Bound by Love (32 page)

“What do you want?”

“It is a trifling matter, really.”

“That I very much doubt.”

“I want to know the name of Sir Charles’s accomplice.”

Herrick stiffened, his expression suspicious. “Why?”

“Humor me.”

“This is a Russian matter…”

“The name,” Stefan grated.

The two men regarded one another, their gazes locked in silent combat. Then, as if realizing that Stefan would not compromise, Herrick muttered a low curse.

“Nikolas Babevich,” he gritted. “Do not interfere, Huntley.”

Stefan smiled. “I really must make my bow to the Emperor.”

Before Herrick could reach out to halt him, Stefan was smoothly moving away, winding his way through the crowd until he could locate a uniformed footman to carry a message back to Boris at Vanya Petrova’s house.

T
HE BALLROOM WAS CONSIDERED
a masterpiece of the palace. The walls, painted a soft ivory, were broken by a double row of arched windows draped in crimson velvet that glowed beneath the brilliant crystal chandeliers. The floor was patterned parquet and the ceiling painted with a vision of Persephone leaving the underworld.

The Emperor was seated on a dais at one end of the long room while at the other end a string quartet played upon another dais. In between a hundred couples twirled in a dazzling waltz.

All quite lovely, but Leonida felt nothing but relief as she slipped through an antechamber and made her way onto a back terrace. The night air was chill, but the relief of being away from the choking crowd overcame her discomfort.

Strolling to the stone railing, she absently gazed over the vast orchard, breathing deeply as she sought to ease the tension that had gripped her the entire evening.

She had never particularly enjoyed such events at the palace. She far preferred the few occasions the Emperor had invited her to a private meal and the rare enjoyment of his undivided attention. Tonight, however, had been even more trying than usual.

Not only had she been plagued by the usual idiots who assumed she could offer them a claim to Alexander Pavlovich and the power of his throne, but there had been no means of ignoring the Duke of Huntley.

Oh, he had been well mannered enough. Remarkably well mannered.

When he had first entered the ballroom she had
expected him to defy propriety and cross directly to her side, indifferent to his duty to the Emperor or the rabid tattle mongers that would have taken sordid delight in his obvious interest in Leonida.

But, after a short conversation with Herrick, the Duke had properly headed for the Throne Room, and while Leonida had been constantly on edge, he had thankfully kept his distance throughout dinner and later when Alexander Pavlovich had led his guests to the ballroom.

She might have assumed he had lost interest in her after their long afternoon of lovemaking if it had not been for his heated gaze that had followed her every movement.

There had been a smoldering hunger in those magnificent blue eyes that warned his desire for her was as strong as ever. And shockingly, her body had readily responded to his lingering stare.

Even as she had politely chatted with her dinner partners and accepted a waltz with an elderly admirer, her heart had pounded in her chest and her stomach had fluttered with excitement. She felt gloriously alive. Just as she had when he had held her in his arms and kissed her with a thrilling desperation.

The realization terrified her.

She was uncertain how much time had passed when the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard over the soothing fountains. There was no need to turn about to know who approached. She could be blind and deaf and still sense when Stefan was near.

Busy preparing herself for the encounter, Leonida did not turn when she felt him halt directly behind her. A mistake. She had no warning when he grasped her shoulders and with one yank whirled her around so he could haul her against the hard muscles of his chest.

“Christ, I thought I would never have a moment alone with you,” he muttered, his head bending down to claim her lips in a savage kiss.

Leonida instinctively gripped his shoulders, her knees going weak at the jolt of painful pleasure that surged through her. He tasted of fine cognac and male need. A heady combination that she was helpless to resist.

Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to become momentarily lost in the sheer pleasure of his kiss. There was little use in pretending she did not enjoy his lovemaking. Not when he could feel her shivers of pleasure.

He groaned low in his throat, his fingers running a restless path down her spine. Still, it was not until she felt the tug of a ribbon that held her gown together that she was jerked out of the sensual spell he was weaving.

“Stefan, you must behave yourself,” she chided, firmly tugging out of his arms.

“What do you think I have been doing this entire bloody night?” he rasped, the torchlight revealing the slash of color along his cheekbones and the pained frustration that smoldered in his eyes.

A frustration that resonated deep within her.

She unwittingly backed up until she was pressed against the stone balustrade.

“I will admit that I have been pleasantly shocked to discover you can behave as a proper gentleman,” she said, attempting to lighten the thick atmosphere.

His lips twisted. “Not willingly.”

“Did Herrick threaten you?”

“He reminded me that my last desire is to ever hurt you.” His gaze seared over her face, his hand reaching out to trace the plunging line of her lacy décolleté. “Of course, there is no need to reveal my first desire.”

She batted away his hand, her skin tingling from his light touch.

“Stefan, anyone could wander into the garden.”

“Will you come for a drive with me tomorrow?” His jaw knotted as she hesitated. “Leonida?”

Swallowing the painful lump that threatened to choke
her, Leonida turned to stare blindly at the shadowed orchard. The mere fact she so dreadfully desired to share another stolen afternoon in his company warned her that she was playing with fire.

Every passing day ensured that much more disappointment when he left.

“I have agreed to accept your invitations,” she muttered, making her reluctance clear.

With a harsh sigh, Stefan moved to lean against the railing, his profile hard with annoyance.

“Will there ever come a day when you do not feel the need to keep me at a distance?”

“No.”

“Why?”

It was a question she would never answer. If he truly understood the power he held over her…

No. The mere thought was unbearable.

“How long do you intend to remain in St. Petersburg?”

He paused, as if caught off guard by her abrupt question. “My plans are not entirely fixed.”

“You have been away from your estate for a number of weeks. Are you not concerned that you might be needed?”

“Edmond is capable of overseeing Meadowland.”

His voice was smooth, but Leonida did not miss his slender fingers tapping a restless beat on the stone railing. He was far more concerned about his absence than he was willing to admit. Perhaps even to himself.

“He has his own estate and Brianna to consider,” she pointed out softly. “He cannot be expected to shoulder your duties forever.”

He turned his head to stab her with a sullen glare. “Are you attempting to be rid of me?”

“I do not need to make an effort,” she said, her expression grimly stoic. “We both know you will soon have to return to your responsibilities.”

“It will not be forever.”

“You belong in England.”

His hands clenched the railing, his knuckles white. “And where do you belong, Leonida?” he rasped.

She flinched as he deliberately struck at her deepest yearning.

Had she been fresh from the schoolroom and her head filled with dreams, she might have held on to the hope that Stefan could offer her the love and sense of security she longed for.

Thank God she was old enough to understand that fairy tales were best left behind in the nursery.

“I suppose I am still searching.”

For some reason her answer appeared to annoy him. His brows drew together and his lips thinned.

“You can as easily search in England as in Russia.”

“And when you weary of me?”

“Who is to say I will weary of you?”

She shook her head. “How long do your affairs usually last? A few weeks? A few months?”

“I have never had an affair with a woman such as you.” He tenderly tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Never.”

With an effort she ignored his fingers as they trailed down the line of her jaw. She would not allow him to distract her. He might wish to disregard the inevitable end of his desire for her, but she could not afford to be so indifferent.

“Even if you do decide to continue our relationship, what do you expect of me once you are wed?” she charged, her heart clenching with a ruthless pain. “Do you intend to keep me in one of your cottages so you can visit when you are not occupied with your wife and estate?”

He sucked in a sharp breath, pushing away from the railing so he could prowl across the terrace with short, jerky steps. Obviously, he had not considered the complications of having her in England.

Turning back toward her, Stefan shoved his fingers
through his hair. “I have no intention of wedding in the near future.”

His tone indicated he considered his answer an end to the matter. Leonida, however, had no intention of allowing him to dismiss the futility of their connection.

“Why not? It is your duty to produce an heir, is it not?”

“Edmond has thankfully shouldered that particular responsibility.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” His gaze narrowed. “I assure you, there is no perhaps about Brianna carrying a child.”

“You are not the sort who allows another to
shoulder
his responsibilities.” Her tone dared him to defy the truth of her accusation. “Besides, you will never be satisfied to live alone in that vast house. It demands a family.”

Stefan returned to his pacing, his expression tight. “Meadowland has stood for centuries, it will no doubt survive a few more years without a duchess.”

Leonida leaned against the railing, a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach. But why? She had already accepted that Stefan would wed. And that his bride would be a perfect English debutante. It was ridiculous to feel such a bleak sense of sorrow.

“Why have you not wed?” she said, unable to stop the question that continued to plague her.

He halted near a torch, the firelight making his skin glow with a rich sheen.

“You informed me that no woman of sense would have me.”

She rolled her eyes. As if he were not magnificently aware that he was the most sought-after gentleman in all of England.

“Women tend to lose all sense when offered the opportunity to become a wealthy duchess. I do not doubt you have had willing women tossing themselves at your noble feet since you left the nursery.”

“You would only accuse me of arrogance if I agree.”

“Then why do you not have your duchess?”

Stefan turned his head, regarding the orchard as if the answer could be found among the fruit-laden trees.

Leonida discovered herself fidgeting as the silence stretched, suddenly wishing she had not pressed. She sensed she was not going to like the answer.

“I have yet to encounter a woman who could replace my mother in the hearts of my people,” he at last admitted, his voice so low she barely caught the words.

“Or in your heart,” she whispered, straightening from the railing as ridiculous tears filled her eyes.

She had been right. She did not like the answer.

How would Stefan ever be capable of caring for another when he was haunted by the ghosts of those he had lost?

He stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “We were discussing our future, not some mythical wife.”

“There is no future to discuss, Stefan.” She tilted her chin. “It is impossible.”

His gaze raked over her slender body, deliberately reminding her of the hours he had devoted to pleasuring her. “Obviously it is not,” he gritted. “Why will you not accept that this passion that burns between us is far from sated?”

“Because I need more.”

“More of what?”

“More than you can offer.”

Anger flared in his eyes at her sharp words and he reached out to grasp her arm. Leonida, however, swiftly stepped to the side, avoiding his hand.

Then, with her chin held high, she marched across the terrace and back into the brightly lit palace.

She had no power to ease the demons that plagued him.

Until Stefan could accept his loss and learn to trust his emotions to another, he would be forever alone.