Secret Fire (22 page)

N
adezhda Fedorovna watched the Englishwoman covertly, blue eyes narrowed with resentment and loathing. And the more she watched her pushing her brush around the kitchen floor, ignoring everyone around her as if she were too good to associate with the kitchen servants, the more Nadezhda’s resentment festered.

Who was she, anyway? Nobody. She was small, so small she could have passed for a child, while no one could mistake Nadezhda’s full figure for anything but a woman’s. Her hair was a dull, nondescript brown, while Nadezhda’s was a flaming red, glossy, thick, her best feature by far. The only thing the foreigner had to recommend her was unusual eyes. In fact, there was nothing about her that should have attracted someone like Dimitri Alexandrov. So what had the Prince seen in her that no one else saw?

Nadezhda wasn’t just prejudiced. Everyone had asked the same question. But for Nadezhda, who had had one glorious night with the Prince years ago, but had never been able to entice him again, the question was a burning one.

It was something she had never been able to get over, her failure with the Prince. She had had such wonderful plans. She would bear the Prince a son, elevating her stature enormously, assuring herself a life of ease.

She had not conceived from her one night with Dimitri. Some were beginning to think he was impotent, herself included. At the time she was wise enough to realize that she could still claim a child as his if she could get pregnant soon enough after she had been with him. With a little help from the lustier of the footmen, she had done just that, and was so happy, so proud of her accomplishment, that she had to boast of it to her sister, who betrayed her to their father, who beat her so badly for planning to deceive the Prince that she lost the baby. Nadezhda had wallowed in her bitter failure ever since.

Now here was this foreigner, this ugly interloper that the Prince had brought here and put in the White Room. The White Room! And she would have everyone believe that the Prince really cared more about her other than to bed her at his convenience.

Nadezhda had laughed when she heard that Princess Sonya had ordered her caned for her insolence. She had been delighted to see her put to work in the kitchen at the meanest tasks. She wasn’t so haughty now. And the Prince hadn’t come to remove her from her drudgery either, as half the household had anticipated, foolishly believing that he wouldn’t like the way his aunt had treated the woman. But he
had
brought her here. And he
did
leave her here, instead of sending her on her way after he was done with her. And he had also looked for her last night as soon as he returned, news Nadezhda had received with rancor, until she later learned he was now furious with the woman, no doubt for showing such disrespect to his aunt.

No one had told the Englishwoman that the Prince was back. The other servants were in fact purposely keeping the news from her in a ridiculous attempt to spare her feelings. She didn’t even notice the whispering and sympathetic looks, she paid so little attention to what was going on around her. It would serve her right to find out the Prince had been here after he was gone again, but Nadezhda couldn’t wait that long. No one had told her the subject was prohibited. And the woman ought to be made to see that she had fooled no one with her delusions about
their
Prince Dimitri.

Nadezhda was only surprised that Princess Sonya hadn’t been the one to tell her. It had been plain to see she hadn’t been pleased yesterday morning when the woman didn’t protest against her new position of floor scrubber. No doubt the Princess, like Nadezhda, had been hoping for resistance so that she could punish her again.

At least Nadezhda had been there to witness that humiliation. And she had been quick to inform the woman how lucky she was to be getting off so lightly after running away, stealing a horse, and putting the Prince’s brother to the trouble of fetching her back, that she should have been caned again instead. And what did that bitch reply to Nadezhda’s thoughtful disclosure?

“I’m not a serf, you fool, I’m a prisoner. It’s perfectly natural for a prisoner to try and escape. It’s expected.”

Such impudence. Such ingratitude. Such pretension. It was as if she thought herself so superior to them all that she was incapable of being humbled by anything they did or said to her. But
Nadezhda had the means to bring her down a peg or two now, and if no one else had the gumption or desire to do it, she certainly did.

Katherine should have been warned by the malicious looks being cast at her by the flame-haired Nadezhda that she was in for more unpleasantness, but she hadn’t thought the girl would be so spiteful as to pass her and deliberately spill a full bowl of wet breakfast scraps, pretending she had tripped. If Katherine hadn’t moved quickly enough, the wastes would have landed in her lap instead of just spattering her knees and arms.

“How clumsy of me!” Nadezhda proclaimed loudly before dropping to her knees as if she meant to clean up the pile of oatmeal, rotten tomatoes, sour cream with bits of eggs, onions, mushrooms, and caviar oozing in it—Russians loved caviar with their
blini
, the pancakes served every morning at Novii Domik.

Katherine sat back, waiting to see if the girl really would wipe up her mess. But all she did was shove the now-empty bowl in front of Katherine.

“It’s silly of them to make you scrub the floor over and over again, when it is already spotless,” Nadezhda murmured snidely. “I thought I would give you a little something to make your efforts worthwhile.”

So she was done pretending this was an accident. “How benignant of you,” Katherine replied without expression.

“Benignant?”

“Forgive me. I sometimes forget myself when speaking to an ignoramus.”

Nadezhda didn’t know what
ignoramus
meant either, but she did know when she was being subtly insulted. “You think you are so clever with your fancy words, eh? Well, Miss Clever Bitch, what do you think of Prince Dimitri’s return and his avoidance of you?”

Katherine’s expression became an open book filled with excitement. “Dimitri’s back? When?”

“Early last evening.”

Early last evening Katherine had been dead to the world after twelve hours of drudgery. She wouldn’t have heard anything if the house had fallen down around her ears, so she certainly wouldn’t have heard Dimitri raising hell in her defense. But then why hadn’t he sought her out? The morning was hours old. Why was she still here?

“You’re lying.”

Nadezhda’s lips tilted mockingly. “I have no need to lie about this. Ask Ludmilla there. She saw him come in. Ask anyone here. They all thought to keep it from you because of your insistence that he would be furious when he learned what had happened. Well, little fool, he was furious, to be sure, but with you.”

“Then his aunt didn’t tell him the truth.”

“Believe that if you like, but I know differently. The conversation they had was overheard. Princess Sonya told him everything. He knows you’re here scrubbing floors and he doesn’t care. Stupid wench,” Nadezhda spat. “Did you really think he would take your side against his aunt? He’s been up for hours, making preparations to leave again today. That’s how eager he is to see you.”

Katherine didn’t believe her. She couldn’t. She was a spiteful, malicious girl, though what Katherine had done to earn her enmity she didn’t know. But Rodion came into the kitchen just then, and surmising the situation, yanked Nadezhda to her feet. He wouldn’t lie to Katherine. He had been nothing but kindness since Nikolai had brought her back here.

“What have you done, Nadezhda?” he demanded.

The girl simply laughed, and jerking her hand away, swayed back to her corner of the kitchen. Rodion immediately bent down to help Katherine scoop the pile of scraps back into the bowl. She didn’t say anything until the messy job was done, then she asked him plainly, “Rodion, is Dimitri really here?”

He wouldn’t look up. “Yes.”

A full minute passed. “And he knows where he can find me?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at her then, but wished to God he hadn’t. Sweet Mary, he had never seen such bleak pain in someone’s eyes before. The beating hadn’t done it to her, but a few nasty words from that spiteful Nadezhda had.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She didn’t seem to hear. She hung her head and began the mechanical motions that pushed the brush back and forth across the floor. Rodion stood up and looked about the room, but everyone suddenly seemed inordinately busy, no one even hazarding a glance in their direction—except Nadezhda, who smiled gloatingly. Rodion turned and stalked out of the kitchen.

Katherine continued scrubbing the same spot, over and over. How furious Sonya would be if she knew how beneficial this particular task was for Katherine. She had been angry when she had been given no choice but to comply and do as the witch ordered. She had discerned immediately that Sonya would have relished her refusal, so instead she refused to give her that satisfaction. She would scrub the bloody floor until it killed her, without a single complaint.

But instead of the physical labor aggravating her sore back, it had eased her condition, the constant slow moving of her arms pulling and massaging each muscle, soothing the tightness, reducing the swelling instead of inflaming it as that jarring ride had done. And after a full day of scrubbing yesterday, when she might have thought she would have to crawl to her bed in agony, she was simply worn out from the labor, a strain in her lower back, and a definite soreness in her arms and hands, but that she didn’t mind at all. All movement was easier now, with only a slight twinge here and there. She could almost forget the beating, if she didn’t actually touch her back.

The tears that had been gathering in her eyes spilled over.
So much for trying to distract yourself, you idiot. When was the last time you cried without some kind of pain forcing the tears out? There’s no pain now, you stupid ninny. Stop it! There’s no good reason! You knew all along he didn’t care. Look how he left without a word, without insuring your safety. just a few words to his aunt could have prevented that archaic beating
.

Oh, God, it hurt so much that she could hardly breathe for the choking constriction in her throat.
How could he just leave her here? He wasn’t even going to come to see if she was all right after that savage beating. He cared that little. That’s what hurt the most.

He had spent the night here, gone to bed knowing that his aunt had condemned her to slavery in the kitchen, done nothing to alter that fact. No apologies. No champion. And he was going to leave again. Was this his idea then of how she would be kept busy while she was here? The bastard.

And you fell in love with him, you contemptible fool, even when you knew it was an asinine thing to do. Well, you got just what you deserved. You always knew love was an insane emotion, and this proves it
.

It was no use. There was no room for anger to take hold, nothing inside her but the hurt that was fast numbing her senses, until finally there was nothing left to feel but welcome emptiness.

“
T
he boots, man!” Dimitri growled impatiently. “I’m not presenting myself at court. They’ll be covered with dust by the end of the day.”

Semen rushed forward with the boots still only half shined. Why did
he
have to be at the bottom of the stairs when the Prince needed a valet to replace the absent Maksim? He was a jumble of nerves, expecting at any moment that the Englishwoman would appear and tell Dimitri the whole of the story, not just the half-truths the Princess had told him. But then she didn’t even know the Prince was back. Why should she leave the kitchen? He couldn’t depend on that. He wouldn’t be able to relax until Dimitri was gone again, and, thank God, he was preparing to leave now.

Dimitri caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and was surprised by the baleful stare it returned. No wonder Semen was so edgy. Had he possessed this angry look all morning? How should he know? He was still half drunk, if truth were known. Two bottles of vodka hadn’t produced the desired effect of putting him to sleep. It had only made his thoughts discordant as the night wore on. And even after a sleepless night, he still wasn’t tired. Sweet Christ, what he wouldn’t give for a little sleep to erase the whole problem from his mind.

“You want the dress sword, my lord?”

“I suppose I should wear my medals too on the road,” Dimitri snapped, but then quickly apologized for his testiness.

He had donned one of his old uniforms simply because he felt in a warlike mood. He didn’t have to wear all the trappings that went with it. The scarlet jacket was still in excellent condition, the tight white trousers spotless, the knee-high boots as stiff as when they were new. If the Tzar had his way, the whole country would be in uniform, civilian as well as military. Unlike in other countries, here a man’s uniforms didn’t retire from active service when he did. At court, rarely anything else was worn.

The knock at the door brought a sharp “Come in!” before Semen could move to open it.

Rodion stepped into the room, looking uncomfortable when he saw Dimitri’s scowling countenance. It had been one thing to think about setting the record straight for the woman’s sake, but quite another actually to speak up when the Prince was looking like this.

Semen had quite literally turned ashen, guessing Rodion’s intention. Rodion had gotten drunk the night the woman burned with fever from the beating. He had been the one to take her to Parasha. He had been the one to warn the kitchen workers to leave her alone. Yet he had played a part in hurting the woman just as Semen had, even if neither had had any choice. How could he forget that?

“Well?” Dimitri barked.

“I—I think there is something you should know—about the Englishwoman—before you leave, my lord.”

“Katherine. Her name is Katherine,” Dimitri snarled. “And there isn’t anything you can tell me about her that would surprise me, so don’t bother. In fact if I never hear another thing about her, it will be too soon!”

“Yes, my lord.” Rodion turned to leave, relieved and yet disappointed at the same time.

Semen was just letting out his breath, some little color returning to his cheeks, when the Prince halted Rodion.

“I’m sorry, Rodion.” Dimitri motioned him back, sighing. “I didn’t actually mean any of that. What did you have to tell me about Katherine?”

“Just that—” Rodion exchanged a glance with Semen, but stiffened his resolve and blurted—“your aunt had her caned, my lord, so badly that she didn’t awaken for nearly two days. She works in the kitchen now, but not by choice. She would have been beaten again if she had refused.”

Dimitri didn’t say a word. For a long moment he just stood there staring at Rodion, then he left the room so quickly that Rodion had to jump back out of the way.

“Why did you have to do that, you fool?” Semen demanded. “Did you see the look on his face?”

Rodion was not in the least sorry now. “She was right, Semen. And it would have gone a lot worse if he had found out later, after he’d left, and no one bothering to tell him while he was still here. But he’s a fair man. He isn’t going to blame us for following the Princess’s orders. It’s not who wielded the cane that will concern him
but why it was done, and that’s for his aunt to explain, if she can.”

From downstairs, the crash of the kitchen door could be heard throughout the whole house. Three more crashes followed, though not nearly so loud, as several women in the kitchen were so startled that they dropped what they had been holding.

Every eye was on the Prince, framed in the doorway, though a few spared a glance for the broken hinge dangling from the door. Every eye, that is, except Katherine’s. She didn’t bother to look up, not when he appeared so dramatically, not when he crossed the kitchen to stand above her, not when he dropped to his knees beside her. She knew he was there. His presence had always been unmistakable, even when she couldn’t see him. She simply didn’t care. If he had come last night, she probably would have cried on his shoulder. Now he could go to the devil. Too late was too late.

“Katya?”

“Go away, Alexandrov.”

“Katya, please—I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what? That I was here? I happen to know otherwise. I happen to know that witch relative of yours told you everything.”

She still hadn’t looked up at him. Her hair, loose beneath the kerchief tied round her head, fell forward over both shoulders, partially concealing her face as she bent over still scrubbing the floor. The dress she wore wasn’t hers and was so filthy that it reeked. Dimitri felt like killing someone, but first he had to take care of Katherine.

“She told me that you were sleeping with the servants,
not
that she put you there. I thought it was your choice, Katya, just as before, that you were again refusing any amenity I offered you. She told me you had run away and she had put you to work here. She said you didn’t refuse the work. Again I thought it was your choice.”

“Which shows what you get for thinking, Alexandrov, a total waste of time for you.”

“At least look at me when you insult me.”

“Go to hell.”

“Katya, I didn’t know you were beaten!” he said in exasperation.

“It’s nothing.”

“Must I strip you to see for myself?”

“All right! So I have a few bruises. It doesn’t hurt anymore, so your concern is a bit late, not to mention rather dubious.”

“You think I wanted this to happen?”

“I think your concern was aptly shown when you didn’t bother to explain to your aunt why you brought me here.
That
, Alexandrov, sums it up nicely.”

“Look at me!”

She tossed her head back, her eyes cutting into his, bright, glassy, very close to betraying her. “Are you happy? Let me know when you’ve seen enough. I have work to do.”

“You’re coming with me, Katya.”

“Not on your life.” But Katherine wasn’t quick enough in moving back from him. Dimitri pulled her to her feet and just as swiftly had her up in his arms. “My back, you beast! Don’t touch my back!”

“Then hold onto my neck, little one, because I’m not putting you down.”

She glared at him, but it was useless. She had gone through too much pain to put up with any more if she didn’t have to. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he immediately lowered his arm to her hips, supporting her firmly there and beneath her thighs.

“I’ll have you know this means nothing,” Katherine hissed as he started out of the kitchen. “If I weren’t afraid of hurting myself, I’d clobber you.”

“When you are feeling better, I will remind you. I will even have a cane fetched and stand fast while you do your worst. It’s no more than I deserve.”

“Oh, shut up, shut up—”

Katherine didn’t finish. The tears had started again, and she squeezed Dimitri’s neck tighter, hiding her face in the curve.

He stopped by the broken door, and there was a world of difference in the tone of his voice as he rapped out an order to two maids. “I want a bath and brandy in my room immediately.”

Katherine stirred herself enough to protest that. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in your room, so if that’s for me—”

“The White Room,” Dimitri corrected himself sharply. “And a doctor here within the hour. You and you”—he fixed the two maids with his hard gaze—“come with me to assist her.”

“I can assist myself, Dimitri. I’ve been doing it long enough now to have got the hang of it nicely, thank you.”

He ignored her, as did the maids who jumped to follow his orders. There was a collective sigh in the kitchen once the Prince was gone. There were also a lot of “I told you so” expressions on
those who had tended to believe the Englishwoman. Nadezhda wasn’t one of them. She demolished the lump of dough she had been kneading, incensed by the scene she had just witnessed. But ruining the dough got her a scolding from the cook, which she replied to sharply, which got her a slap, which was silently applauded by one and all, for no one particularly cared for Nadezhda and her surly ways.

Upstairs in the White Room, Dimitri gently set Katherine down on the bed, receiving no thanks for his care. The maids hurried to fill her bath, the one thing she wasn’t about to refuse, not having had a decent bath since Dimitri had gone. The brandy was refused, however, the glass shoved away with annoyance, and she was most certainly annoyed.

“I don’t know what you think you’re proving with all this attention, Alexandrov. I would just as soon you had left me where I was. After all, kitchen work is just another new experience for me, and you have pointed out how you are responsible for all my new experiences since I met you. How much I have to thank you for.”

Dimitri flinched. He could see now that in this sarcastic mood of hers, trying to talk to her would be useless. He could have told her it was his base cowardice in not wanting to face her after their night together that had led to his thoughtless flight. But that night was the last thing he wanted to remind her of now. That would only be adding fuel to the fire.

“The bath is ready, my lord,” Ludmilla offered hesitantly.

“Good, then get rid of that rag she is wearing and—”

“Not with you in here!” Katherine cut in heatedly.

“Very well, I’ll leave. But you will let the doctor examine you when he arrives.”

“It isn’t necessary.”

“Katya!”

“Oh, all right, I’ll see the blasted doctor. But don’t bother coming back yourself, Alexandrov. I have nothing more to say to you.”

Dimitri went through the connecting door to his room, but just before he closed it, a gasp from one of the maids made him look back, and he was treated to the sight of Katherine’s dress falling to her waist. Bile rose up in his throat. The full view of her back was literally a maze of blue, brown, and yellow, with deepest purple in long straight lines where each blow had welted her.

He shut the door, his head leaning against it, his eyes tightly closed. No wonder she had refused to listen to him. What she must have suffered, and all because of his neglect! And she had let him off easily. She hadn’t even screamed at him. Oh, God, he wished she had screamed at him. At least then there might have been some hope of reaching her, making her understand that he would do anything to turn back the clock, to take away her pain, that the last thing he wanted was to hurt her. Sweet Christ, all he had ever wanted to do was love her. Now he had sunk so far beneath her contempt that he wasn’t even worthy of her hate.

Dimitri found his aunt in the library. She was standing by the window looking out at the orchard, her back tense, her hands clasped tightly before her. She was expecting him. Nothing es
caped her notice in this house, and he knew she had probably been told word for word everything he and Katherine had said to each other in the kitchen. She was anticipating the worst. But Dimitri’s anger was deep and self-directed. Only a small portion was reserved for his aunt.

Quietly he moved up beside her and stood looking out at the same view, but without seeing it. The tiredness he had hoped for earlier surrounded him now, weighing down his shoulders.

“I leave a woman here in the security of my own home and return to find she has been put through hell. Why, Aunt Sonya? Nothing Katherine could have done could have warranted such treatment.”

Sonya was relieved by his soft tone, and deceived into thinking he wasn’t as upset as had been reported. “You told me she wasn’t important, Mitya,” she reminded him.

He sighed. “Yes, I did say that, in anger, but did that give you the right to abuse her? I also told you she wasn’t your concern. Why in God’s name did you involve yourself?”

“I found her coming out of your room. I thought she might have stolen something from you.”

He turned toward her incredulously. “Steal from me? Oh, Christ! Steal from me! She has refused everything I have tried to give her. She spits on my wealth.”

“How could I have known that? I only wanted to have her searched. The matter would have ended there if she hadn’t turned so belligerent about it. How could I ignore such rudeness to me in front of the servants?”

“She is a free woman, an Englishwoman. She isn’t subject to the archaic rules and customs of this country.”

“Who is she then, Mitya?” Sonya demanded. “Who is she besides your mistress?”

“She’s not my mistress. I wish she were, but she’s not. I don’t really know who she is, probably some English lord’s bastard, but that doesn’t matter. She plays the role of a grand lady, true, but I tolerate it. She had no reason to suppose she need modify her attitude here, even for you. But most important she was under my protection. Sweet Christ, Aunt Sonya, she is such a tiny, delicate woman. Didn’t it occur to you that such a beating could have damaged her permanently? Crippled her even?”

“It might have, if she had shown even a modicum of delicacy, but she didn’t. Just three days after her beating she was racing across the countryside on the back of a horse.”

“An act of desperation.”

“Nonsense, Mitya. It was only a little beating. If she had really been hurt by it, she wouldn’t have been capable—”

“Not hurt!” he exploded, finally giving Sonya a glimpse of his true emotional state. “Come with me!”