Love Me Again (23 page)

She swallowed heavily, her lackluster eyes lighting a bit at the sight of him. “Are you all right?” she croaked, her shaking hand gripping his with surprising strength.

“Of course I am, lark. How could you have thought otherwise?” He gently removed the heavy headpiece pinching her temples, then smoothed away the damp curls that fell about her face. Not caring who might be watching, he gathered her close and felt her head drop onto his shoulder. Feeling her shiver again, he sat on a nearby chair and easily pulled her, ungainly costume and all, onto his lap. As if she had never been out of his arms, she snuggled in with familiar simplicity, sighing.

“My poor love,” he murmured, his lips brushing her clammy skin. “You know what drink can do to you.”

“Don't preach to me, Varek,” she whispered, her voice defiant, despite her pain. “If you do, I promise you won't like the consequences.” Again she swallowed, then buried her face against his warm neck.

Laure frowned down at them, then looked about warily. “I had best get her to her rooms immediately. She needs to get out of that torturous gown and into...” Laure flushed under Varek's penetrating gaze.

Christina's head lifted weakly. “Oh please, Laure, don't miss the ball on my account. I'll be fine in a few moments. Just let me rest for...” In mid-sentence her eyes closed, and again she leaned back into Varek's arms. She was too tired to try to convince them, let alone herself anymore. She was content to let Varek take care of her.

Shaking her head in irritation, Laure watched her friend with frustrated affection. “Come Varek,” she demanded in a voice usually reserved for her errant children. “Help me get her to my coach.”

Varek, with plans of his own, followed along docilely enough, his love secure in his arms. As they left the dais, they were thankful to see that the crowd had thinned out greatly, and what people still lingered were politely pushed aside by Princess Metternich's servants. Most of the Carrousel's celebrants were, doubtless, already crowding into the buffet and ballroom, where the festivities would continue till the early morning hours.

Worried at Christina's stillness, Varek glanced down and again noticed the delicately shadowed skin around her closed eyes. Her lips appeared bloodless, and the sight of them brought back, with all too much clarity, the terrible days after Christina's many miscarriages. His breath hitched with remembered anguish.

“Damnation,” he bit out roughly, ignoring Laure's shocked glance. “How much did she have to drink, Laure?”

Laure also gazed anxiously at Christina's limp body in Varek's arms. “I'm not quite sure. But Dorothea, who was sitting next to her, said she had stopped counting after Christina's fifth glass.”

Again Varek cursed, this time quietly. What was wrong with Christina? She knew well her body's low tolerance to wine or spirits. Was she that upset over the absence of her precious Robert? Not liking the direction his thoughts were taking him, his arms instinctively tightened about his love.

They reached the carriage and Laure was preparing to mount the steps when Varek's firm voice stopped her short. Looking over her shoulder, she immediately recognized the belligerent stance of his long legs and the hard glitter in his gaze. Expecting an argument, Laure stepped back down and turned to face him, a militant stiffness in her usually benign expression. She was not about to see further harm come to her childhood friend.

“I'll take her back to her apartment, Laure. You go on to the ball...”

“I vow, Varek, at times you can be the most pigheaded, selfish bastard,” Laure grated out heatedly. Varek stifled a smile as the shy Laure gave him a piece of her mind, and with such wicked language to boot. He suddenly felt like a despicable hawk swooping down on her defenseless chick. Varek grinned down into Laure's frown.

“Good Lord, Laure, I'm hardly going to ravish her.” He paused as the princess blushed, then took pity on her. “I assure you, as much as I love her, I have no intention of putting myself in the position of having her cast up her accounts all over me.”

Laure's eyes widened, she blinked, then self-consciously laughed at the picture Varek's words brought to mind. “Very well, Varek. But that is not what I was worried about. Not entirely, that is,” she added when he gave her a skeptical look. “It's Viscount Basingstoke. He can't get word of this. Their relationship is under enough strain, thanks to you, and her life has become unbearable, pulled hither and yon between the two of you. Don't cast any more fuel on the fire you have already lit. Please, Varek, for Christina's sake.”

Basingstoke be damned, Varek thought uncharitably. Giving cause for the man to divorce Christina was exactly what he wanted. However, in the face of Laure's pleading, how could Varek refuse? With a sigh he nodded as he stepped past her and climbed into the carriage. Christina moaned as he settled himself onto the plush squabs of the Metternich coach, Christina still held firmly in his arms. Hearing a tap on the door he winced, then stuck his head out the window and stared down into Laure's worried face, expecting another lecture.

“I'll expect to see you no later than twelve of the clock Varek. Don't let me down.”

Giving her a wry smile, he nodded. “Very well, my solemn Laure, by the twelfth stroke, my sworn word.”

Laure smiled back. “Tass here, will help clear your way unobserved into the British Consulate and to Christina's rooms.” She motioned to a young, redheaded footman standing at her side. Then she gave Varek an uncharacteristic grin. “Please tell me you don't know where Christina's rooms are, Varek.”

“Not a bit of it, I swear.” Varek sat back as the carriage leaped forward. Even though he had never been to Christina's rooms in truth, he was sure he could find them blindfolded. His spies were always very detailed when giving information.

Varek stood back from the bed staring down on Christina, now deeply asleep. His poor little lark had not had an easy time of it this evening, and his heart turned over at the sight of her. If he lifted the cover he knew exactly how she would be positioned , her knees drawn up to her chest, her toes curled inward, her fisted hands tucked snugly under her chin. Many had been the nights he had lain beside her watching her sleep, wondering if their children would sleep in the same endearing way.

Suddenly realizing he was exhausted, he silently circled the bed and very carefully climbed in beside her. Out of years of habit, he turned on his side and pulled her warm body gently back against his. The fit was perfect, as always.

Tired, yet restless, his heavy-lidded gaze wandered around the room. Did she share this bed with Basingstoke? He couldn't see any masculine paraphernalia lying about. Picking up a strand of her hair, the ebony tress curled about his fingers and idly he wound it around his finger till it wouldn't go any farther. Then he let the silken strand spring free before he began again.

He remembered the first time she had allowed him to touch her hair. She had turned thirteen and, he had found out later, had just had her first menses. She was feeling very much a woman and curious to test her newfound status.

She had followed him to his secret hideaway, a secluded part of the lake where he would go to escape his studies and the endless calls of duty. He tried to slip away and swim in the brisk waters every day the weather allowed.

He had almost had a heart attack that day as he broke through the surface of the water and spotted little Christina solemnly staring at him from the edge of the lake. And him buck-naked! Yelling at her had made no impression; pleading with her hadn't swayed her. So, in hopes of frightening her off, he swallowed his self-consciousness and marched straight at her. How was a lad of nineteen supposed to respond to such boldness in a lass of thirteen, even if she was his affianced wife? Apparently, it hadn't been a problem. Christina had calmly held out his breeches and innocently asked him if all men had one of those. Varek doubted there had ever been a time up to that day or since that he had blushed so thoroughly.

As it had turned out, it was to become one of the most memorable afternoons of his life, forever branded into his mind. After dressing, he had sat beside her, and for the first time since she had been delivered to them five years before, they had talked. For hours. He had been amazed at his future wife's intelligence and sprightly humor, and had learned, one by one, the many quirks that made it possible for her to be able to laugh at herself. It was that day he had fallen so irrevocably in love with her. Needing an excuse to touch her, he had hesitantly stroked her long midnight curls, which were tangled in an untidy mane down her back. With the simple trust she had always given to him alone, she turned her back to him, asking if he would braid it for her. The last thing he wanted to do was tell her that he had no idea how to braid a lady's hair, so he quickly ran his fingers through the silken mass and trembled.

Nothing had been the same between them since that day. From that moment he knew she would never leave his side, and for the next thirteen years she never had.

But if they were meant to be together, why had they been so cursed?

“This is right, isn't it, Christina?” he whispered into her hair, his lips brushing the silky texture. His hands slid along her arms till he felt her fisted hands tucked beneath her chin. Gently, he pried them open so that they rested palm to palm and held warmly between his own. “If we weren't meant to continue on, why would we have been brought together once more? God couldn't be that cruel to us again.”

Releasing her hands, his arms slowly enclosed her, his heart pounding with a sense of homecoming. It felt so right. “All those lost years, lark. Were they as hard on you? Did you waste countless hours, then days, then years, searching endless crowds for my face?” Sighing, he stared into the fire, his cheek pressed against her cool hair. “I did. But it never helped; because each night I still went to bed with my arms as empty as the night before.”

And every damned night for six cursed years. But the year his daughter was born, that had been the worst. With the death of the second archduchess he had been free again; only Christina had been lost to him. She had preferred to flee rather than trust him. He had stopped looking for her then, at least officially. His emotions were too twisted; not knowing if he loved her still or hated her more. But still he had looked at every face...

Now she was legally tied to another man. He still couldn't believe it.

Feeling her press herself deeper into his arms, he kissed her with lingering gentleness, his lips worshipping the feel of her soft cheek. Her face turned toward him, and in the candlelight he studied her profile, the delicate silhouette as deeply etched on his heart as a precious cameo.

“Laure called me a selfish bastard. Am I, Christina? Am I merely obsessed with a dream that you no longer share?” He paused, not wanting to say the next words, perhaps tempting fate against him. “Am I wrong not to let you go? God, I need to know, lark. I don't want to hurt you. Tell me our love is as strong as ever, that it will be forever.”

The room was dismally silent except for the slight sound of her gentle breathing, far away from him in another place. Did she feel him beside her? Apprehension seized him. Was that the truth of it? Was he going to have to let her go yet again?

Sitting up, he looked down on her serene profile, willing her to awaken and show him what was in her heart. “Tell me, lark,” he whispered fiercely. “Give me some hope, a sign. Something, dammit!” His voice cracked with the strain of holding off his rising fear. She shifted about and Varek's breath caught. Then she settled down again, her eyelids smooth and relaxed.

Varek, unsure of himself, felt the same insidious fingers of betrayal squeezing the very air from his lungs. She couldn't hear him. She wasn't connected to him anymore, not as she had been in the past.

His jaw clenched ruthlessly tight, he carefully rose from the bed and for long, nerve-wracking minutes he just stood there and watched her. His long shadow, cast by the candles behind him, loomed over the bed, hovering like a lost spirit, mocking his faith in the love he had believed would be forever.

Suddenly the air in the room was thin and stale. His lungs struggled for his next breath. With every passing minute, heralded by the merciless ticking of the mantel clock, another piece of his fraying dreams bled from his heart.

A sign, Christina,
he willed her, unable to give up on them.
Give me a sign.

Christina's breathing remained even and untroubled.

Finally Varek turned away, his face granite hard, his mind stark with a reality he couldn't bear to acknowledge. Not realizing what he was doing, he extinguished the few candles remaining lit, throwing the room into deeper shadows. His tread muffled, he made his way to the door, only one thought in his mind, the need to get away before he did something he would regret for the rest of his life.

So lost was he in numbing pain that Varek almost missed the whispered moan. But that part of his soul that belonged to Christina didn't. He froze, his hand clenched on the door latch. Slowly he looked over his shoulder, his sharp gaze piercing the shadowed distance between them. Then he heard it again, and a surge of relief rushed through his body.

In a moment he was at her side.

“Varek?”

It was the loveliest sound he had ever heard. “Yes, lark. I'm here.” He bent down beside the bed.

“I had the most wonderful dream, my love.” Her words were soft, vaguely slurred, lost somewhere between slumber and coherent thought.

He didn't dare touch her, afraid he might awaken her completely. His mouth was dry. “What dream?”

There was no answer. Disheartened, he thought she had drifted off again. Then her eyes fluttered. “I dreamed it was summer and we were at the lake. You know, our special place.” He barely caught the last word.

Their special place.
Varek's eyes misted. She had given him the sign he needed. She had been dreaming of his earlier memories. “Yes, lark, I remember.”

“We were with our children,” she murmured sleepily, her hand restlessly searching till it came to rest on the bed, beside his, their fingertips touching.