You Belong to Me (23 page)

N
ina was waiting for her when she returned to her hotel room, and one look at Alexandra’s expression made Nina say, “He wasn’t there, was he?”

Alexandra removed her coat and sat down carefully on the bed. “Oh, he was there,” she replied dryly. “And we had quite an interesting conversation. Apparently lechers aren’t exclusive to Cardinia.”

“I never thought they were.” Then Nina’s eyes flared in understanding. “You mean the Honorable Christopher Leighton isn’t so honorable?”

Alexandra nodded and, as briefly as she could manage it, related what had happened. When she had finished, Nina was furious.

“That rotten bastard! That miserable deceiver, to give you no indication of his true motives, to deliberately let you think—”

“He said he assumed I understood.”

“That’s a lie and you know it, Alex—and don’t you even think about trying to defend him.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Good, because—” Nina broke off when she finally realized that she was doing all the yelling and Alexandra wasn’t doing any. “Why aren’t you angry?”

“I suppose I am.”

The lackluster answer had Nina rolling her eyes. “You don’t sound it. You don’t even sound upset. In fact, you sound no different from when you left here.”

“I’m still adjusting to the fact that Christopher isn’t the man I thought he was.” And then Alexandra frowned thoughtfully. “But you’re right, I should be more upset about this than I am, shouldn’t I? After all, I’ve loved him for so long—”

Nina’s snort announced her opinion on that, yet she responded, “You say that from habit only.”

“Nina—” Alexandra began defensively, but that, too, was out of habit, and her friend wasn’t going to let her trot out the same old, lame excuses this time.

“I’m telling you, you didn’t love him!” Nina interrupted hotly. “Not then and not now. I’ve always said it, but now you’re going to believe it.” Then she said, less severely, “You wanted him when you met him, but you were young and romantic then, and you needed a name for what you were feeling, so you called it love.”

“And all these years—”

“All these years you simply haven’t cared one way or the other, Alex, or you would
have done something about it. Think about it. If you had really loved him, would you have been content to sit at home and wait?”

Put that way, the question demanded an obvious answer. Alexandra didn’t have the temperament to be that patient, not if her emotions were involved. So why had she been deceiving herself? From habit, as Nina had said? Or because she had mistaken infatuation for love and was too stubborn to admit she’d made a mistake?

But Nina wasn’t finished. “Even if you didn’t love him, you still ought to be angry about what he’s done to you. If it weren’t for him, you would have been more favorably disposed to Count Petroff and would be married to him by now.”

Would she? No, what she would have been was angrier at Vasili for not giving them a chance, because
his
sentiments wouldn’t have been any different. He would have turned on his contempt no matter how she’d felt about him.

“My being more agreeable to him, Nina, would only have led to hurt.” And hadn’t she been hurt? Hadn’t she been sick with regret? In a tone of annoyance she said, “I’m going to bed. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be angry. Now I’m just tired.”

But the next day didn’t bring anything except a return of her melancholy—with the addition of knowing that she had to make a difficult decision. She was still pregnant, and she still needed a husband, quickly. And with
Christopher no longer a candidate for the position, she was going to have to settle for a stranger.

That actually wasn’t as daunting as it sounded. Alexandra had been quite happy with her life these past few years, with only one exception—her desire for children. But she had her baby now, and she still had her horses, and she could be content with that. And there was even the possibility that she might like whomever she chose to marry, might even one day come to love her husband. It wasn’t
that
unlikely. But it didn’t really matter to her if love happened or not.

She wished she didn’t
need
a husband just because she was pregnant. It would be so much easier if she could settle somewhere and raise her child by herself. Her horses would support her quite adequately, would even make her rich if she decided to race them. But her child would suffer for that, would be branded illegitimate, and that was
not
an option she cared to exercise.

She didn’t even consider going home, since she hadn’t forgiven her father and doubted that she ever would. It still hurt even to think about him and what he’d done to her—what she was now suffering because of it.

Her only other option was Vasili. If the distance weren’t so great, she’d return to Cardinia and insist that he marry her. But she was already seven weeks along in her pregnancy. It would take another month just to get back to Cardinia; then more time would be wasted
arguing with Vasili in order to get him to agree, which wouldn’t be easy after he’d been reprieved from the “hated state of matrimony.” She would probably be showing her condition by then. Of course, a baby being on its way before marriage would be no more than anyone would expect from him.

The stirring of excitement she felt from merely considering the idea infuriated her. She still didn’t want the kind of marriage he would give her. If she hadn’t found out how wonderful those marital rights could be with him—which he intended to deny her—her decision might have been different. But she did know, and she would come to hate him after a while, might even toss her pride away and…no!

A stranger was much better. No emotional involvement and something in common, because the man would have to be an avid horseman, and from conversations she had overheard, she knew that many Englishmen were.

He would also have to have a strong penchant for horse racing, since that was probably the only thing that was going to get her a husband quickly. Although she had enough money to keep her comfortable for some time to come, even if she didn’t sell another horse, she could in no way be classified as a rich catch. And she wasn’t going to count on her minor title of baroness to aid her either.

Her thoroughbreds were the temptation she was counting on. Whomever she proposed to
wouldn’t just get a ready-made family; in all likelihood he’d get some wins at the racetracks as well. He’d have to want those wins, desperately, to accept her pregnancy, and her terms.

Deciding on a course of action was one thing, but implementing it was another. In that, Lady Beatrice helped immensely, obtaining invitations for her, spreading the word about her horses and that she was in the market for a husband. After only a few days, everyone was wondering about the Russian baroness who had come to London to find a husband.

As it turned out, her title was a bigger draw than she had supposed it would be, especially since she came with a guaranteed income from her breeding stock. But then, her looks alone turned out to be an equal enticement. She was attracting too many men who weren’t horse fanciers, and although she would have discouraged them in her frank way, Lady Beatrice recommended that she not do so.

“Gossip, my dear,” Beatrice explained. “Right now it is in your favor, but rejected suitors can turn it against you overnight.”

“But won’t too many suitors discourage the ones
I’m
interested in?”

Beatrice laughed. “Not at all. The ones you want will be even more intrigued by your popularity. If a girl has three men bussing about her, she’ll soon have ten. It’s human na
ture to see what all the fuss is about, and men
always
want what other men want.”

That conversation took place, incredibly, on Alexandra’s first evening out in London society, her acceptance by the
ton
was that quick. By the second evening she had met at least three gentlemen who fit her purposes exactly, and since she was in no position to waste time tiptoeing around the subject, she told each what her requirements were.

The first she took aside to speak with privately was apparently too shocked by her directness in doing the proposing to stick around to hear the rest of what she was offering, which was just as well. If he couldn’t handle a simple thing like her proposal, he probably would have fainted when she got around to telling him about the baby.

After that experience, she was a little more careful with the second man, leading into the subject a bit more slowly, making sure that he was aware that she was seeking marriage before she asked if he was interested. He wouldn’t give her an immediate answer, needed time to consider her proposal, though he hadn’t counted on raising children so soon—he was only twenty-six.

The third man held the highest standing as a viscount, though he was the least attractive, a bit on the portly side. However, he fairly drooled when she mentioned how many horses she owned, and hardly batted an eye over the fact that she was pregnant. He did, in
fact, give her a resounding yes, saying he would be delighted to marry her.

It was Alexandra’s turn to be shocked. She really hadn’t thought it would be this easy, or this quick, and she put him off, suggesting they spend a few days getting to know each other before they completely committed and set a wedding date. But at least the pressure was off. She’d solved her problem. Only now that she no longer had to worry about a father for her baby, her melancholy returned.

She spent a good portion of the next day with her viscount, Gordon Whately, which included riding through one of London’s many parks. He brought one of his own thoroughbreds for her to ride—she had the impression it was a test of sorts, since the mare was high-spirited, which condition she had no difficulty controlling—and they ended up talking horses and nothing else. At least they would never lack for conversation as a married couple.

He was having no second thoughts—which had been a possibility—and believed everything she claimed about her animals. She couldn’t afford to have second thoughts herself.

Since it looked as if she would be staying in England, she would soon have to visit a dressmaker for clothing other than the completed, unclaimed dresses she had been able to buy with a minimum of alterations. That was how she had been surviving so far with her evening apparel, but she would soon run
out of dressmakers who could accommodate her so quickly. And with all the invitations that Beatrice had lined up for her—which the older woman insisted Alexandra must still attend to broaden her acquaintances, even though she’d already accomplished her goal—she was going to need a much larger wardrobe.

That night there was a ball for which Beatrice was picking her up. Gordon wouldn’t be attending, since he had a previous engagement he was unable to cancel, but Alexandra wasn’t disappointed. Too much of his company gave her a headache.

She’d found a gown suitable for a ball late that afternoon, a fancy concoction in deep burgundy and black lace that showed off more of her bosom than she was used to, though she knew it to be the fashion. Still, she would have preferred not to go, having no more desire to socialize now than she’d had these past seven years.

But she went, and she even made an effort to enjoy herself. She wasn’t succeeding very well, though, with visions of her future dampening her mood. Having spent so much time with Gordon today, she really couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life with him. And she certainly couldn’t imagine making love with him. Yet what choice did she have?

She was dancing when the buzzing started, conversations everywhere picking up in volume, as if everyone were suddenly talking at once. Her partner was trying to look around
to see what was happening, but he was no taller than she was, and he could find nothing amiss. She wasn’t curious herself, although she couldn’t help hearing some of the talk going on around her as they continued to twirl past the other couples on the dance floor.

“Is it the queen?”

“Over there by the…”

“…never seen anyone so…”

“Good God, who is…”

“…so handsome…”

“…
so
handsome…”

“…so
handsome
…”

Her partner had actually stopped dancing, even though the music continued to play. He didn’t remember to apologize, he was so curious. But everyone else around them was doing the same thing, and the buzzing was getting even louder.

Alexandra sighed and excused herself to leave the floor. Whoever had so impressed these people was of no interest to her. So handsome? They’d have to go to Russia, to Cardinia to be exact, to see
really
handsome.

And then the crowd was suddenly parting before her, clearing a path for the man slowly walking across the room. And in the opened space she couldn’t miss him, couldn’t believe her eyes either, and couldn’t take another step.

Vasili in London? Impossible. Yet there he was, coming straight toward her, his honey-gold eyes, as bright as she’d ever seen them, locked on hers. Everyone else saw an inscru
table expression, but she knew what that golden brightness indicated, that he was angry enough to throttle her, and she couldn’t decide whether she ought to run, faint, cry—or laugh for the sheer joy that was overwhelming her senses at the very sight of him.

“
W
e can discuss this for everyone’s delectation, or you can come with me,” Vasili said with forced evenness. “I have a carriage waiting outside.”

That wasn’t at all what Alexandra was expecting to hear. If she had been as angry as she suspected Vasili was, she wouldn’t have held off whatever “this” was, just to avoid making an embarrassing scene. Of course, she was used to causing scenes and—and she’d better answer him before he made the decision for her.

“I was just about to leave anyway,” she told him, her own tone carefully neutral.

It wasn’t true, even if it was what she’d wanted to do ever since arriving. But she figured if she didn’t go with him, he’d just become angrier, because then he’d be making that scene she knew he didn’t want to make.

However, she nearly changed her mind about going anywhere with him. Although he had her compliance, she still felt as if he were dragging her out of there. But before she
could make up her mind whether it would be in her best interest to remain where there were people, they were outside, and she was being shoved into his waiting carriage.

“Is it your intention to freeze me?” she asked, her tone sarcastic.

He hadn’t stopped long enough to retrieve her evening cloak, and the winter night air was damp and frigid. Inside the large, well-appointed carriage, it was not much warmer. But rather than go back for her wrap, he tossed a carriage blanket at her before he sat down.

The vehicle departed immediately with the slamming of the door, jerking Alexandra nearly off the edge of the seat. It wouldn’t take much more for her to be losing her temper.

“Explain yourself, Petroff. If I had known you had a trip to England scheduled, I would have gone elsewhere.”

“Would you? I doubt that.”

He was sitting opposite her with his arms crossed, his legs stretched out and also crossed, his eyes still aglow as he stared at her. Whatever pleasure she had felt upon first seeing him was fast dissipating, irritation taking its place. And that he said no more after his sardonic remark left a silence that unnerved her.

She broke it, demanding, “Well? I assume there is some particular reason you have sought me out—or did we have the misfor
tune to turn up at the same function as well as in the same town?”

“We’ll get to that in a moment, Alex. Right now I’m having a little trouble adjusting to seeing you, for all intents and purposes, looking like a lady. Or do you have your britches on underneath that gown?”

She couldn’t imagine why that question made her blush, but it did. “If you failed to notice, that was a ball you dragged me out of. I do happen to know what the required dress is for such an occasion.”

“No britches, then?”

She glared at him in answer. Vasili wasn’t amused. He was, in fact, even more incredulous now than when he’d first spotted her on the dance floor. Silk and lace. He’d had fantasies of her wearing just that, but he could never have imagined anything like this. The artfully arranged coiffure, the long evening gloves, the deep scoop of her neckline—Jesus, her breasts, her magnificent breasts on display for any man who cared to look.

Even as that infuriated him, Vasili had to allow that he had never seen Alexandra looking more beautiful. And he resented that she had always denied him this soft, feminine side of her, that he hadn’t known she even had a side like this—except in bed.

She could dance. She could apparently converse with her peers for a while without swearing or shocking them. And obviously she was careful not to attend gatherings where dinner was included, or she would
very quickly become excluded from guest lists. But apparently she’d been able to fool these English into believing she was a lady, or that she knew how to act like one.

He was also furious that he hadn’t been able to catch up with her before she sailed for England, that it had taken him more than a month to finally find her. They’d lost her trail twice, first when she had begun heading for the mountains, as if she were going home, then had changed directions to travel north. He’d sent home most of the men he had with him at that point, since it appeared they wouldn’t be needed.

Then they had lost Alexandra again, when she switched her mode of traveling to a carriage. But between him and the eight men left in his party, it had taken only a few hours after their arrival in London to locate her hotel. And her maid, Nina, had obligingly told him where she could be found tonight.

And now he wasn’t sure how to handle her. His first urge, as always, was to make love to her, and that urge was stronger than ever. Just being near her again had him hard and ready. His second urge was to throttle her for all the trouble she had put him through. But he had a third urge, just to hold her and tell her—what? That he’d been worried sick that she would marry Leighton before he found her? That he was in the lamentable position of finding himself in love for the first time in his life? She’d never believe it after the attitude he had demonstrated just for her.

And what about her Englishman? If he had found Leighton there with her, he probably would have challenged him on the spot. If she loved the man, if she
really
loved him, he wondered if he had the decency to bow out and let her have him. His jealousy said no, that he and the Englishman couldn’t live on the same planet. But this damn love he was feeling wanted her to be happy.

The two feelings wouldn’t reconcile. He supposed he ought to find out first if he had arrived too late.

“Is there a wedding planned, Alex?”

Alexandra drew in a sharp breath of surprise. How could he possibly have found out about her portly viscount? He couldn’t know.

“What wedding?” she asked carefully.

“Between you and Leighton.”

This was even worse. “How did you learn about Christopher?”

“From Lazar.
You
should have told me.”

“It was none of your business—”

“We are to be married!” he cut in, his anger finally there between them. “It damn well is my business if you are in love with another man!”

“We are to be
what?
”

“Fickle after all, aren’t you?” he sneered. “Or have you forgotten that you assured me you wouldn’t break your word? A matter of honor, or so you claimed.”

His attack had her hackles rising. “Didn’t you get my note? Your mother said you
couldn’t possibly marry me, that I was a disgrace, hopeless—”

“My mother didn’t arrange our marriage. She has no say in the matter.”

“That wasn’t the impression you gave the first time we discussed ending the betrothal,” she said stiffly. “When she told me what she did, I assumed—”

“You assumed wrong, Alex, and you left without even confirming that assumption with me. And I repeat, it wasn’t up to my mother. Whether we get married or not is up to us, and depends on whether or not we are going to honor what our respective fathers committed us to.”

“You’re saying we’re still betrothed?”

“You’re damned right we are.” And before she knew what he was doing, he had her hand in his and was slipping the warm metal of her betrothal ring on her finger. “Don’t remove it again, Alex. You belong to me. I want you wearing the proof of that.”

The last was said as if it were a warning, and she heard some distinct possessiveness in his tone that confused and thrilled her at the same time. She sat back, assailed by relief and dread, and fought to ignore them both. She’d never get through this discussion if she didn’t keep her emotions out of it. But, oh, how wonderful it felt to have that ring back! Tears had accompanied her removal of it. When she had left it behind with her note to him, it had felt as if she were leaving her heart behind,
too. She wouldn’t remove it again—but not because he’d told her not to.

“Would you mind explaining to me why?” she said, referring to his assertion that the betrothal was still on. “I gave you an out. And as I recall, you didn’t want to marry me, so why didn’t you take it?”

Because I love you!

Now was an excellent time to tell her. But she would laugh and scoff and probably say something sarcastic like “Sure you do, Petroff. You prove it to me every time you open your mouth.” And since he was still having difficulty believing it himself, how was he going to convince her?

“You didn’t give me an out, Alex. You ran off under a misconception. That didn’t release me from the betrothal, it merely put me to the bother of bringing you back. However, if it
was
your intention to break your word, say so now and that will be the end of it.”

“That was never my intention and you know it,” she hissed at him.

“I didn’t think so, so there you have your answer. We are still bound by that contract, still very much betrothed, and still going to be married. Or do you disagree with that?”

“No,” she said in a low mumble.

“Then your coming to England hasn’t changed your views about honor?”

“No,” she said with more volume and a glare.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She snorted at that. “Careful, Petroff, or
you’ll almost have me thinking you
want
to get married now.”

“Perhaps I do,” he said softly.

“When pigs fly,” was her retort.

He grinned. He just
knew
his Alex would say something like that.

“Actually…” He paused so she would think he was only just coming to this conclusion. “Since I have to get married eventually anyway—for an heir, you understand—it might as well be to you. After all, I’ve already devoted more effort to you than I ever have to another woman—and I absolutely adore your breasts, Alex.”

He expected another hot retort, a blush, anything except the subdued expression he was getting. And he could have kicked himself for thinking that what he’d said would be more acceptable to her than the truth.

“Alex—”

“You don’t have to explain,” she interrupted him. “I’ve always known your position on the subject. And you’ve always known mine.”

Reminding him that she hadn’t wanted to marry him because she was in love with someone else worked to bring back the anger he’d displayed earlier, and to get his mind off telling her any more about how
wonderful
life was going to be with him. She could have told him about the baby now and he could start ignoring her before they were even married. But since that would probably delight
him, she decided to be perverse and keep the news to herself.

He might have come after her, but obviously nothing had changed. So why did that “for an heir, you understand” make her feel like crying?

“You’ve seen Leighton?” he asked tightly.

“Yes.”

“I’ll kill the bastard if he touched you, Alex,” he fairly growled.

What was this, jealousy by default? “Don’t bother. He never wanted to marry me. He was waiting for me to marry someone else so he could then become my lover. He thought the same thing you did, except he knew I was a virgin and he was just waiting for me to change that fact.”

“He’s dead,” Vasili said simply.

Alexandra sighed. “I’m the one who was insulted, Petroff, not you. Just because you’re thinking of me as your wife now doesn’t mean I won’t still fight my own battles.”

“He hurt you—”

“No, he didn’t—which made me realize it was rather tepid, whatever I felt for him.”

Vasili’s smug smile at those words was irritating in the extreme, making her change the subject again. “Where, exactly, are you taking me?”

“To my ship. I didn’t like this congested, overcrowded city the first time I visited it, and I still don’t. We’ll be leaving immediately.”

“No, we won’t. My people—”

“Should be aboard by now, I imagine, with some—friendly—persuasion.”

“You’re pushing it, Petroff.”

“After all the trouble you’ve put me to, sweetheart, I’d say I’m allowed.”