Secret Fire (9 page)

“Perhaps?” Katherine exploded, wanting to hit him over the head with something.

She would have gone on, but a wave of debilitating pain spread down her legs at that moment, scattering her thoughts and making her double over with a loud groan. She yanked her hands away from Marusia and dug her fingers into her thighs, but to no effect. Full life was returning to her legs with a vengeance.

For the last five minutes Maksim had stood in the doorway, listening to the exchange between the three people in fascinated silence, but he finally recalled his duty. “If she is the Englishwoman, the Prince wants to see her immediately.”

Vladimir glanced over his shoulder, his earlier dread returning. “She is in no condition—”

“He said
now
, Vladimir.”

D
imitri leaned his head against the high-backed chair and lifted his bare feet to the stool in front of it. It was a comfortable chair, firm, but thickly padded, and served to remind him that he was a man who rarely denied himself anything, be it women, luxuries, or even moods. The chair was one of eight he had purchased, all identical, one for each of his bedrooms in the estates he owned across Europe as well as one to travel with him. When he found something that suited him, he made certain he acquired it. It had always been so.

Princess Tatiana was such a goal. She would suit him. Of all the glittering beauties of St. Petersburg, she was the rarest gem. And if he was going to marry, why not the fairest?

Dimitri hadn’t thought of Tatiana since he had mentioned his courtship to his grandmother, and she wouldn’t have come to mind now if he hadn’t just woken from an unpleasant dream of her. She had led him a merry chase, and even in his dream his goal had not been reached.

It was not that he wanted to marry her or any woman. He did not. What did he need with a wife when he never lacked for female companionship? She would just be an added responsibility, when he was already responsible for thousands. And this marriage arrangement wouldn’t have been necessary at all if his older brother, Mikhail, hadn’t foolishly extended his
service in the Caucasus, so enamored with fighting Turks that he had stayed year after year until his luck finally ran out. He had fallen behind the lines early last year, and although his body had never been recovered, too many of his comrades had seen him shot down for there to be any hope he was still alive.

It was a black day for Dimitri when he had been told. Not that he bore this half-brother by his father’s first marriage any great love. When he was much younger, he supposed, they had been closer, even though the seven years’ difference in their ages made for a lack of like interests. The Alexandrovs had been a close-knit family then, when their father was alive. But the army had always fascinated Mikhail, and as soon as he was old enough, he had made it his life. Dimitri had rarely seen him after that, except for the one year when he had served in the Caucasus too.

Dimitri had seen enough of killing in that year to last him a lifetime. He didn’t thrive on the danger, as Mikhail did. He had wanted adventure, as had so many of his young friends in the Imperial Guard, and like them, he found it aplenty. It was enough to make him resign from the army. Not even the distinction of the Guard had drawn him back. He was a younger son, but he didn’t need the army for a career, as most other younger sons of the aristocracy did. He had wealth of his own, apart from the vast wealth of his family. And he had better things to do with his life than risk it needlessly.

If only Mikhail had felt the same way. Barring that, if only he had found the time to marry and leave an heir before he died, then Dimitri
wouldn’t have been the last legitimate male Alexandrov. He had five other half-brothers, but they were bastards all. And his father’s sister, Sonya, had made it perfectly clear that it was now his
duty
to marry and produce an heir before something happened to him as it had to Mikhail. Never mind that Mikhail had put his life in jeopardy every day and Dimitri did not. Aunt Sonya had been so shaken by Mikhail’s death that she wouldn’t hear of any delay.

Dimitri’s life had been carefree up until then. Mikhail had been head of the family ever since their father had died in the cholera epidemic of 1830, and he had made all major decisions. Dimitri had overseen most of the family’s holdings, but only because finances had become a fascination, a safe way to take risks, and he was willing to do so. But now
all
responsibilities fell to Dimitri, the vast holdings, the serfs, the bastard siblings, even Mikhail’s half-dozen bastards. And soon a wife too.

A thousand times he had cursed his brother for dying and leaving him to control it all. His life no longer seemed to be his own. This trouble with his sister was a prime example. If Mikhail had been alive, the Duchess would have written to him. The problem would have been his, even though Anastasia was only Mikhail’s half-sister. He would undoubtedly have turned the problem over to Dimitri, but the difference was that Dimitri wouldn’t have been in the middle of a courtship and wouldn’t have minded a trip to England at all. Traveling, which he loved, was another thing curtailed now.

At least his sister was one responsibility that he could soon turn over to another when he
married her off. Yet there would be another responsibility to take her place when he married himself. If he had been willing to accept failure to reach a goal he had set himself, he would have given up on the beautiful Princess Tatiana as his choice.

Tatiana Ivanova had surprised him by proving most difficult to win. Courting her had taken time and considerable effort on his part, more than he had ever devoted to any woman, and he had had to exert the greatest control over his temper more than once in enduring the infuriating dance she led him. She might be flattered by his suit, but she was a young woman totally aware of her own desirability. She knew she could have any man she wanted and was in no hurry to make a choice from her dozens of suitors.

But no woman had ever been able to resist Dimitri for long. He was not vain about this fact; it was just the simple truth. And just when he had finally been making headway with the Princess, just when the ice seemed to be melting around her frigid heart, the Duchess’s letter had arrived. It was the damnedest luck. And yet he wasn’t worried that Tatiana would choose another while he was gone. It was the delay involved that irritated him and the fact that he had lost ground by his absence and would probably have to begin his court all over again, when all he wanted was the matter settled so that he could devote himself to other things.

The knock at the door was a welcome distraction. Dimitri didn’t want or need to be thinking of his impending married state when he could do
nothing about it until he reached Russia, and that was many weeks away.

Maksim entered, holding the door wide for Vladimir, who followed with Katherine in his arms. At first glance, she appeared to be sleeping. But then Dimitri noticed the white of her teeth gripping her lower lip, the tight scrunch of her eyes, and her hands squeezing the fabric of her skirt.

He shot to his feet, the swiftness of his action making both servants freeze in alarm. “What is wrong with her?” The question was directed to Vladimir in the most chilling tone.

“Nothing, Highness, truly,” Vladimir hastened to assure him. “She has merely lost the feeling in her limbs, and now the feeling returns—” He paused, for Dimitri’s expression was growing blacker by the second. “It was a precaution to leave her in the trunk until we reached the sea. On the river she could have escaped, swimming to the bank. I thought to take no chance, considering the importance—”

“We have not left the Thames yet, and need I point out there are other ways to insure she couldn’t escape? Do you mean to tell me you’ve only just released her?”

Vladimir nodded guiltily. “In truth, I had forgotten how long it takes to reach the coast, and in the confusion of sailing, with the wench under lock and key, I—I didn’t give her another thought, until Marusia reminded me of her.”

The half-truths seemed to appease Dimitri to a degree. His expression relaxed somewhat, but not completely. Vladimir knew the Prince couldn’t tolerate incompetence, and he had made more mistakes since he had met the English
woman than ever before. Yet Dimitri was a reasonable man, not a tyrant. And he did not punish for simple human failings.

“She is to be your responsibility, Vladimir, so you will not be so forgetful in future, will you?”

Vladimir groaned inwardly. Being responsible for the woman was a punishment in itself. “No, my prince.”

“Very well, set her down.”

Dimitri moved aside, indicating the chair he had vacated. Vladimir quickly deposited his burden there and stepped back, praying the woman would display no more dramatics. He was not so lucky.

Katherine’s gasp was quite loud as she bent forward over her knees. Her hair fell forward too, dangling down to her feet, and the lacy chemise dipped open from the weight of her breasts in this position, revealing a tantalizing swell of flesh to all three men.

Seeing Dimitri’s scowl return, Vladimir said quickly, “Her discomfort will pass, Highness, in a few moments.”

Dimitri ignored this. Dropping down on one knee in front of Katherine, he gripped her shoulders gently but firmly, forcing her to sit up. He then tossed her skirt up over her knees, and taking one slim calf in both hands, he began to knead it.

Katherine’s natural reflex was to kick. She had listened to their exchange in silence, only because she was afraid she would scream if she opened her mouth. But the dreadful tingling was on the wane now, just as Vladimir had predicted, still annoyingly present, but bearable. Yet she didn’t kick. Her simmering temper needed a
better outlet, one that wouldn’t be misconstrued, and she took it. Her hand cracked soundly against the Prince’s cheek.

Dimitri stilled. Maksim blanched, horrified. Words tumbled out of Vladimir without thought. “She has made a claim to nobility, Highness—an earl’s daughter, no less.”

Silence still reigned. Vladimir wasn’t sure if the Prince had heard him, and if he had, whether the claim mattered. Why he had thought to explain such an incredible outrage, and with what was certainly a lie, he wasn’t sure. If he had said nothing, the wench might have been tossed overboard, with his eternal thanks.

Dimitri had looked up instantly, only to meet the turquoise tempest in Katherine’s eyes. That had been no light slap of affront to make a point. A potent fury had been behind that blow, and it so surprised him that reaction was suspended for the moment. And she was not done.

“Your arrogance is beyond contempt, Alexandrov! That you would dare—that you ordered me to be—oh!”

If steam could have come out of her ears, it would have. Her fingers curled into tiny fists in her lap. She was straining with every fiber of her being for control, which was maddeningly elusive. And he just knelt there staring at her in amazement!

“Blast you, you will turn this ship around and return me to London! I insist—no, I
demand
that you do it immediately!”

Dimitri stood up slowly, forcing Katherine to crane her neck to keep eye contact. He fingered his cheek absently as he continued to look at her,
and then suddenly, a glint of humor appeared in his dark eyes.

“She makes demands of me, Vladimir,” Dimitri said without looking at the servant.

Tension drained out of the older man upon hearing the amused tone. “Yes, my prince,” he sighed.

A single glance over his shoulder. “An earl’s daughter, you said?”

“So she claims.”

Those velvety brown eyes slid back to Katherine, and she found that even in her fury she could blush, for they came to rest not on her face but on her opened bodice, which she had forgotten about until now. And if that audacity was not enough, they moved down her slowly, stopping finally to admire her stocking-clad legs, which she had also forgotten about.

With a gasp, she shoved her skirt down and then began to fumble with the row of buttons lining the front of the dress. For her modesty she gained a deep chuckle from the man standing only a foot in front of her.

“Scoundrel!” she hissed, not looking up until the last button closed at her throat. “You have the manners of a guttersnipe who knows no better than to gawk, but then that shouldn’t surprise me in the least, since your morals are equally decadent.”

Vladimir’s eyes rose to the ceiling. Maksim hadn’t recovered from his first shock when he was shaken again by these words. But Dimitri was only further amused.

“I must commend you, Katya,” he finally said to her. “Your talent is remarkable.”

She was momentarily thrown off guard. “Talent?”

“Of course. Tell me, did you have to work at it, or does this ability come naturally to you?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “If you are insinuating—”

“Not insinuating,” Dimitri cut in with a smile. “I applaud you. You mimic your betters to perfection. Was it a part you played on the stage? That would explain—”

“Stop it!” Katherine cried, jumping to her feet, her cheeks hot with understanding.

But standing next to him unfortunately put her at a distinct disadvantage. This was the first time she had done so, and it was intimidating in the extreme. He was so tall compared to her small height that she felt ridiculous. The top of her head just barely reached his shoulders.

Katherine stepped hastily to the side until she was well out of his reach, then swung around so fast that her hair flew out in a wide arc. At this safe distance, she gathered her dignity about her. Squaring her shoulders, her chin thrust forward, she gave the Prince a look of utter disdain. And yet she had lost some of her fury. He hadn’t been mocking her. He had been sincere in his appreciation of her “talent,” and that frightened her.

She hadn’t considered that he wouldn’t believe her. She had given way to her temper because she had never doubted for a moment that once he knew who she was, he would fall all over himself to make amends. That wasn’t happening. He thought she was putting on a performance and he was amused by it. Good Lord,
an actress! The closest she had ever come to one was in her father’s box at the theater.

“Dismiss your lackeys, Alexandrov.” On second thought, realizing that she couldn’t afford to antagonize him, she amended herself: “
Prince
Alexandrov.” The blasted man held all the cards, and although that was utterly galling, she knew how to be flexible—to a degree.

That she had issued an order didn’t occur to her. It did to Dimitri. His brow rose sharply for the breath of a second, then smoothed out, intrigued.

With the wave of a hand he dismissed the two men standing behind him, but he didn’t speak until he heard the door close. “Well, my dear?”

“It’s Lady Katherine St. John.”

“Yes, that would fit,” he replied thoughtfully. “I recall meeting a St. John on one of my visits to England many years ago. The Earl of—of—Stafford, was it? No, Strafford. Yes, the Earl of Strafford, very active in reform, very much in the public eye.”