Betrothed (Russian Hearts Series Book 1)

by Elsa Holland

  The scowl she gave him was pointless. “It’s far too late. And, the Prince has no intention of showing up in Paris.”

  Her father drew a sheet of folded newspaper from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her.

  The gossip column of course. Two items were circled. The first read:

  And so, London says goodbye to the much enjoyed Petroski brothers.

  “Why isn’t he with us then?” Georgie demanded as she read the second item circled.

  Russian bars sprouting up in Bath.

  “What are you up to?” Georgie asked her father when she handed back the paper.

  “He could have alighted the boat incognito.” Her father glanced around. “He could in fact be mesmerized by the very sight of you as we speak.”

  Georgie rolled her eyes. “As if one look is going to change his mind, he has had miniatures of me for years. If he liked what he saw, we wouldn’t be in this position.”

  Her father tucked the paper back into his breast pocket and tapped it in that manner he used when he was pleased about something.

  “I knew the moment I saw your mother.”

  The moment they saw each other. Perhaps if she were honest the real reason was her own trepidation at spending so much time with a certain person. There was no pretending her body and mind weren’t sent into chaos whenever he was around.

  She glanced over at Demetri talking to the bursar, his stance and mannerisms relaxed and yet exuding authority. There was a certain sovereignty that came from station and this man had that in spades. He looked regal even though he was ordering blankets and refreshments because she wanted to stay on deck. He’d not blinked, had immediately set about securing their place on the coveted deck chairs with small side tables established for that purpose. As if a thread connected them, he turned. Their gazes caught and just like that, her body was alight with sensations, a warm delicious buzz vibrating under the surface of her skin.

  However, she was betrothed to his brother, a Wolf of Hyde Park, not the position a woman wanted to be in when she had found the man who captivated her was said wolf’s brother.

  Next to her, her father made a show of looking around as if he was going to spot an incognito Prince and all would be well.

  “I’ll not marry him.”

  Her father patted her hand. “I am sure you will like him just fine. You like Demetri, don’t you?” He glanced over at Demetri making his way back to them.

  She moved her hand away. “Just because I like Demetri doesn’t mean I will like his brother.”

  “Your mother always said, ‘Love is a crooked path’.”

  “I don’t see how that pertains to my situation.”

  “I am working on things from my side, caviar and vodka.” He patted his breast pocket.

  “What if your funds don’t come through in time? I will be annulling the betrothal as soon as I meet the Prince.”

  He gave her a wink.

  Her father never believed in ‘what if’s’, he worked with what was happening around him. There had been feast and famine over the years, yet they had always had staff and a fine house.

  General Demetri strode over to them making her breath catch. Georgie quickly turned back to the coastline. She’d dreaded and hankered for the time they would spend together on this trip. Was that really so wrong given the betrothal to his brother? She knew she had no intention of going ahead with the marriage and yet Demetri didn’t know that. He had made it clear they wanted the betrothal broken and here she was acting as if she wouldn’t let it go. What must he think of her?

  “I have secured a location.” Demetri gave her a slight bow and offered his arm. Her father said something about seeing someone from the club he had business with, nodded to Demetri and whisked away below deck. She slipped her hand through the crook of Demetri’s arm and his gloved hand came overs hers. Walking like this, arm in arm, her chest full of flurries, was how she’d imagined it would be with her betrothed. As a young girl… as a woman, she’d dreamed of how they would be together, of how he would make her feel. This was how she’d imaged it, exactly this.

  The location he’d secured was perfect. Demetri picked up the lap blanket and motioned her to the seat. Blanket open he bent over her and placed it on her lap. Lips, cheeks, chin were a hand’s span away, eyes hooded as his very masculine hands pressed the blanket under her thighs. Her breath froze. Her skin flamed.

  “Warm enough?” his deep voice asked as he rose from the task, eyes a luminous luster that flipped her stomach.

  Her face warmed, “Yes, thank you.” Heaven help her, this man made her utterly defenseless.

  Demetri settled himself in the deck chair next to her laying a blanket loosely over his knees.

  They turned and faced each other at the same time.

  “Being out in the sunshine suits you. There is a very attractive flush on her your cheeks.”

  Her gaze dropped then lifted back up to his, the pleasure making her shy. The slightest shift in his mouth suggested a smile, his eyes creasing as she fanned her face.

  “Snug?” he asked.

  “Yes,” came out all breathy. Heaven help her. She rolled her eyes, then laughed. He knew how he affected her, and he liked it; he knew she knew he knew. Her eyes lifted again.

  “Stop looking.”

  He grinned and she was lost. “As you wish.” Yet he didn’t look away.

  She laughed again lightness in her chest and looked out over the water, eventually saved from the burning awareness he generated when the refreshments arrived.

  Chapter 13

  They had arrived in Paris earlier in the evening and dined at the hotel, an architectural delight reflecting the fashionable Belle Époque with lavish decorations, a full grand piano in the foyer, and a trio of men singing hymns and carols. Demetri announced he had business to attend to and excused himself. Her father had gone out as well, muttering about caviar and vodka. Maria, who travelled with them, attended her as they walked some of the streets around the hotel which were full of shop windows bursting with Christmas decorations and luring passersby to buy gifts to take home to family, friends and loved ones. Unable to settle and sleep, Georgie sat in the private parlor Demetri had booked for them. She’d heard her father return down the hall and had let Maria retire.

  The fire flickered burnished, amber shadows across the postcard making the figures in it look animated. It was perhaps the most rudimentary of the postcards she’d bought at The Velvet Basement, but it was the one that most easily represented how ill prepared she was to win a man. The one thing she could thank her betrothed for was that he’d opened her eyes to what men wanted, what they liked from women. He was apparently a man who’d taken two women in a Parisian gallery while opening night speeches were delivered in the room next door. Her visit to the salons had revealed so much more, most notably her ignorance.

  Georgie leaned closer and gazed intently at the image, two faces, a man and a woman, they were open mouthed, tongues not simply touching but entangled. Even now having looked countless times, her body warmed… it wanted what they had.

  Yet her mind grappled.

  Why would two people do that? Was that a special kind of kiss? Was it one of those forbidden things or was it expected? She had witnessed many kisses, but usually husbands kissed their wives on the cheek. Although she was not so naïve that she did not to know they would kiss on the lips when alone, in intimate moments, the question was did they use their tongues? She had seen servants press their mouths together and move their heads, had they too touched each other’s tongues?

  A distinctly male cough sounded behind her making fire raced under her skin. She twisted around in her chair pressing the postcard to her chest.

  “Georgie, is something wrong?”

  Demetri stood jacket removed, his white shirt open at the neck.

  She shook her head no, as her eyes gobbled the sight of him up and heat raced over her face.

  His gaze dropped to what she had clutched to
her chest.

  “I was just heading back to bed. Too much excitement at finally being underway, I guess.” She moved her hand with the photo plate behind her back as she stood. “I am sorry to have disturbed you. Goodnight Demetri, thank you for your care today.”

  He nodded but was looking at her hand held behind her back. “What do you have in your hand Georgie?”

  Butterflies flew through her and her face grew hotter.

  “Nothing, simply an old photograph.”

  He moved closer blocking her path to freedom. Real fear darted around her chest at the prospect of him seeing the photograph. And yet, she was tormented with not knowing, not having some answers to her questions.

  Demetri moved closer, his face suddenly dark and very unhappy. “Show me who you hold so precious that you slip out at night to gaze so intently at him.” He presented his palm for the photo plate even as she shook her head, no.

  “It’s private. Demetri, I’d rather not,” she said in a hushed voice.

  He crowded her, “So it is of your beloved!”

  “My beloved?” It took a few seconds for her to understand. She stepped back, needed room to think clearly and he moved forward keeping that impossible-to-concentrate distance between them. “You think I am looking at the image of a sweetheart I am leaving behind?”

  His jaw tightened, his eyes traveling over her like a visceral, possessive touch. “Why else keep it secret?”

  A sudden warmth bloomed in her chest, she smiled, he had no idea.

  Placing her hand on his chest, she tried to move him out of the way. “You have it all wrong, I have no beloved, just a betrothed.” The rise and fall as he breathed under her palm made her want to do strange things.

  “You’re going to lie?” he growled, giving her unexpected satisfaction. He leaned down closer. “Vladimir never sent you a photo plate, only painted portraits.”

  She raised a brow, “Well there is the pot calling the kettle black, for someone who knows nothing of his brother’s affairs that is a rather specific piece of knowledge, don’t you think? What else do you know that you are not telling me?” Georgie again tried to shift him back, pressing her palm against the warm hard chest and instead wanting to press herself against him, feel the full heat of him down her front. Alarming fantasies that had her breasts tingling, her skin buzzing.

  He unexpectedly dipped forward, his arm snaked around her and captured the hand she held behind her. As if the universe conspired to make her fantasies real, the motion drew them together, her chest touching his, singeing her breasts, her belly, her hips. Soft esters of brandy sat on his breath, the day’s stubble on his chin tickled her cheek as his breath moved her hair.

  “I will see the image before we part.”

  She watched his mouth as he spoke, saw the movement of his tongue and a need swelled in her body. Tongues touching. She suddenly had to know, wanted to have the knowledge that others had in this game, wanted desperately to be able to face a man who didn’t want her and tempt him despite it all.

  “You don’t trust people do you, Demetri?” She said as her breasts burned, her sex ached, and her fingers clutched hard at the image he wanted to see.

  “I trust those worthy of it.”

  “And I am not?”

  He didn’t answer. It was fair, she was betrothed to his brother and here she was burning alive for him.

  “But I should trust you and your brother? Where were you tonight, do you know all the salons in Paris as well as those in London?” Georgie wriggled, she should at least try and get some distance between them. His arm around her simply tightened.

  “I am under no obligation to you Georgie.”

  She stilled and looked up at him. “No, you aren’t. But your brother is, should I trust him?” She pressed her chin forward.

  “Never.” Then perhaps realizing what he had said, his face softened. “I am sure he will be an honorable husband...someday.”

  Her face screwed up. Someday. That meant not for her.

  Eyes sharpening, he inclined his head at her reaction. “You could always call off the betrothal…”

  Georgie shook her head even as she wished with her every fiber that she could say it right now.

  “I recall asking you not to mention that again.” The promise to her father, as tedious as that was, stilled her voice. Besides, she wanted to have that discussion with her betrothed. There was after all a youth full of fantasies, formal arrangements. They were a promise of sorts, she wanted to face that man and understand why they were at this point, why things had played out the way they had and not something kinder.

  And then it occurred to her.

  “You saw Vladimir tonight, didn’t you? The papers say you both left London, he’s here in Paris, isn’t he?”

  He released her. “Of course, he is.”

  Shame, anger, hurt, how many times was she to be blindsided?

  Georgie shifted to walk past him, and he mirrored her move.

  She tried again and again he stepped in front of her.

  “Demetri,” she growled only to have her chin lifted and their gazes lock.

  “I’ll see the image first, Georgie.” He said in Russian. A voice suddenly thick as the fingers holding her chin glided down her neck in a trail of fire before lifting away.

  Georgie looked into his eyes, they were darker, his pupils dilated. Suddenly it didn’t matter that he knew, he already knew she was unwanted by his brother. He was after all the agent for the annulment of her betrothal. And despite all of that, he was the one who made her mind foggy as her body rippled and blossomed with aches and needs. She wanted to show him. Wanted him to tell her the answers to her questions.

  “If I show you, will you answer one question absolutely truthfully?” Her heart started to beat faster and her chest tightened as she leaped.

  Demetri stilled.

  “It’s not about the betrothal,” she clarified.

  A single nod.

  Hear pounding, Georgie brought her hand forward, fingers curled around the image and for some strange reason they wouldn’t release. His touch was soft, deliciously soft making her want more as he slowly unpeeled her fingers back, then stilled as he saw the erotic image.

  Her chest twisted tighter and tighter as each second of silence stretched.

  His brow creased. “Where did you get this?” There was a fractional tug of his mouth. And just like that the tightness in her chest left and was replaced by a surge of indignation.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Ask your question.” His eyes softened and his warmth drew her closer.

  “So, you are laughing at me?” He was!

  His hand came up to cup her cheek, her burning hot cheek.

  “I am surprised; that doesn’t happen often.” His finger trailed over her lips and her breath stopped. “Ask your question,” came a Russian whisper.

  “Do husbands…” she cleared her throat and started again, “do husbands and wives touch tongues when they kiss like this? Is that how people kiss or is this something particularly erotic?” There. She’d said it. A heady sensation flooded her much like walking out of The Velvet Basement with the postcards in her pocket.

  A flare passed through his eyes. “You’ve not been kissed by a man?”

  She glared at him. “I asked a question first.”

  He smirked, “I’ll need context.”

  She screwed up her face and shook her head no. “Why would I encourage someone to kiss me when I had a betrothed?” Were you supposed to make sure you got kissed? Well, she had been too busy clutching and whispering to miniatures.

  What she saw in his eyes made her squirm.

  “Not even by a young boy?” His hand found its way to the back of her neck.

  She shook her head no and scowled at him for making her humiliation worse. The hand on her neck squeezed and released, squeezed and released, sending delicious ripples down her spine and making her head want to loll about. She reached back and drew that
soothing hand away and lifted her chin.

  “Do they?” she whispered.

  And as if the heavens answered her prays, his Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed thickly.

  “Da.” His voice was gratifyingly gruff, and he swallowed again. She wasn’t the only one so excruciatingly affected, she knew it with absolute certainty.

  Yet that wasn’t all that he revealed, and it made her feel lightheaded all over again; it was that he had not been indignant on his brother’s behalf that she might have a picture of a sweetheart, but on his own behalf.

  That feeling of vertigo returned, the one she got when she stepped off a cliff, like going to The Velvet Basement, like showing him the image. She tentatively lifted her hand, like she might to a wild beast, not wanting it to shy away and not wanting to get bitten either, and let her fingers hover over his lips.

  “Demetri?” her voice was a whisper. “Can I….?”

  He made a sound, a beautiful pained sound she took as assent and lightly touched his lips. A quick glance up into those black pupils, he wasn’t shocked, annoyed or angry. Georgie took in a shaky breath and her touch deepened, a soft press against the fullness of hips mouth, a glide across its surface. It was much, much softer than she imagined, lips firm, full and soft.

  Every nerve was suddenly alive, vibrating. A cacophony of communication as if she had swallowed a beehive. Rational thoughts had long left. What drove her was something far more primitive. And unbelievably delicious.

  His hand came around her wrist, she stilled for a moment and when he didn’t stop her, she continued. Fingers traced the seam of his mouth, back and forth, and then she stopped, took a shuddering breath and pressed her finger between his lips.

  The tip touched teeth which parted, dragged over the top of her finger as she gently and slowly pressed in and touched his tongue.

  His hand tightened around her wrist.

  Georgie held her breath. Her finger encircled and encased in the soft, damp, heat of his mouth.

  The air between them so tight.