Sweet Love, Survive (30 page)

Kitty should have recognized from his careful walk and gentle dishevelment that Apollo was no longer quite sober when he strolled into the sitting room. She should have noted by the dark scowl and grimly pursed lips that all was not well. But she had been absorbed in a fictionalized account of Lord Monmouth’s life, and while her glance took in Apollo’s surly expression, her mind was still partially occupied by the seventeenth-century tale. “How was your evening?” she asked, flipping through the remainder of the book, gauging the number of pages left to read.

“It could have been better,” Apollo said in a sullen drawl, walking over to the fireplace and kicking in a loose log. Night temperatures in the mountains could be surprisingly cool even in the summer.

Kitty glanced up from the small task of marking her page in the story and for the first time noticed Apollo’s brooding, dark look. Sliding her slippered feet over the side of the gray satin sofa, she sat upright and solicitously inquired, “What happened?”

“Same old thing,” Apollo snapped, laying both rigid fists on the mantel. “Some impetuous young buck had too much to drink and didn’t catch himself in time. He alluded to my ‘dishonored paramour.’ God Almighty,” he said with sudden exasperation, “I can’t very well kill everyone who
thinks
that.”

Dishonored? Paramour? Kitty reacted angrily to the first word, feeling she had had no recourse to the general’s attentions save suicide. The word
paramour
, on the other hand, caused a bit of unease, because no matter how one glossed over their situation, that’s exactly what she was. And the worst of it was … she was Apollo’s paramour by choice. Anger prevailed over the less violent emotion of unease. “What do you mean, dishonored?” she asked heatedly, her eyes almost black in her white face. “It’s
your
child, after all.”

“So you say,” Apollo returned with heavy sarcasm, the liquor speaking at the moment. His head between his arms, he continued to look at the fire.

Kitty sat up stiff-backed, both palms flat on her lap. “What does that mean?”

“It only means,” he drawled, taut with temper, “I should be allowed my mild skepticism. Good God,” he said, straightening and turning, “I spent only three days with you in my entire life prior to March. How can you be so sure?”

“Because I was never with any other man,” she protested, her small chin tipped up belligerently.

A little malicious smile crossed Apollo’s face. “Don’t forget the general,” he said rudely.

Under the surveillance of his mocking and rather malicious gaze, Kitty tossed back hotly, “That was later.”

“Later?”

“
After
I discovered I was pregnant.”

“So you say,” he repeated with exaggerated courtesy. “Can you prove it?”

“No! No, I can’t prove it.” Startlingly, she flushed.

Apollo’s skeptical gaze lingered on that blush; an unnerving, cynical scrutiny, its anger barely concealed. “And yet you expect me to believe implicitly in your curious exclusivity when it comes to my fatherhood. Hell, as far as I know, anyone could be the father—certainly the general has more than a minor claim.”

Flashing eye met flashing eye.

“
Damn you
,” Kitty cried. “Why should I lie?”

“Why indeed,” Apollo said with silver-tongued sweetness, his flared nostrils indicative of the temper he chose not to unleash. “You’d be a fool if you didn’t. You must admit, the general and I aren’t on a par—”

“Sometimes,” Kitty retorted tartly, momentarily exasperated with the entire arrogant masculine world, “I can’t see much difference!”

“Consider, love, that there are minor differences at least,” Apollo murmured dryly. “After all, I’ve had the decency to
keep my whips for my horses.” It was clear Apollo was out for trouble.

Kitty rose, so she wouldn’t be at such a disadvantage, and her voice, diamond hard, took up the challenge. “Granted, you’re from a much more
refined
culture. No whipping women. Your bodyguards will simply kill me when I begin to bore you.” She continued with contempt, “It’s so
much
more civilized when one is armed with such well-defined codes of conduct!” Kitty’s eyes were glinting with outrage and her voice rose. “Maybe I should have stayed with the general,” she continued recklessly. “At least there I wasn’t completely
certain
I’d be killed once my usefulness was over.
Maybe
I should go back to him,” she finished with a deliberate nonchalance, her stormy eyes wide and bitter.

Apollo appeared undisturbed by the threat. His golden eyes narrowing, he said in a mocking, deep voice, “You’d never get out of the palace, let alone the valley, without my permission.”

“Why, you arrogant, overbearing beast!” Kitty cried, her cheeks reddening. “Do you mean to tell me you keep me here against my will?”

Apollo’s pale eyes studied her impassively. Gazing down at her from his great height, he mildly replied, “I could put a leather collar on you and chain you to my bed and no one within a hundred versts would raise an eyebrow.”

“You—you—primitive
savage
,” she choked out, infuriated at the casualness with which he assumed his seignorial rights. “I suppose you make a practice of chaining up women, you damned feudal lord!”

He looked astonished for a moment. Did she think he needed coercive measures in dealing with a female? “I’ve never had to before,” he said somewhat stiffly, “but your, ah, provocation imbues the notion with a decided charm.” His smile was not pleasant.

“Don’t you dare threaten me!” Kitty shouted, her temper flaring.

“Don’t
you
challenge me,” he warned in an overquiet tone. “You’ll lose.”

“Go to hell,
noble
and
supreme
Prince,” she countered in rage. “Don’t forget
I’m
a princess born and, although rarely tempted, know how to snap my fingers as well as you. Chains or no chains, if I feel like leaving, I will!”

A cruel smile curled Apollo’s lips. “As far as going back to the general is concerned, I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Impossible?” she asked crossly, her breathing still rapid. “How smug. How can you be sure he wouldn’t take me back?”

In the ensuing silence, Apollo’s eyes were icy with malice. “Because,” he said in a voice as soft as silk, “I killed him.”

An appalling stillness hung between them. All the primitive blood lust, all the savage mountain ethos was contained in that simple statement. All the differences that separated their upbringing and views reverberated like violently struck timpani across the small distance.

Kitty was reminded afresh of the incomprehensible warrior’s code of chivalry that guided Apollo’s thinking, of the thin line—with which she could never feel quite comfortable—between justice and murder, and suddenly she felt entirely alien, alone, and insecure. Apollo was her anchor, her entire life, and in the flash of a moment he’d taken on the appearance of a stranger; a cold-blooded, impenitent killer. A ghastly sense of bewilderment and vulnerability closed over her, and Apollo saw it.

Kitty’s dark, unhappy eyes lifted slowly to his searching gaze and she whispered almost inaudibly, “I don’t really know you, do I?”

Her pained expression struck him forcibly and he was instantly contrite. Jesus, what a brute he was to bait and harass Kitty. Damn his temper, and damn his black cynicism, and damn the old unwinnable argument. Why take out his misgivings on Kitty? What good did it do? The child within her had grown large by now, and all the misgivings in the world wouldn’t alter that fact. To continue to torment her for his own evil mood was grossly unkind, and now that his temper had peaked, he was more then ready to make amends.

Running a hand through his hair, he smiled at her gently and said in a different tone, “You know me better than
anyone. Forgive me. For my stupid temper, my jealousy, for … all my sins.” His mouth twisted ruefully. “You do that to me. I can’t help it, but I’ll try. Forgive me?” He smiled again, his warm, achingly sweet smile. “None of the old arguments matter,
dushka
”—and for a moment his voice lost its steadiness—“only that you’re here with me.”

“Are you sure?” Kitty asked hesitantly, Apollo’s winning smile and apology allaying the momentary blaze of her own resentment. God help her, she loved him—savage chivalrous code, temper, and all. Nothing could change that, and now that the cold implacable fury had faded from his eyes, he resembled again the lover and friend she knew.

“Very sure.” He stretched out an arm, touching Kitty’s shoulder, his repentant eyes saying even more than the simple words.

Kitty moved the few steps into his embrace. Snuggling against him—or at least as close as she could, considering the baby’s predisposition to take his share of space—she queried quietly, “You
do
believe me, don’t you, Apollo? About the baby, I mean.” She spoke with a quiet dignity that undid him.

He kissed her worried brow. “Of course, my own sweet kitten,” he lied smoothly, and only he knew what it cost him to so lightly agree.

    In the course of the last weeks, Iskender-Khan had been approached by some Europeans interested in drilling for oil in the vicinity of Dargo. While all of Russia was nominally under Bolshevik control, in practice, the oil companies knew if the local chieftains didn’t sanction the operation, no drilling was possible. While Kitty and Apollo seldom dined with Iskender, preferring a quiet evening to themselves, Iskender wished to discuss the subject with Apollo since two of the Rothschild representatives were coming to Dargo the following morning.

Kitty and Apollo went for dinner, an informal affair, primarily family: a few cousins, aunts, and uncles. Since dinner Apollo had been deep in conversation with his
great-grandfather. At first Kitty listened politely, Apollo, holding her lightly, one arm around her shoulder, including her in the conversation. But once the business arrangements were concluded, guerilla tactics became the topic of discussion. Kitty quietly excused herself. Apollo, at ease, talking earnestly with Iskender, hardly noticed.

The other female guests were intent on a card game in one corner of the large drawing room, but Kitty at the moment preferred the silence of the starlit summer night to their company. While all Apollo’s relatives were pleasant, his young cousin, Tamara, had taken every opportunity to be disagreeable since her arrival. Tonight was no exception. Apollo seemed immune to Tamara’s flirtatious cajoling, but this evening at dinner her remarks had been suggestive enough for Iskender to peremptorily silence her with a curt word. Since then, Tamara had sulked in a theatrical way, and to avoid being in her vicinity Kitty chose the outdoors.

Strolling out onto the balcony, Kitty lingered at the railing, the lukewarm summer night frosted with moonlight, all color drained to
grisaille
, gray on pearl on silver. The pungent perfume of climbing roses furled around her. She inhaled the sweet drifting aroma of new-mown hay, viewed with fresh wonder the tapestry of stars spilled like sequins in the limitless blue-black mountain sky.

The loveliness was disturbed suddenly by a throaty, sullen voice at her shoulder. “You’re very clever to keep him interested so long, but he’ll never marry you.”

Reluctant to face the petulant owner of the all too familiar voice, Kitty turned around slowly and found she was being inspected with undisguised animosity. “And that would suit your plans admirably, wouldn’t it?” Kitty said with a calmness she was far from feeling. Tamara always seemed able to invoke her most hidden insecurities. It didn’t help, either, that the young girl was darkly beautiful, her form slender as a willow branch.

Ignoring Kitty’s question, Tamara rudely remarked, “He’s brought women up here before. Many times. You’re not the
first—and you’re not the first pregnant one, either. Ask him how many brats he’s sired already. Ask him.”

Kitty stiffened visibly at the cruel, cutting words. “I’m not interested in Apollo’s past.” The tone was supposed to be dismissive, but Kitty’s voice was strangely unsteady at the end, for in truth, thoughts of Apollo’s previous amours always struck her particularly hard. She had chided herself about those jealous suppositions many times already, in the course of the past weeks, when Apollo had been greeted by women friends. It seemed to her that far too many of his female acquaintances in the aul were unusually friendly, although Apollo had never been more than politely civil in response. Stupidly, she had never even considered children. What a fool. Here she was, pregnant with his child—and worse, married to another man. It left the future rather uncertain; and left her prey to a terrible sensitiveness.

In the dim light, Tamara’s pouting face shone eerily, framed by the blackness of her hair. “Maybe you’re not interested in his past, but you might be interested in what Apollo does with his paramours”—Tamara sneered the word—“when he tires of them.”

Kitty, scarlet with embarrassment, was spared the need to reply, for Apollo appeared in the entrance to the balcony. “Kitty,” he called, his rangy build outlined in the open doorway, “are you out there?”

“Yes,” Kitty quickly replied, overjoyed at the opportunity to terminate the unnerving conversation with Tamara. Perhaps it was cowardly, but she wasn’t up to a verbal brawl with her—nor ready to cope with the painful reality of Apollo’s previous lovers.

“You won’t last,” Tamara hissed while Apollo was still out of earshot. “Apollo likes white flesh, but he’s been raised in these mountains and he’ll never marry a Giaour. Never! I mean to have him!” Turning to leave, she tossed over her shoulder, “Ask Apollo what happened to Noenia.” Then, flouncing past Apollo’s approaching figure, she disappeared into the drawing room.

“My Lord,” Apollo said, taking Kitty’s hands in his, “you and Tamara in a tête-à-tête. What in the world did you find to talk about?”

“Very little,” Kitty said.

“I should think so. Tamara’s a child and flighty as a wisp in the wind. She can’t have a serious thought in her head.”

Far from a child, Kitty thought acerbically, but she simply said, “Oh, she has a few.”

“Such as?” Apollo asked skeptically.