Flight to Verechenko (14 page)

She leaned against the balustrade, her breath ragged, her limbs weak. It was the Baroness who came to her aid. ‘It is very selfish of Dagmar to keep you all to herself. Now come and sit next to me at table and tell me all about yourself,' Lena said, oblivious of Catherine's distress.

‘The seating arrangements are already made,' Kiril said smoothly as they were ushered in by a white-gloved footman and Catherine was seated next to him.

Dominic's attention was completely taken by Amelia Cunningham on his right and Lady Cunningham on his left. Catherine watched in agony as blonde curls brushed provocatively against his shoulder. He had been toying with her. Already she was forgotten. She blinked back hot, humiliating tears and tried to concentrate on what Kiril was saying to her.

Any hopes she had that he would seek her out again after the meal were in vain. He disappeared in the Vishnetski carriage with Alexis, Lady Cunningham and Amelia. It was an arrangement that was repeated several times in the following weeks as Alexis squired his guests around St Petersburg, and Catherine continued to nurse her bruised heart and spend her time with the Princess.

The afternoons were mainly spent accompanying her in the open landau when she paid visits to elderly friends in Petersburg, or in the polished and gleaming Panhard when she went further afield, both chauffeurs and cars lavishly embellished with the Dolgorovsky coat of arms. The evenings were a round of parties, theatre visits and concerts. There was Chaliapin at the Aleksandrisky Theatre; there was Pavlova and Nijinsky at the Ballet; there were Wednesday night symphony concerts at the open-air concert hall at Pavlovsk. Catherine's eyes searched for Dominic's distinctive figure wherever they went, her life a misery as she was crushed with disappointment if she did not see him, and suffered torments when she did. His bareshouldered escort was always the coquettish, kitten-faced Amelia, her arm proprietarily through his as she giggled girlishly up at him through thick-fringed lashes and pouted prettily at his every comment.

Although it was impossible to catch more than a fleeting glimpse of Dominic, Kiril was constantly present. Never before had Princess Dagmar's grandson spent so much time with her. Surely he would not want to spend another summer afternoon at the elderly Countess Bezobrazov's? his grandmother would ask slyly.

‘Not at all,' Kiril replied, well aware of the amusement he was causing her. ‘I find her conversation riveting.'

‘Now that,' the Princess said, allowing her maid to clasp a choker of diamonds around her throat, ‘I find strange. Before you said she was the greatest bore imaginable, and that nothing would induce you to spend even an hour in her company.'

‘I was a fool,' Kiril replied, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘She has great wit and charm.'

‘Fiddlesticks. The only thing that rivets you is Eleanor. Have you told her you love her yet?'

Sometimes even Kiril found his grandmother's out-spokenness an embarrassment.

‘My private affairs are my own,' he said tightly.

The Princess gave her inimitable cackle. ‘Maybe, maybe not, but take my advice. If you love her make sure of her soon. Otherwise it may be too late.'

His eyes narrowed, watching her closely as her maid put the final touches to the heavy white make-up.

‘Too late? But she's not being escorted by anyone else, though God knows half of Petersburg is dying for the chance. It can only be that she prefers my company. You would, I presume,
allow
her to be escorted by someone else if she so desired?'

‘That depends on who the gentleman is,' the Princess agreed, surveying the results of her maid's handiwork critically in the mirror.

‘But you won't tell me who she is?'

‘She's good enough for you to marry,' his grandmother said bluntly. ‘That's all you need to know … for the moment.' She rose, putting an end to the conversation and leaving Kiril staring thoughtfully out of the window to the lawns and woods and the distant spires of St Petersburg.

Kiril knew his grandmother too well not to take notice of what she had said. She had insinuated he might lose Eleanor unless he acted quickly. Which meant there was another man. For the life of him he couldn't think who. Vladimir Yurovsky had been sending flowers to her daily, but as far as he knew had not received any response. And that fool Leon appeared at every function Eleanor and his mother attended, ogling her as if she were a creature from another world. For a fleeting moment he wondered if Lixy was his rival and dismissed the idea. Lixy wouldn't dare! Dominic? Kiril frowned. It couldn't possibly be him. He had shown not the slightest interest in Eleanor, but then that in itself was suspect. No man could be in the same room as her and retain the same pulse rate, yet the Englishman gave all his attention to Amelia Cunningham. It was no use going to Alexis for advice. Alexis knew nothing at all about women except that he had the best wife in the world. Though how that great bear of a man had ever won the gentle Maria was a mystery to Kiril.

He frowned. Was he prepared to ask a woman about whose background he knew nothing to marry him? It was still customary for princes of his rank to ascertain that prospective wives had the
seize-quartiers
, that parents and grandparents and great-grandparents all had noble blood. Perhaps that was why his grandmother was keeping her identity a mystery from him. If his love was deep enough, Eleanor's antecedents would not matter.

He wondered yet again if he loved her. Certainly he desired her. The frank openness of her eyes, completely without guile. That curving mouth that promised so many delights, and the flowing curves of her body that drew his eyes like a magnet. She had made it quite clear that she was going to allow him no liberties. If he wanted her he would have to marry her. And he wanted her.

Purposefully the Prince strode out on to the terrace. In the distance, half shaded by the trees, he caught a glimpse of pale lilac muslin and a gleam of copper curls. His mind made up, Kiril strode quickly down the gravel paths between the formal rose gardens, then broke into a run as he reached the lawns that sloped down to where Catherine stood, watching the swans.

Catherine's thoughts were far from Kiril. The more she saw Dominic, no matter how fleeting the sight, the more certain she was of her own heart. But he made not the slightest effort to seek her out, and mixed with the love she knew she felt for him was an overwhelming anger. Seeing him pay attention to the birdbrained Amelia gave Catherine an overwhelming desire to box his ears. Sometimes she didn't know which desire was the strongest. To kiss him or to hit him. It was all very confusing and shadows were beginning to appear around her lovely eyes as she spent sleepless night after sleepless night trying to rid her mind of the vision of Amelia Cunningham in a white lace dress, with a train six yards long, and Dominic, Marquis of Clare, at her side.

‘I thought I'd find you here,' Kiril said, trying to catch his breath after his run and to appear his normal, suave self.

‘I like it here. You could be miles deep in the country, not in the middle of a city.'

‘You like St Petersburg?'

‘Yes,' If Dominic was in it then of course she liked it. If he had been in Siberia then no doubt she would have thought Siberia the pleasantest place on earth.

‘You would enjoy living here?'

‘I enjoy living here at the present moment.'

Kiril's usual sophistication had deserted him. He moved nearer, slipping an arm around her shoulders, turning her to face him. She gave a slight movement of protest, but Kiril's grip tightened. His eyes held hers until he felt he was drowning in their sea-green depths. His prepared speech was forgotten. He said hoarsley: ‘Marry me, Eleanor.'

She gasped, her hand flying to her throat.

He drew her nearer. ‘ I see I have taken you by surprise, but you must know that I love you.'

‘But I couldn't … You know nothing about me.' Not even my real name, she thought wildly.

‘I know enough,' the Prince said confidently. And before she could protest he bent his head to hers, kissing her full on the lips. His kiss was pleasant and firm, his arms strong and tender. Catherine felt a gentle response and when he lifted his head, his eyes were triumphant. He had aroused no passion in her yet, but he would teach her. He would have all the time in the world to teach her.

‘So the answer is yes?'

‘No,' Catherine shook her head against his shoulder, still imprisoned in his arms.

He frowned. ‘ I know you feel some affection for me, Eleanor. I can tell by the feel of your lips, by the way we laugh and talk together. I can offer you far more than any other man can. A title; vast wealth. We have no need to live in Russia. A country estate in England: a villa on the Riviera: anything you desire can be yours. Yurovsky would bore you in ten days. Count Leon Sukhanov is a fool. Lixy is too young to know his own mind.'

Desperately Kiril thought of any other rivals he could dispose of. ‘Dominic is to marry Amelia Cunningham. Who else is there who could offer you what I can, or love you as I do?'

Catherine was barely aware of who Yurovsky or Sukhanov were, Lixy's name passed without a second thought. But that Dominic was to marry Amelia Cunningham ran through her head so that she had to press her fingers to her temples. There was no more hope. She could not return to London—not after the disgraceful manner of her leaving. She doubted if her stepmother would allow her to cross the threshold. All the future held was exile with her grandmother in Paris.

Kiril's hair waved smoothly back from a well-shaped forehead. The blue eyes were pleading: the pressure of his lips had been warm and comforting. He was offering her not only wealth and a title, but love.

‘Marry me, Eleanor,' he repeated, tilting her chin upwards with his index finger. ‘Marry me, my darling, and I promise I will love you for eternity.'

Catherine stared unseeingly at the swans, the words strangled in her throat. ‘I can't, Kiril. Not yet. There's so much about me that you do not know. When you do, you may feel differently.'

‘Impossible.' He bent his head, kissing her with fervour. ‘I want no confessions now. Nothing to mar the happiness of this moment.'

‘But I haven't said yes,' Catherine protested.

‘Yes you have, my darling, whether you realise it or not. I take it my grandmother knows all about the mystery in your past that you feel, so foolishly, could change my affections for you?'

‘Of course,' Catherine was shocked, ‘she knows everything.'

‘And she still thinks that you would make me an ideal wife. So you see you are worrying your pretty little head about nothing. Let's hurry back and tell her immediately.'

‘No. Not yet.' Panic seized her. ‘I must think about it a little longer, Kiril.'

He smiled, sure of her. ‘Our engagement will be announced on my grandmother's name day. That's in just over a week. Think about it as much as you like, my darling. Your answer is yes and in a week's time the whole world will know.' And feeling like a conquering hero he led her back towards the palace.

There would be no loose ends to tidy up. His little opera singer would be distressed, but he was a Russian and even at the moment of proposing marriage to a woman he desperately desired, Kiril did not envisage a lifetime of fidelity. To do so would be to flout the laws of nature. All a man needed was discretion and he could always have the best of both worlds. He would have a wife the envy of every other man he met, and if certain other ladies required a little tenderness now and again, well then; he was man enough to supply it. He smiled happily to himself as he strolled across the sundappled lawns, Catherine's hand tucked in his arm.

There was a hum of excitement as they entered the palace. From the white-gold salon came the chatter of voices, and as they entered, Catherine was surprised to see that even Maria had been carried from her own salon to lie on the Princess's rose-silk chaise-longue.

‘Do you really think there will be a war?' she was asking Lixy, her gentle face apprehensive.

‘There's bound to be,' Lixy replied optimistically. ‘It's been in the air ever since the Arch-Duke was shot.'

Through the open window came the sound of screaming brakes and a cloud of dust rose as the Panhand swerved to a halt at the main entrance and Alexis hurried from the car, running into the palace without even waiting for the strip of red carpet to be unrolled.

‘Whatever can be the matter with Alexis?' Maria asked. ‘Do you think he has news? Oh I
do
so hope it isn't war! I couldn't bear it!'

Seen only by Catherine, Dominic followed Alexis at a leisurely pace, his face grave. At the very sight of him her stomach turned a dizzy somersault and she clenched her hands in her lap, saying mentally over and over again ‘He's going to marry Amelia Cunningham, he's going to marry Amelia Cunningham.' And then, more spiritedly, ‘If he shows
so
little taste, what can I possibly see in him?
And
he's rude and insulting. Kiril would never treat any woman in the way Dominic treated me. Not even if he did think her a lady of the streets.' But as he came into the salon, her knees weakened and she had to turn her head away, unable to look at him and hold onto her anger at the same time.

‘War!' Alexis roared, charging across the salon, precious Wedgwood and Meissen teetering precariously.

Maria's face was ashen. ‘I don't believe it! It's too hideous to be true!'

‘It's true,' Alexis was exhilarated. ‘The Tsar met the President of France days ago. I told you I spoke to him at the official banquet. He said then it would be declared within a month and he was right.'

‘We're living through fateful days!' the Baroness said, clasping her hands ecstatically. ‘Everyone knows it. Historic days! My brother in Paris has sent me a little box with some Lorraine soil in it. We will soon have Alsace and Lorraine belonging to France again and those nasty old Germans taught a lesson!'