You Belong to Me Read online

  She came to her feet and leaned over his desk, her color now as high as his, but there was no mistaking that hers was from temper. 'Tell me you're lying!" At the hesitant shake of his head, she emitted a shriek of rage. "You are, I know you are! You can't tell me I've had a be­trothed for more than half my life and you never bothered to mention it before now. It de­fies reason. You would have thrown this man in my face when I told you I was going to wait for Christopher's proposal. You wouldn't have let me go on waiting seven years if I were prom­ised to another. And what about all those other men you hoped I would take an interest in?"

  "If you will calm down for a moment, I can explain."

  She didn't sit down, didn't calm down, but she held her tongue, which wasn't easy when all she wanted to do was scream. Constantin was aware of that fact, but he had had ample time to come up with a reasonable explana­tion for his so-called "silence" all these years.

  "I can't deny I wanted you to marry Sime­on's son, just as he wanted it. He was my closest friend, as you know. And you were so young then, so—biddable. There was no way to know that you would grow to be so willful and assertive, argumentative, obstinate—"

  "I get the point, Papa," she practically growled.

  He grunted before continuing. "I realized when you had your first season that you would balk at having a husband chosen for you. So with your happiness in mind, rather than my honor, I decided to give you time to choose for yourself—and hoped Count Petroff would turn out to be dishonorable and marry someone else, thereby breaking the betrothal." "And what if I had married someone else?" He was well prepared for that question. "First, you need to know that young Vasili never wrote to me, which caused me to won­der if Simeon had gotten around to telling his family about the betrothal before he died. It was a slim possibility that he hadn't, but one I was beginning to count on back then, espe­cially when you showed such interest in that Englishman."

  "Count on? You despised Christopher!" "But if he would have made you happy—" "Never mind that," she cut in impatiently. "If your friend's family never knew—"

  "I didn't say that," he cut back in, "only that it was possible they might not know. But in either case, if you had accepted someone's proposal, I would have had to write Vasili Petroff to inform him of it, and I was fully prepared to beg him to relinquish his claim on you."

  When Constantin had rehearsed this con­versation in his mind, he had decided the word "beg" was brilliant, designed to let her know that he had been completely on her side in this before she became unreasonable in her refusal to marry. But her expression said she couldn't have cared less.

  "So when did he write to you?" she de­manded.

  He had been dreading that question, had hoped she wouldn't have thought of it. Now all her rage would come squarely down on his head, because he couldn't lie about this when she was likely to get the truth from Count Petroff. "He didn't."

  "You did?!"

  "You have given me no choice," he said de­fensively. "You're twenty-five years old and still without a husband. If you had made the slightest effort to change that fact—"

  "I don't need a husband!"

  "Every woman needs a husband!"

  "Who says so?"

  "God in His wisdom—"

  "You mean Constantin Rubliov in his!"

  They were down to arguments they'd had before, ground he found much more familiar. "You need a husband to give you children."

  "I don't want children!"

  The lie was so blatantly obvious, he had to say so, though his voice gentled to a near whisper. "You know that isn't true, Alex."

  Alexandra was close to tears in her fury—at least she told herself that her anger was re­sponsible for her upset emotions and not the fact that she was childless and so far beyond a marriageable age that it was laughable. At times like this, she actually hated the man she'd sworn to wait for. Although Christopher still wrote to her frequently since he'd left Russia three years ago, not one of his letters had contained the marriage proposal she longed for.

  She had nearly reached the point of finally giving up on Christopher, though she hadn't told her father so. Obviously she should have. Perversely, what her father had done had just changed her mind. But even if she weren't in love with someone else, she wouldn't accept a complete stranger for a husband. Betrothals were archaic. That her father had arranged one for her wasn't merely intolerable, it was outrageous.

  She tried to moderate her tone and was only slightly successful. "When that man ar­rives, do the begging you would have done and get rid of him. You can give him Sultan's Pride for his trouble in coming here."

  She'd managed to shock him. "You would give away your prize stud?"

  "Do you begin to see that I don't want a stranger for a husband?" she countered, though the words were almost sticking in her throat. She'd raised Sultan's Pride from a colt and loved him passionately.

  "He won't be a stranger once you meet him. For God's sake, Alexandra, Simeon's son is first cousin to King Stefan of Cardinia. Do you realize what a prime catch he is?"

  "Is that supposed to matter to me?"

  He came to his feet, facing her angrily across the desk. "Yes, and it most certainly matters to me. Besides, you are deliberately ignoring the fact that a betrothal is as binding as a marriage. This one was arranged in good faith, with the best of intentions, and duly sworn to by Simeon and me. And, my girl, af­ter all these years, Vasili Petroff is still unwed. You are still unwed. So we can no longer in good conscience delay the nuptials."

  "You could at least ask him to tear up that damn contract!" she cried.

  "You could at least give the man a chance. He is coming here to marry you, thereby hon­oring his father's word. How can you do any less?"

  "Honor," she choked. "You would make this a matter of honor?"

  Constantin hesitated. He'd known she would be angry, but now she looked as if she were about to cry, and he couldn't stand to see her cry. It was that damn Englishman, he thought furiously. She was still hopeful that he would marry her. Such misplaced loyalty. But it was a father's duty to protect his daughter from her own foolishness. However, he would end the betrothal, even if he had to confess the truth to do it, if there was no chance that Petroff could make her happy. But he wasn't going to end it before that could be ascertained.

  "It already is a matter of honor. I gave my word when I signed the betrothal contract."

  Her fingers curled into fists, and she slammed both against his desk before she turned her back on him. For good measure, she kicked the chair she had vacated, toppling it over.

  'There's no call to wreck my study," her fa­ther said stiffly.

  "You're wrecking my life," she replied bit­terly.

  "What life? All you care about is the horses. You spend nearly your every waking moment in the stables. Half the time I think that you forget you're a woman."

  That comment brought forth the tears that she'd been fighting to hold back. But she vowed her father wouldn't see them. He'd be­trayed her. It didn't matter that he'd done it fifteen years ago—with the best of intentions. And what he scorned, her so-called lack of femininity, was what allowed him to win. How many women cared about honor? But she did, and he knew she did.

  "Very well, I won't refuse to marry your precious Cardinian." She was halfway to the door when she added, for her benefit alone, But I promise you he will refuse to marry me.

  "Then you'll make yourself presentable? At least change your clothes."

  "Oh, no. If he wants to marry me, he can see me as I am, not as I rarely am."

  Red-faced, Constantin shouted for her to come back, but she marched out of the room and slammed out of the house. He slumped back in his chair, wondering if he'd won, and worried because she hadn't argued as much as he'd expected. Alexandra was not to be trusted when she gave in easily.

  6

  Alexandra rode past the village, past the town, beyond the fields to the grazing meadows, where she finally gave Prince Mischa h
is lead. One of the Razin boys was behind her as always, but she hadn't noticed which one had followed her, nor did she look back now.

  It was probably Konrad, who at the age of thirty was the oldest and the most responsible of the three brothers, limofee and Stenka, the twins, only scolded her whenever she went off on her own without telling them, but Konrad would give her hell and make her feel it.

  She had grown up with the Razin boys and spent as much time in their home as she did in her own. They were like the brothers she never had, they were her friends, and some­times they were pains in the neck. Their only sister, Nina, who was supposed to be her maid, was really her dearest friend. She was a year younger than Alexandra, but even she had married, though her husband had died two years ago.

  Marriage.

  The chill autumn wind had dried Alex's tears, a foolishness she so rarely gave in to, but her urge now wasn't to cry any more, but to keep on riding and never return home. Konrad, of course, wouldn't let her. Even when he found out what her father had done, he wouldn't let her take the cowardly route. He'd be angry, just as angry as she was, but Cossacks didn't run from battles, and he'd view this betrothal as a battle. She would, too, once she stopped hurting and feeling so be­trayed.

  Marriage.

  Damn Christopher Leighton, why had he noticed her at her first ball in St. Petersburg? Why had he courted her so diligently and claimed he loved her? He was an assistant to the English ambassador, so worldly, so sophis­ticated, so handsome. She'd gotten her head turned royally.

  She loved him—she must love him to wait seven years, which even she knew was a ri­diculous amount of time to remain loyal to a man who had yet to propose marriage to her, and whose image she couldn't even recall clearly anymore, it had been so long since she'd last seen him. But his letters were al­ways so full of passion and his depth of feel­ing for her, even the last one, which she had recently received.

  Always he wrote of his love and how much he missed her. And since he had returned to England, he had been assuring her that he was trying to get his diplomatic posting switched back to Russia so he could be near her again. But in all his letters, not once had he ever mentioned marriage. And for all her boldness, she had never been able to write the few words that would have elicited from him a reply that would have either strengthened her hope or ended it. She simply couldn't bring herself to ask him outright if he intended to marry her.

  She should have, she realized now. She also should have followed him to England when she'd wanted to, instead of giving in to her fa­ther's refusal. If she could just see Christopher once more ...

  Alexandra made up her mind then and there. She would go to England as soon as she got rid of the Cardinian and the matter of honor was satisfied. After all, she had a siz­able amount of money saved up from the sale of her horses. All she had to do was figure out a way to leave the country so that her father wouldn't immediately try to stop her. With so many routes to England, once she was on one of them, he'd have the devil's own time find­ing her.

  With that decision made, some of the tight­ness left her chest and she pulled up on the reins, allowing Konrad to catch up to her. But it was Stenka Razin who drew up beside her and glared at her because of the mad ride he'd had trying to keep up with her.

  "You were trying to kill us both, right? Or just the horses?"

  "I was trying to outrun a few demons, if you must know," she replied.

  "Any I know?"

  "My father, for one."

  "Ah, another fight with your papa," he said with a knowing grin.

  Of the three Razin brothers, Stenka was the one who didn't have a serious bone in his body. He loved life and found pleasure, and more often than not humor, in just about ev­ery aspect of it. Whenever Alexandra was an­gry, or hurt, or just plain moody, he always managed to make her laugh. She was afraid he wasn't going to manage it this time if he tried.

  His brother Timofee was only slightly less carefree. The twins were so alike it was un­canny, and not just in their identical features. They were twenty-seven, had the black hair and blue eyes that ran in their family, and wanted the exact same things, including women, which was why they constantly com­peted with each other—and fought. It didn't take much to set those two off, and it wasn't unusual for one or the other to sport a black eye or a split lip from their tussles.

  "I don't know why you let these arguments with your papa upset you, since you always win," Stenka remarked.

  "I didn't win," she mumbled.

  "You didn't win?"

  His deliberately incredulous look didn't bring the grin he was looking for. "I didn't win!"

  "I suppose there is a first time for ev­erything." He sighed. "So what didn't you win?"

  "He has betrothed me to a Cardinian."

  There was nothing feigned about his new incredulous look. "He wouldn't do that to you."

  "He did it fifteen years ago."

  "Ah, when you were still a baby," he said, as if that explained it.

  "A ten-year-old baby?"

  He waved his hand dismissively. "So what are you going to do?"

  "Honesty would be the best strategy, I think," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll simply tell this Cardinian count that I don't want to marry him."

  Stenka gave her an assessing look that ran from her fur-topped head to her booted feet and, in his opinion, passed over a great many assets in between. "He could be as homely as hell, take one look at you, and think he's died and gone to heaven. Your honesty won't mat­ter in that case."

  Alexandra groaned over that possibility. "You aren't helping, Stenka."

  "Was I supposed to?"

  "It would be appreciated."

  "Well, then," he said cheerfully, "Timofee and I could ambush him, beat him up, and warn him off."

  "Except he's probably arriving even as we speak," she predicted, then added, just in case he'd mistaken her response to his suggestion as permission, "and we're not going to beat up a king's cousin—except as a last resort."

  He whistled softly. "A king's cousin? So why don't you marry him?"

  Her midnight-blue eyes took on a deep pur­ple hue when she glared, which she was doing now. "Because I happen to love Chris­topher."

  "Him!" Stenka said with such derision that she nearly winced. They all knew about her Englishman and they'd been happy for her— until the years had started to pass with no ring forthcoming for her finger. "That no-good laggard!"

  "I don't want to hear it."

  "You're sure?"

  "Yes."

  "But it would do me a world of good to get it off my chest."

  His expression was so earnest, she couldn't help chuckling. He grinned, having finally gotten the result he was after.

  "So let's go and meet your betrothed," he suggested. "You never know, you might like him." When she just snorted, he added, "It's not impossible."

  "But it wouldn't matter."

  He didn't have to ask why, and that was the hell of it, Stenka thought, feeling disgust now. Their Alex was too damn loyal, even when her loyalty was misplaced. And her papa had the right idea. Stenka's own father, Ermak, had heard the baron repeat it more than once, and every one of the Razins seconded the opinion. Someone should have shot that Englishman a long time ago.

  7

  Alexandra had taken a leisurely ride home, • so by the time she and Stenka approached the house, it was long past the 'less than two hours" that her father had predicted for her be-trothed's arrival. Count Vasili Petroff should have been settled in her home, either in his room or already in conference with her father. In either case, she wouldn't be likely to bump into him if she entered from the back of the house as she had planned. She had decided to let her father assess him first, then demand from him an honest opinion before she met the man herself.

  That had been her plan, and a good one, she had thought—there was always the possi­bility that her father wouldn't be able to toler­ate the man and would send him packing, so she wouldn't have to de
al with him at all— but it didn't take into account that her be­trothed might not be in any hurry to arrive. Seeing the eight men who were now dis­mounting in front of her house proved that.

  Alex wasn't thrown off kilter, however, by having to abandon one plan for another. After all, there was a lot to be said for confronta­tions, and interesting things could be learned when you took someone by surprise. All in all, it might be better if she did meet him first, before her father had a chance to warn him about some of her more "outrageous" habits, as he termed them. Seeing was believing, and she was never at her best in her work clothes. Whom, after all, did she have to impress in the stables?

  She hadn't expected the Cardinian to arrive with a full entourage, though. There were eight men, but a dozen horses, the riderless ones bogged down with baggage. Obviously her betrothed didn't travel lightly, which told her right there that he was probably one of those spoiled and pampered aristocrats, the kind who would be appalled at the idea of sleeping outdoors and always had to have servants on hand to see to his simplest needs.

  Alexandra had never in her life asked someone to do something for her that she wasn't able and willing to do herself, and, in fact, she preferred doing for herself. Nina might make sure her clothes were always neat and clean, but that was about the extent of the maid's duties that Alexandra allowed her friend to perform.

  Alexandra and Stenka rode up behind the visitors without being noticed. The Cardinians had been inconsiderate in not taking their horses around to the stables. Two of the house servants had come out to take charge of the animals, but they weren't having much luck. Several of the horses were thoroughbreds, not as fine as those the Rubliovs bred, and not as well trained either. In fact, they were causing quite a disturbance among the more placid animals.

  One was a stallion at which Prince Mischa snorted and tossed his proud head, but a soft word from Alexandra and he stilled, allowing her to dismount and ignore him, sure that he wouldn't embarrass her with any male theat­rics. Her eyes had already settled on the man she assumed to be her betrothed, his fine clothes giving him away. She hadn't expected him to be so handsome. Dark brown hair, baby-blue eyes, and grooves in his cheeks that promised dimples when he smiled. She was further surprised to find his expression so open, making him seem accessible—even lik­able.