Falling Stars

by Anita Mills

  “I don’t know.”

  “I do. Deuced few of ’em are to be found, I can tell you.”

  She stared at her food for a moment. “I don’t care. If I have to live at Monk’s End for the rest of my life, I don’t care.”

  “What if Lady Winstead won’t have you?”

  “Then I shall live with Harry. And don’t say that Harry won’t have me, because he will—I know it.”

  “All right. But you will not be received anywhere. And there’s worse to think about.”

  “Nothing could be worse than living with a man who does not love me. Nothing could be worse than living with a man who shares his bed with his sister.”

  He regarded her soberly, then sighed. “Even if you are charged with adultery?”

  “Alexei would not dare face me in court.”

  “He won’t have to—he can engage a solicitor. And how’s it to look that you will have spent months traveling in my company?”

  “You are afraid, aren’t you, Bell?”

  “Not for me,” he lied. “I can come about, Kate—but you cannot.”

  “I have nowhere else to go—nowhere. So I am prepared to pay for my foolishness. As for being cut, I never liked most of those people who will cut me, anyway.” She sipped her water, then met his gray eyes. “And if you are afraid you will be expected to marry me, I can assure you it will not happen.”

  She was too green, and she didn’t understand how terrible it would be. But any alternative he could envision wasn’t much better than taking her back to face the censure of the entire ton. And given that the case would involve the Russian count, he did not see how Harry could keep it out of the newspapers. She would be fortunate if she could show her face anywhere.

  Impulsively, he stretched his hand across the table to clasp hers. Her fingers tightened momentarily. “We cried friends, Kate,” he said huskily.

  “I pray you will not regret it.” She withdrew her hand and stood. “I think I liked it better when I was losing at cards.” Moving away, she regarded the fire for a time. “It must be quite different for a man,” she said slowly. “You have your bits of fluff, and when the passion has passed, you find another. We aren’t like that at all—or at least I hope we are not. We want it to last forever, you see.”

  The fire reflected off the angles of her face, softening them, haloing her hair. And the sadness in her eyes was haunting. He could not stand it.

  “Don’t you think that is what we want, Kate? Only we are about in the world enough to know that it doesn’t happen.”

  “But why?”

  He came up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. “It just doesn’t. So instead we look for a female to do us credit—show to advantage, display social graces—that sort of thing.”

  “Then you might as well have a pretty puppet.”

  “Alas, but that’s precisely what most of us get. And when we get tired of playing with it, we return to our bits of fluff.”

  “How very lowering for us.”

  “You console yourselves with our money.”

  “Not Galena. She consoled herself with my husband.”

  “Poor Kate,” he murmured sympathetically.

  “I don’t want your pity!” She shook him off angrily. “I have a surfeit of that for myself.”

  “What do you want? I haven’t much else to give.”

  She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “I want,” she whispered, her voice anguished, “to go to sleep and never wake up. But I cannot. And so I will go on.”

  “Kate—”

  “I will be all right.”

  “It might be better for both of us if I married you.”

  It was as though her stomach sought her feet, and for a moment, she thought her heart had stopped. “What did you say?” she asked hollowly.

  “Don’t rip up at me,” he said hastily. “I just think it might solve things better. And we would not have to expect anything of each other.”

  “You cannot even pretend to have any deep affection for me, and I cannot pretend the right sort for you. I doubt I shall ever care for anyone after Alexei.”

  “No, of course not. But I could take you to Paris—or Italy. Let Alexei sue, Kate,” he reasoned, “and when it is done, we marry abroad. Then, although you are not received, you will not be utterly invisible either. In time, we’ll go home and come about—like the Hollands, if you will.”

  “An arrangement, then?”

  “Yes. I probably won’t be much of a husband, but at least we will not be at daggers drawn. I’ve seen you closer than any female of my acquaintance, and I’ve discovered a liking for you, Kate. I don’t want to see you hurt further.”

  “No.” She turned to face him. “Just now, you are perhaps the dearest friend I have on earth, maybe even the only one, and I thank you for it, but we should make each other utterly miserable.”

  “Think on it.”

  “Adonis and the Antidote? I think not. Besides, I do not mean to admit to that which I have not done.”

  “It happens all the time, Kate.”

  “Not to me. Unlike you, I’ve not had the experience of having Parliament declare me guilty of adultery. Your pardon—I shouldn’t have said it precisely that way,” she said quickly. “But I should very much rather have them decide Alexei guilty of incest, thank you.”

  “All right. But you’d best think on it, before you are so certain.” He sighed heavily. “I only hope you know what you are about.”

  She moved away. “If you do not mind, I have been up far too long. I think I shall wash up a bit and go to bed.” She waited until she had nearly the whole room between them. “I do thank you, you know,” she said softly.

  “Some Adonis, Kate,” he murmured wryly. “You are the second female to turn me down.”

  He went back to the table and picked up the nearly empty bottle of wine. Returning to the fire, he sat down, his back to her, and drank. He ought to feel relieved, he told himself, but he didn’t. He just felt damned lonely. And the devil of it was, he didn’t even know if he’d offered to save her or himself.

  Brest, Byelorussia: April 10, 1815

  He sat before the fire in the small inn room, feeling a sense of accomplishment. He was nearing the end of keeping his promise to Kate Volsky, and he told himself he was glad, but there was also a sense of imminent loss. On the morrow, they would attempt crossing the border into Poland.

  They had spent three weeks at St. Basil’s while she recovered, followed by nearly seven more on hellish roads, fighting first the snow and cold, then the rain and mud, averaging less than twenty-five miles a day much of the way to Brest.

  He waited while she undressed behind a makeshift screen. The incredible intimacy between them had passed with St. Basil’s, and now there was a certain constraint to forget. As her body healed, it somehow seemed improper to continue sharing a bed. So now he slept on a pallet like a peasant, but he didn’t entirely mind it.

  Still there was that bond born of survival that he found he could not and did not entirely want to break. He’d watched her endure more suffering and hardship in two months than any woman ought to have to bear, and while she’d grieved, she’d gone on. He felt an intense admiration for her, but at the same time it angered him that Alexei Volsky had closed her heart. She was too young to go on alone, too young to wither. She deserved to have someone to love her.

  The irony was not lost on him. Two months ago, he’d believed love was naught but romantic nonsense foisted on men by women. Or the means of seduction. Now he was seeing the price Kate had paid for believing herself in love with Volsky. There was so much hurt, so much bitterness, that he doubted she would ever entirely recover.

  She emerged from behind the screen in her nightgown and wrapper, with her hairbrush in her hand. The firelight silhouetted her body, showing that she’d gained much of the weight she’d lost during her pregnancy, that if anything, her breasts were fuller, her face softer, and her dark hair longer. She no longer looked pl
ain to him at all. Even the nose she claimed to hate did not appear as long as she thought. There was a definite appeal to it, in fact.

  He uncrossed his legs and rose to face her. “Are you tired?” he asked.

  “No.” She smiled. “Surely by now you must know no female would admit to fatigue after shopping.”

  “I’d almost forgotten.” His fingertips brushed her cheek lightly. “It’s good to see you smile again, Kate,” he said softly.

  She had no answer to that, so she merely murmured, “I thank you for the shawl, by the by.”

  “You practice too many economies, when it comes to yourself.”

  She spied the small, linen-covered table pulled close to the fire. “What’s that?”

  “I thought perhaps we should celebrate our last day in Russia,” he said, turning back to it. “After a great deal of haggling, I have cajoled our innkeeper out of two bottles of authentic Madeira, some bread and cheese, and a small bit of excellent caviar.”

  “I am really not very hungry.” As she saw his smile fade, she relented quickly. “But I daresay I will taste the Madeira with you.”

  “We could play cards also.”

  “You have already forgotten I won the last time?” she teased him.

  “No. In fact, I like to watch your face when you win. You are like a cat over cream.”

  “And you are not, I suppose?”

  “I play them considerably closer than you do.”

  She got the cards from his bag, then brought them to the fire. “The table’s too small,” she decided, dropping to the floor. Besides, this reminds me of when I was a child at Monk’s End with Harry. We were used to sit on the rug before the hearth.”

  He joined her, taking one bottle and the tray with him. Filling both glasses, he handed her one. “You’d best watch it,” he warned her. “It’s rather strong.”

  She studied the amber-colored liquid for a moment, then shook her head. “Actually, it looks rather innocent to me.”

  “Too much, and you will have a devil of a head in the morning.” He sipped his, savoring the taste of it. “Go on—try it.”

  It was perhaps a bit strong for her taste, but she forced herself to drink of it. Setting it aside, she began sifting the pasteboard cards. It had been a sort of private jest between them that they were too economizing to buy a real deck. Satisfied, she passed them to him for his cut.

  “No—I trust you.”

  Her eyebrow lifted. “Since when?”

  “I don’t know—I just do.”

  “No wonder I am winning.”

  Her head was bent low as she distributed the cards, the crown of her hair so close he could have reached out and touched it. And this night, he was acutely aware of everything she did. He closed his eyes momentarily to still the racing of his pulse.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “No.” He drained his glass and refilled it, before passing her the bread and cheese.”

  “I cannot. I will become positively fat.”

  “You are not fat at all, Kate.”

  There was a softness in his voice that gave her pause. For a moment, she looked at him, seeing the open-necked shirt, the tousled hair, the almost boyish smile. He was in truth Adonis. Taken back by what she felt, she turned her attention to the cards in her hand.

  “More, Kate?”

  “I have not drunk this yet.” But as she spoke, she sipped the wine. “You know, Bell, I think I am going to lose.”

  “I certainly hope so. Do you want another deal?”

  “No—it wouldn’t be fair, would it?” she said, sighing. “I shall just have to play it out.”

  He filled her glass, anyway. Then he took the first trick. And the second. And third. “You were serious, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. It is all of a piece, I think. I am not very lucky at anything.”

  “You are too young to say that.”

  “Am I? I am now three and twenty, and I am about to be divorced from a man who did not love me.” Her dark eyes met his. “I am not at all likely to ever get another offer, you know.” Her mouth twisted crookedly. “And now I shall never have children, either.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  This time, she tossed off her whole glass. “No, not even old Mr. Thurgood would have me now, I’m afraid. You are beholding a scarlet woman, Bell.”

  “I don’t think so, Kate. I think you are magnificent.”

  Her eyes widened, then she blinked. “I thought,” she told him severely, “that you were not going to offer me any Spanish coin.”

  “I’m not.”

  “But you cannot—”

  She got no further. Still kneeling, he reached out to her, taking her face in his hands. As time seemed to stop, he slowly, deliberately bent his head to hers. And her breath caught in her chest when his lips teased, then his mouth possessed hers hungrily. Her arms came up to twine about his neck, and she leaned eagerly into his kiss.

  He could feel her whole body tremble, and he forgot she was untouchable, that she was Harry’s sister. He lay back, taking her with him, then rolled onto his side to face her. Her eyes were large and luminous in the firelight, then they closed as he kissed her again.

  Some small voice within her told her it was wrong, yet she was suddenly alive again, and she did not want to give up the moment of being held by him. And even when she felt his hands at the ties of her wrapper, she did not want to turn him away. Instead, she returned kiss for kiss, savoring the closeness, the feel of him.

  “Open up!” someone shouted at the door. “It is the authorities!”

  “What the hell—?” Bell rolled away, then struggled to stand.

  There was a determined pounding. Frightened, Katherine sat there on the floor for a moment. Forcing herself to rise, she looked to him.

  “It cannot be, Bell—it cannot!”

  “I don’t know,” he muttered. “You’d best get the papers.”

  He opened the door, then stood back. Two uniformed men walked inside. “Monsieur Chardonnay, you are French?”

  Bell nodded.

  “And your wife?”

  He nodded again.

  One of the men looked to Katherine. “Turn around, madame—please.”

  As she turned to face him, she tied her wrapper at her waist. His eyes lingered there for a moment, then he shook his head.

  “Is something the matter?” she managed to ask.

  “Non. There are Imperial warrants for a woman and her paramour.”

  “I see. And you think that—”

  “Mais non. “ There was a flash of white teeth beneath his dark mustache as he smiled regretfully. “I am told she is enceinte, and that her time nears.” He bowed stiffly. “Pardon, madame. We are sorry for the intrusion.

  “De rien,” she responded.

  “Bon soir, monsieur.”

  “Bon soir, “ Bell murmured.

  The two men clicked their heels together, then withdrew. Bell looked to where Katherine stood, and he knew the moment between them had passed. Reason told him it was for the best, that she would have too much remorse, anyway.

  “It’s all right, Kate.”

  Disappointment warred with relief. “I know,” she said finally.

  “I must be reforming,” he decided. “I’ve not had a woman since I left England.”

  “Not even Sofia?”

  “Certainly not Sofia.”

  “I forgot—she said you could not.”

  “Not could not, Kate—would not.” He walked to her and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “You were my conscience, you know. In the end, I would not trespass on Sherkov’s hospitality, no matter how much I disliked him.”

  For a moment, she thought he meant to kiss her again, but he dropped his hand. Exhaling, he nodded toward the bed. “I expect we ought to just go to bed and get up deuced early, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.”

  “We don’t know what awaits at the border itself.”

  But long
after the candles were doused, long after she’d gone to bed, she lay awake, listening, and she knew he did not sleep either. Across the room, a log popped as it burned in the hearth. Never in her life had she been as aware of anyone as she was of him now. Her hands crept to her lips as she relived each kiss, and she knew that had the soldiers not come, she would have given herself to him.

  She came out from behind the screen, wearing one of the two new gowns she’d had made in Brest, a dark green traveling dress trimmed in black. The seamstress had fitted it well—it curved over her breasts without a wrinkle. As he watched, he could not help thinking she no longer looked like the starving waif he’d brought out of Moscow.

  “What do you think?”

  He rose to pick up her curled-brim bonnet and set it on her head. After tying the black grosgrain ribbon under her chin, he stepped back to view her critically. Dissatisfied, he undid the ties and moved them to one side. This time, he made larger loops with the bow.

  “I think, Madame Chardonnay,” he murmured, “you are quite fetching.”

  “Fiddle. You’ve merely forgotten what your barques of frailty looked like.”

  “You know, Kate, you need to learn to take a compliment.”

  She moved away to pull on her black silk gloves. “What if they do not let us cross? What if we are arrested?”

  “It won’t happen,” he assured her. But for all his bracing words, he was not entirely convinced himself. It would be the first time they actually had to put the papers Paul Volsky had given them to the touch.

  She made a face at herself in the mirror, then straightened her shoulders. “I am ready, I suppose.”

  “I hate it when you do that.”

  “What?”

  “You look like a monkey who does not like what he sees.”

  “I suppose so.” She looked up at him. “We cannot all be Bellamy Townsend, you know.”

  “For which you ought to be grateful.” He draped a fringed black silk shawl over her shoulders. “Do you know how lowering it can be to know everyone admires you merely for your face?”

  “No. But I should be willing to discover it,” she admitted truthfully. “Do you know how very lowering it is to discover no one looks at you because you have a beautiful sister?”