by Elsa Holland
Madam Debuverey glided forward, “Demetri dear do introduce our new guest around.” Demetri gave her a single nod. It was a mellow night, the more adventurous of the salon crowd not yet present and not likely to be for a few more hours.
“We are decorating the Christmas tree in here tonight. There is poetry in the second chamber, cards if you care for them in the third, and the fourth is taken by a private booking so watch out if you wander in ….because you play by the rules of the room if you enter...” With that she winked at Georgie and glided away.
“Let’s help with the tree.” He suggested looking at Georgie. It was relatively safe.
She looked over her shoulder toward the other rooms, then nodded.
There were a few people helping with the tree while a handful watched or were tucked away in conversations. Lady Bethany, a poetess of some note who had taken charge of the decorating, ushered Georgie into the task. In about forty minutes the tree was blazing with baubles, golden, silver and red ribbons and the tiny candles were ready to be lit.
“Now for the right to place the star on the tree,” Lady Bethany said, holding a number of straws in her hand. “Gentlemen, the one with the longest straw gets to mount the star,” there were giggles, “and the….prize.”
Demetri bent down and whispered to Georgie, “Come on, let’s have a look at another room.”
She shook her head no.
He clasped her elbow, “Trust me on this, we should leave now.” The men stepped forward, drawing their straws.
“General Demetri, your turn…”
There were three straws left and the longest, from the results, was yet to be drawn.
Georgie shrugged out of his hold; a movement noted by the Baron with an eyebrow raised out of interest.
Demetri stepped forward and drew a short straw. The Baron then drew. His was long. They didn’t need the final draw to know who had won. The Baron’s eyes gleamed in his direction. Demetri gave a warming scowl back, only to have the Baron raise the long straw between them then cast a glance at Georgie. When he stepped in front of Georgie, the Baron barked a laugh, then made a great fuss over climbing the stepladder and placing the star on the tree. He made more of a fuss as he stalked between the ladies to claim his prize.
“Slip your arm through mine and lean on me.” Demetri said into Georgie’s ear with urgency. “Now.”
To her credit she took one glance at him before her hand slipped through his and she pressed against him just as the Baron cruised towards them. He noted Georgie’s posture and smirked, making a turn to the left and dramatically snaking an arm around a blonde, whisking her away to the curtained alcove.
“What are they doing behind that curtain?” Georgie whispered still leaning against him, head tilted to his.
As he bent his head, her breath touched his lips. “Whatever they want,” he said softly. Her eyes flared before they darted back to the alcove.
“How did he know she wanted to go with him?”
“It was winner’s choice. He could choose whomever he wished.”
The realization that the Baron could have chosen her dawned. “What if the girl didn’t want to go?”
“She shouldn’t have stayed to play.”
“Do you like to ride, Miss Franklin? I hear the Russians breed a good steed.” Lord Marsden cackled.
“I love to ride,” Georgie beamed. Demetri stepped forward protectively. He really needed to get her home.
“Oh sweetness,” the cad Marsden smirked at him. “Demetri you have to let Vlad know he is slipping. She has no idea what she’s talking about.” The room laughed and his gut churned.
“You should take her on a tour of The Velvet Basement before you let her loose with Vlad. Or be a good brother and show her the ropes yourself.” Anger shot through him hot and fast.
“You go too far.” Demetri’s hand slipped into his jacket and he pulled out his white dress gloves and raised them. He was going to kill this man.
Georgie’s hand clamped over his. “Demetri. Please, clearly he jests.” She whispered as she leaned into him, her presence, the warmth from her proximity and the soft brush of her breath pulled back his blind anger. He stilled. The room had gone absolutely silent. They knew he was on the brink of calling the cad out.
“Demetri?”
He looked down at her, amber eyes full of concern. A balm.
“I am not so fragile I can’t take some ribbing.” She fluttered those impossible lashes, smiled at him and the heat went out of him. She slipped her arm through his and drew him closer to her side. “Perhaps you will do me the courtesy of a circuit around the salon and explain it to me.” She beamed her most charming smile and he accepted it.
They started to stroll.
“I am not happy to let that lie unchallenged.” He looked over his shoulder at the culprit and growled something in Russian under his breath.
“What did I miss?”
“They were talking about Russian men not horses.”
She looked up at him brows creased. He turned back to the man, he should go back and hit him at the very least. And then a soft peal of laughter sounded beside him.
Demetri looked down at her as she beamed up at him. “I am just going through the conversation now and you have to admit it was very funny.”
“You are not shocked?”
“No, the idea is funny, imagine me riding on Vladimir’s back while he crawls around on all fours pretending to be a horse like in the nursery. No wonder they all thought it was funny.”
Something somersaulted in is chest. She would never imagine that they spoke of her riding a man’s cock, more particularly his brother’s or perhaps his. That the joke had been lude and bawdy. “I should get you home.”
“Nonsense I have only just arrived.”
A cheer went up around them. “Salon rules: the next couple to enter the room have to kiss.” A buxom demimonde giggled to the agreement of the room.
“We stumbled in by mistake. Please accept my apologies.” He started to back out of the room.
“Are they serious?” Georgie asked under her breath.
A tall and overly skinny man opened a closet door as three others swarmed around them and ushered them into the closet.
“Salon Rules…” came the call from the room. “Salon rules… salon rules.”
The salon was a minefield. Demetri looked down into her face, flushed and totally unaware of the next hurdle.
“She’s to be my sister-in-law…” He said to the room, lifting his shoulders as if to say, he couldn’t possibly.
They laughed, “Vlad won’t mind” and in moments they were inside the closeted alcove with soft lighting and naturally the obligatory sofa big enough for all manner of things.
“We have to kiss?” Her voice husky with all kinds of temptation she had no idea she was emitting. He nodded and rubbed his hand over his face. He really needed to get her home.
“I have a way out of this.”
She scowled at him. “That’s not very flattering. Will they know if we fudge it?”
“Trust me I have had some practice.” He reached out and gently drew her towards him.
“What are you going to do?”
He pinched her lips, pulled some strands of her hair loose, then pinched her lips some more. “Leaving some tell-tale signs.”
He let his fingers wander over her cheek, follow the line of her jaw as the need in him grew. He found her extremely attractive. He liked her. He followed the shape of her eyebrows, down her nose. Her breath came ragged. Those eyes held invitations she should not be giving.
“Do you think your brother would mind if you kissed me?” she whispered and a shot of heat went through him, curled around his cock and squeezed.
“No.” It was true. She was after all his betrothed, not his brother’s.
“No?”
“No.” He would not kiss her but….
“He cares that little.”
“Stay still.” He leaned in, held
her head in both hands, rested his cheek against hers and rubbed. Her breath hitched as he gently rubbed his chin on hers and then his cheek on the other side. All the while feeling the soft skin against his, the graze of her lips on his as he marked her. Her hands had curled into his coat, his lips hung above hers. “That’s better.”
“What was that for?” her eyes were glued to his lips.
He uncurled a hand from his coat and ran it over his cheek finally drawing her eyes away from his lips, “I have stubble. It would scratch if I kissed you.”
“It would?” her gaze was back on his lips. “You don’t want to kiss me, do you?”
He would devour her in an instant. Instead he ran his finger over her lips.
“Any man would want to kiss you Georgie.” He stroked her cheek, “but that doesn’t mean he will.”
“You mean that doesn’t mean you will.”
“That’s right.”
“What if I want you to?” she whispered.
He rested his forehead on hers. “This can’t be Georgie." The color rose in her cheeks.
“Time’s up, you two.” The people on the other side of the door started to count down. Ten, nine, eight…
“I’ll go first. Stay behind me and I’ll shield you from the worst of it.” Demetri started to step forward, but a small hand stilled him. Seven, Six…
“Wait.” Five, four….in a second she stretched on her small slippers and gave him the softest of kisses on his lips. An absurd heat flushed through him as he saw her beam at him as if she were a scarlet seductress.
Three, two… “Now we don’t have to lie about kissing.” One.
She smiled and stepped through the door ahead of him despite his request.
Her lips and hair were pointed to and remarked upon as well as the redness on her chin, and the room clapped.
“I’ll join you in the hall.” Georgie said, face flushed from the attention and the whisky.
Madam Debuverey came forward and linked arms with Demetri, “You brothers play at the strangest games.”
“How so?”
He looked over his shoulder at Georgie, talking to the blackguard, Lord Marsden, who laughed out loud then whispered something back to her. He wanted to tug away from Madam Debuverey’s arm and punch Marsden in the mouth for defiling her with whatever words came out of his mouth. He tried to release Madam Debuverey’s arm, but her grip tightened.
“Calm down. This is not like you, Demetri.” Madam Debuverey looked at him with piercing gaze. “You… care for her.”
He stepped out of her hold. “I am almost family.”
“Oh, come now, Demetri,” she leaned forward voice hushed, “everyone knows Vlad is trying to cause enough offence to break whatever agreement he has with her and her family. Good for her, coming here tonight, but she is most certainly a lamb to the lion if you allow her to marry Vlad.”
He scowled down at Madam Debuverey. It hadn’t mattered when they started on their plan to cause Georgie to call off the betrothal but now, as he saw how people looked at her, with the papers making it painfully obvious that the betrothal was unwanted but that she was holding on to it, he smarted. Her father may have done the dishonorable thing but, for him to do the same now that he had met Georgie, felt a far greater slight.
Demetri called for her carriage as Georgie joined him. Madam Debuverey said her farewells then returned to the salon.
“What business did you have with Lord Marsden?” He growled as he bundled Georgie into her velvet cape, smoothing it over her shoulders and down her arms.
“We are not acquainted,” she replied, not seeming to hurry out of his touch.
“And your business with him?” He turned her to face him, such eyes in this light.
“Is none of your concern.” She turned away from him and he scowled at her back.
“That man insulted you, I stepped in to defend you and then you seek him out?” he growled in Russian.
“Much like a couple of other men I know.” She replied in kind then raised her head and pressed her lips together in silence.
The carriage arrived and he whisked her out into the night. Snow fell, catching the lamp light in golden drifts.
He opened the carriage door and helped her into the cabin, his hands lingering a touch too long on her waist. He looked back and scowled at the closed salon door, scowled at the man inside. The man she chose to talk to then leave him in the dark as to what kind of matter they addressed. However, what smarted most was the realization of how easily he would be replaced once the betrothal was annulled.
Chapter 9
Georgie settled on the bench; the carriage lurched as Demetri stepped in. A few stray snowflakes swirled into the cabin with him. A decisive moodiness sat around him now. The cane in his gloved hand knocked on the roof to announce they were seated and ready to depart. The vehicle lurched forward before it settled into a regular rhythm as the horses trotted down the street.
“You’re scowling at me,” her cheeks heated as his gaze bore into her. “Did I make such a fool of myself?”
“I told you not to come.” He said as he brushed the snow off his arms. The lamplight in the cabin made his face all shadows and angles, hard lines to match the clipped tones he was using with her.
“You are not in a position to direct my behavior.” She turned her gaze to the window and looked out to where the snow fell.
“I stand in my brother’s stead. I was placed in a position to protect your honor tonight.”
She scoffed. “My honor was besmirched by the first gossip column revealing our betrothal alongside Vladimir’s antics. With the two of you gallivanting around town night after night, covert glances fell my way. By the time the two of you did the house party in Bath, I was the topic of hot discussion in every parlor and at every luncheon across London and who knows where else; as people wait for me to call it off and looking like a desperate spinster the longer I stay silent.” Her voice caught and she looked back out the window counting the gas lights to stop the tears embarrassing her further. It was shameful beyond words to have to continue to endure the glances of people, wondering what was going on, wondering why she didn’t very publicly call it off.
“Why don’t you call off the betrothal?” He growled out.
Her breath caught, as if he was in her mind, knew what was circling around and around, thoughts like a peregrine hawk above a field mouse. It did however add further insult to already injured pride that he made the suggestion yet again. Jaw tight, she looked over to him.
“So, is that the purpose of all this? Embarrass the gauche English girl so she calls the betrothal off?” Her thoughts earlier in the day about why they were doing this were now so incredibly clear. However, the deeper reality of it only now began to unfold. If that was so, it meant all those years of silence, all those cancelled events meant that she had been an unwanted burden since she was six. Georgie studied his face for anything that would show she was overreacting, that she was wrong.
“Self-deprecation does not suit you,” he said in Russian, face drawn.
Throat tight, seeing nothing to indicate her assessment was false, “It is not self-deprecation if it is true….” she retorted in the same language, a language she now had no use for.
He leaned forward, the carriage contracting down to the space between their torsos.
“Do you want a marriage in name only? A marriage where you are parked somewhere and forgotten? Because that is what this marriage will be for you.” Somehow, hearing the raw truth was easier in Russian. The sound in a foreign language gave it distance even as it sliced out her heart and tore her childhood dreams in two.
It hurt to swallow. “Of course not. I want what every woman wants, I want to be loved and cherished by a husband I can be proud of. I want children and a chance to make a difference in the world.” She whispered, the Russian words ironically making that possibility feel ever so distant.
He was shaking his head no. “You want to marry a Prince.”
She curled her hand in his coat so he could not draw away. “That is unfair. I did not arrange the betrothal. Our fathers did. I understood it to be something both families wanted.”
Demetri scoffed, covering her hand with his before he leaned closer still, sending her body into a riot. His lips were a fraction from hers. A sudden bump on the road and they would touch.
“Oh yes, arranged.” He smelt faintly of whisky and soap.
“Father said the offer came from your father, was that not true?” she replied, uncurling her fingers from his yet not quite letting go. His hand lifted but only to run a gloved finger down her cheek.
“Can you imagine what would compel a Prince to betroth his eldest son to a family of no standing? A family no one else knows or has met? A man who visited my father solely for business purposes?”
She drew away then. “Your implication is offensive. If your family felt that way, they could have asked to have the agreement broken, instead there were letters and miniatures.”
“It was not for the Petroski’s to do.” Oh, that Russian pride again. “The fact we never attended a single arranged meeting should have been message enough.”
Georgie sat up straighter and raised her chin. “Every one of the cancellations was accompanied by gifts, apologies and explanations. It was disappointing, yet understandable, given the position of your family.”
He simply shook his head.
“Father said he and your father were good friends that your father wanted a closer connection…insisted on it.”
Demetri sat stiff beside her. “Oh, a closer connection with an untitled businessman who hustles the elite into schemes for money. You have a lot to learn about the world, Georgie. Not everything is as your father says, or as simple as it sounds.”
Heat flamed under her skin and she wrapped her arms around herself.
“You speak too plainly! My father is not a hustler and he has made a handsome living by his business ventures. The world has changed, business and investing are where wealth comes from now. Or perhaps that reality hasn’t reached your province yet.”