“Why are we stopping?” She might be scowling at him.
He buttoned up her coat leaving her body throbbing on the inside.
“Anticipation is another form of seduction,” he murmured to her. “Time to get back.”
“I haven’t seen you in forty-eight hours, that was anticipation enough.”
He looked as if she were torturing him, bent down and gave her another kiss before mumbling something again in Russian making her heart feel like it had swallowed her wings.
They walked further along the path, shoulders bumping and holding hands. Then took a path which veered back toward the house.
Ilya regaled her with how he and Demetri had raced each other to Bath. Every turn in the road, every advantage gained or lost, his face light and full of enthusiasm.
“Remember, I told you about Dennis Brothers Limited down in Guildford?” Ilya asked.
“Yes, they are interested in specialty motor vehicles?” Ilya’s hand squeezed hers, clearly happy she remembered.
“I visited them again before coming up here. They showed me a car they’ve made, ‘The Dennis Light Doctor's Car.’”
“A doctor’s car?”
“It’s really remarkable what these men are doing.” He drew her arm through his, holding her hand on his forearm as he spoke. “It is designed for people like doctors and surveyors who need to traverse country roads. It has three speeds that allow it to go up steep hills with two onboard, and speeds of up to twenty miles per hour.”
“Too fast for electrical.” He beamed down at her, yes, she had started to read up on his interest.
“Exactly.” Another pleased squeeze of her hand. “Petrol and oil. I think that will be the way of it. The power it gives the vehicle is just not there for electricity. Steam is cumbersome for small mechanics like a car.”
“Why not get involved?” she asked.
He looked hesitant. “There are many manufacturers starting up every day. People can smell the potential but not all will make it.”
“But you have a feeling about the Dennis brothers?”
“I like their innovation. They are not thinking to meet the market of general buyers, and they will come, but rather the commercial market. They are thinking custom builds for large firms, like trucks, busses, ambulances. They believe that market will be less susceptible to the fickleness of fashion and I agree with them.”
“Do they have models?”
“Not yet, nor commercial interest.”
“They are looking for investors?” she asked.
He smiled. “Yes…”
The baying of hounds came from not too far away.
“I am sure you will make a sound decision.”
His face looked pained in the nicest way. Ilya drew them to a stop. Kissed her. Hungry impatient kisses that made her head spin.
“Thank you,” he said as he held both sides of her face in his hands.
“I’ll kiss you anytime.” She grinned at him.
He simply shook his head. And she realized. It was the faith she had in him that meant so much to him. It made her smile like an idiot and he tugged her along to continue walking.
A bend in the path and the house came into view through the trees.
They stopped at the tree line and looked at the house. The house party were out on the terrace wrapped in coats. The men had returned from the hunt, drinking hot toddies, the hounds milling around their feet as they relived the hunt. Grouse, partridge, and pheasants rested on the terrace’s stone walls waiting for staff to come and collect them.
“Which of the rooms is yours? Don’t point.” Ilya asked. “That one top far right is mine. But don’t try and come in, you are not used to sneaking around with success yet. I’ll come to you.”
“Will you now?” She smiled, heart twirling in her chest as he eyed her like she was something delectable.
“Yes, little bird, the wolf needs to be fed and only your delectable flesh will do.”
“I believe I am right next door.”
His grin was infectious as he clasped his hands together and thanked the Christmas elves for delivering early.
“Eat your vegetables at dinner, get your strength. I think it’s time I show you how to eat a Russian sausage,” he murmured before taking a step towards the house.
Chapter 13
The hunting had taken a more serious turn which got him involved. A group came up from London this morning, invited to join the hunt for deer over the next few days. They were Barons, Princes, and military men from around Russia, the Baltic, Slavic and Ottoman fringes. He had many acquaintances in common with them, and they gave him a taste of home. Tonight, the sound of their music floated up from downstairs as they danced and sang. They had taken over the library and its sofas if they ever decided to sleep.
The sound of the music, the gypsy rhythms, had made him rougher in bed as he held Seraphina as if she would run if he let her go. Pounded into her as if he could leave his mark, as if she could understand what was in his heart if he pressed in deep enough.
He’d taken to having walks with her where they’d talk about his ideas, his prediction of where the world was going and the opportunities it afforded men with insight and courage to act. Nothing bored her and she was so encouraging it made him heady to think that some of these views might not be as impractical as his family thought.
And every day as he had more to lose, his stomach knotted a little more.
“You’re awake,” Seraphina said, stretching in the bed next to him.
Ilya wanted to take her into his confidence, had argued today with Demetri about it to no avail. The family were on lockdown while they worked through clearing themselves of the shame of Demetri’s betrothal and the blackmail behind it.
She sat up and shimmied over to the side of the bed and stood up.
“Do you want a drink of water?” she asked.
“Vodka.” He feigned shock, “I’m not done with you yet, little bird.”
The soft sound as she laughed sent pleasure through him. Such a simple thing that made him feel like his purpose in the world was somehow more solid on hearing it.
The moonlight through the window as she walked over to the small side table to pour their drinks, lit up her skin in a rich pearlescent glow. Every curve shadowed and caressed with night light.
Mesmerizing.
He decided he finally understood how love worked; it lifted a veil, revealed what you could see only with your heart.
Her.
The essence of her shimmering like a phosphorescence, the glow of which filled him to bursting with an overwhelming feeling of wellbeing.
“We’ll be returning to Russia soon.”
Will you come with me?
How much did he want to whisper those words? How much did he simply want to whisk her away and be alone together? Leave the machinations of Demetri’s betrothal and his family’s fervent cry for its annulment?
“It’s alright. I know not to expect anything.” She sounded so matter-of-fact as she came back to bed with his glass of vodka.
Ilya stilled, the words, a slice cutting his heart. “You think I don’t expect anything?” His jaw tightened. Was it some kind of inevitability that no one expected anything of him?
She placed the drink down.
“Ilya. I know what you are. I know what this is.” She motioned around them. “You don’t have to worry about me.” The lack of light made it hard to see what sat behind her eyes, she looked so cool and serious about it all.
The truth was she had no idea what this was, because she had no experience to measure it against, except being wed to an old man. All the signals were falling on deaf ears. The attention, the long talks, the lazy lounging around, a man didn’t do that with a woman he simply wanted to have sex with. No, a liaison was often exclusively focused on that mutual task of physical gratification, and then both parties went about their private business.
She simply gravitated to the fact that he was a rake,
and this was a tryst. That was fair enough, but it irritated him no end none the less.
Ilya flipped the sheet back and rolled out of bed. He put on his britches. “You know what I am?”
He picked up the vodka she’d poured then stalked over and sat by the fire.
Brooding.
She had no idea how she’d hurt him. His family, they all thought he was nothing but a shallow pleasure seeker, but she hadn’t thought that, even knowing he was a rake she saw who he was as a man, as a person.
And, what suddenly now…he was an expect-nothing-from-anyone rake. What had he done to make her think that was all he was? That he wasn’t a man, with a heart who wanted her for something more.
Seph pulled his shirt over her head as he glared at her. Then padded over to the fire in bare feet. Far too gorgeous to stay angry with, but he was hurting.
“I didn’t mean any offence.” She touched him on the arm, and he stiffened, wanted to throw the touch off. Deliver a rejection of his own.
“No, I am sure you didn’t. I have what every rake wants, a woman who expects nothing from him.” He picked up the fire iron and poked at the fire as if it were a beast that needed taming. Loaded more wood.
“I thought you would be pleased.” She stood looking at him a little awkward.
“Pleased?” He looked at her as if she were mad.
“Yes. That I understood. That you don’t need to manage me out.” He could see the confusion on her face, that hurt as well.
“Manage you out?” The logs got his whole attention and were handled in short sharp movements bordering on impatience. “Have I given you the impression that you are not important to me?”
“No, you have been very attentive, but isn’t that an art? Did I get it wrong?” She was getting irritated.
Good!
“You think I am acting?” He turned. Paced.
“No.” She moved so she could watch him as he paced. “But this is all so second nature to you. Of course, you will be considerate and charming, but I understand it’s just part and parcel of your expertise.”
Heaven help him.
“My expertise?” His voice rose and his muscles tightened. Just how manipulative did she think he was?
“You have a lifetime of wooing women and enjoying liaisons. Of course, you will be consummate at it. That doesn’t mean it’s personal to me. So? Did I?” Her hand came to rest on her hips.
His heart thundered in his chest and his gut twisted.
“Yes, you did get it wrong. Is it too much to ask of you to trust me, to have some faith in what I feel for you?”
“You are a rake. This is what rakes do, right?” She was getting irritated as well.
It felt like a tight ball burned in his gut, his palms clenched and unclenched.
“I am not just a rake,” he said loudly.
“I am sure you’re not. But I am sure you make every woman feel like she’s the most wonderful woman in the world until she’s not. I am simply trying to prepare myself and let you know I understand.”
If this is what she had been thinking all along he suddenly wondered if he had miss read her. He looked at the flush of her skin, the tightness around her mouth and eyes. No, she cared. He just didn’t understand where this was coming from.
“You don’t understand anything. You think I am unworthy.”
She was still, her face showing she was clearly taken by surprise.
“No that’s not what I think about you,” she said. Her hand reached out to him once more.
Ilya stepped out of reach and pointed at her. “Alright, say I trust you in that assessment then tell me what I am if I am not a rake?”
Her face was blank, eyes searching, each second breaking his heart. “Well from what I’ve read, you are mostly occupied with managing your family’s holdings and estates. Your views on supporting those less fortunate are quite forward thinking and reformist, and you play a mean game of chess.”
He looked at her, his face scrunching together. “Does that sound like me?”
“That was in the article in The English Woman’s Journal on you and your brother.”
“I know what was in the article about the Russian Princes but is that me?” Breadcrumbs, breadcrumbs, for his little bird and yet her face was blank.
Ilya stalked across the room to gaze out the window. The singing had stopped, and the boys were spilling out on the lawn. They intended running with the forest gods tonight. Running through the forest with torches. He had thought to give it a miss, stay with Seraphina but now he needed to run off the anger, the frustration.
Ilya grabbed his fur coat, slipped on boots, and walked to the door. Looked back at her, face dark and stormy, eyes intense. She didn’t know him at all. And…he thought she had seen him, the Ilya behind all the games and glamour.
“I am going for a run.”
“It’s dark. There is snow out and it’s too cold.”
He waved his hand impatiently. “The moon’s out. And you English have no idea what winter feels like. I’m running with the boys.”
Chapter 14
Seph stood at the window. Torches wove through the forest below blazing a trail of amber lights, the flames leaving a stream of mist in the air behind them. Naked shoulders, backs and chests caught in the light. Black leather pants and boots suddenly looked ancient, something from another world, another time. Ilya ran amongst them. It was too far to see faces but his shape, the very essence of him was clear to see. The night filled with their deep howls as the men ran the estate making the hounds in their kennels wail along with them.
As the lights faded into the forest Seph climbed into bed. She’d upset him. And she was annoyed with herself. She’d taken the coward’s way out. Had said what she thought he wanted her to say, not what was really in her heart and invariably she’d made a hash of it.
They were a rowdy bunch when they returned, drawing her out of a light sleep. The singing started up again accompanied by deep male laughter. She dozed off again then woke as the mattress dipped and Ilya slipped in behind her.
His hand slid over her hip, over her belly and hooked under her; pulled her back to curl against his chest.
“You smell like smoke,” she murmured. “Like clean sweat and smoke.”
“I smell like a man.” His face pressed into her hair at the back of her head.
He kissed her skull. Nuzzled into her hair as his hands explored the front of her body. Pinched her breasts, traveled over her belly, her hip, down to the apex of her thighs, across her mons. They twisted into the hair on her sex.
“On your belly.” His gravel voice sent shards of need pulsing through her. She rolled to face the mattress and he rolled with her so he covered her back with his chest and his weight pressed her down into the mattress. His hand slipped lower pressing into her sex.
This man awoke deep primitive longings in her. Things she had only read about. The need to feel his strength and power, to have that part of her awaken that wanted him dominating her, pleasuring her. Taking what he needed.
He tugged up his shirt, the one she’d worn earlier. The leather of his pants pressed the inside of her thighs wider and just like that her body responded, throbbed with aching need for him. He reached down and released himself. Rubbed the head of himself at her opening and pressed home. Pressed wide and deep as she pulled her thighs wider and he started to move in her. All the while his deliciously crafty fingers worked her sex, massaged, and squeezed her nub until she was racing to completion.
This was not the courtly, charming, libertine. This was the man. Raw, driven, claiming.
He pulled her onto her knees. Pressed her shoulders and face down to the mattress, hand on her back and rode her until she crooned, crooned until he rushed them over the edge with a shout.
Seph woke to Ilya tending the fire.
She slipped out of bed and put on a robe. He put the iron back in its stand next to the fire then drew her to the small sofa and sat her beside him. Seph curled her l
egs under her as she leaned against him and they stared at the flames.
“Are you alright?” she murmured. He put an arm around her shoulder and drew her closer.
“I was upset before I left. I’m sorry.” He kissed her head.
“I’m sorry. What I told you wasn’t what I really wanted to say. I thought it was what you wanted to hear, and I felt too foolish to say what I really wanted to.”
His fingers played patterns on her arms. “Tell me.”
Her heart pounded. Living real. Living in the moment with authenticity was harder than it sounded when you read about it. In reality, all the fear of looking stupid and all the pride, the feelings coursed through you like an emotional headwind pushing you to take an easier path.
“I guess I was confused. You are not who I thought you were, and this isn’t how I thought I’d feel or what I believed it would be like. But I don’t know if how I feel is just part of the game, the skill of a rake or if it’s real.
“You asked me what I knew of you. If I forget that confusing periodical, I’d say you have a great passion for the motor vehicle industry and you’re quite possibly a futurist. That despite having knowledge and passion you seem to be waiting for something. Like you’re held back from following and exploring that passion in earnest. You have resources, you are privileged, and yet you are hesitant.”
Her heart still hammered, and his fingers had stopped tracing her skin.
“Continue…” His voice was soft, encouraging. “I want to know what you really think. What you really see.”
Seph, pressed closer to him, lifted her head close to his ear and spoke softer, as if it were a secret.
“The flirting and pandering that makes up your status, all the things that builds your reputation as a rake. It’s as if those actions are laced with impatience and maybe even scorn. I wonder if you are not simply in the habit of playing the social rake, rather than the man you show me, the one who has an eye toward a future that you want to be part of.
“That’s who I see. That’s what I really wanted to say.”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 91