Splendor (38 page)

He smiled very slightly, his gaze moving over her breasts, down her torso, and to the vee of her sex. One of his hands ran down her slim thighs. Brushing the vee there.

Carolyn felt her nails digging into her palms. Desperately, she wanted him to touch her, take her, now.

His gaze on her face, he slid his hand between her thighs and palmed her sex. Carolyn began to die, bit by bit, piece by piece, as his slow, gentle exploration began. "Oh, God," she heard herself say.

He found her and rubbed.

She gasped.

He sUd over her. "You are beautiful, Caro."

Carolyn could not reply. She was rapidly losing the last of her sanity. It had never occurred to her that a man might touch a woman this way, and that it might provoke such heated, intense, feverish longing. And then she felt something else, stroking over her, wet and soft and greedy.

She cried out, for he was there between her legs, and it was his tongue now touching her, tasting her, laving up her essence. Exploring every nook and cranny, parting the thick folds, licking the tiny apex hidden there.

Carolyn gasped, gripping his shoulders. "Oh, please!"

He lifted his head and briefly, their eyes met. He bent again, holding her thighs wide apart. All rational thought fled her mind. Carolyn cried out.

She could not stand it. Carolyn sat up, reaching for him, on the verge of whirling away into the heavens far above. He did not stop what he was doing no matter that she tugged on his bulging arms. "Nicholas," she cried.

He lifted his face and she found his mouth, kissing him frantically. He moved over her. His arms encircled her and his knees kept her legs spread wide. And his huge, rock-hard manhood pushed into her.

He thrust into her. Carolyn gasped, stunned by the plea-

sure, the beauty, the completion. Their gazes met once, briefly, and she saw the shock in his eyes, too. And then he was thrusting, hard and fast, while raining kisses on her mouth and neck. Carolyn held on to him and managed to think, I will love him forever. And then the pressure that was rapidly building within her, one which, she knew, promised eternity and paradise, crested. She heard herself calling his name.

The explosion came. Vaster than anything she had imagined, and it took Carolyn completely by surprise. Hurling her far away, into the throes of the universe. Eventually the stars and lights faded, and she was drifting somewhere, outside of her body. She became aware of him arching over her, caught in the throes of his own climax. Carolyn returned to earth, smiling as she held him.

For a long moment they just lay there together, regaining their breathing. Carolyn decided that the aftermath was as wonderful as everything else. She remained somewhat dazed, very awed. He kissed her shoulder once and rolled to his side, still holding her in his arms.

And then it all clicked—the past, the present, and the oh, so horrible future. A future apart, a future without him. Carolyn stiffened.

"Do not have regrets now," he said harshly.

She pushed herself out of his arms and sat up. He also sat, regarding her silently. Then Carolyn thought about the fact that they could be discovered at any moment, and she looked fearflilly toward the door. Now guilt overwhelmed her. Guilt because of his wife.

He was grim as he stood and, starkly, beautifully naked, went to the door and locked it. He returned and stared down at her. "Now you are unhappy," he said. "Now I have hurt you."

Carolyn turned away, groping for her nightgown. She quickly shpped it over her head and pulled it on. "I do not know how I feel," she said as harshly, reaching for her wrapper. "But adultery is wrong."

He stood and pulled on his trousers, his gaze on her. "I

have not slept with my wife in five and a half years, Carolyn. I will never sleep with her again. I tolerate her presence in my life only for Katya's sake."

Carolyn stared, stunned. "J did not know."

"I mentioned more than once that we are estranged."

"I did not know that you do not have any .. . intimacy with her."

"How could I? After all that she has done." He regarded her. "Does that change anything?"

Carolyn bit her lip. "It does not make what we did right."

He shrugged on his shirt, his movements filled with anger. "Life is rarely fair, Carolyn, or easy or simple." His fingers moved swiftly over the pearl buttons. "I did not expect this, either."

She was silent. It was hard to think rationally, for her heart was begging her not to be a fool. Not to throw this away. To take a lover's crumbs. "Should I remain here as Katya's companion until you leave?"

He came to her and, before she knew it, he had lifted her to her feet and was holding her hard and firm against his body. "What would you say, and do, if I said I still want you to come to Russia with us?"

She pulled away. "That is impossible." It had never been more impossible—except her heart yearned for him, even now, and she missed him when he had yet to go.

He stared. "I knew you would say that." His eyes were dark. ' 'Well, you are far more noble than I. I suppose you think I should live as a monk?"

Carolyn looked away. "I did not say that."

"What if I asked you to come to St. Petersburg independently—in order to be my mistress," he said.

Carolyn gasped.

His jaw flexed. His eyes blazed. "It is not an insult. It is done all the time when a married man, in a position such as mine, cares for a woman. If you asked me to, I would build you a palace."

"No," Carolyn said, far closer to tears now than be-

fore—and for a very different reason. "No." She shook her head. "How many mistresses have you buih palaces for, Nicholas?" she asked, quavering.

"None."

She turned away, hugging herself.

"But I see that does not console you."

She closed her eyes. The only real solution to what she was feeling was to stop loving him.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" he asked harshly, interrupting her thoughts.

Carolyn looked at him. "I shall be leaving in the morning, Nicholas."

He stared grimly at her.

"I cannot continue here. It is the worst idea," she managed. She was perilously close to tears. "I will make up some excuse for Katya. Perhaps I will tell her that my father is ill. But I will promise to write her frequently," Carolyn said. She felt that she was babbling. She also felt tears on her cheeks.

"And will you write to me, as well?"

She pursed her m.outh, about to weep.

"Well?" he demanded.

"If you wish," she gasped. "Good-bye, Nicholas." She turned blindly away, stum^bled to the door.

"Wait!" he cried. He strode to her. "Do. not leave like this. Surely you can work for the rest of the week—and we can use the time to think."

"Good-bye." She did not face him, holding on to the brass door handle as if for her life. She wept silently now. "You are . . . the most.. . extraordinary man," she somehow managed, choked, and then she flung the door open.

"Carolyn," he cried.

Carolyn ran barefoot down the hall.

He did not follow her.

PART THREE

'<^:^

Embers

^ Twenty-five ^

London, August 8, 1812

IT was a propitious day, but it did not begin that way. Carolyn sat alone at the counter in Browne's Books, staring at the four walls. It was almost closing time. It had been pouring since noon, the perfect accompaniment to her mood, and she had not had a single customer all day. Not a single customer, not a single sale. And George was still away.

She rubbed her eyes. As she did so, visions of bloody battles danced in her head. Soldiers on foot, screaming and wounded, guns firing, cannons booming, flames licking the sky. Sverayov and his family had left almost a month ago. He had not remained in London for another week. Exactly three days after that fateful, terrible night of misspent passion, the Sverayovs had departed England on a Russian military transport ship, bound by sea for St. Petersburg. "Carolyn knew, having done a bit of investigative work, that by ship, they would have arrived at their destination within ten days to two weeks. Assuming they had not been caught in the cross fire of the war.

Carolyn cradled her head in her hands. The war. Suddenly it loomed in front of her as if it were taking place in her backyard. She had not heard of any engagements taking place at sea, but she guessed they must, at least a broadside here and there, surely, considering the British and the French blockades, but such incidents must not be significant

enough to be reported in the papers, Welhngton had recently taken Salamanca, and that had taken up days and days of the news, with most of London jubilant and celebrating, already expecting him to enter and take Madrid. But there was very Uttle news from the Russian front, dear God. There had been a battle at Ostrowo in July, but no one seemed to know where that even was! And there had been another small battle recently at Kubrin, which Carolyn had learned was near Brest. It had been a small Russian victory, one of their first. But it was clearly peripheral to what was happening—yet what was happening? Napoleon's army seemed to be forging deeper and deeper into the Russian countryside without resistance. Rumors held that La Grande Armee was approaching Smolensk. But were these mere rumors—or the truth? Carolyn had immediately rushed to an atlas, and had been horrified to learn just how close Moscow and Smolensk were to one another. Only one hundred and fifty miles or so. If it was true, did that mean that Sverayov was there, in the vicinity of Smolensk? Carolyn knew—or assumed—that Sverayov had rejoined his command in the First Army. And now she was beating herself over the head for not finding out, before he left, exactly where he was going, and which army he would be with. But then, she had been in pain, and had never dreamed he would leave so swiftly—without even a goodbye.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

At least, she thought glumly, Katya was safe in St. Petersburg. At least she knew where to find the child if she ever wanted to. She would be at his ancestral home, the Vladchya Palace. Then Carolyn realized where her thoughts were leading. Absurd! As if she would ever have the need to go and locate Katya there.

She fought hard not to cry. She was brokenhearted, and she had never imagined it would be this way. But there was no alternative. She must forget him. She must redirect her heart. What they had done was wrong, nothing could ever make it right, even if it had been glorious at the time, even

if it had felt so absolutely right. But how was she going to forget him when he now haunted her thoughts even more incessantly than he had before he left? When, she was so worried about him and his welfare? When, being in damned London, she could not find out anything about him, his country, or the danmable war?

At moments like these, Carolyn felt like going to Russia herself, just to find out what was happening. HopefiiUy, when George returned, he would have some news.

The bell over the door tinkled. Carolyn started, realizing that it was twilight now, still pouring outside, and she was sitting at the counter in absolute darkness. She stared through the gloom, trying to make out her visitor. Knowing she was being very foolish, not to mention a bit rude, she said, "I am afraid we are closed for the day." They could not afford to lose a sale, but she was too despondent to care. '

''That is not what the sign on the door says," the old lady said tartly.

Carolyn started again.

Her grandmother approached. "Why are you sitting in the dark? Are you blue? My God, you look as if you have been crying," Edith Owsley said, not mincing words.

Carolyn could not believe her misfortune. She hardly needed a confrontation with her grandmother at this moment. She stood up. "I most certainly have not been crying," she lied, chin up. "I have a head cold."

"Hnun," the old lady said, clearly skeptical. "And why are you sitting in the dark?"

"I was thinking," Carolyn said.

The old lady was close enough to give her a penetrating look. "Do you mind if we light a lamp? My eyes are not quite what they used to be."

It was hardly a request. Reluctantly Carolyn removed a glass dome and lit an oil wick. She replaced the dome. Her pulse was racing. What did her grandmother want now? Slowly, she turned. How could she maneuver the old witch into leaving? Already she had a headache.

Her grandmother thrust something at her, an old, worn book. Carolyn relaxed slightly. So her grandmother was there on business. "Do you wish to sell me an old tome?" Carolyn asked, not taking the book.

The old lady laughed. "No, I do not. This is the family Bible. It's been in the family for two hundred and twenty-eight years. I've decided you should have it."

Carolyn blinked at her in shock.

"Cat got your tongue?" Edith said, amused.

It seemed to be a challenge. "Why?" Carolyn was blunt.

The old lady's smile was cagey. "Why not? I don't feel like giving it to the lout. And his mother's no different, not a brain in her head. If Margaret were alive, I might be giving it to her. But maybe not. Let's just say this is an even exchange, because I so enjoyed Burke."

Carolyn was in shock. It was hardly an even exchange. Burke could be purchased easily enough. A two-hundred-year-old family Bible was priceless. "I don't want it," she heard herself say stiffly. Oh, but she was lying. She did want it!

Edith shrugged. "Then throw it out." She smiled.

Carolyn felt like telling her that she was a witch, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. But that would be going too far. She found herself staring at the Bible as Edith placed it on the counter. "I took the liberty of adding your name and birth date. Every single blasted Owsley is in there. Or, at least two centuries' worth."

Carolyn felt faint. She was trembling. She managed a negligent shrug.

"So why were you crying?" Edith demanded, peering far too closely at her.

"I told you. I have a head cold," Carolyn managed. She tore her gaze from the Bible with difficulty.

"Hmm. And I'm forty-two. I imagine you're pining after that fascinating foreigner." Edith smiled at her.