The Brigadier's Daughter (12 page)

She wanted to feel his skin against her own and she shrugged out of her nightgown, tossing it aside. When his hand touched her breast, and stroked down to her waist and hips, she gave a little moan of pleasure, pressing against him, yet drawing quickly away as she suddenly felt the solid bulk of his male arousal.

Through the hot haze of desire Reid remembered that she had never lain with a man before, and though it had been a long time for him, and the urge to take her was fierce within him, he restrained himself. His fingers stroked the length of her thigh with soft, soothing care. ‘Sasha, much as I would love to, we mustn't, we shouldn't, we're not even properly married.'

‘I know, but—' she moved her head in a little purr of pleasure, her eyes closed ‘—it feels so wonderful. I don't want you to stop.'

‘I don't want to stop, either,' he murmured, hardly able to
help himself as he kissed the full curve of her breast, breathing in her delicate female scent; his senses were surrounded by the smooth silkiness of her skin, the womanly curves of her breasts and hips and thighs, her nipple so close he longed to take it in his mouth. ‘We won't do…anything…just touching.'

‘I— I don't know what to do,' Sasha confessed, melting at his touch, though her knees were still tightly clasped together.

‘Do whatever you want.' His voice was a little rough, ragged with the effort of his self-control. ‘Sasha, I am a soldier. I have had many experiences with women. I am not an innocent like you, but I would never do anything to hurt or frighten you.' He hoped his words would help her to relax and he very much wanted to touch her in her secret female place, but short of forcibly prising her legs apart he didn't think she was ready to yield. He asked carefully, ‘What has your mother told you about…relations between a man and a woman?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Nothing? Surely she must have explained something.'

‘I'm sure she would have, had she known that I was to be married,' Sasha replied in a small voice.

‘Ah. I forgot.' He drew back then, and looked down at her as she lay beneath his body, so soft and trusting, so innocent, and suddenly his ardour cooled. How could he do with her the things he most wanted, when she had no understanding of it all and he had no right to be teaching her? It would be an insult to Sasha to indulge in an act that for him would be no more than a physical encounter.

‘Reid…' Sasha reached up, her hands sliding over his shoulders, sensing his reluctance and pulling his body back towards her, her small hand moving down his chest and touching the hot, hard length of his manhood with curious yet clumsy fingers. ‘I want to know. Show me, teach me. Please.'

He groaned. ‘Sasha, please, don't touch me there.'

‘Why? Do you not like it?'

His groan intensified into a growl as her fingers tightened.
‘I like it very much. But you don't understand what will happen if you don't stop doing that.'

‘Does it give you pleasure?'

‘Yes.' His voice was strangled, his mouth reaching down to capture her lips in a sensual kiss.

‘Then I don't want to stop. Show me, Reid,' she whispered against his mouth. ‘Show me how to give you pleasure.'

How could he resist such a plea? And yet he knew he must proceed with caution; he whispered gently in her ear, telling her things that made her blush, and yet excited her in a way that she had never felt before. He encouraged her to explore his body, yet was careful with his own exploration of hers, never going too far, taking note of her reactions when he touched her here, or there, aware that she enjoyed his mouth sucking on her nipple, kisses on her ribs and shoulders and neck, but if his lips strayed below her waist she tensed. She was not ready for complete intimacy, and instead he urged her to do as she wished with his own body.

Sasha felt in control and curiously powerful, though he was physically much bigger and stronger than her. It was a new sensation as they lay side by side, and she kissed his chest, her other hand sliding over the strong muscles of his back and down to his buttocks. He groaned then, as his hips thrust beneath the squeezing pressure of her other hand. She felt an ache inside her, and yet was not sure where or why, or how to respond to the heat and urgency of his body. He showed her then how to grip him in her fist, his own hand closing over hers and guiding her, faster and harder. He could have made it last much longer, but with a hoarse growl he reached his goal quickly.

As their breathing steadied after a few moments, Sasha asked, in an awed, hushed tone, ‘Is this how babies are made?'

He grinned at her naivety. ‘Sort of. To make a baby I must do that inside you.'

She swallowed, and then whispered, ‘Inside me where?'

His fingers touched the crisp dark curls of her Venus mound, his own voice no more than a warm breath as he murmured
against her ear. ‘I will show you, if you want me to.' She nodded, and his finger moved down, sliding gently into the warm silky folds of her sex, probing her entrance. ‘Inside there.' She felt tight, and as he pressed a little deeper he could tell she was not particularly aroused, and he withdrew his hand as he felt her body tense. ‘It's all right. I can understand that you are not ready.'

‘Will I feel pleasure, too?'

‘Of course. It would be very selfish and clumsy of a lover if you did not.' He leaned down and kissed her neck. ‘Thank you, Sasha. A man takes pleasure in many ways, but often ladies are not very accommodating and easily shocked. I hope you are not too shocked.'

‘I am a little, but I am glad that now I know.' She snuggled then against him, relaxed and eager for sleep.

As she settled down, Reid looked at her through half-closed eyes, through the hazy veil of satisfaction and sleep, realising that maybe his judgement of Sasha was in need of review.

 

The next few days were very busy days, with Reid taking up the reins from Major Hope-Garner as military attaché, and Sasha caught up in the social activities of Lady Cronin. On several afternoons they were taken for a carriage ride around the sights of St Petersburg. Sasha gazed in awe at the Winter Palace and Nevsky Prospekt, cathedrals, parks, monuments, and dozens of beautiful wrought-iron bridges spanning the River Neva. It was indeed a splendid and magnificent city, yet in dark corners and down alleyways she glimpsed the pinched and gaunt faces of shawled peasants shuffling along. She made enquiries about the lower classes and how she could be of help, perhaps if there were any missionaries in the city in need of benevolence, but these were quickly brushed aside and it was made clear to her that she was not to involve herself in such things.

‘We are guests of the Tsar, my dear Georgia, and representatives of our Queen,' said Lady Cronin loftily. ‘We must not be seen to be interfering.'

Sasha sat back as the carriage rumbled along the broad streets, silent, brooding on the unfairness of it all and determined that if she was to spend any great length of time here in Russia she would get to know her mother's people, and to help those in need of help if she could. And yet, she frowned, as the carriage rumbled along the wide cobbled streets, who was she to act the noble lady, when she was nothing more than a fake and a fraud?

It was only at night, when at last Reid and Sasha fell into bed and turned to face each other, that they had the chance for long murmured conversations, to shake off the cloak of secrecy and be their real selves. And then as their confidences and comments about the day petered out, Reid would draw her closer with one hand on her waist and kiss her. His kisses were sometimes deep and passionate, sometimes light and playful, but always Sasha sensed that he had a great deal of expertise in the art of making love. Yet Sasha held him back, sensing also that to indulge completely and surrender her virtue to him would be wrong in their present circumstances. There were moments when she felt quite robbed of any reason and all she felt was pure physical sensation. The temptation was strong to ease the deep, aching need within her, and again she voiced her opinion that they should tell everyone the truth.

As he kissed the side of her neck Reid murmured, ‘I will make inquiries, discreetly of course. There must be a reverend of some kind, who administers to the poor—'

‘A missionary?'

‘Perhaps.'

‘Where will you find him?'

Reid drew back, sighing impatiently and frowning at her. ‘Sasha, stop interrupting. I don't know yet, but as soon as this damn ball is over and we've moved into our apartment, we will call on him, quietly marry, and then tell everyone the truth about who you really are.'

As he said the words, they both looked at each other, as it suddenly dawned on them the consequences of such an action.
It passed through Reid's mind that in all likelihood he would be relieved of his duties and sent back to London, for deception and misconduct—for being a liar. He swallowed, aware that his career was in jeopardy, and yet, what else could he do? He and Sasha could not continue indefinitely living a lie.

The same thoughts possessed Sasha and she whispered, ‘I am so sorry, Reid, I never realised that—'

He pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Shh. What is done is done, and now we must make the best of it. Go to sleep, Sasha, and tomorrow will soon be upon us. It will be our last day in the Residency and all we have to do is get through the ball, get married and move into our own apartment. All will be well, I promise.'

 

When Sasha awoke to the golden glow of a spring morning, Reid had already left in response to an invitation from the Russian Army to join them on manoeuvres for the day, accompanied by several other British and French officers. He had told her not to expect him back before the evening and in all likelihood would only meet her in the ballroom tonight. As she stretched languorously and turned her face towards Reid's pillow, still aromatic with his male odour, she smiled to herself. They had been in St Petersburg a week already, and tonight they would attend the grand ball that Lady Cronin had been planning and talking about ever since they had arrived. And then tomorrow she and Reid would be properly married, and they would begin their life together. Tomorrow night they would make love, truly, as man and wife, and Sasha rubbed the goosebumps of anticipation that flared on her forearms.

The maid brought her a tray set with hot chocolate and fresh bread rolls, butter and jam. They chatted companionably, mulling over the clothes in the wardrobe and choosing a pale blue outfit suitable for the morning's visit to an art gallery, the milliners, and one of Lady Cronin's English friends for luncheon.

 

After a busy morning, on their return Sasha spent the rest of the afternoon and evening lying on the bed, reading Sir Walter
Scott's
Ivanhoe
. As the shadows lengthened, she dozed, awakened by the apricot bloom of sunset deepening to darkest orange and then crimson, finally extinguishing into darkness. She heard the household rouse, the distant sound of voices, doors opening and closing. Jane came then, to light the lamps and run her bath. She hung up the freshly pressed ball gown upon a wooden dummy designed for such things, and Sasha rose from the bed, gazing at the elegant gown of cream silk, the bodice low cut and encrusted on one shoulder with rosebuds in a shade of ash-rose pink, the train sweeping back in elegant folds over a high bustle. She went to bathe, and then, warm and freshly scented, she donned her underwear of petticoats, stockings and corset before Jane assisted her into her elegant cream gown. She sat down before the dressing table as Jane did her hair, fastening tiny, palest pink silk rosebuds into the mass of dark ringlets gathered at her nape.

Sasha stood before the cheval mirror, looking at her reflection and adjusting her gown here and there. A short knock on the door preceded Lady Cronin. For a moment she stood behind the open door and simply gazed at Sasha with sharp, shrewd eyes, and then she came in and gave her a most scrutinising examination from head to toe.

‘You look quite charming, Georgia.'

Was it her imagination, or did she place undue emphasis on her sister's name? Sasha avoided her eye as she tweaked at a silk rosebud. ‘Thank you, Lady Cronin.'

‘Although I must say all your gowns do seem a trifle long in the hem. His lordship has still not yet returned, but the ball will begin at nine o'clock sharp, whether he is here or not.' She came into the room then and surveyed Sasha with a look that could only be described as icy. ‘I would remind you, Georgia, that as the wife of a military attaché, a representative of the Queen's government, you have a certain reputation to uphold.'

Sasha felt the blood freeze in her veins, yet she merely answered demurely, ‘Of course.' And wondered furiously what
on earth Lady Cronin was leading up to, hoping that her guilt was not written plainly upon her face.

‘This morning I received a calling card from a Countess Irena Sletovskaya.' She paused, perusing Sasha's face. ‘She claims to be your mother's second cousin and was eager to call upon you.'

Sasha smiled, the name bringing to mind her mother's pleasure at receiving letters from this distant cousin, light-hearted and full of gossip that had brought a few moments of pleasure into her mother's somewhat dull world. ‘How wonderful. Of course I would be delighted to receive her.'

‘Certainly not! I must hasten to add that Countess Irena has the most lurid of reputations. She is well known to be the mistress of more than one
gentleman
.' Lady Cronin sneered the last word. ‘You would do well to avoid her at all costs. I have returned her card and made it quite clear that you do not wish to associate with her.'

Sasha was taken aback at this high-handed interference in what was, to all intents and purposes, her own personal life, and the obvious insult to a member of her own family. Her reply was cool as she inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘I will discuss it with my—Major Bowen.'