by Sue London
She nodded.
"Let's find out what they're prepared to feed us, shall we?"
Chapter Nine
Krystyna glanced up from her soup at Hans again. It was clear that he was attempting to mask his irritation, but the truth of it bled out over everything he did and said. First he complained that the soup was too cold, and then that it was too hot. He had them build up the fire for her and then spent most of his time frowning at the flames. She wasn't sure when she should tell him that she didn't chill nearly as easily as he thought, but her best guess was that it should be after this mood passed.
She cast about in her mind for a topic of discussion. In his current state, she doubted that he wanted to recount war tales. Or if he did, it would most likely be with a greater detail of gore and privation than she was prepared to hear. The most interesting things about her own past were not topics for polite discussion with anyone outside of her clan. Although it might be interesting to see how quickly he spit out his soup when she listed off which cousins of his that her family had robbed on the forest roads of Silesia over the years. No. Only one safe topic of conversation existed. Relatively safe.
"You said you worked with Casimir?"
His gaze came back to her and she saw a number of emotions flicker in his expression before he settled into his impassive mask again. "Yes, in Vienna for the delegation."
"How did you like Vienna?"
"It's a lovely city." He smiled faintly. "And our evenings were filled with stiff, formal dancing."
She blushed and looked down at his reference to her dancing. That evening she had been sincere, she would have taught him the traditional dances, have danced for him. But in the light of day the forwardness and flirtatiousness of her actions seemed unconscionable. She was promised to another man. And even if in her dreams she had wished to have the advantages of a family like the Von Rosens, she wasn't foolish enough to believe that they would ever accept her. Yes, she knew that her blood was bluer than they could ever hope their own to be. But a king who had fallen four hundred years ago, a king of a land that no longer existed, was a difficult ancestry to claim.
She stirred her soup again. "Casimir was vague about what he did in Vienna. Do you have any idea?"
Finally, a true smile. "He would tell you that his job consisted of taking one pile of papers and turning it into two piles of papers. Then later he would take two piles of papers and make them one pile."
"Sounds thrilling."
"Your brother doesn't seem suited to routine work."
She chuckled. "No, not at all. When he had to practice his letters as a little boy I found he hired one of the other boys to do it for him."
"I think he wanted to convince me to move his piles around, but I was too cagey for him."
Krystyna realized that she loved this quiet, intimate time with Hans. She wanted to beg him to stop being grumpy, to treasure this time they had together. That if they were lucky it would snow forever and she didn't want him to be grumpy the whole time. But she didn't beg. The ragged half of her heart that she had left apparently still had some pride. And pragmatism. What good would it do to play the love-struck fool when it would all have to end?
His voice interrupted her silent struggle. "Are you done?"
She looked down to her bowl to see that indeed, she was. "Yes."
"Why don't you go get some rest. I'll be up for awhile yet."
Her best estimate, even before looking at a clock, was that it was not yet six in the evening. He wanted to get rid of her so soon? But perhaps a long night of sleep would help to mend this mess that her heart had become.
* * *
Hans stayed downstairs nursing his drink. He didn't want to become drunk, because that could lead to acting on his baser instincts. But he didn't want to wallow in this pain, either. So he rode along the pleasant edge of drunkenness, wondering what Krystyna was doing upstairs in their room. Had she gone to bed? Had she removed her dress? Had she somehow found enough space in that awkward little room to dance with her shawl? He realized that he could probably deal himself a great deal less pain by simply pulling out his knife and stabbing himself repeatedly, but it was as though his mind had no option but to think of her. His life had narrowed down to Krystyna and everything else. Or perhaps it was Krystyna and nothing else. Had he drunk too much? Best to sit here while the fire died and wait for his system to settle before he went upstairs.
* * *
Krystyna awoke to the sound of the door opening. She could tell that she had been asleep for some time because her limbs felt heavy. There was a faint glow of light in the room, reflected from the white outside.
Hans stood over the bed. "Are you cold?"
What to say? Yes, come warm me. I'm always cold when you aren't touching me. Or the more honest answer, at least from a practical standpoint. No, I'm rarely cold. Thank you for asking. She settled for a noncommittal, "Mm-hmm."
He spread another woolen blanket over the bed and turned to move away.
"Where are you going?" Her voice sounded scratchy.
"I'll sleep over here." His tone bordered on belligerent. He didn't sound sleepy.
"There's plenty of room here."
"No, there's not."
She scooted closer to an edge. "Yes, here, see?" She patted the expanse of bed.
He stood there in the dark, breathing. She wasn't sure what was going through his head.
"Hans, take this blasted blanket off the bed and come here."
"You don't want the extra blanket?"
I want you, her heart cried, yearning for its other half.
"Are you sure?" he asked, making her fear that she had said it aloud.
"Yes."
He pulled the blanket back off the bed and retreated to the doorway.
Blast it all, but she felt like sobbing.
Chapter Ten
Hans awoke in a cloud of warmth with something nudging his side.
"Hans, wake up. I need to get past you."
The poking was apparently from Krystyna's slipper. He captured her ankle to make her stop. It took no time at all to realize what a terrible mistake that was. Her dainty ankle was connected to a very shapely leg. She put her hands against the door to balance herself while he had her foot in his grasp. She was only wearing her chemise and an open robe. If she stood any closer he would be able to see right up --
He released her foot and sat up. "Sorry."
"It's all right. Go lie down on the bed, you'll be more comfortable."
Confound the woman and her insistence on having him in her bed. Did she not know what that meant? She hadn't outright flirted with him in the way of a woman knowledgeable of bed sport, but perhaps that meant nothing. Perhaps she knew exactly what invitation she was extending. But it didn't matter. She was Casimir's sister. He scooped up his pallet as he stood and moved out of her way.
"Thank you," she said with a smile, and scooted out the door, he assumed to use the privy. He set his blankets on the chair and crept under the covers of the bed. There was still a spot warm from her body and he gravitated to it. He picked up the pillow to inhale her scent. Holding her pillow against his chest he admitted to himself that he was done for. He had run from one of the first skirmishes and now had already lost the war. In this case, however, surrender seemed preferable to a fight.
She came back to their room and walked past him to peer out the small window. Her voice held the saddest note he had ever heard. "The snow stopped."
He placed her pillow back on the bed and rose up on his elbow. "Aren't you getting cold out there?"
She looked over her shoulder at him, her expression woebegone and sweet. "Yes," she admitted.
He turned the covers back and patted the mattress. "Come back to bed."
Her expression lightened and she tossed aside her robe and kicked off her shoes before climbing under the covers. She pressed up against him, her skin as chilly as he thought it might be. He held her close. Yes, surrender seemed the only viable opti
on.
* * *
When Hans left to talk to their driver, Krystyna arose to dress and freshen herself. He didn’t return quickly, so she went downstairs to her breakfast. After nibbling on toast and jam she still hadn't seen Hans and decided to return to their room to make sure everything was packed to take their leave. The idea of leaving made her morose, but it was unreasonable to believe that they could stay here for any length of time. As she opened the door she heard a soft splash that made her stop short. In her absence Hans had apparently returned to their room to freshen himself. He had removed his shirt. She realized she had never seen a man's chest before. A boy's, yes, but now it was clear to her that the difference was more pronounced than that between a draft stallion and a pony. Thick muscle was dusted with curling, golden hair. He reacted more quickly than she did and held his shirt up in front of himself.
"My apologies."
She turned bright red. She had been staring! "Oh. No. I'm sorry. I should have knocked. I--" She turned and fled back to the common room. Once downstairs she wasn't even sure if she had closed the door. She had the brief uncharitable thought of hoping to receive word that her Silesian fiancé had died in an accident.
* * *
He had come to know her so well in such a short amount of time, but the look she when she opened the door was new. Naked longing, a stirring of sensual interest that he was sure hadn't been there before. How had this beautiful, sophisticated woman made it to her age with the innocence of a young girl? Because she was a lady, that was how. Protected and cherished. For the first time he sincerely regretted agreeing to take her on this journey. Now the only option was to remand her to the care of her brother, hopefully in a few short hours.
Would she rest against him in the carriage? He realized that he was still clutching his shirt in a crumpling grip and shook it out before donning it again. It was fortunate that he had finished shaving before her appearance, because he was quite sure that he would only manage to cut himself now.
Once dressed, he gathered their few belongings and made his way downstairs. She was perched on a chair near the fireplace in the common room and looked up when he arrived, although she didn't meet his eyes.
"We're leaving then?" she asked.
"Yes, the driver assures me the roads are good enough for the journey."
She nodded and preceded him out the door. When he assisted her into the carriage he thought that she gripped his hand longer than was necessary, but that could have been his own imagination. His hope. Following her, he asked. "Where would you like for me to sit?"
She paused in arranging her skirts and said, "It wouldn't do to break tradition at this late stage."
He sat next to her, just close enough that the motion of the carriage would have them brush together if she didn't lean away from him. She was quiet and withdrawn, but not with the haughty arrogance she had displayed when they met. Her posture was still perfect, but not stiff. A gift from her love of dance, no doubt. What if Casimir refused his suit? He should have stayed that night, watched her dance. What if she never danced for him now?
He noticed that he had clasped his hands together and forced himself to relax. "Is your brother expecting you?"
She finally met his gaze and he saw a ghost of a smile pass her lips. "He should be, but he probably isn't."
It worried him that he was only now asking such a basic question. Had she addled him from the start and he hadn't realized it? No, in the beginning he had considered her business her own, and it only happened to coincide with his own desire to talk to Casimir. But now he wanted to speak to the man for entirely different reasons. Reasons that would not be aided by arriving with an unexpected, perhaps wayward, sister.
"Did you write to tell him you were traveling?"
"No, but my letters to date should have illuminated my state of mind to him. Even if there were things I couldn't write explicitly."
Her phrasing put Hans on alert. Was it simply paranoia from his training, or had he intuited that there was a secret here that needed revealing? Perhaps now, when she still seemed ill at ease, was not the best time to press her for answers. They subsided into silence, back to the tension of the second day they had traveled together. He wished he knew how to put her at ease again.
Chapter Eleven
Krystyna glanced at Hans from under her lashes, something she had been doing surreptitiously as often as she could for the last hour. His posture seemed perfectly relaxed next to her, but she could see that his jaw was clenched. She wasn't sure what he was thinking and hoped it wasn't about her accidental intrusion earlier. The incident had certainly made her more aware of him. Before that she had thought of him as being very safe. He had reminded her of the sweet, protective dog she had grown up with. And why wouldn't he? No one had ever been more solicitous of her comfort or made her feel as sheltered. Not that shelter was something she typically sought from anyone, but... Hans made it seem perfectly natural that she look to him, rely on him.
She looked out the window again. It would be horrifying marrying another man. She had never been in favor of the match, not from the first time she had met Gregor Eichen when she had been eight and he only four. Even then he had seemed spoiled, weak. Running to his mother over the slightest incident. She hadn't seen him often in the intervening years, but it was clear that he had grown into a spoiled, weak man. But he was an Eichen. A name of repute to uplift the Rokiczanas in society. Of course, Von Rosen was a name of repute as well, better than Eichen. But beyond her touch. Far beyond her touch.
"What's wrong?"
She supposed she had sighed or made some other noise of distress, and her guard dog was again attentive to her needs. When she looked at him she could see that his jaw was still tense and he had worry lines around his eyes. He was handsome and trustworthy and so impossibly dear. "I suppose I am chilled again."
He still looked worried but opened his arms to her and she settled against his chest. She rested there, warm and sad, listening to the squeak of snow under the wheels for the remainder of their journey.
* * *
Their carriage rolled to a stop in a lovely, settled part of London. Townhouses lined the street, with just enough room between to afford some privacy, a mews, and a speck of garden. Not an area of outrageous wealth, but well enough to do. Hans supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Casimir had landed on his feet, the boy had something of the cat to him. Nor should he have been surprised this morning when, asked to provide her brother's location, Krystyna had rattled off a very precise street address. Now it was coming on noon in a strange city and gray clouds pressed down over them like a heavy, chilled blanket. The city hadn't seen as much snow as they had en route, but drifts of it decorated the walkway.
When Krystyna emerged from the carriage, it was with the military posture and glint in her eye that he had first seen from her. It seemed her ire was mostly reserved for battle with her brother and that should prove to be interesting. Casimir didn't strike him as the type to like direct confrontation. His own brother Henry had been known to leave the country to avoid it, and the two were more alike than different. He held her elbow as she walked up the slick cobblestones and stairs to the door, then stepped back as she took hold of the knocker. He knew his role, for now, was simply as escort.
Hans recognized the man who opened the door as Casimir's valet from Vienna. Wladek, if he remembered correctly. What he didn't expect was the reaction the man had upon seeing Krystyna.
"Królewna!" Then he dropped to the floor in a clear sign of supplication. Hans knew little Polish and didn't recognize the word. Nor was he able to keep up with the stream of Polish that Krystyna spoke after that. Her tone was affectionate, but firm. Wladek rose to his feet again and finally noticed the other guest. "Herr Von Rosen."
Hans bowed in acknowledgment, and then they were herded into the household, through an open foyer, and into a drawing room. Wladek looked skeptical about leaving his królewna with Hans, but withdrew, leaving the door open
. Hans raised his brows questioningly at Krystyna, but she shook her head with a frown. Deferring any of his questions until later, he supposed.
Casimir entered the room quickly. He gave Hans a disapproving frown, not an expression Hans expected to see from the young man, then turned his worried attentions on his sister, holding her hands and talking with her in rapid Polish. Even more of a surprise to Hans was the woman who entered on Casimir's heels. A willowy, blonde British girl he had known as Frau Appleton in Vienna.
He bowed. "Frau-"
"Rokiczana," she supplied before he could say more. She curtsied briefly to him. "It's delightful to see you again, Herr Von Rosen."
"I hadn't expected to see you here."
She narrowed her eyes a fraction. "I could say the same. But here we are. May I offer you refreshments?"
"I am your eager guest, Frau Rokiczana."
"Come, sit with me." She guided him to a sofa that faced the Rokiczana siblings. "I suspect they will be at this for awhile." She waggled her brows at him. "And I doubt that she knows how much Polish I've learned."
Hans grinned, remembering the ease of spending time with Gina Appleton, who had somehow now become Gina Rokiczana. The attraction between she and Casimir had been clear at the Congress and he had suspected an affair. But even in England a divorce was a spectacular scandal. There was a story there, no doubt. "What are they saying?" he asked.
She kicked off her slippers and tucked her feet under her. "So far, she is covering much of the same ground that she did in her letters. She doesn't approve of his marriage to me. I'm not advantageous, you see," she said, in a mock confidential tone. "I was merely Georgiana Lockhart, daughter of a lesser gentleman. He has duties. Responsibilities. He needs to marry a woman who can become a queen."