Secret Fire (18 page)

“There must be some way we can fix it,” Dimitri said as he casually moved closer.

“Fix it?”

“Yes, fix it—your lack of patience, my lack of patience, our mutual flaring tempers. They say lovers never find time to argue.”

“Are we back to that?”

“We have never been far from it.”

Katherine warily backed up when he got too close. “Actually, I’ve heard lovers have the most violent arguments.”

“Perhaps some do, but certainly not often. Yet when they do, they have the most delightful way of making amends. Shall I tell you how?”

“I can—” Her retreat ended against the wall, and she finished with a gasp. “Guess.”

“Then why don’t we make amends for a change?”

She had to press her hands against his chest to hold him back.
Concentrate, Katherine. You’ve got to distract him. Think of something!

“Dimitri, did you want to see me for a particular reason?”

He smiled at her effort and caught her hands in his. “I’m getting to the reason, little one, if you’ll just shut up for a moment.”

She became lost in his smile, and in the kiss that followed. This was no ravaging assault meant to overwhelm her. His passion had been mellowed by their talk, but it was still there, communicated in a gentle exploration by his lips and tongue that was as intoxicating as anything that had gone before. He was sharing, giving of himself, and for heavenly long moments Katherine took all he had to offer—until he became more demonstrative, and she could no longer ignore the hard bulge that pressed against her belly.

She tore her mouth away, breathless, panicky now. “Dimitri—”

“Katya, you want me.” His voice was so husky it seemed to reverberate through her. “Why do you deny us?”

“Because—because… No, I don’t want you. I don’t.”

His look was so skeptical, he was calling her a liar without words. She wasn’t fooling him, or
herself. Oh, why couldn’t he understand her position? Why did he have to assume that just because they had made love once, she would be willing to again? Of course she wanted him—how could she not? But to give in to that desire was unthinkable. One of them had to be sensible, to consider the consequences. He obviously wasn’t going to or just didn’t care.

“Dimitri, how can I make you understand? Your kiss was pleasant, but for me it ends there. For you it ends in bed.”

“And what is wrong with that?” he said defensively.

“I’m not a whore. I was a virgin until I met you. And no matter how much you kiss me, no matter how much I might…like it, I can’t let it go beyond that. For me it has to end there. So—”

“End there!” he cut in sharply. “A kiss on the hand ends there. A kiss on the cheek ends there. But when you press your body to mine, by God, that is an invitation to make love!”

Heat stained Katherine’s cheeks with the realization she had done just that. “If you would have let me finish, I was going to suggest that it would be prudent of you to refrain from kissing me again, so that we might avoid these unpleasant arguments.”

“I
want
to kiss you!”

“You want more than that, Dimitri.”

“Yes! Unlike you, I have never denied it. I want you, Katya. I want to make love to you. For you to suggest I not even try is absurd.”

She looked away from him. His anger was just another form of his passion and it was too potent while she was herself emotionally charged.

“That you feel so strongly about it is what I don’t understand, Dimitri. Do you realize we have never talked, just talked, to learn about each other, about our likes and dislikes? Everything I know about you I have learned from your servants or your sister. And you know much, much less about me. Why can’t we talk for once, without these tensions getting in the way?”

“Don’t be naive, Katya,” he said bitterly. “Talk? I can’t think when you’re near me. You want to talk? Write me a goddamn letter.”

When she looked up, he was gone, and the room, as large as it was, suddenly seemed small. Was she wrong? Could there be any future for her with such a man? If she gave in, wouldn’t his interest wane? His sister had predicted as much. So why should she open herself to an emotional involvement that couldn’t possibly last?

Who are you kidding, Katherine? You’re already emotionally entangled up to your ears. You want the man. He makes you feel things you never thought you could feel, believe in things you always scoffed at. What are you holding out for?

She wasn’t really sure anymore. And each time she had one of these encounters with Dimitri, she was even less sure.

I
t was an agonizingly long day for Katherine, that first day at Novii Domik. Depression settled in after Dimitri had left her, and she couldn’t shake it. She could have explored the house for distraction. No one told her she couldn’t. Dimitri’s shouted order to Vladimir when they arrived—“The White Room, and see that she stays there!”—was certainly no deterrent. But she was still embarrassed over their arrival and wasn’t up to putting on a brave pretense when she simply felt like hiding. And she didn’t dare chance running into Dimitri again when she was so close to abandoning her resolve.

Good Lord, would there never be an improvement to this situation? Was it just going to get harder and harder, the temptation ever more enticing?

When she stood back and looked at the overall picture, she thought she must be crazy. Here she was tucked away in the country, ensconced in a room that was so opulently luxurious it defied description, and desired by the most handsome man alive. This was the stuff that dreams were made of. What woman in her right mind would bemoan the fate that provided a real-life fantasy?

But Katherine did. And she needed to blame someone for her predicament, tired of blaming herself. Not surprisingly, she found ample scape-goats. Her sister, for being so secretive and forcing Katherine to follow her that day. Lord
Seymour, for that matter, for losing his inheritance and becoming an unsuitable match. Even her father could be blamed. He could have accepted Lord Seymour and helped him to recoup his losses. Then there was Anastasia, for creating the scandal that brought Dimitri to England. The Dowager Duchess of Albemarle was also at fault for sending for Dimitri instead of handling Anastasia’s problem herself. And of course Vladimir took top honors for his rash decision to resort to kidnapping. Every one of them could have acted differently and prevented this intolerable situation from ever coming about.

And it was more intolerable than ever. Katherine was wavering. She was getting too close to sacrificing her principles, to succumbing to what amounted to the most primitive motivation. And she knew giving in was only a matter of time now. There lay the cause of her depression. She didn’t want to be just another of Dimitri’s conquests. She didn’t want just a few weeks of devotion. She wanted more than that. Her pride demanded more.

Katherine knew she was in a sorry state when she noticed her dinner tray that evening but couldn’t remember it being brought in. She rallied, annoyed with herself for wallowing in self-pity for half the day. She hadn’t even unpacked, but then she had lived out of a trunk for so long that it didn’t really matter. But she could have been doing something constructive. Dimitri had mentioned his accounts. Vladimir could have fetched them. She hadn’t even examined her new quarters.

She did that after dinner while her bath was being readied. That several servants were wait
ing on her was noted and wondered about, but then there were probably so many here at Novii Domik that a few could be spared even to attend her.

They were strangers to her and uncommunicative, seemed in fact resentful in their attitude, but maybe that was their normal disposition. Katherine couldn’t blame them. Servants in England could leave if they found their employment too tedious. These people could not.

The room was magnificent in its appointments, pristine in its whiteness. The name was certainly appropriate. White carpeting, drapes, and wallpaper, though the paper did have a very light gold pattern, barely discernible, but enough to offset the heavy brocade drapes. All the furniture was painted white with gold filigree: the tables, the bedstead, the wardrobe and vanity; even the mantel was white marble. The sofa and chairs were a soothing contrast in gold and powder blue, the thick bedcovering as well.

It was a woman’s room in color and simplicity. The vanity, the delicate lacy knickknacks placed throughout, the pictures on the walls, oils and perfumes in the separate small bathchamber, all confirmed it. It was an extremely comfortable room. Katherine was almost glad Dimitri had insisted she have it until she opened another door, a connecting door, and saw that it led straight into the master’s chamber, the master being Dimitri.

Katherine slammed the door shut as soon as she saw Maksim laying out Dimitri’s clothes. Her face flamed and then grew even hotter as the two maids turning down the bedcovers glanced at her smugly. Good Lord, and the whole household
knew that he had put her here, next to him, in the room that was obviously designed for the master’s wife, or in her case, the mistress! Even his aunt knew. What must that poor woman think? What else could she think?

“It’s not true,” Katherine said in Russian so that both servants could understand her. But all she got was a giggle from the younger girl and a smirk from the other, which ignited her temper out of proportion to the provocation. “Get out! Both of you, out! By necessity I’ve become accustomed to attending myself. I don’t need your help. Out!”

When they just stood there, struck dumb by her outburst and a little wary now, Katherine stalked into the bathchamber and slammed yet another door shut. She tore off her clothes, unmindful of buttons that didn’t give way soon enough, and prayed the bath would relax her. It didn’t.

How dare he do this to her? How dare he let everyone here think she was his mistress, actually announce that fact by stipulating where she would sleep, at the top of his lungs no less, so that even the deaf would hear it? He might as well have told Vladimir to install her in his own room!

She was too agitated to remain in the porcelain tub. A silk robe had been laid out, and she yanked it on, not even bothering to towel herself dry first or wonder whose robe it was. The peach material stuck to her instantly, but she didn’t notice that either.

He wasn’t going to get away with this. She wanted the matter put straight immediately. And she would
not
remain in the White Room even
for one night. A barn would be preferable, a simple pile of hay, a pallet on the floor, even another hammock, anywhere, as long as it wasn’t near Dimitri’s bedroom.

The servants were gone when she left the bathchamber as forcefully as she had entered it. The bedroom was empty, her dinner tray gone. A small fire had been banked in the fireplace, a cooling breeze from the windows stirring the embers and causing the few lamps about the room to flicker. Smoke spiraled up from one that had gone out.

Katherine stared at the smoke for a few moments, trying to concentrate, trying to compose herself into a more reasonable frame of mind. Her efforts were useless. She had to have it out with Dimitri before she could even hope to calm down. And with that thought she jerked open the connecting door again, intending to have Maksim find Dimitri for her. But the valet had gone. Seated at a small table, finishing a late dinner, was her nemesis himself,

Katherine was thrown off track for a moment, enough to say automatically, “I beg your pardon,” and in the next breath, outrage recalled, “No, I don’t. You’ve gone too far this time, Alexandrov.” She pointed a stiff finger behind her. “I will not stay in that room!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s right next to yours!”

Dimitri set down his knife and fork and sat back, giving her his full attention. “You think I will come uninvited into your room, when I have had the opportunity to do so ever since we first met?”

“That wasn’t my thought, no. I just don’t want that particular room.”

“You haven’t told me why.”

“I did. You weren’t listening.” She began pacing in front of the door, arms crossed beneath her breasts, body stiff, her hair whipping about each time she turned. “If I have to be more specific, it’s because that room is part of this one, it’s part of the master suite, and I don’t belong in it. The implication is unacceptable, and you know
exactly
what I mean!”

“Do I?”

Her eyes stabbed him briefly at this impassive reaction. “I’m not your mistress! I’m not going to be your mistress, and I won’t have your people thinking I am!”

Instead of replying, he simply stared at her. He was too nonchalant. Where was the anger that always arose when she defied his wishes? He had wanted her in the White Room. Why wasn’t he arguing with her about it? For that matter, what had happened to mollify his temper since their last meeting? He usually brooded for days after their more heated encounters. Here she was itching for a fight, her blood racing with the need, and he wouldn’t oblige her.

“Well?” she demanded.

“It’s too late to consider moving you tonight.”

“Nonsense—”

“Believe me, Katya, it’s too late.”

There was innuendo in his tone that indicated she should know why it was too late. She stopped, eyes narrowed on him, anger increasing because he was being so ambiguous. Couldn’t he see she was in no condition to play word games? She was so furious she could barely
think straight, could barely stand still. She was so furious that she could feel heat radiating from her body, hear her heart pounding in her ears, sense the blood pulsing through her veins. And he just sat there staring at her, waiting, yes, waiting, as if some miraculous understanding would suddenly dawn on her.

It did. As she tried to remain still, she found it impossible, literally impossible not to move in some way. She had felt this way once before, and anger hadn’t caused those exaggerated symptoms any more than it did these.

In shock, Katherine took a step toward Dimitri, then fairly jumped back, realizing she didn’t dare get too near him now. Oh, God, she could almost wish for ignorance, for the bliss of not knowing what was going to happen next. But she did know, knew there was nothing she could do to stop the maelstrom that was already building inside her and would soon change her personality and have her groveling at his feet.

Katherine recoiled from the thought, exploding in a burst of righteous fury. “Damn you, Dimitri,
you
did this, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry, little one.”

He was. There was regret in his expression, even a flash of self-contempt. It didn’t appease her in the least, made her even more enraged, if that were possible.

“Blast you to hell and back!” she screamed “You told me I would never be given that foul drug again! You told me to trust you! Is this how I can trust you?
How could you do this to me!
”

Each word stabbed into Dimitri’s conscience. He had already agonized over that same question a hundred times today. He had found
enough answers for himself while his temper still raged, then had gotten drunk when the answers didn’t hold up once he cooled off.

“I gave the order in a moment of anger, Katya, and then left. I returned to Alexey’s house, where we stopped last night. I drank myself into oblivion. I wouldn’t be here now if one of his servants hadn’t dropped a tray outside the room where I was sleeping it off.”

“Do you think I give a bloody damn whether you are here now or not?”

He flinched under her scorn. “You would rather go through this alone? I won’t let anyone else near you,” he warned.

“Of course you won’t. That would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

“I tried to return in time to cancel the order, but as I came up the stairs, your dinner tray was just being removed.”

“Spare me your excuses and lies. There is nothing you can say—”

Katherine stopped as a wave of heat seemed to roll over her, making her nerve endings vibrate. She bent over, arms wrapped around her middle, trying to hold back the turmoil inside her. She groaned, knowing she couldn’t.

Hearing Dimitri rise in concern, she lifted her head and impaled him with such a look of loathing that he didn’t move further. “I hate you for this!”

“Then hate me,” he replied quietly, regretfully. “But tonight—tonight you will love me.”

“You’re crazy if you think so,” she gasped, backing slowly toward the door. “I’ll get through this on my own…without…any assistance…from you.”

“You can’t, Katya. You know that. That’s why you’re so angry.”

“Just stay away from me!”

For long moments Dimitri stared at the closed door, and then the emotions he had held in check were released as he toppled the table in front of him, scattering food and drink across the room. The outburst didn’t help.

He couldn’t believe he had done this to her. She would never forgive him. Not that it should matter—Sweet Christ, it did matter. He should be horsewhipped. He could have had a woman at the snap of his fingers. He had no excuse for forcing this one, even if he was certain that she desired him and all she needed was an incentive to admit it. He couldn’t even do as she asked now and stay away from her. How could he? To let her suffer needlessly was unthinkable. But he would take no pleasure for himself. It was what he deserved, to see her in a constant state of arousal and do nothing to appease his own desire. To see her willing and deny himself.

Determined to keep that resolve if it killed him, Dimitri quickly disrobed and entered Katherine’s room. She was already on the bed. Her robe was thrown off, her skin too sensitive now to bear even the slightest touch that didn’t offer relief. And her body was twisting, undulating. Only the green satin sheets were missing for a reenactment of that first night in London.

His feet moved automatically toward the bed, his eyes transfixed by the curve of a thigh, the taut thrust of a breast, her belly turned to him now, now the smooth slope of her back. She was the most exciting, sensual woman he had ever known, and he ached for her, his body cried for
her. He had been in a state of arousal ever since he saw her tray coming out of her room. He might despise himself now for what he had done, but his body had reacted to what it knew would happen, and now, now he must be mad to put himself through this torture with no hope of relief. He was on fire, had never wanted a woman so much in his life. And he couldn’t have her. He had set his own punishment.

“Dimitri, please!”

She had become aware of him. His eyes flew to hers and he groaned, seeing the wild plea reflected there. She had forsaken her pride already. He could do no less.

“Shh, little one, please. Don’t say anything. It will be all right, I swear. You don’t have to let me love you tonight. Just let me help you.”