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Authors: Margaret Pemberton

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BOOK: Flight to Verechenko
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Two weeks later, as Catherine was preparing to take the children on their customary canter around the grounds, she was appalled to find him waiting for them in the stables, whip cracking lazily against the glossy sleekness of his boots. Silently she allowed the groom to help her into the saddle, seeing with a sinking heart that the Marquis had already mounted his coal-black stallion.

‘I fear our pace will be a little slow for you,' she said, hoping to deflect him from his intention of joining them.

He shot her a glance and said idly. ‘A light canter to see how these two rascals are preforming on horseback will be enjoyable enough.'

Catherine's heart began to thud. His hands on the reins were large and strong. Hands that had once held her, holding her against her will with savage strength. She fought to contain her anger. He had made a mockery of a marriage proposal to her. He had insulted her. Abused her. She would
not
fall victim to his charm.

The children were overjoyed at his presence, Natasha showing off as she broke into a brisk trot around the lake.

‘I wish we were at Lenskia, then we could
really
ride.'

‘Lenskia?' Catherine asked curiously.

‘Their summer estate in the Crimea,' a dark rich voice said from behind her.

Catherine closed her lips tightly, determined to give him no opportunity to speak to her again. Unrebuffed he said with infuriating pleasantness, ‘ You ride remarkably well, Miss Cartwright. Considering.'

‘Considering what?' Catherine snapped, stung into reply.

He waved a gloved hand airily, ‘Considering your background.'

She reined in her horse, and swung round in the saddle to face him.

‘My background,' she hissed, her cheeks flaming, ‘ is impeccable! Any gentleman would know so intinctively. Only a blackguard could have mistaken me for a woman of … of …'

‘Of easy virtue?' he finished, and there was an unmistakable gleam in his eyes.

Only the presence of the children prevented Catherine from slapping him full across his handsome face. Alexander was slipping perilously sideways in his saddle and Catherine cantered over to him, setting him upright, her back rigidly turned against the Marquis.

‘I have the distinct feeling you have been avoiding my presence these last few days.'

‘I have my duties to attend to,' Catherine said cuttingly.

‘Ah, yes, your duties. So irksome to be at someone else's beck and call.'

He was laughing at her and she hated him. Anguish made her reckless.

‘I find nothing irksome at Verechenko save for your own presence!'

He laughed softly, ‘Careful, careful, my little governess. Remember your position.'

‘I'm not likely to forget it when I have to suffer your insufferable rudeness,' Catherine said bitterly.

‘But you must suffer it in silence. As a governess you should be suitably servile. Fortunately for you the Vishnetskis are easy going and not a typical family. Otherwise it would be obvious that the position you fill is not one to which you are accustomed.'

Catherine turned angrily, her voice throbbing. ‘For once and for all, I am a gentlewoman and demand to be treated as such! It was disgraceful enough that you should have presumed otherwise, but on learning of your mistake you should at least have had the decency to apologise. So far, sir, you have not!'

‘No,' Dominic Harland agreed, not taking his disturbing gaze from her. ‘ But, as you never offered me a suitable explanation for being alone in the London streets in the early hours of the morning, it was a little difficult.'

‘I assure you my purpose was quite legitimate,' Catherine said, aware that her voice was unsteady, that he was so close to her person that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

‘Then perhaps you could resolve the matter finally and you could explain it all.' There was no more amusement in his voice or his eyes.

The horses shifted impatiently. She was filled with an overwhelming desire to confess the truth to him. Perhaps he would be kind to her as he was to Maria. The moment was a pulse beat of time and then she remembered that he had left London rather than honour the proposal of marriage he had made to her. She said icily, ‘I was seeking aid from a friend.'

‘Aid?' Dark brows rose questiongly.

Their eyes locked and held. The breath hurt in her chest.

‘I was being forced into a marriage that was abhorrent to me.'

His honey-gold skin seemed to tighten over his cheekbones.

‘My commiserations, ma'am,' he said and swung his horse away from hers, riding hard for the distant pine woods.

Catherine blinked back a sudden onrush of tears. She had achieved her objective and rid herself of his presence, but the day had been spoiled.

That evening, as she decended the stairs to the salon, he was standing in the marble entrance hall, his valet putting final touches to the immaculate folds of his evening cloak. He raised his eyebrows, and this time there was no amusement, no vestige of kindness on his face as he beckoned her with a finger as he might one of the dozen lackeys who waited on the Vishnetskis' every whim. Alexis was entering with Dmitri, slapping him heartily on the back, guffawing at some private joke. In the presence of her employer Catherine had no choice but to obey the beckoning finger. Stiffly she walked across to him, halting some feet away. He was no longer looking at her. His valet was handing him his top hat and cane and as he drew on his gloves he said carelessly, ‘I hope you will forgive me saying so, Miss Cartwright, but the substance you use on your hair appears to be fading. It might be circumspect to re-apply it. Good evening.'

Catherine gasped at his audacity, clenching and unclenching her fists as he strolled out to the waiting carriage, crested with the Vishnetskis' coat of arms.

‘Are you happy at Verechenko?' the Count asked kindly as he accompanied her into the salon.

‘Yes, sir,' Catherine said between clenched teeth, wishing she could sound more enthusiastic. He treated her as a guest and friend rather than a employee and deserved a more heartfelt reply to his question.

‘Good, good.' He settled himself in a high-wing leather chair near the fire while Catherine took her customary seat near to the Countess's chaise longue.

‘You have not seen much of St Petersburg yet, have you? We must rectify that; what do you say, my love?'

The Countess gazed at him fondly, letting her embroidery drop into her lap.

‘I was thinking that perhaps when Dagmar returns Eleanor could accompany her to the theatre and the opera.'

‘A marvellous idea,' the Count said enthusiastically. ‘ Dominic was saying only today that he would like to take the children to the Maryinsky. He suggested Eleanor should accompany them as Alexander is so small …'

The blood drummed in Catherine's ears so that the rest of the Count's sentence was lost to her. How dare Dominic Harland suggest she spend an evening in his company? Hadn't he insulted and tormented her enough? Did he imagine she would be grateful for such attention? Her mind whirled. One thing was certain. Nothing would induce her to acquiesce to his request. Anger stung her cheeks into flame. She was a governess, an employee. Dominic Harland had no need to request her presence. If he took the children to the theatre then the Count would simply instruct her to accompany them. And she would have to obey.

Dmitri entered the room deferentially. ‘ Captain Bestuzhev to see you, Count.'

Alexis grunted, rising reluctantly to his feet. As the door closed behind him the Countess picked up her embroidery again and said, ‘I do wish Dominic would fall in love and marry. There isn't a girl in St Petersburg who isn't mad for him.'

Catherine would dearly have liked to inform the Countess that there was one young lady in St Petersburg who was not besotted with the Marquis and that only weeks ago the gentleman in question had agreed to marry without the bother of falling in love. Instead she asked tightly. ‘Does the Marquis spend much of his time in Russia?'

‘A little, but he lives mainly in Paris.'

‘What about England?' Catherine asked ingenuously. ‘Surely that is his home?'

The Countess flushed slightly. ‘There is a rift between the Marquis and his father. Some boyish high spirits many years ago.'

Being fired at by an outraged husband outside the Royal Box at Ascot was hardly to be classified as boyish high spirits. But Catherine was too fond of the Countess to protest, and, after all, she was supposed to know nothing about it.

‘I thought things would improve now that his brother Robert is dead,' the Countess mused, laying her embroidery in her lap.

Catherine's needle pricked her finger, drawing blood. She staunched it quickly with her handkerchief as the Countess continued.

‘I haven't seen him for the past five years. Not since my last visit to England, but he was a fine young man. His death was a great tragedy.'

Catherine knew she should be asking what the tragedy had been, but she was unable to speak. Tears hung unshed in her eyes and her throat was tight and constricted.

‘They were totally dissimilar, of course. Robert was placid and even-tempered, while beneath Dominic's suave exterior lurks a wildness equal to that of Bestuzhev's Cossacks.' She laughed. ‘ I suppose that is why he has never married. He would demand too much from a woman.'

‘Perhaps the Marquis would not make the best of husbands,' Catherine ventured, unable to say that she thought any girl who married him would have to be clean off her head.

‘He would certainly be unmanageable,' the Countess agreed. ‘There would be no twisting Dominic around her little finger. But then, is that what a woman wants in a man? Surely it is better to be mastered than to have a fawning lap-dog? I know I would rather have my Alexis even though he is like a great bear, than any of the effeminate dandies I met in my London season.'

Catherine, remembering Bertie Pollingham, could only agree with her. But only where the Count was concerned. Not the Marquis. The Countess admired him because she did not know the other side of his character. A side that would force a passionate kiss on an unprotected young woman. Who would refer to her openly as a woman of easy virtue and then, discovering his mistake, not even condescend to apologise. The side that would agree to marry, sight unseen, and then jilt the young lady in question, humiliating her before both their parents. There was a lot the Countess did not know about Dominic Harland, Marquis of Clare. Catherine wished heartily that she could enlighted her.

‘You will be the focus of much feminine jealousy when you accompany him to the Maryinsky with the children. Not many people will know your true position and there will be much speculation when you appear at his side,' the Countess continued.

‘No!' the protest was torn from her.

Maria's gentle eyes were startled.

‘I mean, no, I would rather not accompany the Marquis to the theatre.' Catherine said scarlet-faced, realising her rudeness.

Understanding dawned in Maria's eyes. ‘So you find our guest as devastating as Amelia Cunningham does?'

‘Amelia Cunnningham?'

‘Lady Cunningham arrived in St Petersburg last week. She is staying with the Nestorevs, but no doubt when Princess Dagmar returns they will stay with us for a short while. Lady Cunningham's daughter is barely seventeen, but Alexis tells me she has eyes for no one but Dominic.'

‘Indeed,' Catherine said politely, thinking that Amelia Cunningham showed a sad lack of taste and wondering why she should suddenly have a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

‘That is where Dominic has gone this evening,' the Countess continued, once more picking up her embroidery. ‘He is taking Lady Cunningham and Amelia to see Nijinsky dance.'

Catherine stared bleakly down at her embroidery, noting with mild surprise that she had embroidered both a stem and a leaf in a searing scarlet. Dispiritedly she began to unpick her stitches, wondering how far into the early hours it would be before the Marquis returned from his evening in Amelia Cunningham's company.

Chapter Four

The icy grip that had held St Petersburg frozen ever since her arrival, was beginning to thaw. The next morning as she took the children for their customary walk in the grounds she noticed that the lilac trees were beginning to bud and that the lawns were green under a slight layer of frost. There came the sound of pounding hooves and the Count's troika whirled down the wide drive towards them.

‘Papa! Papa!' the children shrieked, running heedlessly towards him. Catherine, terrified they would rush in front of the galloping hooves, gave chase. She need not have worried. The horses were already rearing to a standstill, Alexis leaping down and running to meet his children, crushing them to him as if he had been away for weeks and not hours.

‘Where are the well-behaved English children your Mama wants?' he asked, as Alexander clambered all over him and Natasha swung from his neck. ‘You are like bear cubs! Russian bear cubs!' And he hoisted Alexander high on his shoulders, sweeping Natasha up in one arm.

‘Have you brought me a present, Papa?' Natasha asked.

He cuffed her playfully. ‘So … you are only pleased to see your Papa if he has a present for you. What if I have no presents? Are you still pleased to see me?'

‘Of
course
Papa! We love you!' and she gave him a big kiss, one arm pressed round his neck, and said, ‘But have you a present? Just a very little one?'

He swung her up in the air with a roar that had her screaming with joy and fright.

‘No I have not, but I have a surprise for you, a wonderful surprise,' and he set her on her feet, growling as he chased both laughing children across the terrace to the salon.

‘Oh what is the surprise, Papa? Please tell us. Please!'

‘Captain Bestuzhev is coming tomorrow night with some of his men and is going to give a display of riding and dancing for you.'

BOOK: Flight to Verechenko
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