You Belong to Me

by Johanna Lindsey

  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 foi«gotten 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."

  38

  The return to Cardinia seemed to take no time at all, but then, Alexandra was so sunk in her unhappiness that she barely no­ticed the passing of time. On the ship, she spent the entire week near a bucket, feeling half dead. She supposed she was fortunate, though, considering the stories she'd heard from other pregnant women, that during the sea voyage was the only time she was sick.

  Once she was back on land, her health bloomed. In fact, she'd never
felt better— physically. She didn't even catch the colds and coughs that the rest of her companions were suffering as they traveled through the worst part of winter, plagued by snow or freezing winds.

  Her spirits picked up only when they were nearing Cardinia and she realized she would soon be back with her horses. It was then that she began to notice the unusual looks she was getting from Vasili, as if he might be regret­ting something. She could just imagine what.

  However, he had told her earlier in the journey that he would give her time to get used to the fact that they were getting married. He seemed absolutely adamant about it now. And to give her that time to adjust, he had apparently decided that keeping their conver­sations down to a minimum would help. Af­ter all, it was a rare occasion when they could talk and not have their words progress into a heated exchange.

  One time in particular should have been the argument of the century, the first time they came to an inn and ended up dining together. Alexandra had already decided there was no point in continuing her rustic ruse. It had never worked on Vasili anyway. And now that she was resigned to marrying him—just for the ba­by's sake—she was done with schemes to try to get out of it.

  Vasili had raised his brows dubiously at the dresses she continued to wear since leaving England, though he didn't ask again if she had her britches on beneath them. But the night they sat at the same table, and he ob­served her normal eating habits for the first time, she thought he was going to go into shock.

  Yet it didn't take long before his eyes had narrowed on her. "So all those horrid, disgust­ing manners were only for my benefit?" he guessed.

  She didn't try to prevaricate, but answered simply, "Of course."

  "The swearing?"

  "I had help—and improvised."

  "Your skill with a whip wasn't faked."

  "Konrad taught me when we were chil­dren."

  "And the threats you gave my women?"

  She shrugged. "Sorry, but those were genu­ine. I never have been able to share what's mine."

  He actually grinned at that point before tell­ing her, "I've discovered I won't either, at least not where you're concerned."

  She didn't take that declaration seriously. And she figured he had realized that he couldn't get angry over what she'd done to fool him because he had done the very same thing.

  Tanya Barony had warned her, but she her­self had been treated to Vasili's true character on the return trip for the proof of it. No more taunting, derisive remarks. No more contemp­tuous looks. And too many sensuous smiles for her heart to handle with any degree of in­difference.

  He was getting to her without even trying, and that frightened her. She could just imag­ine how painful it was going to be when he got around to ignoring her, and that would happen as soon as he figured out that she was already carrying his desired heir, which wouldn't be much longer. It also hurt her even more to discover that he really was lik­able when he wasn't deliberately trying to be otherwise, just as Tanya had claimed.

  If she could only hate him, she could get through marriage to him with ease. But that wasn't the case, was so far from it that it was laughable. And too many times she came close to setting aside her-pride and begging for his affection—at the very least, for his body.

  It was deplorable how often those carnal feelings were assailing her these days. And she hoped that she would be married before her condition was discovered, because she was determined to have her wedding night, which was probably going to be the only night with him she would get. She would de­mand it, in fact, if necessary, because Vasili owed her that much after introducing her to the pleasures of the body, then leaving her yearning for more.

  It was raining the day they arrived in the royal city of Cardinia. Vasili and Lazar had chosen to join her in the carriage when it started. Vasili had supplied the vehicle for her three weeks ago, when he'd seen her leave the ship in a dress rather than her britches. She had been brooding too much at the time even to be aware that her dress wasn't suitable for riding.

  But she hadn't objected to the carriage, or that, because of it, she wasn't supplied with a horse to do some riding. She wasn't sure that she should ride anymore, now that she was two and a half months into her pregnancy. Until a doctor could advise her on the matter, she preferred not to take any chances, no mat­ter how much she might miss her daily rides.

  Vasili had waited until the last minute, until they'd actually entered the city, to tell Alexan­dra she would be staying with his mother again. The way he said it led her to believe he was expecting an argument. She didn't give him one, despite the fact that she was dread­ing facing the countess again.

  She supposed she owed the lady an apol­ogy. She would have seen to it when they arrived, and Maria met them no sooner than they had walked in the door, except Vasili had some things to say to his mother that momen­tarily surprised Alexandra.

  "So you found her," Maria began.

  "I told you I would, Mother. And since we will be married tomorrow, Alexandra will be staying here only tonight. But kindly do me the favor of not mentioning her previous be­havior to her. It was all a pretense anyway, so you can stop worrying that—"

  "Yes, yes, I know all about that," Maria cut in, surprising both him and Alexandra.

  "How?" Vasili asked.

  "Her father arrived not long after you left. He explained that although she is a trifle unconven­tional in certain areas—her horses, for one—she is every bit the lady we were expecting her to be. I was, of course, quite shocked. So was the baron when I related—"

  "Let's not discuss it, Mother, if you don't mind. Did he return to Russia?"

  "With his daughter missing?" she replied, her tone implying he should know parents weren't that cavalier. "He was going to go af­ter her himself, until I assured him that you would bring her back. Of course, I offered him my hospitality."

  "He's here?"

  "Yes, upstairs, and you might as well know, Vasili, he confessed that there never was a..."

  Alexandra didn't hear any more. She'd started backing up the moment Vasili's mother had mentioned her father, and soon she was out the door, heading for the stable. How could her father show up here after what he'd done to her? How could he pretend to care what—

  "Alex, where do you think you're going?"

  Vasili had halted her with a gentle hand on her arm, but she kept her face averted from him until she could swipe at her eyes. She didn't want him to see the tears she'd been unable to hold back.

  "I don't know," she admitted. "I just know I don't want to see my father—ever again."

  Was that relief she heard in his sigh? "Then you won't have to. I'll take you to the queen. She'll keep you secluded until the wedding; then afterward, we'll retire to one of my coun­try estates. But... might I ask why you don't want to see him?"

  She was too upset to appreciate how help­ful he was being, or to consider how he might take her answer. "Because he could have ended the betrothal before we even met, but he didn't. The hell we've put each other through is his fault, and I'm not forgiving him for that."

  A few moments passed before he asked, "Alex, if he broke the betrothal now, would your word still stand?"

  "Since I promised to marry you unless you cried off, I suppose it would."

  "Even if there was no betrothal contract?"

  She frowned up at him. "What kind of question is that?"

  "A silly one, I suppose, but actually, it's re­lated to something I've been meaning to do. I want to officially ask you to marry me."

  The thrill of pleasure she experienced felt strange next to her pain, and was no more welcome. "You know that isn't necessary."

  "Humor me, Alex, please. Will you marry me?"

  "Yes."

  "Will you give me your word?"

  "You're pushing it, Petroff—"

  "Please."

  "All right, you have it, though it's the last time I'm promising anyone—"

  He was kissing her before she'd fi
nished, and Alexandra forgot what she'd gotten huffy about. When he let her go, she was breathless and not a little confused.

  "What was that for?"

  He grinned at her. 'To thank you, because I was pushing it."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Next time, just say the words, Petroff."

  39

  Vasili was waiting in the antechamber of the palace chapel for his bride to arrive, his friends keeping him company and ribbing him because he was there so early. He didn't say so, but he would have had the wedding yesterday if he didn't think Alexandra would question such haste. But it still couldn't hap­pen soon enough for him, and he wasn't go­ing to stop worrying until it was over.

  He had managed to avoid Alexandra's father thus far. With any luck...

  Instead of Tanya entering to say Alexandra was on her way, Constantin Rubliov appeared in the doorway, his expression thunderous, his voice nearly as thunderous. "Where have you hidden my daughter?"

  Vasili sighed. Luck just hadn't been on his side, ever since he'd met the man's daughter. But he was determined to change that.

  He glanced at Stefan pointedly. "Would you mind leaving us alone?"

  Stefan looked from the angry father, whose identity was pretty obvious, back to Vasili, and he raised a black brow. "Must I?"

  "Dammit, Stefan—"

  His cousin chuckled, and with one arm around a curious Lazar and the other around a puzzled Serge, steered them out of the room.

  Alone with Constantin, who was now flushing with embarrassment because he had blustered in front of the King of Cardinia without realizing it, Vasili said, "Alex spent the night with the queen's ladies. We're about to be married."

  "Wasn't she told I was here?"

  "Yes," Vasili said, then added reluctantly, "But I'm afraid she doesn't want to see you, sir."