Splendor (43 page)

He was grim. For him, such a liaison would be enough, for he had no other choice. But it was not enough for her, and he knew it with every bit of rationality he possessed. He knew it with every fiber of his being. He knew it with his very soul.

She deserved more. She deserved a husband, a title, and a name. She deserved legitimacy. And he could not give her any of those things. Not now, not ever, or at least, not until his wife died.

Nicholas dismounted in the courtyard. His entire chest was tight. Up until that evening, whenever he thought about her, whenever he picked up a quill to pen her a missive, which was frequently, he stopped himself, reminding himself that her decision to remain in London was the right one. Biit now she was here. And although he was deter-

mined to be honorable, to resist temptation, goddamn it. He had missed her so much that it had been painful.

He supposed he should consider himself lucky. He had finally discovered what love was like. And as he left his horse with a groom, walking up the steps to the front door, his laughter rang out in the night, harsh and grim. Love was hell.

He stomped through the front door, nodding at the footmen, and down the corridor that led to the east wing. He was sorry now that he was not drunk. He had shared a bottle of wine and several cognacs with Alexander, but had declined when Alexander had offered vodka. And Alexander, clearly in need of company, had been very persuasive. It had not been easy to take his leave.

Of course, now all he had to do was go to his room, for she would be asleep in hers—wherever that might be. And then, tomorrow, he would take breakfast with his daughter, trying with all of his soul to pretend that Carolyn was a mere companion, a servant in his employ like any other. And he would leave. How simple it seemed, on the surface; how complex, in reality.

But then Nicholas saw her. In the salon, asleep on the sofa, a fire dying in the hearth. He found himself standing on the threshold, shocked, dismayed .. . excited.

He ordered himself to continue on down the hall and to the master suite.

His legs carried him inside the salon instead.

Nicholas walked to the sofa and stared down at her face, which he had come to love. And then he realized that she had been crying, for the tears had not yet dried on her cheeks, and anguish seemed to bubble up inside of his chest. He knew he must go. But he knelt at her side, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Would it be so terrible to speak to her, just for a while? Tomorrow he would return to his command. In a few days, if he did not miss his guess, there would be a major battle, the very first of the war. "Carolyn?" he said softly.

Immediately her lashes, which were the color of honey, lifted. And her green eyes met his.

He found himself smiling, then realized he must be wearing his heart on his sleeve, and he quickly erased his expression. But she was already smiling back at him.

He stood. "You fell asleep."'

SJie sat up, covering a yawn with her hand. "I was . . . reading."

He glanced at the book by her feet. And then he had to smile, widely, as he bent to retrieve it. "I did not know that you read Russian."

She blinked, glanced at the book, and turned an adorable shade of pink. "I don't," she said sheepishly. "I must have not been thinking clearly when I grabbed the book."

"Obviously." His smile faded.

Hers also died. She clasped her hands in her lap. "Your meeting? Was it satisfactory?"

He nodded, hesitating, then pulled an ottoman over and sat down on it, taking off his coat as he did so. He draped it on an adjacent chair. "How did you get here?"

"Alexi. He brought me a letter from Katya. I realized"— her tone became cautious—"that she needed me, she sounded so lonely, so I returned with your brother." She avoided his eyes.

"I am relieved. It would have been madness—and dangerous—for you to travel any other way." He stared, and as she stared at her hands, he took in every inch of her, wanting to hold her, touch her, kiss her—and tell her just how he felt. But he did none of those things.

She glanced up. "How have you been? I have been . . . worried."

His jaw flexed. He had to ask, when he was not sure how personal he wanted the conversation to become. "About me?"

She nodded. "Yes."

He inhaled, a steady, persistent aching in his chest. "I have been fine. There has been no fighting as of yet. Ku-tuzov has replaced Barclay as commander of all the armies.

although Barclay retains command of the First Army. It is a good choice, I think. He is a veteran of Austerlitz. I have confidence in him. But until now, we have been withdrawing, allowing Napoleon to advance freely."

She stared searchingly at him. "You are worried. I see it in your eyes."

"I would be a fool not to worry," he said. "Napoleon's army has been invincible for many years. We cannot afford to lose more than a battle or two—or we shall lose the war—and our country. Withdrawing is actually very strategic. When we fight, we must win."

Carolyn nodded. "I understand." Suddenly she reached out and laid her hand on his arm. "Nicholas. Do not worry about Katya. I will take care of her as if she were my own daughter."

He fell in love all over again. "I know you will," he said hoarsely.

And suddenly she was crying.

"Don't cry," he said, taking her hand in both of his. "Why are you crying?"

She shook her head wordlessly, tears streaming down her face. "How can I not cry? I have missed you so!" she finally blurted out.

He inhaled, fighting himself and his inclinations, trying to be noble. He said, stiffly, "I have missed you, too." He added, "Terribly."

She regarded him through her tears, her mouth trembling. "But we must be fr-friends, no-nothing more. Life is so unfair!" She pulled her hand from his, covered her eyes, and wept again.

He watched her. "Yes," he whispered. "Life is unbearably unfair." And then he could not stand it. It was one thing to be honorable, to deny himself of her, but it was another to watch her suffer so. He sUd to his knees and put his arms around her and pulled her off the sofa into his embrace. And he held her, hard, against his chest, while she wept.

She cried for a long time. Nicholas stroked her hair and

her back and finally said, "Please, Carolyn. Your tears could kill a man."

She sniffed, her sobs subsiding. "I am sorry," she whispered, her breath feathering his neck.

Instantly he stiffened. His hand no longer caressed the length of her spine. Now, he knew, was the time to release her and stand up. He did not move.

She was also motionless. Her cheek pressed to his shoulder, her breasts crushed against his chest, their thighs melded. Her hips were firm against his loins. Suddenly his arms tightened. He closed his eyes. "Carolyn." And he felt his heart, trying to drum its way out of his chest. It was so loud that he was certain she could hear it, too.

"Nicholas," she whispered.

Their eyes met. His hand cupped her cheek. He refused to think. Not now, not anymore. And he bent, lowering his mouth to hers.

^ Twenty-eight ^

THE kiss deepened.

Nicholas's mouth became urgent, insistent, plying hers with something akin to frantic determination. Carolyn clung to his shoulders, responding with the same urgency and desperation. She shut down her mind. Except for one resonating thought—this was as it should be. This was so right.

He tore his lips from hers, held her face in his hands. His golden gaze was searching, the lines on his face harsh.

Carolyn touched his mouth. "There will be no regrets," she said, understanding him completely—and yet she was not certain that she was not lying to them both.

His smile failed. He stood, lifting her to her feet. "Last time," he said unsteadily, "I made love to you on the library floor. This time, I want it to be in my bed."

Carolyn managed a smile. Her heait seemed to want to explode with so many different emotions, not the least of which was her love.

He put his arm around her and they left the room, hips bumping together, torsos in firm contact. Carolyn's heart beat hard with expectation and the ever-present force of her feelings for him. She must not, she knew, give in to ra-tionaUty now. Instead, she must allow anticipation to rule the day. And God, there was so much of it.

They climbed the stairs and hurried down the dark cor-

ridor, under, Carolyn thought, the watchful, sometimes bemused stares of numerous Sverayov ancestors. Sverayov's door was open and they entered a candlelit room. Carolyn paid no attention to the rich, heavy red and gold fabrics or the equally heavy wood furnishings, her gaze flying to the huge, fabulously carved canopied bed. The wood was painted ebony. Nicholas closed and locked the door behind them.

She watched him approach, suddenly, foolishly, nervous. She wanted to blurt out her feelings. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, more than she had ever dreamed it possible to love anyone or anything. But she just stood there silently in the center of the huge, overappointed room with its exotic overtones, clutching the folds of her pale blue gown so tightly that it was a miracle the fabric did not rip.

He reached her, smiled tenderly, then took her hands in his. "I think I knew that I would find you here when I came today," he said, feathering her mouth with a series of tender, sensual kisses.

Her heart leapt. Her body tightened. Her nipples became erect, straining against her chemise and gown. "No wonder," she managed, "you seemed so very complacent about it."

He removed his mouth from hers and laughed harshly, his fingertips fluttering over the tops of her breasts, left bare by the low round neckline of her gown, causing Carolyn to gasp. And then they slipped down her nape, and began to unbutton the back of her dress. "I was hardly complacent, love," he said.

Carolyn tensed as he slid her gown down her shoulders, her arms, to her waist. Her chemise was transparent. Carolyn watched him stare at her breasts, which she knew heaved. He then pushed the gown directly to her feet. Carolyn stepped out of it.

He slid one arm behind her, gave her a shockingly intense look, bent, and nudged her breasts with his face. His

dexterous fingers pushed her chemise down, and his mouth brushed one aching nipple.

Carolyn bit off a gasp as he tugged, very gently, on that oh, so attentive part of her anatomy through her fine chemise.

She clutched his hair.

He continued to tease her breasts with his tongue and mouth as he finally relieved her of the sheer garment. It fluttered across the floor. He bent lower, pressing a kiss to her midsection, and pulled off one white kid slipper after another. Carolyn's heart now beat with frightening force.

And he kissed the side of her knee.

Hot chills swept over Carolyn. And out of the comer of her eye, she saw the bed. "Nicholas," she whispered, about to suggest moving to it.

But he had reached up beneath her chemise and was divesting her of both pantalets and stockings in one single fluid motion. Carolyn tensed.

He straightened and looked at her.

Carolyn had never felt more vulnerable—or more seductive and beautiful. His eyes were male, bold, promising.

His strong hand clasped her knee, slid up her thigh, paused, slid up higher still. He began to caress the inside of her thigh, his gaze on hers, still filled with heat and promises. He was not smiling. But then, neither was she.

The back of his hand brushed her sex.

Carolyn gasped.

His jaw flexed. His gaze was blazingly hot. The chamber was hot. And he began to force her to step backward.

"Where?" Carolyn cried, but then her buttocks hit the edge of his bed. It was so high that she could not sit down, but remained pressed there against the mattress instead.

"Trust me," he said—the way the devil might speak to a saint.

Carolyn could not reply, because he was on his knees, kissing her knees, and then he was kissing her thighs, his mouth moving steadily upward. Carolyn closed her eyes. She sensed his intention, could not bring herself to protest.

delicious shivers sweeping all over her body. His lips found and caressed the inside of her thigh where his hands had so recently been. Carolyn gripped the back of the bed, afraid she could no longer stand upright. Thinking, please.

And then his mouth found her. Carolyn cried out as his fingers spread her lips and his tongue swept over her, again and again. The death came suddenly, instantly, taking her by complete surprise. She cried out repeatedly, her body wracked with impossible ecstasy.

Carolyn returned to earth from God only knew where and looked down. Nicholas remained kneeling, his face pressed to that juncture where he had so recendy wreaked such havoc. He lifted his head. The light in his eyes was nothing like the light she had seen before, it was like look-• ing into a volcano about to erupt, and desire began to rear itself all over again.

Swiftly, he stood. He lifted her and deposited her on the center of the bed. Carolyn sat up on her elbows as one boot after another thudded to the floor. She watched him rapidly unbutton his military jacket, his expression fierce, intent— savage. But as he tossed it aside, he caught her watching him, and he smiled at her.

Carolyn smiled back, her heart turning over many times, overwhelmed with far more than mere physical yearning. She whispered, "I need you, Nicholas. I love you." So much, she added silently.

His smile faded. "I need you, too." His tone was hoarse. ' 'I need to be joined .with you, Carolyn. I need to be inside you." His eyes, piercing, held hers.

It wasn't what she had wanted to hear—she had wanted to hear, I love you, too, but she thought that he had been trying to say those very words. She hoped that was what he had meant.

He moved to the bed, splendidly nude and spectacularly aroused. Carolyn blushed.

He laughed, moving over her, and then his laughter died abruptly as his mouth claimed hers, hotter, harder, more

insistently than before. Their tongues entwined in a complete act of possession.

He broke the searing kiss. "I cannot wait. God, I have missed you," he cried.