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Sonya started to protest, but thought better of it. She was a tall woman, nearly six feet, and narrow in build. A widow whose marriage had lasted less than a year, she hadn’t mourned her overbearing husband’s death and had refused to remarry and suffer the indignities of the marriage bed with yet another man. Her life, fraught with one disappointment after another, left little tolerance for the baser urges men were cursed with. Her own brother had gone so far as to marry an Englishwoman simply because he couldn’t have her any other way, and now the Alexandrov bloodline would be forever tainted. If only Misha hadn’t died, or if he had at least left an heir, a legitimate heir…

  A brief look of disgust crossed Sonya’s features as she drew her own conclusions about Dimitri’s companion. So now he was bringing sluts into his home. He couldn’t be discreet like his brothers and father and just tumble a willing serf now and then. He had to bring one back from England. What was he thinking of? But she didn’t ask him. His mood was not conducive to criticism at the moment, if his terseness was any indication. And she didn’t want any more disgraceful scenes for the servants to witness.

  She waited while Dimitri had a few words with everyone who had turned out to welcome him home. It was ridiculous really, this respect he paid mere servants, but his mother could be thanked for his peculiarities, and he was really too old to try and change him. Tatiana would be a good influence however. The one thing Sonya had no complaints over was Dimitri’s choice of a bride. But this long absence hadn’t helped his suit. He had no time to waste, certainly no time to waste on an English peasant.

  Belatedly Sonya noticed her niece’s absence. “Didn’t Nastya return with you?”

  “Yes, but I left her to visit with Varvara for a while.” The truth was she had become much too attached to Katherine, which could cause endless problems he didn’t need.

  “Is that wise, Mitya? St. Petersburg is not without its social gatherings at this time of year, even if it is almost deserted. Or did I misunderstand your message when you rushed off to bring the girl home?”

  “You understood. But you needn’t worry about her much longer. She has agreed to marry as soon as we can agree on a suitable husband.”

  Sonya’s blue eyes flared in surprise. “You will give her a choice?”

  “She’s my sister, Aunt Sonya. I would like to see her happy in a marriage. You weren’t given a choice, and look how that turned out.”

  Sonya drew herself up stiffly. “We needn’t discuss that. Nastya is fortunate that you are so indulgent, but only an exceptional man will put up with her willfulness. There is no telling what ideas she has brought back with her from England. She never should have been allowed to visit there, but then you know my feelings about that.”

  “Yes, Aunt,” he sighed.

  He knew only too well. She had been ardently opposed to her only brother marrying a foreigner and resentful when he did so anyway. She had never forgiven Petr, and war between the two women broke out immediately when Sonya was forced to return home after her husband died. Jealousy prevented her from seeing the goodness in Anne. As far as Sonya was concerned, everything Anne did was wrong, her views outlandish, and with Anne’s death, these feelings were transferred to England in general. Dimitri was certain the only reason she kept up a correspondence with the Duchess was the pleasure she got in pointing out all of Dimitri’s and Anastasia’s faults, which she attributed solely to their mother, though she refrained from mentioning that to Anne’s mother.

  “Well, whatever scandal Nastya stirred up in England won’t follow her home, thanks be to God,” Sonya remarked as they passed into the drawing room. “She can make a good marriage here. And speaking of marriage, have you seen Tatiana Ivanova yet?”

  A one-track mind. Dimitri was only surprised she hadn’t asked sooner.

  “We’ve only just returned, Aunt Sonya, and I came here directly from the ship. But I have my people looking into her whereabouts.”

  “You need only to have asked me. She is in Moscow presently, visiting her married sister. But she hasn’t exactly pined away while you were gone, Mitya. I have heard that Count Grigori Lysenko began paying his suit as soon as you left, and the rumor is that she favors him.”

  Dimitri shrugged, not particularly concerned. He had never liked Lysenko, not since they had been in the same unit in the Caucasus and he had had the misfortune to save the Count’s life, taking a minor wound himself in the process. His gesture would have been nothing, forgotten, except that Lysenko hadn’t been in the least appreciative, had in fact resented his help, and thereafter had set out to prove himself the better man at marksmanship, hunting, everything. So he wasn’t surprised that Lysenko had set his sights on the lovely Tatiana. But he wasn’t worried. The Count had yet to prove himself anything but a fool.

  “I will send word to her that I have returned.”

  “Shouldn’t you go in person, Mitya?”

  “And appear overanxious?”

  “She will be flattered.”

  “She will be amused,” Dimitri countered, becoming annoyed by her single-mindedness. “Constant attendance didn’t sway her before I left. It will not hurt to let her wonder for a while if I am still interested.”

  “But—”

  “No buts!” he snapped. “If you don’t think me capable of winning the fair lady on my own, perhaps I should cease to try.”

  It was a warning, plain and simple, and Sonya was wise enough to heed it. Tight-lipped, she turned and left the room.

  Dimitri headed for the liquor cabinet and splashed vodka into a glass. He didn’t need his aunt to tell him that he should resume his courtship immediately, but he simply didn’t have the patience for it right now and wouldn’t have until he had released some of this sexual tension that had him so short-tempered. There were a number of women here that he could relieve his pent-up desires with, but as great as his discomfort was after so long at sea, he didn’t want just anyone. He wanted Katherine. Damn, but it always came back to her.

  Furiously Dimitri threw the still-full glass into the fireplace and stalked out of the room. He found Katherine in the White Room, staring uninterestedly out the window. Boris, just bringing in her trunk, hurried the task and left when he saw Dimitri waiting to speak with her.

  “I won’t ask if you find the room to your liking. You will just tell me no, and then—”

  “Then you will have another one of your fits,” Katherine supplied as she slowly turned to face him. “You know, Dimitri, these tantrums are becoming quite tiresome.”

  “Tantrums!”

  “Is this going to be another one?” she asked with wide-eyed innocence.

  He clamped his mouth shut. She was doing it again, deliberately provoking him so that he couldn’t think, couldn’t remember why he had sought her out in the first place. But he didn’t forget this time. And two could play her game.

  “You fail to mention your own temper.”

  “Me? Have a temper?”

  “No, of course not,” he jeered. “You just scream and shout because it’s good exercise for the lungs.”

  She stared at him incredulously for a moment and then began to laugh—warm, honest laughter that filled the room and surrounded Dimitri with enchantment. He had never heard her laugh before, not like this. It made him realize there was an aspect of her personality he had overlooked—a sense of humor or even, possibly, mischievousness. If he thought about them, many of the things she had said to him, things that had annoyed him, could actually have been gentle teasing.

  “Oh, God,” Katherine sighed after a moment, wiping tears from her eyes. “You are priceless, Dimitri. Exercise my lungs—I’ll have to remember that when my brother complains that I’m a tyrant. I do lose patience with him occasionally.”

  He didn’t want to break this mood. “And with me.”

  “Most certainly with you.”

  But she was smiling as she spoke, and he was filled with a curious pleasure. Why had he come? To lay down new rules. To hell with that. He didn’t reall
y want to change her or take away her pretenses, which she so obviously enjoyed. If only he weren’t so sensitive where she was concerned! But if she had simply been teasing him, even just half the time…

  “There must be some way we can fix it,” Dimitri said as he casually moved closer.

  “Fix it?”

  “Yes, fix it—your lack of patience, my lack of patience, our mutual flaring tempers. They say lovers never find time to argue.”

  “Are we back to that?”

  “We have never been far from it.”

  Katherine warily backed up when he got too close. “Actually, I’ve heard lovers have the most violent arguments.”

  “Perhaps some do, but certainly not often. Yet when they do, they have the most delightful way of making amends. Shall I tell you how?”

  “I can—” Her retreat ended against the wall, and she finished with a gasp. “Guess.”

  “Then why don’t we make amends for a change?”

  She had to press her hands against his chest to hold him back. Concentrate, Katherine. You’ve got to distract him. Think of something!

  “Dimitri, did you want to see me for a particular reason?”

  He smiled at her effort and caught her hands in his. “I’m getting to the reason, little one, if you’ll just shut up for a moment.”

  She became lost in his smile, and in the kiss that followed. This was no ravaging assault meant to overwhelm her. His passion had been mellowed by their talk, but it was still there, communicated in a gentle exploration by his lips and tongue that was as intoxicating as anything that had gone before. He was sharing, giving of himself, and for heavenly long moments Katherine took all he had to offer—until he became more demonstrative, and she could no longer ignore the hard bulge that pressed against her belly.

  She tore her mouth away, breathless, panicky now. “Dimitri—”

  “Katya, you want me.” His voice was so husky it seemed to reverberate through her. “Why do you deny us?”

  “Because—because… No, I don’t want you. I don’t.”

  His look was so skeptical, he was calling her a liar without words. She wasn’t fooling him, or herself. Oh, why couldn’t he understand her position? Why did he have to assume that just because they had made love once, she would be willing to again? Of course she wanted him—how could she not? But to give in to that desire was unthinkable. One of them had to be sensible, to consider the consequences. He obviously wasn’t going to or just didn’t care.

  “Dimitri, how can I make you understand? Your kiss was pleasant, but for me it ends there. For you it ends in bed.”

  “And what is wrong with that?” he said defensively.

  “I’m not a whore. I was a virgin until I met you. And no matter how much you kiss me, no matter how much I might…like it, I can’t let it go beyond that. For me it has to end there. So—”

  “End there!” he cut in sharply. “A kiss on the hand ends there. A kiss on the cheek ends there. But when you press your body to mine, by God, that is an invitation to make love!”

  Heat stained Katherine’s cheeks with the realization she had done just that. “If you would have let me finish, I was going to suggest that it would be prudent of you to refrain from kissing me again, so that we might avoid these unpleasant arguments.”

  “I want to kiss you!”

  “You want more than that, Dimitri.”

  “Yes! Unlike you, I have never denied it. I want you, Katya. I want to make love to you. For you to suggest I not even try is absurd.”

  She looked away from him. His anger was just another form of his passion and it was too potent while she was herself emotionally charged.

  “That you feel so strongly about it is what I don’t understand, Dimitri. Do you realize we have never talked, just talked, to learn about each other, about our likes and dislikes? Everything I know about you I have learned from your servants or your sister. And you know much, much less about me. Why can’t we talk for once, without these tensions getting in the way?”

  “Don’t be naive, Katya,” he said bitterly. “Talk? I can’t think when you’re near me. You want to talk? Write me a goddamn letter.”

  When she looked up, he was gone, and the room, as large as it was, suddenly seemed small. Was she wrong? Could there be any future for her with such a man? If she gave in, wouldn’t his interest wane? His sister had predicted as much. So why should she open herself to an emotional involvement that couldn’t possibly last?

  Who are you kidding, Katherine? You’re already emotionally entangled up to your ears. You want the man. He makes you feel things you never thought you could feel, believe in things you always scoffed at. What are you holding out for?

  She wasn’t really sure anymore. And each time she had one of these encounters with Dimitri, she was even less sure.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  It was an agonizingly long day for Katherine, that first day at Novii Domik. Depression settled in after Dimitri had left her, and she couldn’t shake it. She could have explored the house for distraction. No one told her she couldn’t. Dimitri’s shouted order to Vladimir when they arrived—“The White Room, and see that she stays there!”—was certainly no deterrent. But she was still embarrassed over their arrival and wasn’t up to putting on a brave pretense when she simply felt like hiding. And she didn’t dare chance running into Dimitri again when she was so close to abandoning her resolve.

  Good Lord, would there never be an improvement to this situation? Was it just going to get harder and harder, the temptation ever more enticing?

  When she stood back and looked at the overall picture, she thought she must be crazy. Here she was tucked away in the country, ensconced in a room that was so opulently luxurious it defied description, and desired by the most handsome man alive. This was the stuff that dreams were made of. What woman in her right mind would bemoan the fate that provided a real-life fantasy?

  But Katherine did. And she needed to blame someone for her predicament, tired of blaming herself. Not surprisingly, she found ample scape-goats. Her sister, for being so secretive and forcing Katherine to follow her that day. Lord Seymour, for that matter, for losing his inheritance and becoming an unsuitable match. Even her father could be blamed. He could have accepted Lord Seymour and helped him to recoup his losses. Then there was Anastasia, for creating the scandal that brought Dimitri to England. The Dowager Duchess of Albemarle was also at fault for sending for Dimitri instead of handling Anastasia’s problem herself. And of course Vladimir took top honors for his rash decision to resort to kidnapping. Every one of them could have acted differently and prevented this intolerable situation from ever coming about.

  And it was more intolerable than ever. Katherine was wavering. She was getting too close to sacrificing her principles, to succumbing to what amounted to the most primitive motivation. And she knew giving in was only a matter of time now. There lay the cause of her depression. She didn’t want to be just another of Dimitri’s conquests. She didn’t want just a few weeks of devotion. She wanted more than that. Her pride demanded more.

  Katherine knew she was in a sorry state when she noticed her dinner tray that evening but couldn’t remember it being brought in. She rallied, annoyed with herself for wallowing in self-pity for half the day. She hadn’t even unpacked, but then she had lived out of a trunk for so long that it didn’t really matter. But she could have been doing something constructive. Dimitri had mentioned his accounts. Vladimir could have fetched them. She hadn’t even examined her new quarters.

  She did that after dinner while her bath was being readied. That several servants were waiting on her was noted and wondered about, but then there were probably so many here at Novii Domik that a few could be spared even to attend her.

  They were strangers to her and uncommunicative, seemed in fact resentful in their attitude, but maybe that was their normal disposition. Katherine couldn’t blame them. Servants in England could leave if they found their employment too tedious. Thes
e people could not.

  The room was magnificent in its appointments, pristine in its whiteness. The name was certainly appropriate. White carpeting, drapes, and wallpaper, though the paper did have a very light gold pattern, barely discernible, but enough to offset the heavy brocade drapes. All the furniture was painted white with gold filigree: the tables, the bedstead, the wardrobe and vanity; even the mantel was white marble. The sofa and chairs were a soothing contrast in gold and powder blue, the thick bedcovering as well.

  It was a woman’s room in color and simplicity. The vanity, the delicate lacy knickknacks placed throughout, the pictures on the walls, oils and perfumes in the separate small bathchamber, all confirmed it. It was an extremely comfortable room. Katherine was almost glad Dimitri had insisted she have it until she opened another door, a connecting door, and saw that it led straight into the master’s chamber, the master being Dimitri.

  Katherine slammed the door shut as soon as she saw Maksim laying out Dimitri’s clothes. Her face flamed and then grew even hotter as the two maids turning down the bedcovers glanced at her smugly. Good Lord, and the whole household knew that he had put her here, next to him, in the room that was obviously designed for the master’s wife, or in her case, the mistress! Even his aunt knew. What must that poor woman think? What else could she think?

  “It’s not true,” Katherine said in Russian so that both servants could understand her. But all she got was a giggle from the younger girl and a smirk from the other, which ignited her temper out of proportion to the provocation. “Get out! Both of you, out! By necessity I’ve become accustomed to attending myself. I don’t need your help. Out!”

  When they just stood there, struck dumb by her outburst and a little wary now, Katherine stalked into the bathchamber and slammed yet another door shut. She tore off her clothes, unmindful of buttons that didn’t give way soon enough, and prayed the bath would relax her. It didn’t.

  How dare he do this to her? How dare he let everyone here think she was his mistress, actually announce that fact by stipulating where she would sleep, at the top of his lungs no less, so that even the deaf would hear it? He might as well have told Vladimir to install her in his own room!