You Belong to Me Read online

  Right now, he was about the only one of his group who had heard her arrival and who had turned in her direction. But his eyes never reached Alexandra. They lit on Prince Mischa and went no further.

  It was a reaction Alexandra was quite used to, expected even, and understandably filled her with no small amount of pride. But then her two stallions, Prince Mischa and his sire, Sultan's Pride, were both pure white thor­oughbreds, with luxurious long manes and tails, deep blue eyes, and none of the usual patches of pink skin showing through their dense, smooth coats.

  Their offspring were in constant demand and commanded ridiculously high prices, but Alexandra never sold her "babies" to anyone who wasn't a connoisseur of fine horseflesh. If the prospective buyers weren't going to pam­per them the way she did, then they weren't going to own them.

  Her betrothed, apparently, was just such a connoisseur. Figuratively, he was practically drooling over her horse. She was amused. She was relieved. Though it was going to kill her to do it, she just might be able to buy him off with Prince Mischa. Of course, she would offer one of her mares or geldings first. All of her breed­ing stock and their offspring were of superior quality. But from the looks of the man, he was already in love with Prince Mischa.

  Alexandra dismounted, and just to be sure she hadn't made a mistake in identifying her betrothed, she demanded, loud enough for the entire group to hear her, "Which one of you is Vasili Petroff?"

  Vasili turned from his examination of the large country house and eyed the—female? He wasn't quite sure until his gaze dropped to a prime pair of breasts that actually wid­ened the opening of the old woolen coat she was wearing. It was a shame the britches were so baggy, but the skin-hugging boots re­vealed nicely shaped calves.

  He was attracted, no doubt about it. Breasts like those always did the trick for him. But there was more, for she had quite lovely fea­tures, too, flawless skin that still retained a summer tan, which attested to her peasant origins—no lady would expose herself to that much sun—with high cheekbones presently pinkened by the wind and a slim, straight nose that seemed too fine, almost aristocratic.

  Her mouth was luscious, full, provocative, nearly as tempting as those breasts. The stub­born lift of her small chin was disconcerting, but could be ignored. What he could see of her hair beneath the fur hat that covered her head was almost lighter than her tanned skin. The nicely curved brows were darker, though, a light brown, and the long, thick lashes that surrounded almond-shaped eyes were darker still, making for a very arresting, exotic com­bination.

  Perhaps his short stay here wouldn't be completely unpleasant after all, Vasili de­cided, and he was grinning by the time he said, "That would be me, sweetheart. And who might you be?"

  Alexandra's eyes left the dark-haired man, who had barely spared her a glance at her question, and swung to the one who had just spoken. So she had made a mistake ...

  The thought deserted her, along with every other one in her head. Her eyes grew enor­mous. Her mouth dropped open. She forgot about breathing. And her stomach felt as if it were trying to drop to her feet.

  Time passed without her noticing it, until fi­nally she was drawing in a starved breath just before she turned blue. She turned bright crimson instead. Her cheeks had to be giving off smoke. And his grin widened at her reac­tion to him. Was it shock? Was that what had just made a fool of her? And still was, for she still couldn't seem to find her tongue. It must be shock, but then no one had ever warned her that men could look like this one.

  He was golden all over, hair of molten gold that curled softly over his temples and ears, tawny-gold skin, honey-gold eyes. He was ab­solutely beautiful, but it was a masculine beauty, with features perfectly symmetrical: lean cheeks, a straight, aquiline nose, thick, slashing brows, strong chin, and well-shaped lips that were entirely too sensual. The combi­nation was mesmerizing.

  But somehow Alexandra managed to pull her stunned senses together. He was Vasili Petroff? She was supposed to marry him? God, what a joke. Marry a man more beauti­ful than she was? Not in this century, she wouldn't.

  Now that her mind was working again, she recalled her plan and she marched over to him, belatedly noting that he was tall, a good six feet tall. And his knee-length, fur-edged coat that was wrapped and belted around a lean waist showed a military physique that she found a bit disconcerting. Her father was taller and much stockier, but the whipcord strength of the man who stood before her was somehow more intimidating.

  But Alexandra was not one to show her fear to anyone if she could help it, and she wasn't actually afraid of the man. He wasn't her husband, after all, merely her betrothed—and soon he wouldn't even be that.

  "I'm sorry I stood there like a half-wit, Count Petroff," she told him matter-of-factly, "but I was a bit—surprised. After all, if s not ever day that I see a man who's prettier than lam."

  She vaguely heard some chuckles from the men standing behind him and from the blue-eyed man she had first thought was her be­trothed. She was quite disappointed that he wasn't Count Petroff, for it would have been far easier to deal with him. She gave him a brief, wistful glance that he must nave misin­terpreted—he was finally looking her way long enough to see it—for it wiped the hu­morous expression from his face.

  Returning her attention to the golden Adonis, she noted his heightened color. It was amazing how she always managed to produce that effect in men once she opened her mouth—at least in men who didn't know her. She hadn't intended to shock him with her frankness, but she was unaccountably pleased that she'd managed it anyway. And having gotten rid of his grin at least, she felt more in control.

  Remembering his question, she was about to introduce herself when, between one thought and the next, she also recalled what he'd called her. "Sweetheart?" Without knowing who she was? She almost laughed then, as she realized that the man had been flirting with her, or rather, with an unknown female, and on the doorstep of his betrothed's house. And that told her more about his character than she was likely to learn from any conversation with him.

  She didn't laugh, but she couldn't quite keep the corners of her mouth from turning up. This really was a stroke of luck for her. She couldn't wait to tell her father about this paragon of honor and virtue he'd hoped to saddle her with.

  She considered toying with him for a mo­ment, just to see how far he could bury him­self before she revealed who she was. It was actually very tempting, not that she really knew how to toy with a man. But she wasn't going to resort to trickery when honesty would serve just as well.

  She was still grinning slightly, however, when she said, "Let me introduce myself, Count. I'm Alex Rubliov."

  "Alex—as in Alexandra?"

  "Yes."

  The moment he had her answer, his whole demeanor changed. His honey-gold eyes trav­eled down her long length, but this time they were filled with utter contempt, with a heavy dose of disgust thrown in. And Alexandra couldn't have been more pleased.

  To prove it, she gave him a dazzling smile that, unbeknownst to her, made him catch his breath. "It's rather obvious that neither of us is what the other expected, but don't despair. As it happens, I don't want to marry you."

  Since she'd just taken the words right out of Vasili's mouth, so to speak, he was rendered nearly speechless. "You don't?"

  "Not even a little," she reassured him. "But I am sorry you had to waste your time in com­ing here. You must insist that my father make it up to you when you break our betrothal. And if I don't see you again before you leave, well, if s been—interesting meeting you."

  With that, she swung around and appeared to leap into the saddle of the white stallion, she mounted him so fluidly. Horse and rid­er then trotted off around the corner of the house, a brute of a Cossack following behind them.

  It wasn't often that Vasili Petroff was dumb­founded, particularly by a woman. This one didn't look back once in his direction. She'd said her little speech, then seemed to have summarily dismissed him from her mind. But wom
en didn't do that to him.

  Lazar came to stand next to Vasili and also stared in the direction in which Alexandra Rubliov had vanished. Without glancing at him, Vasili said, "If you laugh, I'm going to put my fist in your mouth."

  Lazar didn't laugh, but he was certainly grinning. "You think that would stop me?"

  The two friends had been known to tear into each other with very little provocation. Stefan had sent Lazar along with Vasili to keep him out of trouble. But he had jokingly admonished that they not kill each other be­fore they returned to Cardinia. And the six guards, who accompanied the two friends at Stefan's insistence, were to see to that, as well as to protect their backs on the bandit-infested mountain passes.

  "It would make it difficult for you to con­tinue," Vasili promised.

  'True—but what are you growling about? You should be delighted. Now you won't have to show her what a bastard you can be. She's told you exactly what you wanted to hear, and without any effort on your part."

  "Exactly?" Vasili said with irritation. "You must not have been listening carefully, Lazar. The little peasant doesn't want to marry me, but she expects me to break the betrothal. As much as I'd love to, you know I can't do that."

  "Yes, but look how much closer you are to achieving your goal, thanks to her unexpected revelation. You've already won half the battle without firing a single shot. How hard can it be to get her to break the betrothal, once you explain that you can't? She's on your side, my friend. She doesn't want you."

  Having said that, Lazar finally couldn't re­sist laughing. It really was incredibly funny, and Vasili's glower was funnier still. Who would have thought that the one woman who actually had an opportunity to marry Vasili, or at least assumed she did, wouldn't want to, when hundreds of others would have killed to be in her position?

  "By the way," Lazar added, just to rub it in, "I don't think she was the least bit impressed by that splendid display of contempt you treated her to. I can't say that I blame her, but then I saw the way you were looking at her before you knew who she was." He had to pause for another laugh. "Jesus, I can't wait to tell Stefan and Serge about this. They simply aren't going to believe it."

  8

  “C ome, sit down, Vasili—you will permit me to call you so?"

  Constantin didn't wait for an answer, re­suming his seat behind his desk. His study was what one might expect from a man of his years, sedate, and lacking all flamboyance. It reminded Vasili of his father's study, before Maria had turned it into a sewing room after his death.

  "Though we have never met, I feel as if I have known you all your life," Constantin was explaining. "But then, you were all your father ever talked about. He was so proud of you and your accomplishments. He wanted to show you off, you know, to take you with him on his travels and hunting trips, but he felt your schooling was more important, particu­larly since you shared the royal tutors with the crown prince. He was proud of that, too, since he never had such advantages himself, having no connection with the royal family until he married your mother. But I do know he intended to bring you with him to Russia after you turned eighteen. I remember when he..."

  Constantin continued reminiscing for more than an hour. Vasili was required to make few comments in reply, merely to listen, and he did that avidly, hearing things about his fa­ther he'd never known. Long before the baron had finished speaking, the resentment Vasili had harbored against the man for most of his life was beginning to lessen, and by the time Constantin finished with "I still miss him, you know," it was gone completely.

  Ridiculously, Vasili felt close to tears, damn close. He hadn't cried since he was a small child, and the urge he felt now was all but choking him. He missed his father, too, and until now he hadn't realized how much. Once his anger over his father's untimely death had passed, he'd felt a good deal of regret, in par­ticular that he'd never had the opportunity to be friends with Simeon, the way Stefan had become friends with his own father, Sandor, after he'd reached his manhood.

  This was certainly not the way Vasili had anticipated his interview with the baron to go. Of course, nothing was going the way he had anticipated, especially his first encounter with his betrothed.

  Her remark that she wasn't what he had ex­pected was an understatement. He had pic­tured a pampered and frivolous aristocratic woman whom he could easily intimidate. But he couldn't imagine intimidating the auda­cious wench he'd just met. She spoke her mind with brazen disregard for decorum. She dressed like a peasant, a male peasant at that. And she rode a horse astride, as if she had been born in a saddle. There didn't seem to be a shy bone in her body. And why the hell didn't she want to marry him?

  Vasili wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he wasn't relieved, as Lazar thought he'd be. He had been rejected. Rejected. It was a unique experience for him—well, not quite.

  Tanya had also rejected him out of hand when she'd been told he was the king she would have to marry. "I wouldn't marry your king if you paid me," was the way she had put it. Of course, she hadn't believed that she was Princess Tatiana Janacek, or that she had been betrothed at birth to the present King of Cardi-nia. It wouldn't have made a difference if she had believed it, though, since she had scorned Vasili at the time, just as he had scorned her.

  But even then he hadn't felt rejected. Nor had he felt whatever it was that had him so irritated now. And his inability to identify ex­actly what was bothering him only added to his irritation. He was careful, however, to conceal his feelings from the baron.

  Originally he had intended to present him­self to Constantin Rubliov as a completely un­desirable son-in-law. He had assumed, based on his experience with women, that his be­trothed would be pleased to have him, and so would be the more difficult of the two Rubli-ovs to dissuade from this marriage, whereas her father could be easily outraged. But after listening to the baron speak so highly and with genuine affection about his father, he knew he couldn't do it—at least not in the more obvious ways he had planned.

  He'd already lied about why he had been delayed in arriving, blaming it on an illness in his party, when in fact he had deliberately wasted time, staying over in each town for days, once for a full week—because of a pret­ty little redhead—instead of just for the night. The delay was to allow the cold of the approaching winter to hinder travel. If for some reason he had to take Alexandra Rubli-ov back to Cardinia with him, he wanted the weather to give her an added incentive to turn back. He was, of course, going to give her a great many reasons to end this ridicu­lous betrothal, but he would utilize anything extra that might aid his cause, including the weather.

  But now the rest of his campaign, at least where the baron was concerned, had to be set aside. He wasn't going to disgrace his father in this man's eyes by behaving like an utterly detestable son.

  But he didn't have to be perfect either. Per­haps he could disappoint him by not hav­ing—or pretending not to have—certain qualities or attitudes the man was hoping to find in him. He just had to figure out what they might be.

  "About your daughter, sir?"

  "Yes, I was watching from the drawing room when you met her."

  And Constantin couldn't have been more pleased when he'd witnessed firsthand Alex­andra's reaction to the young count. It was all he could do to contain his relief now, it was so great. Somehow he managed.

  "I regret that she wasn't at her best," he continued. "But you see, she spends most of each day working with the horses, and so she dresses for convenience, rather than—"

  "Working with horses?" Vasili's surprise was genuine, giving him no time to ascertain whether he should approve or disapprove. His tone said it all, and turned Constantin de­fensive.

  "This is a horse-breeding farm, after all," he explained. "And Alexandra was the only one of my three daughters who showed any inter­est at all in the horses. I probably shouldn't have encouraged her, but I did, and once I did, there was no turning back."

  Vasili was relieved to see that he had taken the correct
tone, at least for his purposes. The father obviously allowed the girl her unusual occupation, and Vasili would not be out of line in expressing disapproval of that. The baron's quick defense told him the older man had probably anticipated that he would dis­approve.

  And just so there would be no mistaking that he was scandalized, albeit mildly, Vasili said, "You actually permit this?"

  As if I could stop her, Constantin thought but refrained from replying. He would just as soon Vasili not find out how willful and stubborn his betrothed could be, at least until after the wedding.

  "I saw no harm in this, and she is highly skilled with the animals," he replied. "She doctors them, trains them, breeds them—"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  Color rose in Constantin's cheeks, and he became defensive again. "Now see here. Alex­andra is not some pampered, ignorant city girl who never gets her hands dirty. She was raised here in the country—"

  Constantin stopped, for Vasili's expression was eloquent. Well, that explains it, he might as well have said aloud, and in the driest tones.

  The baron's sigh was just as eloquent, the sound of a father at his wit's end. "I will con­cede that my daughter's activities need to be channeled in a new direction. And as with any new bride, a husband and children should see to that nicely."

  Vasili groaned inwardly, wondering now if his attitude wasn't just what the baron had been hoping for. He said carefully, "You do realize that I live in the capital city, near the palace. With the court functions she will be expected to attend, her life will be quite dif­ferent from what she is accustomed to."