Love and Triumph: The Coltrane Saga, Book 8 (26 page)

“Nice,” she said finally, taking the glass of vodka he held out to her.

He downed his drink in one gulp, his black eyes shining as he leered at her over the rim. Then he threw the glass into the fireplace and lunged for her. “Ahh, but not as nice as
you, dushka
!”

Marilee lost her balance as his huge arms wrapped around her, spilling her drink down the front of the cape she was still wearing.

She gasped, “Oh, Boris, look what you’ve made me do,” pretending to be more dismayed than she was. Actually, she was glad for the excuse to slow things down a bit.

He dropped his arms and apologized. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I’ve just waited so long for this moment, Natasha. Come, let me get something to dry—”

“No, no, it’s all right. I’ll just take it off and hang it by the fire. You can get me a fresh drink, though.”

He turned to oblige her, and she took her time draping the garment on a chair. Then she sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside her. With the grin of a small boy about to be given a cookie, he took his place. Then, as he started to embrace her again, Marilee quickly lifted her glass. “To us and to our friendship.”

“Ahh, I gladly drink to that.” After clicking his glass against hers, Boris downed his vodka. He then reached for her again, but this time he carefully took her drink and set it on the floor.

His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, his lips devouring. It was all she could do to keep from shoving him away in revulsion. As it was, she could only lie there, accepting his kisses and caresses. Try as she might, she could not respond.

But Boris was too drunk to notice. He was, Marilee thought disgustedly, like a big, sloppy hog, grunting and snorting as he thrust himself against her. Finally she could stand no more. She mustered every ounce of strength she possessed to push him away. “Please, darling, please. You rush me! I worked all day, and I’m starving. You promised me caviar, and—”

“And you’ve been promising me something for weeks now,” he snarled, reaching for her again.

His arrogance stung her, and despite her resolve, Marilee could not let it go by. “I promised you nothing!” she retorted hotly, wriggling out from beneath him. “And if this is all you want from me, then I’ve made a mistake in considering you a friend.”

She got to her feet and reached for her cape, knowing that he would never let her leave.

She was right.

As she’d expected, Boris was right behind her, clutching her shoulders. “I am so sorry, Natasha. So sorry. It is only that you drive me crazy. You’re so beautiful…” He began to rain kisses on the back of her neck.

“Then do not rush me!” She whirled around, her eyes flashing. “I’m not an animal, Boris. I’m a woman, and I want tenderness.

“Besides,” she added with a coquettish smile,
“I
can also be tender…when I’ve had enough vodka.”

At that, Boris whirled around to get fresh drinks for them both.

When they were again settled on the sofa, Marilee snuggled close to him. “I want to be more to you than just someone to lay with, Boris,” she said softly.

She did not miss the way he caught his breath at her remark.

Turning to face him, she asked, “What is it? Did I say something wrong?”

“Well…” he said hesitantly, “I think I should tell you—it cannot be…” His voice trailed off apologetically.

She blinked in feigned confusion. “I don’t understand.”

He would not look at her. “I’m married,” he mumbled.

“Well, did you think
I
wanted marriage?” Marilee asked.

Suddenly a hopeful gleam appeared in his black eyes. “But what
did
you mean?”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “How did you ever get to be a high-ranking officer when you’re so naive, Boris Gorchakov? I don’t expect you to marry me merely because we sleep together. I am only saying that I want to be more to you than just pleasure for one night.” She began to dance her fingertips up and down his arm. “I want us to make each other happy for as long as you are here.”

“That…that is fine with me!” He grinned.

He started to set his glass aside, but she stopped him. “What I want is for us to get to know each other better, Boris. I did not come here tonight just to crawl into bed with you. You must be patient and slow and loving, or I’ll find a soldier who will be.”

His eyes darkened. He did not like the game she was playing, but he realized that he would have to go along with her rules if he wanted her in his bed with him every night. And oh, how he did. “Very well,” he growled. “What is it you want me to do?”

She snuggled against him again. “Oh, talk to me. Tell me about yourself. Tell me about the wonderful lover I’m going to have for a long, long time.”

Flattered by her interest, he began to tell Marilee about his past, his prowess as a Red soldier, and his great work in the Bolshevik revolution. She even learned that his wife lived in Petrograd and they had two small daughters.

Then she dared to begin her interrogation. “Tell me about your work now.”

Boris shrugged. “It is not so interesting. I don’t like being around the governor’s house and the Imperial family, because I loathe them and everything they represent. So I spend most of my time at our stockade for political prisoners.”

“That sounds dangerous.” She forced a little shiver. “Do you have many terribly evil men there?”

He sneered. “Since when is a White dangerous? They are all cowards, hiding underground like rabbits, afraid to come out and say who they are. We get them in prison, and they snivel and cower.”

“
All
of them?” she pressed. “How many do you have there?”

As he had been bragging about himself, he had been drinking constantly. His words were starting to slur, and Marilee knew he would not be alert much longer.

He narrowed his eyes in thoughtful contemplation. “Oh, less than a dozen.”

“And they are all cowards?” she challenged him. “Then why do they need you? If you are as brave and courageous as you say, why do they waste your talents on sniveling men? Why don’t they send you into battle?”

She knew that, sober, he would have become angry at such a remark, but with so much vodka flowing in his veins, he merely snickered. “Oh, they aren’t all cowards. There are a few that are quite formidable, and that is why Lenin himself ordered me to be in charge!” He pounded himself on his chest proudly for emphasis.

Marilee took a deep breath and pushed on, trying to sound mildly disinterested. “Oh, really? Which ones? Do you have any important prisoners?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied quickly. “We have the infamous Drakar Mikhailonov, who…”

The rest of his words were lost in the sudden roaring that exploded in her ears. Dear God, it was true! They did hold her father prisoner—and so very, very near.

She felt herself sinking into a deep void. Only with great effort was she finally able to give herself a mental shake and return to the present. He had grown silent, and she feared he had noticed her reaction. Making her voice as normal as possible, she turned to look at him. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought. What were you saying—”

Then she saw that he had finally passed out.

His head lolled to one side, and his hand was slowly dropping. She reached for the glass he held in his hand and caught it just before it crashed to the floor.

The confirmation of her father’s imprisonment and seeing Cord, both in the span of a few hours, were just too much to comprehend. She needed time to think things out, to decide, what she should do next.

Quietly, she got up and reached for her cape and crept toward the door. Then, as an afterthought, so that Boris would not be too angry when he woke up and realized she had left him, she took a blanket from the end of the sofa and tucked it about him. He would think she had been angry because he had passed out, and he would be the one to apologize.

Then she left and hurried through the frigid night to her own quarters, where, only because of the vodka she’d consumed, she was able to finally fall asleep.

She was awakened by an urgent knock on her door. Opening heavy eyelids, she glanced about groggily in the lavender light that spilled through a corner window.

The knocking continued.

“Who is it?” she called irritably, thinking it was probably old Micar, the man who cleaned up the tavern, wanting help. Occasionally she’d come to his aid after a particularly busy night when there was much to be done, but if he was awakening her before good daylight to help, she was not going to be very obliging.

There was no response.

She threw back the covers, snatched up her robe, and padded barefoot across the cold wooden floor. Outside, the world was a white glaze.

“Micar, you’ve got a nerve—”

She jerked open the door and froze.

Cord stepped in and slammed the door behind him.

He took her in his arms and gave her a rough shake. “What the hell are you doing here? I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you last night! Dammit, Marilee, you’re going to get yourself killed!”

Her shock was quickly overcome by fury, and she began to struggle and twist in his grasp as she retorted hotly, “And what are
you
doing here? Pretending to be a White when you’re a dirty Bolshevik, and—”

He covered her mouth with his hand, wrestling her toward the bed. He threw her down roughly, then fell beside her and held her tightly. “You want to wake the whole village?” he ‘hissed. “Now listen to me, dammit. I’ve got something to tell you, and you’re going to listen.”

She managed to bite one of his fingers, and when he yanked his hand away in pain, she cried, “No, damn you, Cord Brandt!
You
listen to
me
!”
She was careful to keep her voice down, lest someone hear. She could not risk exposure any more than he could. “I’m an impostor just like you are, because I’m trying to get my father out of prison, and if you reveal my true identity, I’ll do the same to you. So it’s best you just get the hell out of here and forget you saw me, or that you know anything at all about me.”

He stared down at her incredulously, then he suddenly threw back his head and laughed.

“What is so goddamn funny?” she demanded fiercely.

He shook his head and continued to chuckle. “I don’t believe this—both of us pretending to be Red, only not at the same time.”

She was baffled. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m trying to tell you, little one.” He gazed down at her adoringly. “I’m on
your
side. I always have been. I was going to tell you before, when you ran away. I’m not working for the Bolsheviks. I was always working for the counterrevolutionaries—the Whites. My job was to look out for you—to protect you.”

“You expect me to believe a lie like that?” she cried indignantly. “What kind of idiot do you take me for? You kidnapped me by mistake, then decided I was valuable, too, because of my father. Then you tried to make me think you were falling in love with me, and then I find you making love, if you can call it that, with Elenore, when earlier you’d been trying to do the same thing with me!”

He stared at her for a few seconds, stunned to finally learn why she had run away. Then he rolled over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling and whisper wretchedly, “I’m sorry. Sorry that you saw…sorry that it happened. But it did. She was there to willingly feed the hunger you created.”

He rolled over and tried to take her in his arms, but she held back from him. “But you’re right,” he rushed to say. “I was falling in love with you. I
am
in love with you. And that’s why you’ve got to believe me when I say I want you out of here. Boris Gorchakov is a dangerous man, not one to play games with. Now I want to take you back to Tyumen, where you’ll be safe.
I’m
here to get your father out of that prison, and I’ll do it, but I can’t be bothered worrying about you.”

She could not believe the depth of his arrogance. “Go to hell, Cord Brandt!” She sat up and glared at him, trembling in her rage. “I don’t believe you. And I swear, if you expose me, then I’ll expose you. We’ll hang together.”

“No, you’re wrong.” He got to his feet and began to pace beside the bed. “Come with me today to the Whites’ headquarters. They’ll identify me, and—”

“I said
no
!”

Her voice rose, and she leaped from the bed and pointed to the door. “Get Out of here now. Forget you saw me, and forget you knew me.”

Cord knew she was serious, just as he knew that then was not the time to try reason. With a helpless shrug, he said, “I am sorry. I’ll go, because I know you’re angry, but I promise I’m going to make you believe me.”

Their eyes met and held. Neither one spoke.

Then, just as Marilee was about to order him once more to leave, there was a soft rap on the door.

They both froze.

Then came the sheepishly apologetic voice of Boris Gorchakov. “Natasha, my sweet, are you awake? I must talk to you, and tell you how sorry I am.”

Marilee swayed in terror. It would ruin everything for him to find Cord here. She held a finger to her lips and pointed to the window.

He nodded, not wanting to be discovered.