The Brigadier's Daughter (14 page)

She must go back to England. She must leave Reid and put this whole ludicrous charade behind her. But how? How would she get back to England on her own?

Then she remembered Irena, and went to the reticule she had discarded on the dressing table and fished out her card. She took down her cloak from the wardrobe and as she did so a small sound reached her ears and she turned to gaze at the door of the bathroom. From the familiar tap-tap noise and swish of water, she concluded that Reid must be shaving. The door was slightly ajar, and she peeked through it.

Reid stood with his back to the door, wearing nothing except a white towel draped around his hips. He stooped slightly to see
his face in an oval mirror on the wall, and she watched fascinated at the play of muscles in his broad shoulders and arms, as they flexed while he shaved. His skin was smooth and honey-tanned, scattered with freckles across the shoulders bulky with muscle, his torso tapering down to lean hips and taut buttocks. She felt heat burn through her body, and an overwhelming desire to stand close behind him and slide her arms around his very masculine and appealing body, brushing the palms of her hands over the bronze hairs of his chest, sliding them down his flat stomach, pressing kisses to the strong, broad width of his back…

‘Are you going to stand there all day ogling?'

Sasha jumped, startled that she had been caught out. ‘I— I… How did you—?'

Reid smiled as he scraped a razor blade through the foam on his jaw. ‘I can see you in the mirror, sweetheart. Come in.'

She pushed open the door, but stood on the threshold, acutely aware of the intimacy of watching a half-naked ‘husband' attending to his early morning shave. Sasha swallowed, her eyes roaming everywhere except over Reid, yet wary of how easily her feelings for him could dissolve all sensible thought about leaving. And after what happened last night she felt indignant, and that he should be the one to speak first and apologise.

He smiled to himself, watching her with one eye in the mirror as he finished shaving. But the chill of her stare forced a sudden and alarming thought. ‘Last night,' he asked hesitantly, ‘did I…Well…did I behave myself?'

Sasha took a step forwards, folding her arms across her waist and cocking her head admonishingly to one side. ‘No, you most certainly did not.'

Reid felt the hairs on his forearms rise. He quickly rinsed his face and reached for a towel to pat it dry, meeting Sasha halfway by taking a step towards her. His eyes swept the length of her slim frame. ‘I hope very much that I did not hurt you. It was not my intention that your first time should be—'

‘What?' Sasha stared at him with wide eyes, a blush suffusing pink beneath her pale skin.

‘Well, I know that I was foxed, and you are—were a virgin.'

Sasha tapped her foot impatiently. ‘We did not, well, I mean, I would not let you—'

‘Oh? So you are still a virgin?'

Her cheeks flamed and she swung on her heels, departing from the intimate confines of the bathroom. ‘Of course I am, you idiot!'

Reid followed, his bare feet padding soundlessly on the glossy parquet floors, a slight frown creasing his brows. He tossed aside the towel in his hand and quickly reached out to grab the cloak clutched in her hands like a shield, throwing it on the bed and then clasping his fingers around her wrist and pulling her to face him. ‘Then what do you mean?'

‘I mean that I have just received a brow-beating from Lady Cronin about your “public displays of affection”, that's what I mean!'

His reaction was not one that she expected, or desired, as he laughed out loud and released her wrist from his clasp, his hand sliding to her waist and pulling her closer, his voice very soft and husky. ‘I am afraid you will have to enlighten me, sweetheart, as I was very drunk last night and have no recollection whatsoever. What did I do?' His gaze lowered to the soft pink swell of her lips.

Sasha found it hard to breathe for a moment, and then she replied tartly, ‘Why, you fondled and groped me as we were dancing!' With her hand flat against his chest, she pushed him away. ‘And it's no laughing matter! The old dragon made me attend her in the drawing room and stand like a schoolroom chit while she administered a tongue-lashing!'

‘Did she, indeed?' Reid grinned, his hold still upon her wrist, light yet inescapable.

‘Yes! What are you going to do about it?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Nothing?' Her eyes flashed up at him.

‘She is the ambassador's wife, there is little I can say.' He let her go then, and walked to his wardrobe to select a shirt and trousers. ‘Don't let it trouble you. We leave today and will soon be installed in our own apartment. We can do as we please then.' Looking over his shoulder, he exchanged a very penetrating glance with Sasha. ‘Is there…anything else I should apologise for?' He had a vague memory…

‘Well…' Sasha glanced down at her shoes, reluctant to discuss the intimate complexities of the physical aspect of their relationship, and puzzled by her own wayward reactions to them, one moment aching with desire for him, and the next petrified of his advances.

‘Come now, Sasha, spit it out.' He turned to face her, concerned by the pale stillness of her face.

‘You…wanted me to—'

‘What?'

‘Let you… Well… I had to slap your face to make you stop.'

‘I am sorry. I was drunk.' He frowned then. ‘I can understand that you did not want your first time to be rough and careless with a drunkard, but do not make too much of it.'

‘You said that if I had been Georgia she would have—' Sasha blushed, recalling his brazen words.

‘She would have what?'

‘Enjoyed it.'

He shrugged. ‘Your sister is of a different nature.' As though to prove a point, he unwound the towel about his waist and laughed at her gasp as he stood naked before her.

‘You might have warned me!' She looked away, quite astonished by the sight of such naked masculinity, the light from the tall wide windows clearly showing every detail of Reid's beautiful male body.

‘No need to blush, Sasha. We are man and wife.'

‘We are not, as you very well know.'

‘I'll get hold of that minister today.'

‘No, Reid, I really don't think—'

At that very moment the door opened and Jane entered, but seeing Reid standing naked in the middle of the room she exclaimed and quickly shut the door as she retreated.

Sasha sighed, her tone much aggrieved with both losing the moment to tell him she was going to leave, and for his lack of modesty, as she snapped, ‘Now you have upset the servants, as well!' She glanced at the card in her hand and her cloak lying on the bed, snatched it up, and flounced to the door. ‘I am going out!'

He strode after her. ‘Sasha! Where are you going? We're supposed to be getting—' Suddenly sense prevailed and he bit back his words about getting married, heaving an angry sigh. He would have to find a minister himself, as soon as he could get away from the Embassy without anyone asking him where he was going or wanting to accompany him. Damn! How was he supposed to marry a woman who was already supposed to be his wife? And how could he convince that woman that he wanted her? His senses were starting to torment him as he yearned to make love with Sasha, her very presence and scent and the sound of her voice, day and night, seeping into his skin and her very self now firmly embedded in his heart. After the experience they had shared the other night, the thought of initiating Sasha into the pleasures of lovemaking were now far from being a daunting task, but one he longed to savour and enjoy. He made a move to the door, to run after her, but he was still in a state of undress and she was gone, only the sound of her footsteps tapping down the carpeted stairs left in her wake.

He hurried to dress, vowing that he would deal with Sasha later. He had an important meeting this morning with Sir Stanley and he had no time to wrestle with the problems of a wife who would not be a wife until there was a marriage.

 

Sasha ascertained directions to Countess Irena's home from a footman standing on the back stairs leading out to the courtyard.
Realising that she would not be deterred, the footman insisted on accompanying her, though it was only a few minutes' walk away. They let themselves out of the postern gate and into the street, a bitter wind howling about the tall buildings, elegant columns and many windows gracing the front façades of the palaces belonging to wealthy noble Russian families.

Countess Irena's palace was painted a pale pistachio green and boasted several white marble columns at the front, and long gilded windows brightly lit even at this time of the morning. Sasha hesitated on the steps, and then impulsively reached out and tugged the bell-pull. After a few moments the door opened and a tall, thin man wearing a grey wig and ornate liveried uniform greeted her with an enquiring expression upon his face. She gave her name and with a polite wave of his hand she was ushered into an anteroom, where the servant spoke to her in French and asked her to wait.

‘You may go,' Sasha spoke to the Embassy footman, with an apologetic smile. ‘I am sorry for keeping you from your duties. I will find my own way back.'

‘No fear,' replied the young man quietly, who spoke in a broad London accent. ‘Old man Cronin'd have me guts for garters if'n I left a lady here on her tod.' He squared his stout shoulders, stating firmly, ‘I'll wait fer ya, ma'am.'

‘What is your name?'

‘Harry, ma'am.'

‘Well then, Harry, I thank you for your trouble.'

She bit her lip as the servant returned and indicated that she should follow him. They crossed a hall lined with chequered marble and up a sweeping staircase of dark red carpet and ornate gilded balustrades that curved to the right and brought them to the first floor. For a moment she glanced down at the young footman as he waited on a chair in the hall below. She almost turned about and ran back, suddenly fearful of what was beyond the double doors they paused before. Then the servant opened
one side and led her into a room quite unlike any place she had ever set foot in before.

The long salon was very brightly lit and seemed to be full of people. Small groups sat on chairs and gilt sofas, talking animatedly, laughing. At the far end someone played a grand piano, while several others leaned upon its glossy white surface and chatted with apparent indifference to the music rippling forth. The atmosphere struck Sasha as being thriving, bright and intriguingly sophisticated.

‘Ah, my darling girl!' cried Countess Irena, striding towards her with both hands outstretched. She grasped Sasha's hands in hers and leaned down to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘How wonderful to see you! Come, let me introduce you to my friends. Would you like a glass of tea? Or wine?'

Sasha declined both, her gaze noting the huge silver samovar that steamed on a linen-draped table, set with glass cups and trays of tiny sweet biscuits. On another table were several silver ice-buckets with bottles of champagne protruding from them and crystal glasses gleaming in orderly rows. Her mother's cousin obviously enjoyed entertaining, but this was nothing like the quiet half-hour sipping tea while they exchanged pleasantries that Sasha had envisaged!

 

Two hours later she begged her leave, guiltily aware that it was lunchtime and, despite her thoughts earlier of spending the day with Irena, she had stayed far longer than she should have. Her cheeks were flushed and she had enjoyed several interesting conversations and one heated debate with a variety of people, some of them impressive intellectuals and others simply charming and erudite. Of course, there had not been a private moment to discuss with her cousin the difficulties of her relationship with Reid, and in all honesty, she was not convinced that it would be at all appropriate. She decided to wait until she knew Irena a little better. After all, she could not totally ignore Lady Cronin's warnings and she could not risk courting any more scandal than
they already held at bay. She declined Irena's invitation to stay for luncheon, but agreed that she would return again soon.

At the door, as she donned her cloak she turned to Irena with a smile. ‘Thank you, it has been a wonderful time, and there have not been many of those lately.'

A slight frown creased the beautiful Irena's brow, and she purred softly, ‘We will soon remedy that, my darling little one. You will be made to feel welcome here, always, and of course, your husband, too. I would like to meet him next time.'

Sasha hesitated, glancing away, wondering if now was the moment to ask for her help to escape from her ‘husband', but instinctively she shrunk from the furore and shame of such an action. She was doomed, either way. Instead she demurely murmured, ‘He is very busy.'

‘But you are newly married. Surely he can spare time to spend with his new bride? I will send him a note, inviting you both to supper. It will be wonderful. Yes?'

Sasha merely smiled and inclined her head, then she glanced at young Harry. ‘Let us be on our way.'

They walked back quickly, heads bowed against the biting wind, hugging the walls and making themselves unobtrusive. Harry grasped her arm as a party of horsemen clattered past, and he muttered something about Cossacks, leaning protectively over her slight frame. They had not far to go and though they both sighed with relief when Harry hammered on the postern gate of the Residency courtyard, and they were admitted at once, Sasha felt no sense of gladness to be ‘home'. Climbing the stairs to her chamber, she was acutely aware of the silent and oppressive atmosphere of the household, strictly governed by a mistress who had no sense of gaiety, nor did she approve of the company of intellectuals, the so-called
literati
.

Sasha sat down at the writing bureau in her bedchamber and unfastened her cloak, intending to write to her parents at once and inform her mother of her meeting with Irena, and assure her that they were both well and her mother was not to worry
about her. She drew out a sheet of paper and then sat staring out of the windows at the River Neva with a dreamy expression, and going over in her mind the people and conversations and music she had enjoyed that morning. At one point someone had told a rather risqué joke; it had been puzzling to her and she had blushed profusely, expecting Irena to reprimand the young man who had dared to utter such sauciness in the presence of ladies, but instead she had thrown back her head and laughed. Sasha smiled now, realising that she had enjoyed the stimulating company, and also that Lady Cronin's well-ordered drawing room was not the be-all and end-all of social circles.