeks were ruddy red, making him look like a young boy out on a winter adventure. His cap was fur-lined and his black hair curled from beneath it.
“You’ve had too much time to plan this little adventure.”
“An eternity. Hurry.”
She laughed. They skipped up the stairs, giddy as two young kids in a field. And once behind her closed door, he pressed into her, his loins hot and hard against her stomach. She tossed his cap aside. “Hurry. Hurry.”
The room was slightly chilled, as were most rooms in St. Petersburg, even though there was a cheery fire burning in the hearth. She was a guest in her aunt’s home, but her room was lavish and comfortable, the bed soft and wide.
He ran his hand along her cheek until his fingers slid into the strands of her hair. Katrina worked at his cravat. “I am dying.”
“You’re not, but you soon will be,” he said. He opened his mouth over hers and they enjoyed something other than a chaste kiss. When they broke away, they panted.
So many weeks had passed since they’d shared a proper shag. Oh, how she wanted him.
“The bed,” she demanded.
Their mouths fused again and Mark began a slow waltz backward toward the soft, wide expanse waiting to carry their shared weight. When her knees hit the mattress, they fell back together, Mark bracing one hand so he wouldn’t squash her.
Her legs fell open and he settled between, fully clothed. “Lord, I have to get out of these clothes. How am I supposed to do my duty?”
He rolled from her and jumped to his feet. Katrina stared at him as he began removing his clothing, one item at a time.
“You could be my valet for a few minutes,” he suggested.
“No. I want to watch.”
“You tease. I am helpless, neatly bound up, and you want to watch?” He finally freed himself from the cravat.
Katrina picked it up and wound it in her hands. “We may need this later,” she said.
He raised a questioning brow while he worked at the studs on his shirt, then threw it aside.
“Oh, I forgot to lock the door,” she exclaimed, and tried to roll from the bed.
“Not so fast, kitten. We have business to attend. And it won’t take long,” he said, and grabbed her ankle. He was bare-chested, but still wore his trousers and boots. When she relaxed back into the soft mounds of the bed, he worked at his falls, finally exposing his erection.
“Did you miss me?” he asked.
She reached for him and pulled him on top of her, spreading her legs and hiking up her skirts. “Like the air,” she said.
He reared up on two hands, bracing himself, and canted his hips. She was slippery and he slid into her with ease. And he slid deep.
“Ah,” she said, barely able to breathe. The fullness of him caused a feral lust to well in her. She clasped his ass and held him. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”
She opened her eyes to see he stared back. “And I you,” he said.
Mark withdrew and thrust again, sending a shock through her limbs and heightening her senses. She pressed her face into the curve of his neck and inhaled.
His back and shoulders were muscled and hard, as she remembered. Nothing about him had changed. Not really. She caressed the curves of his arms, his skin warm and dry and prickly, with little wiry hairs.
She’d wanted him fast and hard, and maybe that was what he expected too, but he took his time, taking her up hills and plunging her into valleys. She pushed back against him too, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts.
With one hand, he cupped the back of her head and plied kisses to her mouth and cheeks while slicking his tongue behind her ear and down her neck. The induced delirium made her hum and moan.
She wasn’t the only one so affected. He groaned and shuddered as his excitement grew.
Katrina wasn’t ready to peak, but Mark had reached his limits and she welcomed it. He’d never been a selfish lover, making up any inadequacies when she was unsatisfied.
He arched, his body tight, as he released into her. With another surge and groan, he bit at his lips and grimaced as if it were the greatest pain instead of the greatest pleasure.
She expected him to apologize for his impatience.
Instead he withdrew. Katrina felt the tickle of liquid.
Mark stared at her before he worked backwards and lowered his head between her thighs. The first kiss was soft. Then he pushed her legs wide and began providing private pleasures, so intimate that one could not say such things without blushing and stammering.
The shocking effect had her wriggling to get away from him and dying to reach that pinnacle of joy. She wanted to relish every wicked touch. She wanted to hold his head there and guide him.
Her body was no longer soft and pliant; she tensed beneath his assault, trying to find release. To find pleasure. His tongue glided around the puffed-up nub. When he sucked it into his mouth, she screamed. She soared, riding a plateau of perfect, intense hunger—hunger for a lifetime of this joy; hunger for Mark.
Only she came crashing to earth again as her body contracted, first with hard pulses. Had he put his fingers into her? Oh God. The contractions pulled and sucked at him, lasting for long moments until they faded and left her replete and weak.
He turned her to her side and pushed her top leg forward before setting his mouth to her a second time. Already aroused, it took no time at all before she was in the throes of a second climax, one stronger than before. She turned her head into her pillow and moaned with each pulsing contraction. Her body no longer hers, but Mark’s, as he was able to command her with each purposeful touch.
They lay in a drunken stupor, limbs entwined, their breaths mingled.
A sudden loud banging tore them apart.
“Oh no. They are home already.” Katrina nearly jumped from the bed and hurried to the door. Mark stood as well, only to shuck his boots and trousers. After locking the door, she glanced at him. “You can’t be naked.”
“Can’t I?” He climbed into the bed. “Come join me. They will think you are sleeping. You can call for tea later.”
“You don’t know my aunt Raisa. I have to keep her unsuspecting.”
“Come to bed,” he insisted. “And shouldn’t you be in
your bedclothes?”
“Not yet. I have to hide these.” She gathered his discards, folded them properly and then hid them inside a large armoire. “Oh, and I will order some tea and honey. Does my voice sound scratchy? As if I am ill?”
“No.”
She fluffed up her hair, grabbed her thick robe and tied it up. “I have to deflect her curiosity.”
“Then you’ll come back to bed?”
“Yes, of course.” Katrina decided she hadn’t thought out her plan very well, but she did stop to smile at him. “I’m so glad you came.”
“It’s always good to come. And more than once? Well, that’s my specialty.”
“Mark, what are we going to do when we go back to London?”
“Well, we’ll marry, of course. At the first opportunity. We could marry here in St. Petersburg.” She sat next to him, but he pulled her into his embrace. “What is it?”
“My sons. They should see me marry. I don’t want it to seem like some shoddy affair.”
“St. George’s then? In front of all the ton?”
“Maybe not St. George’s. Just our family and intimate friends. What do you think?”
“But your family is here.” He wound his finger around a ribbon at the front of her robe. “Unless you want to marry twice. Once here and once in London.”
“Is that legal?”
“Per se? I shouldn’t think it anyone’s business but our own.”
“Hm, and if we get married, the sooner we can go home,” she said.
“We can go home now.”
“I should call for a servant. Maybe that will keep Aunt Raise at bay. We can have a bit to eat.”
“Katrina, why do you think you can’t go home?”
“It’s nothing. Not really.”
He sat up and stuffed a few pillows behind his back. “Katrina? There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“You can probably imagine. Their uncle Peter was not happy about our liaison and thought I was shaming myself. You saw his reaction. He forced me to go away, for six months or so, thus inhibiting my feelings for you and preventing any chance for scandal.”
“So, you didn’t really leave me?”
