The Brigadier's Daughter (15 page)

While she sat there wondering what she could and could not write to her mother, the door snapped open suddenly and Reid strode into the room. He came to a halt beside her, with a thunderous frown upon his face.

‘Where the hell have you been?'

With a little defiant tilt of her chin she looked up at him with raised brows. ‘I have been to visit my cousin, Countess Irena.'

‘Alone?'

‘No, Harry the footman escorted me.'

‘Who is this—this Countess Irena?'

‘She is my mother's second cousin. Very beautiful, and very clever, and very rich.'

Reid swung away and went to stand before the window, staring out. ‘And very Russian, no doubt.' He frowned, as he pondered on the vaguely familiar name. ‘Do you mean Irena Sletovskaya?'

‘Why, yes.' Sasha rose from her chair and went to stand beside him, an eager smile upon her face as she looked up enquiringly. ‘Do you know her?'

He glanced down at her. ‘No, but I have heard her name mentioned. She is a whore. I forbid you to go to her house again.'

‘You have been listening to the malicious tongue of Lady Cronin!' exclaimed Sasha, stung by a sudden spurt of shock and anger at his harsh words. She moved away from him. ‘It is
nonsense and I will visit her whenever I wish! I had the most wonderful time with some very interesting people! Irena is going to send an invitation for us to sup with her. She wants to meet you.'

She did not go far before Reid's hand fastened on her upper arm and dragged her back. He pulled her up sharp against him, his voice very low as he spoke, his eyes holding hers as firmly as his hand held her arm. ‘It is not from Lady Cronin that I have heard talk, but from officers in the Russian Army. Do not disobey me, Sasha. You will not go to this Irena's house again. It is for your own good.'

‘Is it?' She glared at him, trying to shake free from his grasp. ‘Or is it for your good and the British Embassy? Will you not at least meet her, just the once, and make your own judgement?'

He noticed her flushed cheeks, and the animated gleam in her eyes, and whilst he could understand the reasonableness of her request, his emotions, gradually being drawn closer and deeper towards her, were just as susceptible as her own and he felt a most unwelcome and unfamiliar stab of jealousy in his heart. ‘I see these “interesting people” have made quite an impression upon you. Was there anyone in particular?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘A man, perhaps?'

She tossed her head. ‘Don't be ridiculous!'

His glance fell to her mouth. ‘Be careful. You are innocent and naïve, Sasha, you have no idea what men are capable of.' He let her go then, abruptly. ‘This afternoon we are to visit the Hope-Garners and bid them farewell. Our belongings will be moved over and tonight we will spend our first evening in our new apartment.'

Sasha rubbed her arm and turned her back to him, staring in mutinous silence out of the window.

‘Sasha?'

‘I heard you.'

‘Then come with me now, it is time for luncheon.'

‘I am not hungry, and I must finish my letter to my parents. Let them know I'm all right.'

‘You can do that after lunch.' With a sigh, he strode towards her, entwined his fingers intimately between the fingers of her left hand and pulled her with him to the door. ‘I said, it is time for luncheon. We will not be late, and we will not eat separately and cause comment.'

As they moved down the staircase in apparent unison, Reid could not help but murmur softly by her ear, ‘At times you are very much like your sister, quite determined. If this Irena is so wonderful, then perhaps I'd better come along on one of your visits to see for myself.'

Sasha stared straight ahead. ‘If you wish.'

‘She may be a whore, but I hear she is a very beautiful one.'

She snapped her head about to glare at him. ‘Are you deliberately trying to pick a fight with me, Reid Bowen?'

He laughed, noticing again the resemblance to Georgia as an angry flush coloured her neck and her dark eyes flashed at him, amused by the similar trait of high spirits and courage, yet he defused her anger immediately as other guests sauntered along the hallway. ‘No, sweetheart, of course not.'

They reached the dining-room doors and were ushered to their seats, forcing a postponement of any further debate upon the merits of the controversial Countess Irena.

 

Throughout luncheon the atmosphere felt unbearably false to Sasha's mind, as Lady Cronin prattled on with forced brightness. She concentrated on the plates of food placed before her that she had no appetite for, but at least it was a diversion. Once she glared at Reid and almost choked as he pinched her thigh, forcing her to pay attention to Lady Cronin and answer her question about whether she would like to take the maid Jane with her to their apartment. Realising that some effort was being made to cast oil upon the ruffled waters between them, Sasha smiled and accepted the offer with a few polite words of thanks. Appar
ently they were also to have a cook, a butler and a footman, and Sasha listened to Lady Cronin's expectations of how she would entertain guests of the military attaché, the subtle implication being that she would hold dinner parties and receive morning callers whether she liked it or not.

From the corner of his eye Reid glanced at his ‘wife', and realised that Sasha was of course no schoolroom chit to be ordered about, but a grown-up young woman very much in possession of her own mind. He noted the pursing of her lips and the arched quirk to her brows as Lady Cronin all but laid down the law, and he resolved there and then to extricate Sasha from what had become an impossible situation. Apart from the fact that she would be required to play hostess as his wife—difficult enough considering that she was not his wife at all—it was becoming harder and harder to resist the intimacies of their shared bed. His yearning for physical pleasure with her became more intense as each day passed, and he had two obvious choices—he could either pack Sasha on to the next mail boat back to England, and have done with the whole affair, or he could marry her and they could begin to explore their relationship as a husband and wife should, both physically and emotionally.

He turned to Charlotte, sat next to him, and asked carefully and with great politeness, ‘Ma'am, would you happen to know whether there are any Anglican church services available to us?' At his elbow he heard Sasha's swift intake of breath and her spoon clatter into her glass dish of mint sorbet.

Charlotte dabbed a napkin to her mouth, and smiled shyly at him. ‘Why, yes, of course. There is a minister, a Reverend Jones, who holds Sunday services at his house. But I do believe he is away for two weeks, visiting friends in Moscow.'

‘Ah…' Reid sighed. ‘What a shame.'

Lady Cronin leaned forwards, catching the tail end of their conversation. ‘He's Welsh, but a fine enough fellow. I could invite him to lunch when he returns and then you can both meet him.' She peered at Reid across the table and frowned.
Major Bowen had not made the impression upon her of being a particularly religious sort, but she made no further comment.

 

That afternoon they all dutifully traipsed down to the harbour and waved goodbye to the Hope-Garners. Sasha was sad to bid farewell to Charlotte, who had been kind to her, if somewhat distracted by her many children and tasks involved with returning to England. They kissed each other goodbye and promised to write and keep each other informed of their new lives. She gave Charlotte a letter to be passed on to her parents, her guilt somewhat assuaged that soon her parents would receive news that all was well with her. Then Reid ushered her to a carriage and they set off for their new apartment.

It was situated in a grand building in a street behind the Residency. It had no view of the river, but overlooked the courtyard of the Residency from its rear windows, and the street from the front. Sasha was pleased to note that it had its own entrance, and a short yet elegant staircase rose from the hallway to the first-floor landing and the main salon, dining room, breakfast room and a study. On the floor above there were four bedrooms, two spacious bathrooms and a dressing room. Sasha made no comment when she discovered that her suitcases and trunk had been placed in a room opposite to one occupied by Reid's belongings, and though she felt relief that she would at last have her own room, there was a vague sense of disappointment, too. She wondered if Reid had given the order, or if the servants had naturally assumed the common custom that husband and wife would wish to occupy separate bedrooms.

The rooms were furnished in a more sombre style than that of the opulent luxury of the Residency, yet Sasha found there was some charm to the dark, heavy furniture, a solid old-fashioned sense of comfort with the large sofas and curved tables, the imposing sleigh beds and the heavy swags of brocade curtains that seemed so typical in Russia to dress the huge windows. There was little in the way of ornaments, which Sasha knew to
be because of the Hope-Garners' many children, the presence of their boisterous little spirits lingering still.

 

That evening, after a quiet supper with Reid, she bade him good-night and retired to a hot bath and her solitary bed. She lay awake for a long while, listening for when at last Reid left his study and came upstairs. His door closed and she could hear nothing more. How she longed to lie in his arms again! Yet now they had assumed the correct proprieties, and she had no idea how to make her ‘husband' fall in love with her.

O
ver tea and toast the next morning, at a round table in the cosy breakfast room, Reid made it clear that he would be out all day as he took up the reins for the first time in his sole capacity as military attaché.

‘What will you do?' he asked, as he thanked Jane with a smile for the plate of scrambled egg and fried tomato that she placed before him. He picked up his knife and fork, then glanced keenly across the table. ‘Sasha?'

She looked up from idly stirring sugar into her cup of tea, and shrugged. She felt out of sorts this morning, but could not really fathom why.

Reid ate quickly, mindful of the time, but he paused as he looked at her pale face and the shadows beneath her eyes. ‘Did you sleep all right? Was the bed comfortable enough?'

Sasha smiled softly, a wistful look in her eyes. ‘The bed was very comfortable, thank you. But it is a strange new house and I suppose I must get used to it.' It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she had missed sleeping with him beside her.

Reid rose to his feet, folded his napkin and laid it on the table. ‘I will have luncheon at the Embassy, so I will not see you until this evening.' He bent and kissed her forehead. He, too, resisted
the temptation to tell her that he had missed sleeping with her lying beside him.

They went their separate ways.

 

Later that morning Sasha rang for the footman and he accompanied her to Countess Irena's, the walk taking only a minute or two as the apartment was situated closer than to the Residency. She was greeted warmly, as before, and she passed several pleasant hours chatting and listening to music. At Irena's insistence she promised that she would soon bring Reid to visit her. Yet she did not dare to broach the subject with him, somehow sensing that it would create discord and in these weeks whilst they waited for the Reverend Jones to return and marry them, legally and with honour, she did not want to spoil the few moments she had with Reid.

 

By the end of May the weather had greatly improved, the sky turning from sullen wintry clouds to a clear blue, quite unlike an English sky in its intensity. On one afternoon she and Reid went riding in one of the many vast parks, and he confided in her that he had heard the Reverend Jones had returned and he would endeavour to visit him as soon as possible.

Holding the reins of her horse in one hand, elegantly attired in a green riding habit and top hat with black-spotted veil, Sasha glanced at him with a smile and mischievous light in her eyes. ‘Does that mean we will be able to sleep together?'

Reid laughed, ‘Why, yes, I think it would. Isn't that what a husband and wife usually do?'

‘I don't know, I've never been married before. Not properly.'

Reid laughed. Glancing at her as she sat side-saddle, the teasing note in her voice and smile, Reid felt a flush of hot desire rush through him and he leaned over, pulling both her own and his horse to a halt. He deftly lifted the veil from her face and kissed her with passionate force. ‘Is that what you want, Sasha?'
His face was very close to her own as he looked into her eyes. ‘To sleep with me?'

She blushed, but she did not look away as she nodded and lifted her mouth to his for another kiss. He obliged, and then forced himself to let her go, moving his horse as he resisted the temptation to gallop away with Sasha into the trees and find a secluded spot to make love to her. They must wait, but the waiting was sweet agony!

They rode back to the house and in the heat of the moment Reid agreed to Sasha's plea that he would go with her to her cousin's for luncheon. He could very well do without the complication of Irena Sletovskaya in their lives, but if it made Sasha happy, then just the once would surely do no harm. It would give him the opportunity to have a quiet word with the woman, and make it clear that henceforth he expected her to keep her distance from a young and impressionable Sasha.

 

They went on Saturday, Reid generally not expected to attend the office, although Sir Stanley had warned that all manner of things cropped up at odd and inconvenient hours and not to expect too much of a routine. Most Saturdays Lady Cronin demanded them to dance attendance on whatever social activities she had planned, but this weekend they had to themselves, as following a visit to Tsarkoe Selo in the pouring rain she had been laid low with a cold and all had been cancelled. Reid resolved to attend Reverend Jones's service on Sunday morning and ascertain whether he was to be trusted with the secretive and sensitive task of joining himself and Sasha in holy matrimony.

At exactly twelve noon he knocked on Sasha's bedroom door and she called for him to enter. He opened it and stood on the threshold, watching as she settled a small pink hat atop her head, a few feathers and bits of ribbon dancing to one side. ‘Shall I call for the carriage?' he asked, his eyes skimming over the slenderness of her figure, a memory stirring in his mind of how
she had felt sleeping next to him and their pillow talk, and how much he missed both.

‘Oh, no,' Sasha replied, picking up her gloves and reticule from the bed. ‘Let's walk.'

He frowned. ‘I don't think so, it's safer—'

‘Nonsense, I often walk, it's only around the corner and it's such a lovely day, do let's.'

His frown deepened a little, and he realised suddenly that he actually had no idea what she did all day, alone, while he was at the Embassy, or out and about attending to his own affairs. It might well be prudent to keep a better eye on Sasha and her movements in future.

They set off down the wide street, a soft breeze blowing, fresh yet not biting, and Sasha walked happily with her arm slipped through the crook of Reid's elbow. It felt wonderful to be out of the house, just the two of them alone, together. In the last few weeks she had sensed that Reid was quite tense from the pressures of work. She chattered lightly, glad to see the smile return to his eyes as he walked at her side and responding in that steady, even tone of voice that she admired so much, at one point reaching with his left hand to squeeze one of her hands clasped about his arm. They were both smiling and relaxed by the time they reached the imposing white enamel-and-gilt portico of the Sletovskaya palace. As they mounted the steps Reid glanced up at the rows of brightly lit windows and marble columns, his eyebrows raised at the impressive opulence, but he kept any comments about how Irena had acquired her riches to himself, reluctant to spoil Sasha's naïve enjoyment. The door opened as soon as he rang the bell, and a liveried footman took their coats, hats and gloves. Sasha led the way up the curving staircase and they were met on the landing by her cousin.

‘Ah, at last!' Irena threw up her hands in a dramatic gesture as she greeted them. ‘You have brought your husband to me!' She moved with a rustle of gold silk and stood before Reid, quite obviously perusing him from head to toe, and then she winked
at Sasha and held out her hand to him. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Major Bowen.'

He leaned forwards and took her hand in his, pressing a light kiss upon the smooth, scented skin, but he refrained from the obvious courtesy of inviting her to call him by his first name. Instead, he bowed, and replied, ‘Countess Irena Sletovskaya.'

Sasha glanced at him from the corner of her eye, suddenly wondering at the wisdom of this meeting. She had never known Reid to be deliberately rude to anyone; though his manner was polite and civil and was far from being rude, it was not as warm and cordial as she would wish from her husband towards a close member of her family.

Irena appeared unperturbed and linked arms with both of them as she led them along the carpeted corridor.

‘You are looking lovely today.' Irena smiled at her. ‘I do like the way you wear your hair, so natural. Don't you think so, Major Bowen?'

Reid nodded. ‘Quite charming.'

‘Of course, you are young, my dear, and it suits you, but if you wish my coiffeuse to show you some more sophisticated styles, she is at your disposal.'

Sasha smiled, delighted that Irena should take such an interest in her, but Reid had other views on the subject and he politely but firmly replied, ‘That is very kind of you, Countess, but I like my wife's hair just the way it is.'

An awkward moment was avoided as they turned into a room to the rear of the palace, overlooking the formal and beautiful gardens just beginning to flower with the promise of spring. A fire flickered in the grate, surrounded by an ornate onyx hearth, the mantelpiece topped with silver-framed photographs and ornaments. A large black chesterfield was placed squarely in front of the hearth and Sasha and Reid seated themselves on this, while Irena sat in a gilt Louis XVI armchair beside the fireplace, facing them and the focus of their attention. A hovering servant offered glasses of champagne from a silver tray and
several others busied themselves with making the final preparations to a square table, set with snow-white linen, silver cutlery and crystal glasses, the room richly scented by a centrepiece of lilies and orchids.

Sasha sipped from her glass and glanced away from watching Reid conversing with Irena to the table set for just three people. She had never known Irena to entertain less than a dozen to luncheon before, and she realised that they were to be the only guests. She lifted her eyes then to Irena and to Reid, who was twirling his glass between his spread knees as he sat on the edge of the sofa, while Irena talked about how much she had heard about him and how wonderful it was to finally meet him. She asked many questions about Reid's life almost from the time he was born, and these he politely if vaguely answered, while Sasha sat quietly at his side, hoping that Reid would soon thaw and show Irena his good nature that she herself found so charming. She observed the slender curve of her cousin's neck, the pale buttermilk glow of her perfect and unflawed skin, the ruby redness of her full, wide mouth, the dark glossy coils of her hair wound about her head in intricate and very becoming curls. Her voice was so soft and light, just a little husky, her scent almost as erotic as the flowers on the table. She was very beautiful, Sasha realised with a pang. No, she was more than that, more than just beautiful, she was… Sasha searched her mind for the right word and could not think of any that adequately described the mesmerising womanliness of Irena. How could anyone not admire her?

At Irena's urging they rose from the sofa and moved across the room to the dining table. They paused for a moment while she showed them a view of the garden from one of the three long windows, an elegant vista of terraced lawns, fountains, topiaries and lush shrub-filled borders. Then they seated themselves, with Irena at the head of the table, Reid to her left, the light shining on him, and Sasha to her right, with her back to the window. Once Reid had finished pulling out the ladies' chairs and they were
all seated comfortably, the first course was served by servants who came and went with discreet silence. Sasha bent her head and stirred her spoon through the steaming chicken-and-noodle soup, watching Irena from the corner of her eye and copying the way she so elegantly ladled and sipped her soup.

‘My dear—' Irena laid cool, slender fingers on her arm ‘—how is the esteemed Lady Cronin?'

They both chuckled at the private joke, as Irena always asked the question and usually Sasha would relieve her frustrations and angst by pouring out all her woes as far as Lady Cronin was concerned, but today, in front of Reid, she hesitated, glancing at him across the table. She replied with some reserve, ‘I have not seen her this week, I believe she is abed with a cold.'

‘Ah.' Irena dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a fine linen napkin. ‘Please do give her my commiserations. She really should not go gadding about the countryside in inclement weather.'

‘You are well informed.' Reid glanced keenly at his hostess, his soup spoon idle in the golden liquid, a thread of steel in his voice. ‘I think it's admirable of Lady Cronin to make the effort to see as much of Russia as possible.'

‘Of course,' Irena murmured, exchanging a glance with Sasha at his defence of a woman who only went where royalty and the British Embassy were best served.

For the main course they had beef fillets, accompanied by fine-shredded sautéed cabbage and light, fluffy dumplings. The food was delicious, cooked to perfection, and served with impeccable timing.

‘My compliments to your chef,' commented Reid, as he cut into a tender piece of beef, darkly roasted on the outside, and pink in the middle, ‘but I must confess that I am surprised by the menu, Countess. It's very much simple fare. No caviar or fancy French dishes, as I know the Russians do enjoy.'

Irena laughed, reaching for her glass of wine as she took a sip and eyed him over the rim with her dark, seductive eyes. ‘Of
course, Major, I always give my guests what they most enjoy and a man like you, a soldier, has simple yet robust tastes.'

‘Indeed?' His reply was somewhat sardonic. He picked up his own wine glass, toying with the stem for a moment before taking a deep swallow of the rich red wine. ‘And how would you know what I enjoy?'

‘Oh, I have made it my business to find out!'

‘Really? And might I ask, from whom? I trust my
wife
has not been telling tales.'

‘Oh, no, not at all. But do tell me, Major Bowen, what was it like on the Hindu Kush and the Khyber Pass? Why, it sounds so romantic and very exciting!'

Deftly Irena changed the subject, and Sasha could say and do nothing as she sat there, watching them play a game, the one so determined to impress the other, who was equally determined not to be impressed. It was all she could do to stop herself from kicking Reid on the shins underneath the table!

Across the table Reid glanced at Sasha, and said gently, with all the concerned tones of a caring husband, ‘You are very quiet, my dear, are you quite all right?'

Sasha felt the heat stain her neck as she flushed with her guilty thoughts, then she took a steadying breath, lifted her chin and replied, ‘I am quite well, thank you, darling.'