Love Me Again (11 page)

Sergei couldn't even detect a flicker of an emotion in the unblinking, frigid eyes bent upon him. Just the mere stillness of Varek's lounging body was more powerful than any form of an explosive rage vented upon him.

Wetting his lips, Sergei told him. “It was Robert who thankfully found her. He saved Christina's life, Varek. Whether I like that man or not does not refute the fact that if not for him, Christina would not be here today. And it is just one more thing that holds her loyal to him.”

The silence that followed was deafening, and Sergei began to wonder if Varek had even heard him as there was not so much as a flicker of an emotion in the deadened gaze turned on him. It was like staring into a death mask, the soul long departed.

Admitting defeat, Sergei finally stood up and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the latch and glanced back over his shoulder, murmuring, “I just thought you should know.”

When Sergei was gone, Varek finally blinked as he looked up at the large portrait above the mantel. A youthful, laughing girl smiled down on him. During the sitting of this portrait Christina had just found out she was pregnant with their first child. Despite the weight of royal disfavor bearing down upon them because of their unmarried state, her abundant joy never faltered during those halcyon days.

“And don't I deserve any of your loyalty for saving your life? He is so much more worthy of your gratitude, lark?” Of course, she didn't answer him. She never did.

Lifting his glass, Varek drained the last of the brandy in one long swallow, then let the glass slip from his numbed fingers. Staring into the fire he wondered with a deadened sense of finality how he could feel so empty inside and not be dead.

The mist was just beginning to rise and dissipate when Varek rode into the appointed glade. He was noticeably alone, the lack of seconds by his side stirring curiosity in the assembled men standing about the clearing. As he dismounted, Varek casually greeted most of the men who were mutual acquaintances, a little surprised that there were so few witnesses to such a juicy tidbit of sport. The duel must have been kept quiet. He wondered why considering it wasn't every day that a royal personage fought a man in order to reclaim his wife.

Out of the corner of his eye, he took note of Robert standing stiffly beside Sergei. The two men were exchanging what appeared to be some rather heated words, before Robert sliced a hand down cutting off the argument. Sergei gave a curt nod and strode across the clearing toward Varek. It was obvious to all that Sergei was not happy with his office this morning.

“Good morning, your highness. Are your seconds behind you?”

Varek's brow rose in haughty amusement. “No. Is there a problem with that?”

Sergei hesitated, then shaking his head, he pointed out wryly, “No, but then you never were one to do anything by the book.” Giving him a bow, he intoned solemnly, though the twinkle in his eye was unmistakable. “I am, of course, at your service, your highness.” When Varek shot him a steely glare, he dryly added under his breath, “And no you may not rip out my tongue.”

“Pity,” Varek murmured as he stripped off his gloves, fighting the unwilling smile that tempted his lips. Looking about him, he nonchalantly inquired, “You are acting as Basingstoke's second at her behest, I take it?”

“Actually, no. I am here at her request to tend to you.”

Varek's head whipped around, and he stared blankly at his old friend. “To attend me?” he repeated, confused.

Sergei rocked back on his heels, his hands locked behind his back. “Yes, you see, Basingstoke had already chosen his seconds before I even knew of the duel.”

Varek's eyes narrowed. “You mean you made yourself scarce.”

Sergei gave him a smug grin. “Precisely.”

Varek glanced away, unaccountably touched by Sergei's sense of loyalty. Clearing his throat, he pointed out coolly, “Well, I have no need of you as you will soon discover.” With these cryptic words, he sauntered over to Robert, coolly studying his rival's demeanor as he closed the distance between them.

Sensing the tension in the men about him, Robert slowly turned to face his adversary. He was already in shirtsleeves, his coat, waistcoat and cravat discarded. His stocky body was stiffly poised, and he seemed mentally prepared for the coming ordeal. If he was experiencing any nervousness, it didn't show, except that he was perhaps a bit paler than usual.

Curtly, Varek nodded his head. “Basingstoke.”

“Your highness.” Robert returned the greeting through stiff lips. As usual, the archduke looked supremely confident. “Could you find no gentleman willing to act your second, sir?” His gaze flickered to Sergei, who had followed at Varek's heels.

Varek smiled slowly, all the while watching Robert with the hooded stare of a cobra. “I need no seconds to act for me, my lord. I always finish what I begin.”

Robert's lips seemed to tighten even more as he glared at the infuriating man. “Very well, shall we proceed? As blades were your choice, I assume you are supplying them?” Robert's annoyed voice sounded unnaturally loud in the clearing. He cast a frowning glance toward his seconds, wondering why they weren't over here taking care of these details. Instantly, the two young men were at his side, bowing to the archduke.

Robert wasn't surprised to see Christina's watchdog standing at the archduke's back. He wondered wildly if she had asked Sergei to act as second to this man who was making their lives such a hell. Wanting this ordeal to be over, he turned back to his nemesis.

When Varek hadn't spoken, one of Basingstoke's seconds stepped forward and again politely inquired about the blades. This time the question was directed to Sergei. As mystified as everyone else, Sergei could do no more than turn to Varek with a raised brow.

However, the archduke was pointedly ignoring the trivial exchange, and was gazing out into the distance, his expression one of boredom. Idly, he was pulling his gloves through his hand, his stance relaxed and casual. When he finally spoke, his deep voice was loud enough to be heard by every man present.

“Lord Basingstoke, I owe you an apology. My manner was inappropriate last evening and my words to...” Here he faltered as he sliced a look of pure loathing at his opponent. Even the thought of addressing Christina as another man's wife was gall to him. “...to Lady Basingstoke was unforgivable. I concede this duel and hope that you will except my apologies.” There was no hint of contrition in the words just spoken, only imperious command.

Robert's surprised gaze darted about the clearing. An apology was the last thing he ever expected to hear from this man. Then it flashed through his mind that Christina must have had some hand in this unexpected occurrence. What had she promised the bastard? he seethed inwardly. Was she trying to make a mockery of him?

Varek studied the stunned man through narrowed eyes, the animosity in his moody glare almost begging him to refuse the apology.

It was on the tip of Robert's tongue to do exactly that, thrust the insulting apology back into the officious bastard's face when a movement on the edge of the clearing caught his and every other man's attention. He was not surprised when he saw Christina, astride a petit sorrel mare and accompanied by one of the grooms from the apartments, ride into the glade.

Varek saw at a glance that Christina looked exhausted. Her eyes appeared bruised, she was deathly pale and her attire was so disheveled, he wondered if she had slept in it. Still he couldn't help the surge of anger he felt at her for this added interference, and deliberately he turned his back to her. Instead, he directed his aching bitterness on the source of all his anguish, Christina's saintly husband.

However, the
saintly
Robert was staring at Christina with similar feelings, and Varek's ire rose even higher. What right did this pissant have to be angry with Christina?

“Well?” he drawled, drawing Basingstoke's inimical attentions back on him and well away from Christina. All the while he was praying the man would deny him the apology he now regretted with every fiber of his being.
Deny it, you prick,
Varek prayed as he glared at his enemy.

Suddenly, Sergei was at their side, his frowning attention directed on Robert with a force that could not be ignored. Whatever silently passed between the two men was unknown, but Varek damned Sergei's interference when Robert looked away first. Varek knew in that instant he would be denied the pleasure of killing him this day.

In the hours before dawn, he had thought long and hard on what Christina and Sergei had told him. His decision to bow out of this duel had come at the cost of a piece of his soul, for what he wanted at the basest level of his being was for this man to be dead and irrevocably out of Christina's life. A divorce was now out of the question for he knew Christina would never be able to leave a child of hers behind, which is what would be demanded of her if she left her husband. And no matter how desperately he wanted his wife back he would never ask such a sacrifice of her.

So where did that leave him? Absolutely nowhere. But, somewhere, down in the deepest shadows of his bruised heart, he still couldn't make himself give up on them completely. He just couldn't. Somehow there had to be a way. Unfortunately, killing her child's father was not one of them.

His voice ripe with ungracious spite, Robert said, “I accept your apology, your highness.” Then in a voice only Varek and Sergei could hear, he added in a vicious undertone, “This time. But we both know that it won't end here, don't we?”

Varek smiled grimly, “I am counting on it.”

Varek started to turn away, but Robert's hand shot out and grasped his forearm. “What did she say to you? What did she promise you if you begged off?” Robert demanded in an hoarse whisper.

Varek stared at the hand on his arm so long and pointedly that Robert finally released him, embarrassed at the disgusted look in the archduke's eyes as he deliberately dusted off his sleeve. Finally Varek looked up and sliced Robert a look of pure loathing. Stepping closer, Varek leaned in and without breaking eye contact with the worm, he explained in a voice coldly harsh, “I have never begged for anything in life, except perhaps my wife's kisses. And if you think so little of her honor and integrity, then
let her go,
for I assure you I value them above my own life.” With a final glance of disgust, Varek turned his back on the angry man and walked away.

The murmur of muted voices seemed to still as Varek walked directly over to where Christina still sat her horse. The face he turned up to her was impassive enough, but the stark pain in his eyes was a cruel testament of all he had suffered last night at her hands.

“Is this what you wanted, Christina?” His voice was a low murmur, for her ears alone, his hand curled possessively around her ankle.

Christina stared down at the hard visage of her love and she wanted to shout out
No, this is not what I want!
Instead her smile was pathetically weak, and her voice was raspy with exhaustion when she gave him the only answer she was allowed. “Thank you, Varek.”

He stared up at her with a sense of brooding despair, before he nodded and stepped back, his hand reluctantly falling away. “Don't thank me too soon, for I haven't given up on us yet.”

“Please, Varek,",”

“Don't even try,” he curtly cut her off, his glacial eyes condemning her. “I'm still reeling from our last conversation, so don't try to reason with me right now. At this moment I can almost hate you, Christina. Almost.” With this vicious condemnation echoing in her heart, Varek turned his back on her and strode over to his mount. Without another word to anyone, he lithely sprang into his saddle and spurring his mount around, left the clearing at a gallop.

Christina didn't dare watch him leave, for she was afraid that she would be tempted to put heel to her own horse and follow him blindly. Instead, she looked over at Robert and saw that he was busy with donning his outer garments. She watched him for a long moment, and when she decided he was deliberately ignoring her, she felt relief. She was eager to slip away and make her own way back to the apartment. As she turned her horse about, she changed her mind and decided to go to Laure's home instead. At least there she would be able to rest undisturbed.

Seeing a horse pull up alongside her, she smiled and turned to greet Sergei.

He, however, only offered her a fierce frown as he studied her closely. “God's blood you look terrible. When was the last time you slept?” he demanded irritably.

Sighing, she relaxed into the lulling rhythm of her horse's gait and shrugged. “I can't remember.”

“Little fool.”

With a chiding moue, she glanced sideways at him. “You are not my nursemaid, Sergei.”

His lips twisted wryly. “I beg to differ with you, but that is all I am anymore.” Though his voice was teasing, the shadowed look in his eyes gave Christina pause. Frowning, she looked at him, a pang of guilty conscience warning her that something wasn't right. “Am I such a trial to you, my friend?”

Sergei's head jerked around and he stared at her in surprise. “Of course not! I was only teasing you. This only goes to show how exhausted you truly are if you are so sensitive to my senseless chatter.” Then he quickly started to regale her with antidotes of his latest conquest, a buxom
fraulein
from the
kaufeehause
down the street from his apartment. She might not be much to look at, but she made the best bloody cup of coffee in Vienna. Soon he had her laughing, and she gratefully clutched at his artful dissembling, refusing to worry about anything on such a beautiful day.

Several nights later, the tension between Christina and Robert increased as she made inane excuses why she couldn't attend the ball at the Hofburg that night.

“What are you planning, Christina, to remain in hiding for the rest of the Congress?” He watched in frustration as she pushed away her untouched plate. Standing, she began to wander listlessly about the room.

“I really do not feel very well, Robert,” she reiterated with calm patience. “I haven't been sleeping well and this hectic pace is starting to wear me down. Don't forget it has been years since I have been out in society. I am more accustomed to the quiet life of Kerkmoor. It cannot be such a horrendous breach of duty if I forgo this one night; after all there will be another ball next week. And the week after that, and the next...” Her voice trailed off as if in boredom.