by Elsa Holland
Her legs started to shake uncontrollably, and he pressed into her. The sensation, the relief was indescribable. She released her skirts and held his head as he devoured her breast, her hips arched against his fingers as they teased her entrance, circled, moved through her folds, pressed against her lips.
“You’re a devil,’ she whispered in Russian and his fingers pressed in, pressed in further and started to pump.
She clutched him, her fingers curled into his coat pulling him impossibly close, using him to hold herself up as she moved her hips against his hand. Every sound they made echoed around them, their panted breath, the sucking sounds of his mouth on her breasts, her lips, her moans and the crooning from deep his chest.
“So beautiful, so wet for me.” He kissed her deep, tongue exploring her mouth leaving no escape. His fingers moved, the tension building higher and higher. Her hips ground against his hands. Then he touched something, she called out. He did it again and pleasure exploded through her. She keened as wave upon wave of pure bliss washed through her. Everything disappeared, there was only sensation, only feeling. Her head light, her muscles weak. It was all she could do to hold onto him, to stay upright. His arms came around her just in time, as her knees buckled.
“Demetri?”
He held her, clutched her to him as if she were the most precious of things.
It was some time before she was able to let go, had the confidence her legs would hold her, but he didn’t release her. They stood there, leaning against the wall, clasped together deep in the shadows of the bridge as he nuzzled her hair, as he murmured things to her in Russian some of which she understood, and others which sounded like nonsense, as he made her giggle and kissed her.
Chapter 17
The train to Copenhagen, Denmark rocked them as steam caught in air currents, dipping down into view from the top of the window or dispersing into the landscape in a billowing plume. Denuded trees clustered around farmhouses and lined the perimeter of snow-covered paddocks. Majestic evergreens scaled mountains, ringed lakes, and guarded the entrances to tunnels which threw them into pitch darkness before they powered through the other side into an explosion of light. They sat in a heart achingly, comfortable silence. The kind of silence you have with a man you knew you loved and couldn’t have. He’d look over to her, their eyes meeting. His would soften, an almost indistinguishable difference that caused her to feel foolishly joyous. And then the inevitable sobering thought flashed through her mind. They were running out of time.
Tonight, was their second last night before they arrived in St. Petersburg when this glorious respite together would come to an end. Time was running out for her father who didn’t seem as worried as she would have thought. Georgie had told him again today that she would be calling off the betrothal as soon as she met her betrothed. And if the damn man didn’t have the gumption to see her, even in St. Petersburg, so be it.
Demetri picked up the newspaper folded on the bench beside him and opened it. “You are pensive.”
She was. Each second was one second closer to the end of this precious time together. The things he had shown her, the things he had taught her about a man and a woman were so intensely beautiful and all tied to happening with him. The idea she would someday share those moments with another felt impossible. Every cell screamed for her to tell Demetri she was cancelling the betrothal. Yet she had promised her father she would stay the course while he did everything to resolve their financial issues.
“A lot has happened.” Their eyes met and although his face remained expressionless, she knew he smiled on the inside.
They sat in that comfortable silence as she planned the days to come. What she had to do was spend some time with her father to see what the family’s options would be once his creditors became aware that the marriage would not go ahead.
A coffee service arrived, the tray garnished with linen embroidered with pinecones crusted with faux snow and small red ribbons. German gingerbreads decorated in icing sat on a small plate with a picture of a family in a snow sleigh.
“This has always been my favorite time of year,” she said as she poured Demetri his coffee, placing a gingerbread biscuit on the side of the saucer. Traditionally this was when she would receive a small gift, although usually very little was written in the Christmas card accompanying it. “It does make me wonder though, if your family were so against the betrothal why send the miniatures?”
“There was always the chance you would naturally call the betrothal off; a Petroski would not appear to be overly eager and yet not rude.”
“Until now…”
He looked up from stirring his coffee. Face still unreadable, yet she knew he was annoyed she had raised the subject. He was enjoying their connection as much as she, despite the fact that he had more to contend with given that he was going against his family’s wishes and forming an association with her, not to mention committing indiscretions with his brother’s betrothed.
“Until now…” his eyebrows raised in question. Did she really want to talk about this? No, no she didn’t. It would all unfold in two days as it was. However, she raised her finger, there was one troubling factor she did need to reconcile.
“The present each year…that still confuses me.”
“We never sent presents.”
The expected pain didn’t come. “Father…” Her whole view of the betrothal had already been turned on its head, the memories once so precious, now foolish. This simply added to the bucket of falsehoods and neglect.
“No doubt.” He took a sip of coffee and placed it on the small window table next to him. “By the way, you may want to have a word with him. The mistletoe hung in the dining carriage…I have already seen your father kiss two women.”
The train was decorated with pine boughs along the corridors, red festive ribbons, and striped candy canes in every compartment.
“Father mentioned getting married again.” He was not a man who liked to be alone. He wanted someone to boss him about eating enough greens and someone he could spoil. It was only a matter of time before she would wed although most likely not her recalcitrant betrothed.
As she sipped her coffee, Georgie looked over to Demetri now deep in the paper. The rock of the carriage, the fairy-tale winter landscape. This was what she wanted. She wanted to feel this comfort, this togetherness. And she wanted it with him. Was there any way you could cancel the betrothal with one brother and marry the other? It had been done. What of the family’s belief that the betrothal was based on blackmail and beneath them? She certainly wasn’t of Demetri’s station.
“The joke at the salon, that night about riding Russian men,” she said after some time.
Demetri, continuing to read his paper, said nothing.
“They were really talking about intimacies, weren’t they?” She watched his features. They gave nothing away. “Demetri?”
Still he said nothing. He was a man of silences, every one of them different and expressive. This silence meant that she was right but that he didn’t want to recall the event. That he had been on the brink of calling Lord Marsden out over the matter now made perfect sense.
“Is Vladimir as silent as you?”
“No,” his answer was curt.
“You must have believed me so incredibly foolish when I thought it was a nursery joke.”
He lowered his paper. Their eyes meet and held.
“No.” That special look came over his face. As usual, her insides melted under his gaze. She knew what those hot sultry looks meant; what this man imagined when they passed over his countenance; what those things he imagined could make her feel.
“No?” she sounded breathless.
Purposefully, he refolded the paper, placed it on the bench beside him and moved to the compartment door. He slowly drew down the small window blind and locked the door. He sat next to her, reached down and enfolded her hand in one of his, brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers.
“I was disarmed.” His fr
ee hand reached for her.
“What are you doing?” she whispered at him.
He grinned and her insides flipped.
“I felt…protective.” His lips touched hers, moved over her as if they had all the time in the world. Her arms wrapped around him and his lips pressed against hers, slowly compelling her to kiss him back. He trailed kisses along her jaw and under her ear whispering, “I felt possessive of that innocence.” Hand under her chin, he turned her face and kissed her deeply.
Outside, people walked down the passage, their voices a distant sound. Someone rattled the door while he held her, kissed her, felt the curve of her breasts, the small of her waist, the flat of her stomach, squeezed her thighs, and set her on fire. All the while he muttered all kinds of nonsense in Russian, making her heart sing.
Chapter 18
Copenhagen was a whirlwind of activity and further travel confirmations. Demetri checked their tickets on the ferry to Stockholm in the morning and then the connecting train to St Petersburg the following evening. The rest of the day was a visit to the Viking long boat museum and now some dress shopping.
Maria fidgeted in the carriage next to her and Demetri sat opposite them, the breadth of his shoulders, the length of his legs, both ate up the space in the small carriage. His polished black boots, the military Prussian blue jacket and a face that smoldered with intensity sent flurry after flurry through her body as she madly tried to keep the memories of him, of his touch, out of her mind.
“It really isn’t necessary for you to come. I am sure it’s entirely uninteresting for you.” Bother, her voice was breathless despite herself. At lease she was able to keep a neutral face.
He raised his eyebrow and gave her a look, one that suggested she might be mad to think dress shopping wasn’t of wild interest to him.
“I would be a poor brother indeed not to bring something back for my sister.” He’d suggested the House of Worth in Paris, the epicenter of haute couture, but that wasn’t for her.
“What does she like?” Georgie shifted in her seat. The man was eating her up with his gaze, devouring her with that hungry moodiness of his. He’d seemed to like that she was less interested in the slew of fashion stores of Paris and instead said she wanted to look for something different. His eyes had creased, and her chest had done that dizzy drop it was doing with far too great a regularity for a man she couldn’t have.
He shrugged, “something expensive.”
Georgie laughed. “How old is she?”
He shrugged again, his eyes shamelessly moving over her as she sat. “Old enough. Women in Russia place considerable importance on presentation and status at an early age.”
The carriage came to a halt and bounced as the driver stepped down and the door opened. Demetri alighted first and gave the driver instructions to wait for them, then she and Maria were handed down and ushered into the small shop.
‘Den Spektakulære’ on Strobet Street. It did not have the fanfare of Magasin du Nord but it was a gem of individualistic style according to Demetri.
The shops name, ‘The Spectacular’, was proudly and ambitiously displayed in gold lettering on the door. And as if to answer that promise, the large display window at the side of the entrance contained a gown of such exquisite blue, Georgie’s steps faltered as she fell into its promise. A promise that it would make her them most beautiful creature she ever imagined she could be. And didn’t beauty always get what it wanted?
“Oh Miss,” Maria hushed behind her hand, “That is your color.” And it was.
A blue that was caught between the sky and the feathers coveted by bower birds. She was a bower bird, as her eyes clasped onto it as if it could solve all the problems that faced her. As if it could woo a betrothed who was perhaps the most unprecedently disinterested in the history of all betrothals.
Demetri held the door open, his regard following their attention over to the item, a small smile lifting on his lips.
“Ahh, there is something of interest already.” He sounded so pleased.
Georgie cast a glance at him as he looked at the display window and bless him, he didn’t’ smirk, no, their gazes caught, and he smoldered. Smoldered and made her body burst into flame.
Would that a dress could make this man hers.
She and Maria entered and turned immediately to the dress in the window display and felt the fabric, a lustrous, thick satin. The kind of satin that was heavy and slippery to the touch, as sumptuous in feel as it was in color. A rich drape that came from a dense weave that slid over a person’s shape like paint.
Georgie looked over her shoulder, Demetri spoke with the shop attendant who nodded and rushed off. Their eyes met, a dark smoldering heat wrapped around her and just like that she was under the bridge in Paris, her sex throbbing, his fingers sliding over her intimate folds as she whimpered in need. She dropped her gaze and turned back to the sumptuous fabric.
The man had captivated her. Had stolen her heart from the moment she’d laid eyes on him. And, despite the fact he was the wrong brother, despite the fact the Petroski’s clearly wanted nothing to do with her and the long-ago betrothal, her heartbeat only for the next moment they would share together.
“You like it.” He said next to her ear, sending delicious shimmers of heat over her skin.
Georgie nodded. “Unfortunately, I have no call for something like this.”
She appreciated that he made no pretense that she would indeed need gowns like this once wed to his brother, the prince.
“I have arranged for you to be measured, and then a private showing of gowns they have for your size. They can also have anything else made up but will need three to five days, you could always get things sent on.”
In no time they were ushered to a private viewing room where large books of clothing renderings lay open and swatches of fabric-bundles were neatly lined-up. For the first twenty minutes she was measured while Demetri walked up and down outside the curtained space, his shadow clearly seen through the fabric as hers must be to him. Tea and the most delicious of cinnamon Christmas cookies arrived as they settled into the plush chairs. Then the dresses she’d pointed out from the renderings were modelled in a procession. There were quite a few items close to her size, others fit the model but would need to be made for her and shipped later.
There were full length coats and capes lined in the softest of furs. The most delightful hand and earmuffs.
“Oh, you’ll need something like these, Miss.” Maria insisted. “St Petersburg gets a lot more snow than you are used to.” Maria turned to look at Demetri, who failed to engage her in his usual courteous and inclusive manner, looking instead interested in something coming after.
Feathers, beading and sequences adorning evening dresses and head pieces. Darling skirt and jacket sets for outdoor wear, plush velvet opera coats with details stitched in gold and silver threads. Pearl chokers, strands of long onyx beads, cameos and ear bobs.
“Oh, oh!” Georgie’s hand fluttered at her chest as the models came in wearing some fabulous silver and semi-precious gem jewelry in the minimal style of the Swedish and Danish. “These are beautiful.” She turned to look at Demetri, his eyes creasing.
“Why am I not surprised, not a diamond in sight.”
“I love sumptuous but this simplicity, the clean and minimal lines are refreshing.”
“They are from one of Denmark’s emerging designers.”
They brought out a selection of gowns from that designer and Georgie melted. They were shockingly perfect in their form flowing designs.
And damn it if her eyes didn’t dart, one outfit after another, over to Demetri looking for his interest, his approval – oddly none of which came. And yet there was that look deep in his eyes, it was the same at Le Moulin Rouge, a look she was starting to think meant he had something up his sleeve.
He did however raise a finger every now and again to no one in particular
“Did you like that one?” she asked.
�
�Which one?” He looked at the painting on the wall.
“That last one.” He’d raised a finger.
“The drab grey ensemble?” he was looking at the next one, a day dress in black and white stripes. The finger came up again, but he looked at her not the dress. He clearly was marking time, was bored despite a gallant performance to the contrary.
“Yes, the grey one.” She had thought it beautiful.
He shrugged.
“What would a person need as wife to a Russian prince, that’s like being an English duchess isn’t it?” Maria asked.
Georgie stiffened. “Maria.” There would be no future like that, nothing so grand she needed to prepare for now that it was simply a matter of time before she could annul the betrothal.
“Fur and ostentatiousness are court life.” Demetri’s eyes narrowed as he looked for her response. “A woman marrying a prince would be expected to dress as a fashion leader, be the mark of beauty and poise, be the glitter and sparkle of the room.”
She was none of those things. The last hour was full of her preferences for the opposite and he knew it.
Georgie swallowed. “You are goading me.”
“It is not a lie.” Demetri turned as the shop manager spoke in low tones to him. When she was done, he motioned her away and then looked back to Georgie. “You had best go into the change room, they have things ready for you to try.”
“But I haven’t indicated my preference.”
He smirked and she was whisked away. What was he up to?
The dresses she had delighted in where waiting for her in a spacious room with paneled mirrored walls…as was the grey one and the one with the black and white stripes; as were the other items his finger had lifted for.
Her heart swirled.
The wrong brother….
But there would be none of that. This trip was a reprieve, a space to revel in sharing time together before she stepped back from the betrothal and they were shipped back to London setting the lovely Demetri again on his own path.