Love Storm (38 page)

"I've already met them, my dear, and find their daughter much more delightful. Acquit me, a married man isn't exactly their idea of a suitable parti in any event," he said with unwonted frankness.

The beautiful Miss Riminsky made
a moue
of distaste in response to the blunt reminder. "Pooh. I suppose you're right." She brightened visibly. "Then can I meet you here again sometime?"

"Certainly, sweet. Just send me a note. I'd be happy to arrange it."

The sweetly sated Miss Riminsky clung to the prince's arm as he escorted her back into the ballroom. Their entrance caused a mild stir, as the absence of both parties had been duly noted. The cynosure of a goodly number of eyes in the crowded room, the prince, with a careless distinction of mien, walked directly across the entire floor with his clinging partner, oblivious to the vapid, venal, and frankly curious glances that followed their progress. Alex moved across the crowded room with impeccable composure as dancing couples yielded before them. The lovely, dark-haired Kate, her coiffure and gown restored to near perfection once more, glided along beside her attractive seducer. Her limpid gaze turned upon him, still warmly content from the preceding hours' activities.

Reaching the far wall, Prince Alex bowed blandly to the aunt who was chaperoning the young miss that evening. "May I restore Miss Riminsky to your company, Baroness Katernov?" Turning to Kate he bowed deeply and kissed her hand. "My thanks, Miss Riminsky, for your pleasant company."

With these brief words he left the young miss and went to seek out Yuri. He found him in the cardroom. Sinking into a vacant chair, Alex drawled indolently, "Deal me in."

As Yuri dealt the cards he cast Alex a questioning look. "Well?" Yuri queried.

"My dear Yuri, I beg you to reflect." A pained look crossed Alex's handsome face. "Would I be so maladroit as to fail?" Alex's brows drew together in mock dismay at his friend's questioning challenge. "This is my speciality, after all—years of practical application selflessly pursued, countless hours devoted to a diligent study of seduction." Suddenly Alex grinned. "You owe me two thousand rubles," he said dryly.

But now that it was all over, although the fair beauty had been a pleasant diversion, there was the same old dissatisfaction. He laughed harshly in sheer ridicule of his own jaded appetite, recognizing the indifference of satiety. Nothing attracted him anymore. A woman was a toy to amuse his wayward mood, a physical release, instant gratification. That was all, nothing more. It was depressing.

At the same party in a secluded alcove screened by numerous potted palms and bouquets of roses, Wolf sat facing Katelina, holding her dainty hands very tenderly. His fierce, golden eyes held her violet gaze as he softly murmured, "You're driving me quite insane,
ma petite.
Won't you forget for just one brief moment all your dutiful wifely strictures?"

He leaned close to brush his mouth across her pale pink lips, and she closed her eyes for an instant as a tremor of desire tore through her body. How long could she deny her feelings? How long could she withstand the growing need for this strangely gentle mountain warrior? As her dark eyes opened, Wolf
s
determined glance captured them once again, and his whispered query echoed her thoughts.

"How much longer will you be able to hold me off, little one? How much longer?" Expelling a soft sight of defeat, he slid his powerful hands around her white shoulders that rose enticingly above the black lace and chiffon of her ballgown and drew her into a loving embrace. "Forgive me,
ma chère"
he whispered as his mouth touched the curls near her ear. Would she freeze in his arms, or would she surrender? Her body trembled, her breath came unevenly, then with a helpless sob, Katelina's elegantly coiffed head fell against his chest, and her small hands stole around his broad back.

An exalting triumph raced through his senses as Wolf crushed her in his arms. "Tonight, sweet darling, tonight I'll make you mine," he breathed huskily as his lips traced a path across her blushing cheek. At last she had welcomed him! His heart beat with sudden elation as he contemplated the prize he so dearly coveted.

Into this lush, intimate haven of trothed passion, the air redolent of blooming roses and love's consent an intruder transgressed. Standing just inside the arched entrance so conveniently shielded by greenery, the tall, slender aristocrat with fawn-colored hair, cold, gray eyes, and a contemptuous curve to his lips expressed the acid hope that his wife was enjoying the party.

Katelina froze at the first sound of the familiar sneering voice, and Wolf saw fear flicker in her violet eyes before his own gaze swung to the figure silhouetted against the brilliance of the ballroom chandeliers. Dropping his arms from her shoulders, Wolf instantly rose with one easy movement in an unconscious reaction of protection.

Only the inherent demands of civility propelled Katelina to her feet, and she stood trembling, pale and shaken. Katelina spoke in scarcely audible tones, "Stefan, may I make known my stepbrother, Tchorook Oglou. Tougouse Kuzan; Wolf, my husband, Stefan Sergeyevitch Stepniak." Bows were exchanged. "Stepbrother?" Katelina's husband inquired sceptically, as his unpleasantly cynical eyes took the measure of his wife's friendly companion.

The Daghestani warrior stood warily alert as the antagonistic husband contemplated the details of high black boots and long, graceful red tunic, the white underdress, the Eastern cut of the loose, scarlet sleeves, the gold lace trimmings, and the jeweled dress kinjal stuck in the exquisitely tooled black leather belt.

"Yes, Monsieur Stepniak," Wolf replied in a grave, controlled voice, "a stepbrother," and he waited, wished for,
dared
the man to challenge him.

Count Stepniak spent most of his waking hours in sporting pursuits of one kind or another, and his loose-limbed, finely muscled body bespoke this disposition for active amusements. He was quite an excellent shot and prided himself on his steadiness of hand as well as on his string of hungers. He noted the resentful posture of the Kuzan stepbrother and felt no fear. Count Stepniak was decidedly indifferent to the Easterner's provocative glare. Ignoring the presence of Wolf, he stood with haughty composure, a metallic gleam evident in his unwavering gaze, and coolly said to his wife, "Come home tonight."

"But, Stefan, I've been staying on the Neva Quay. The children are there." Her voice was lamentably tremorous.

The faintest hint of impatience twitched in the cold, gray eyes. "I trust," the count impassively demurred, "the children can be left to the care of their nurses for two or three days without any undue harm accruing. I'll be leaving again shortly. I wish you home while I'm in town." The faintly supercilious drawl could not have been improved upon for sheer self-centered arrogance.

Wolf looked at the dismay and distress written so plainly across Katelina's face and quietly intervened.

"You don't have to go." Wolf placed his hand on the hilt of his kinjal as he uttered the terse statement through clenched teeth.

Katelina grew alarmed as Wolf
s
fingers shifted to his dagger, and she quickly placed a restraining hand on his arm as he began to move forward.

"I'll stop at the Neva palace," she immediately, agitatedly replied to her husband's demand as she held tightly to Wolfs rigid arm, "give instructions to the nurses, and be back to our town house tonight."

"Very wise,
madame,"
returned her husband dryly. Having once again asserted his authority over his wife, he immediately lost interest in her. "Your servant, sir." He tipped his head briefly in Wolf's direction and left.

Anger blazed in Wolf
s
eyes as he shook off Katelina's hand. "Why do you go?" he snarled, resentful of her ready acquiescence. "It's very plain you don't wish to." This gorgeous woman, so long denied him, had almost been his tonight, and wrath consumed Wolf as the inequities of their disparate positions were again imposed on him.

"I have to," Katelina replied. "He
is
my husband."

"What's wrong with you? Why do you stay with him?" Wolf raged, immune at the moment to Katelina's finer sense of responsibility to her children and her concept of wifely duty.

Katelina broke into unhappy tears and said in trembling accents that of course he was right to be angry with her. Wolf heaved an exasperated sigh and pulled her into his arms, where she sobbed damply into the gold lace of his tunic.

Katelina couldn't reveal to Wolf that it wasn't duty or responsibility that prompted her submission but rather some very ugly threats coldly uttered by her husband on the two occasions she had angrily talked of divorce.

"You'll never see your children again, rest assured,
madame,"
he had quietly breathed. "If legal means don't suffice, I'll simply take them away. Consider the consequences, I pray, before you reach any hasty conclusions." He was smiling, but she knew that smile, and fear gripped her heart.

"I must oblige you then, it seems," she had said grittily but with dignity.

"I knew you would be reasonable," he had then replied, still smiling, but very much more pleasantly now, for he had won once again. Stefan never stayed long; he would soon be gone. She could return to her children then, and in the meantime they were safe with her parents.

Presently the tears diminished. Katelina raised her eyes to Wolf's and said sheepishly, "I dare say you're in just the mood to wash your hands of me. I've been a dreadful bother to you."

"Oh, no!" Wolff said coolly as he brushed away her tears. "You're not getting away that easily."

Katelina managed a happy smile and asked frankly, "Are you sure I'm really worth all the trouble?"

Wolf laughed softly. "I'm sure."

Katelina looked happily surprised, and a dimple appeared in her cheek as she smiled up at her dear stepbrother.

"You must go to him?" Wolf asked, frowning.

The smile vanished from her face. There was an infinitesimal pause before Karelina answered, "I must."

Wolf looked thoughtful for a moment, then apparently decided to oblige her wishes, at least for the present.

"Very well, Countess Stepniak. I'll escort you back to the Neva Quay."

"You don't mind?" she timidly queried.

"Not at all," he said politely, for the sake of his hearr's desire, perjuring his soul without hesitation.

After leaving Katelina at the door to het apartments, Wolf entered his own suite and informed his valet, "Two bottles of my Kakhetian wine and my pipe."

Minutes later as Wolf lounged on a couch near the balcony door, his boots kicked off and his tunic loosely open, he drew deeply on the mouthpiece of his water pipe, then closed his eyes and leaned his dark head back against the satin pillows. Despite his show of politeness to Katelina, Wolf knew the next few days were going to be bad. His hands were tied; there was nothing he could do. Ready, vivid visions of Katelina in her husband's bed were devas-tatingly unpalatable. He exhaled the sweetly pungent smoke thoughtfully and reached out to splash more wine into his glass.

The languid, half-dozing figure on the satin sofa was deceptively passive. He felt enormously like striking out and hitting something. An abominable restlessness had taken possession of him, and he was rapidly getting into a very bad temper. If Wolf were suddenly to take it into his head to dispatch his rival, // that should happen, Katelina's problems with a cruel and autocratic husband would be solved rather sooner than she expected.

The evening following Miss Riminsky's denouement Alex chose to escort Amalie home. She was familiar, comfortable; one needn't exert oneself to charm and entertain. They had both known each other for a long and physically satisfying period. One was always expected to be reverently honored by the pledges of virginity bestowed and to devote oneself accordingly to the innocent, plucked blossom, but he wasn't up to the charade tonight. Better Amalie's restful iniquitous excesses. Alex followed Amalie into the familiar setting of her pink satin and silver-gilt boudoir; so much more convenient than clinging virgins.

"So very kind of you to see me home, Prince Alexander," Amalie flirted coyly as she entered her firelit bedroom. With a flick of her hand she dismissed the young French maid who was waiting up for her mistress.

Countess Benckendorff twirled gracefully to show herself to full advantage and accidentally intercepted a familiar wink between the departing maid and Alex.

In the course of sharing conjugal rights with Count Benckendorff during the past year, Alex had often come in contact with the pretty, dark-haired maid. At first he had ignored her languishing glances, soft touches when she greeted him, and seemingly casual brushes against him while showing him into milady's boudoir. But one evening Alex had arrived early for a rendezvous with the countess. With idle time on his hands Alex looked at the countess's maid for the first time with a certain attention, then quite amiably succumbed to the dainty advances of the comely young woman. In the ensuing months the prince had been known for a rare punctuality at the Benckendorffs'. The friendship between prince and maid had blossomed.