Flight to Verechenko (12 page)

Countess Nestoreva, happily oblivious of the tension among her guests, cooed indulgently to Catherine, ‘And that
delightful
young Marquis! I had hoped he would be able to join us this evening. So handsome, so charming, yet so …' Plump shoulders rose expressively, ‘… so
dangerous!
'

‘The Marquis is a particularly close friend,' Lady Cunningham said between spoonfuls of kissel. ‘In fact, I have every expectation that our relationship will become even closer.'

The Countess's eyes widened, as she looked at Amelia.

Lady Cunningham's eyes met Countess Nestoreva's and the Countess, aware of the presence of Amelia's present escort, said no more. It was unnecessary. Lady Cunningham had been perfectly clear. So that was who her little guest had set her heart on. Countess Nestoreva, who had played hostess to the Cunninghams for eight weeks, wished the Marquis well. In company Amelia Cunningham was all that could be asked of a young lady. Sweet and pretty, her soft voice tinkled with laughter as she hung on to her escort's every word. In private Countess Nestoreva had discovered she was a bad-tempered, spoilt and selfish girl. She would not be sorry to have her guests leave. She doubted if Amelia would be able to give vent to her tantrums in the Vishnetski household, not with that old dragon Dagmar in residence.

Catherine had no further appetite. Lady Cunningham would never had made such a blatant insinuation unless there was some truth behind it and she had seen herself the way Dominic had looked at Amelia when she had visited Verechenko. Whatever Princess Dagmar's intentions, they were going to be too late. She felt slightly faint. If anyone had told her a few months ago that love could be this senseless, desperate longing she would have laughed at them and accused them of reading too many romantic novels. But now there wasn't a waking moment when she didn't crave for Dominic's presence. And Amelia Cunningham, sitting opposite her, avoiding her like a leper, would be able to claim his presence morning, noon and night. The feeling of faintness increased and she was barely conscious of the Princess saying,

‘So you'll be arriving at Verechenko tomorrow, then?'

‘Yes,' Lady Cunningham agreed, thankful that the tempermental Princess was at least being civil.

‘The Marquis is calling for us himself at ten o'clock. Such a
well-mannered
young man.'

Catherine remembering the side of Dominic that only she knew, grimaced, her finger unconsciously touching her lips, feeling again the pressure of his mouth against hers. The sapphire flashed in the candle light and Amelia gave a little hiss as she saw the magnificent stone for the first time. Catherine was unaware of it. All she could think of was how she was to endure the next few weeks, seeing Dominic continually in Amelia's company. It was too much to ask of anyone to bear. For the first time she considered leaving Verechenko voluntarily. Going as she had planned to her grandmother: trying to forget. But even as the thought came to her she knew it was impossible. She must be near him, no matter what the cost to her pride. The kissel tasted of sawdust. She lowered her spoon, her hand motionless on the table, willing the evening to be over so that she could seek the sanctuary of her room, and escape Amelia Cunningham's vicious blue eyes.

The next morning felt strange to Catherine. There were no laughing, tumbling children to wake her. Maria had been adamant that for the next few weeks at least she was to be in no way responsible for them. She had, in Maria's own words, to give herself up to enjoyment. If that meant more evenings like the previous one Catherine doubted she had the stamina to endure them.

Vilya helped her into a dark-green day dress, the long tight skirt moulding itself around Catherine's narrow waist and slender hips. The sapphire flashed on its bed of black velvet. The Princess had insisted that she wear it. Today Kiril was to take her to Fabergé and more jewels would follow. Reluctantly she slipped it on her finger. It was still early. The Princess, Vilya informed her, would not rise before noon. The children had gone to Cheka. The Cunninghams were due later in the morning.

Pensively Catherine wandered down the magnificent staircase and out onto the terrace. Verechenko's vast army of servants hurried silently about their business. Spring had come to St Petersburg and there was the sweet smell of lilac in the air and the new leaves on the trees surrounding the ornamental lake were a glossy, lush green. Slowly she walked down the steps, one hand running down the stone balustrade. She paused on the step where she had fallen and where Dominic had carelessly helped her to her feet, reliving again the moment when his eyes had registered her identity and flooded with an expression that had left her weak.

Desolation swept over her. He would never have treated Amelia Cunningham in such a cavalier manner. To him she was at most a governess. At worst … She bit her bottom lip. No wonder he felt free to kiss her whenever he pleased and ignore her the rest of the time. Wasn't that how a lady of loose virtue would expect to be treated? Never having met one Catherine did not know, but suspected that it was. She walked on, the dew wet grass dampening the hem of her skirt as she continued across the lawns to the lake.

‘Good morning,' a bantering voice said and Catherine turned with a start, seeing with a mixture of relief and disappointment that it was Lixy leaning against the trunk of a tree, blowing cigar smoke skywards in a purple haze.

‘How did you enjoy your visit to the Nestorevs last night? I hope the Princess was not completely impossible.'

‘Not completely,' Catherine said with a smile.

He grinned. ‘ She can't stand fools which makes her circle of friends a small one and limits visiting relations alarmingly.'

‘Are you a visiting relation?' Catherine asked, no one having bothered to enlighten her as to the reason for Lixy's presence at Verechenko.

‘No. I'm simply a friend of Kiril's. He paused, ‘And you?'

‘I know the Oversleys who are friends of the Vishnetskis',' Catherine said truthfully.

Lixy blew another fragrant cloud skywards and did not pursue the subject. It was common knowledge that before their arrival Eleanor had been acting as governess to Alexander and Natasha. Yet she was obviously at home in the milieu the Princess had so suddenly set her down in. And he had seen the way his friend, usually so immune to female charms, had been affected by her beauty. It was all most intriguing.

Swans glided past, leaving a shining ripple of water in their wake. They watched them companionably, at ease in each other's company.

‘Had you met the Marquis before?' Catherine asked, unable to stop herself.

Lixy's eyes widened fractionally. So that was the way the land lay. He could tell by the slight tremor in her voice and her effort to appear careless of the answer.

‘No, but he is an old friend of the family's.'

‘Do you know anything about him?' Catherine ventured.

‘A little. His brother died tragically at the beginning of the year. Until then he lived mainly in Paris. Something of a black sheep I believe. But now he has inherited the title and is the only heir.'

‘Strange that he did not go back to England under the circumstances,' Catherine kept her eyes fixed firmly on the swans.

‘He did. I believe he intended to marry, but there was a scandal and he left as hurriedly as he arrived.'

The blood thundered in Catherine's ears. ‘A scandal? What kind of a scandal?'

‘Nothing to distress you, Mam'selle. Clare's behaviour was beyond reproach. For reasons known only to himself he decided to marry his brother's bereaved fiancée.'

‘And?' Catherine could hardly bring herself to ask the question.

Lixy shrugged. ‘The young lady in question agreed and according to her mother, Lady Davencourt, a date was fixed. Do you know the Davencourts? I've heard the first Lady Davencourt was a beauty, but her successor is a Tartar! Anyhow, Lady Davencourt broadcast the news far and wide and the young lady in question fled. Not only that, but her maid said she had called the new Marquis a dissolute, odious womaniser whom no decent girl would marry. And
that
unfortunately found its way into the papers. All the old scandal that had surrounded him in his youth was resurrected. The papers had a field day as you can imagine.'

Catherine felt violently ill. ‘And so he left?'

‘Oh, he left before it became public news. The minute he knew his offer of marriage was unwelcome he apologised to the Davencourts and took a ship to St Petersburg. I can't say I blame him. The Davencourt would have made a terrible mother-in-law, and the daughter sounds a prig of the worst kind. The least she could have done was thank him for his offer and not make him look every kind of a fool.'

‘Yes.' It seemed to Catherine that her voice came from a vast distance. The questions she had been tormenting herself with had been answered. Under no circumstances could she now reveal to him who she was.

‘He must have loved his brother very much,' she managed at last, ‘ to offer to marry his fiancée.'

‘Very much,' Lixy agreed soberly, and then in an effort to cheer her, said, ‘But no doubt he was relieved at not being obliged to go through with his offer. Now he can marry for love.'

‘The Countess thinks that might happen very soon,' Catherine said, wondering if Lixy also knew anything about the relationship between Dominic and Amelia Cunningham.

‘I believe it could,' Lixy said, thinking he was offering her encouragement, and wondering how Kiril would take having the only female who had kindled any response at him whisked away from beneath his nose and under his roof.

Despondently Catherine took his proffered arm and accompanied him back to Verechenko. At last she knew the full situation, the public scandal her thoughtless behaviour had caused. The sun shone, the birds sang, and Catherine wished heartily that she was dead. She thought of the heartbreak it must have caused Dominic's mother, who had always been so sweet to her. The shame she had brought upon herself. And bitter as gall was the knowledge that a marriage born out of Dominic's sense of honour and responsibility would have brought her a joy deeper than any she had imagined in her wildest dreams. For that she could have made Dominic love her she had not the slightest doubt. The desire was there. She had seen it in his eyes. If he knew her to be socially equal, even if he knew her to be a governess but respectable, she was sure she could have won his love. But he thought her a woman of light virtue and treated her accordingly. And if she had ever had any temptation to reveal her identity so that his assumptions would be proved groundless, Lixy's words made sure she never gave way to it.

Unnoticed by either of them Kiril was watching from the balcony. He stood, legs astride, his hands resting on the stone balustrade, his deep blue eyes admiring. The English girl was a delight. That supple body with the high, firm breasts and soft swaying hips. He wondered if she was aware of the tantalising seductiveness of her walk and doubted it.

She was an enigma to him. The flashing green eyes and red-gold hair indicatd a passionate nature, as did the full, generous mouth, yet there was an air of vulnerability about her, an uncertainty that intrigued him. The Prince, a connoisseur of beautiful women and used to their adoration, was aware he had evoked no response in his mother's companion. She had seemed scarcely aware of him. His eyes lingered on her mouth. He longed to kiss those tempting lips, longed to find out for himself the depths of abandoned response they were capable of. He studied the perfect oval of her face, the high cheekbones and creamy smoothness of her skin. There wasn't a girl in St Petersburg to compare with her, certainly not the irritating Amelia Cunningham with her ceaseless flow of chatter and fluttering lashes.

Yet no one knew who she was. Although she had been acting as governess to Alexander and Natasha, the Prince had never for a moment believed that to have been her real function. She was too obviously well born, and there had been no chastisement from his grandmother when he had impulsively presented Eleanor with the sapphire. His infatuation was obvious and his grandmother had done nothing to dissuade him. If the girl had been nothing but a governess there would have been harsh words and a painful scene over his behaviour. So … who was she? And why was she here? The mystery only enhanced her attraction.

He had never desired a woman before with such intensity, yet Dominic, well-known for his string of female conquests and the broken hearts that lay in his wake, showed not the slightest interest in her. Prince Kiril felt something like relief. Lixy he could handle. The Englishman would have been competition of quite another kind.

‘You enjoyed your walk?' the Prince asked courteously.

Lixy grinned, aware that his friend was severely put out at his escorting Eleanor alone around the lake.

‘Beautiful,' he enthused wickedly. ‘ The swans, the birds singing: all very romantic, Kiril.'

‘Yes. I'm sure it was.' Kiril said, resisting the temptation to cuff Lixy's ear. He turned to Catherine and smiled. ‘The carriage is waiting when you are ready, Eleanor.'

‘The carriage?' Catherine had completely forgotten about the arranged trip to Fabergé.

Behind Kiril the French windows were closed against the chill of early morning and in the room beyond Catherine could see a familiar head, face thoughtful as he listened to Alexis who was drumming his huge knuckles on his desk, and showing Dominic a mass of papers. Her heart missed a beat. If he raised his head he would see her. Surely he could hear their voices?

‘This way,' the Prince was saying, escorting her gently but firmly back down the terrace steps and round to the front of the palace where the coach, emblazoned with the Dolgorovsky coat of arms, waited.

‘But my coat?' Catherine protested vainly.

Even as she spoke a little maid dropped a pale sable jacket around her shoulders and handed her long kid gloves that matched the colour of her dress exactly.