Falling Stars

by Anita Mills

  He sighed, then opened his eyes, and the innocence fled in that instant. There was a sensuous light to the gray eyes, a sensuous curve to the mouth that sent a thrill through her. He rolled over and wrapped his arms around her, holding her as Lexy never wanted to. She lay there quietly, savoring the closeness she felt.

  Finally, he sat up and yawned. “Don’t move,” he murmured. “Got to find the chamber pot.”

  She turned her face toward the wall, not caring if she heard him or not, only knowing he would not wish to be watched. It was as though there was nothing about him that she did not know, and nothing about her that he had not seen, And given that, it was to her a marvel that he still wanted her.

  When he was done, she heard him pour water from the pitcher into the basin and splash his face. When he came back, he was wide-awake. He eased himself the length of her back and reached around her to explore her breasts. She closed her eyes, feeling the intense excitement of what he did to her.

  His lips brushed the nape of her neck as his hands worked their magic, eliciting such a need that it always seemed nothing could fulfill it. She bit her lip to stifle a sob that rose in her throat as he tugged her onto her back.

  She settled beneath him, her dark eyes made darker with desire, and he felt a certain reverence for her. Unlike the wantons who’d come before her, she was still his pupil, she was still eager to discover what his body could do for her. And she gave of herself wholeheartedly. He could not look in her eyes and not think Alexei Volsky had been the greatest fool on earth.

  “Why don’t you ride?” he asked her softly.

  “What?”

  She could still blush after everything they’d done. He nodded. “You can do the work this time, Kate.”

  “Oh, but—”

  He rolled over, pulling her on top of him, and he tasted one of her breasts, nibbling at the nipple, watching it harden.

  She lay above him, her legs straddling his, feeling the growth of his manhood beneath her, and she knew a sense of power. It would be as though she took him.

  His hands moved over her, playing with her breasts, sending shivers coursing through her as they skimmed her bare hips. And the now familiar, aching wetness was there, ready for him.

  “Lift up,” he whispered.

  As she did, she felt him ease inside, and the exquisite anticipation took possession of her whole body. It was as though every fiber of her being wanted what they did. She moved tentatively, discovering what she liked.

  “Move, Kate,” he urged her. “Do whatever you want.”

  She moved with abandon, rocking, sliding, rolling her body around his, seeking the ecstasy she wanted. And then she felt it, the undulating waves of satisfaction, and she drew up her knees to prolong it.

  “You’d better get off,” he warned her, gasping.

  But instead, she closed around him and moved until he could not stop bucking beneath her, until he moaned as he came.

  “Now, that, Kate, was not my fault,” he gasped, catching his breath. “I told you to get off. You could have used your hand.”

  But she hadn’t wanted to. She’d wanted to feel him. Still, now that it was over, she realized the risk she’d taken. One week with Alexei, and he’d gotten her with child.

  “Would it matter to you?” she asked suddenly.

  “No.”

  He could see her hurt in her face, and he sighed. “You have to learn how to ask your questions, you know. I collect you are asking me if I would mind having a child. In that case, the answer is no, I would not. If you are asking if it matters if the child were out of wedlock, then the answer is yes.”

  He still hadn’t said how he would feel if she had the child, but she knew she did not want to know. She moved off him and lay down, her head on his shoulder.

  After a time, he eased her off and sat on the side of the bed. He was almost afraid to ask, but he forced himself. “I don’t suppose you have changed your mind one whit, have you?”

  “No.”

  “Kate—”

  “I have to go back, Bell—I have to. For myself—for Harry, I have to defend what is left of my honor. Even after this, I have to think I have some worth left in me.”

  For all that had passed between them, he knew that she was ashamed of giving him her body, ashamed of being what she’d perceived she’d become. And no words of love, no pledge could change that she was still Alexei Volsky’s wife. But he didn’t want to go, not yet. He wanted to lie back down beside her, to smooth the dark, tangled hair, to kiss her parting lips, to feel the heat of her body around his.

  “What difference can four days make?” he asked, his voice harsh.

  “What if I were to bear you a child?” she countered.

  “I’d find a way to marry you.”

  “You cannot.” She sat up behind him and laid her hand on his bare shoulder. “Bell—”

  He felt a surge of unreasoning anger as he drew away. “Then there is not much more to say, is there?” He rose, his back to her. “I expect we ought to press on to Warsaw.”

  “Please, Bell,” she whispered, “I pray you will not make me cry.”

  He was empty, devoid of the address that had always gotten him everything he wanted. His shoulders settled in defeat.

  “All right.”

  The last leg of the journey was a quiet one, and the silence intensified with every mile. At first there had been some attempt at desultory conversation, but finally even it had lagged. He stared out his side of the carriage, his fine profile held as steady as a bust of Alexander the Great. For her part, she did the same most of the time, but every once in a while, she could not help stealing a glance at him.

  He was like stone. And her heart was like a rock within her breast. But every time she wavered, she reminded herself of the scandal she would bring down on Harry. At least if the grounds were incest, perhaps the Winsteads could not be blamed for it. And certainly if she went off to Italy with Bell, neither one of them could ever go back to England, no matter what he said.

  Then, out of the graying sky, Warsaw loomed on the horizon, and it was as though Kate’s whole being turned to ice. As the horses plodded ever closer, she could see the bridge in the distance. And finally, they crossed the river. The city sat on either side, and it was as cramped and medieval as Siedice, only it was of a much grander size.

  “Well, it will not be long,” he said finally.

  “No. Are we going to a hotel first?” she dared to ask.

  “No.”

  “Bell, why does it have to be Italy? Why can it not be England?”

  He didn’t look at her, but he answered, “Because I have always run, I expect. I am not a man for unpleasantness.” As the spires of a large church hovered over them, he added, “I never could. It was always easier for me to part friends—even with Longford.”

  Finally, the carriage stopped, and Bell and the driver got down to seek directions. Coming back, he slumped into the seat across from her again.

  “It isn’t far.”

  “How far?”

  “A matter of blocks.”

  “What if the ambassador will not receive me? I mean, Poland is supposed to be independent, but everyone knows that Czar Alexander is above it all. And now that Napoleon has escaped—”

  “Then I suppose you will go to Italy.” He regarded her for a moment, then looked outside once more. “I am not taking you to England, Kate. You’ll have to ask the ambassador for a letter of transit to Berlin, I expect, and then from there to Rotterdam, if you’ve no wish to be at sea very long.”

  “I expect it will be another month ere I am home.”

  “I don’t know. The roads ought to be better.”

  It was as though they had suddenly become strangers. But he was punishing her for not going to Italy. Again, the carriage stopped, and this time, she could see the British flag flying over the building.

  He jumped down and shouted to the driver on the box. The fellow came down and opened the boot. Leaving the hors
es standing, he preceded them, carrying Katherine’s case and the box of things that they’d bought in Brest. Already it seemed as though that had been a lifetime ago.

  They were ushered into a small antechamber while a clerk, having been informed of the presence of a Russian countess, went to get the ambassador. She sat on the edge of her chair, certain that the interview was not going to be pleasant. But it would be nothing in comparison to what she would face in England.

  A gentleman came in and was directed to her by the clerk. “The ambassador cannot be reached, I am afraid, but perhaps as his personal aide, I may be of assistance?”

  “It is to be hoped.” She extended her hand and managed a smile for him. “I am Katherine Volsky, sir.”

  “Countess, it is an honor,” he murmured, bowing. “Arthur Pritchard at your service, of course. You have but to tell me what you require.”

  She sucked in her breath for courage, then let it out. “I am seeking to return to my home in England, sir.”

  “I see.” He regarded her curiously now. “But cannot your husband do that for you?”

  “I have left him,” she announced baldly. “And I cannot think he would wish to aid me. It is not a pleasant parting, you see.”

  “Madame-”

  “I am going home to seek a divorce, sir.”

  He looked at her as though she announced she wished to commit a murder. “Countess, are you aware that divorce is unattainable for females?” he asked awfully.

  “I am aware that the only ground open to me is that of incest,” she replied evenly. “And in this case, it applies, I can assure you.”

  “I see,” he murmured, obviously disbelieving her. “And you are wishing us to facilitate your journey?”

  “As an English citizen in a foreign land,” she reminded him.

  “Madame, although Poland is by treaty independent, you must surely be aware of its rather integrated policies with Russia. Your request could be construed as an impediment to the conduct of His Majesty’s business here.”

  “It is my right to ask your assistance, sir.”

  “It will have to be taken under advisement, I’m afraid, and direction must be obtained from His Majesty’s government.”

  “I assure you Prinny won’t care.” Bell stood up, making his presence known.

  “Townsend! What the devil are you doing here?”

  “Hallo, Arthur. You find me returning from a repairing lease in Russia, and I have escorted Lady Volsky from Moscow at her brother’s request,” he lied smoothly. “Er—to put it delicately, I collect Count Volsky has an unholy attachment to his elder sister.”

  “Really?” For an instant, the man was diverted, then he returned to the matter at hand. “It is still a nasty business, I’m afraid. And given the situation with the French monster—

  “Hang Napoleon!” Bell snapped. “Lady Volsky is English!”

  “But she is married to a Russian, and that puts a rather different significance to the matter.”

  “Look at her, for God’s sake! The man’s depraved, I tell you, and you would prate about waiting for direction?”

  “Townsend, I assure you—”

  “She is an innocent in the hands of a husband who shares his bed with his sister,” Bell argued more reasonably. “It is your duty to offer her sustenance and assistance.”

  “Sustenance most assuredly. But I must say it is highly irregular to see that you have brought her to me,” Pritchard declared stiffly.

  “Does she look to be in my style?” Bell countered. “I am telling you I undertook the business on the direct commission of her brother, Baron Winstead.”

  “That is all very commendable, my lord, but—” The man appeared to waver slightly. “If it were not for the divorce, and—”

  “And if it were not for my presence?” Bell finished for him.

  “Precisely.”

  “But I am not going to England at this time, so there is no one to know—with the exception of yourself, of course. And if you provide the papers, I cannot think you will want to mention me at all.”

  “How did you get here?”

  Bell reached into his coat and drew out the well-creased documents Paul Volsky had given him. “We came as Albert and Elise Chardonnay.”

  “As man and wife?”

  “As brother and sister,” Bell lied again.

  Pritchard perused them slowly, then looked up. “These declare that the Chardonnays are wed.”

  “But most of the innkeepers do not ask.”

  “No, I suppose not.” He turned to Katherine. “When did you leave Moscow, Countess?”

  “In early February.”

  “Given the weather, it is a miracle that she is here at all. Much of the time, we couldn’t make three miles per hour.”

  “And we were snowed in for sometime near Tula,” she added.

  “Tula? I should think so.” The ambassador’s aide still eyed Bell suspiciously. “Terrible time of year—even the French menace could not travel in Russia in winter. Most of them froze, poor devils,” he murmured.

  Bell’s patience was at end. “Look, I must go—I just promised to get her this far, that’s all.”

  That was perhaps more persuasive than anything else he had done. “It is your intention to leave her here now?”

  “In your capable hands, old fellow—provided she is given assistance home. I told you I have no intention of proceeding on to England just yet.”

  “Not financial assistance,” Kate hastened to explain. “I have quite enough money of my own.”

  “Devilish glad to hear of it. I suppose for humanitarian reasons, I could send you with our next dispatches out,” the man decided. “You would, of course, be accompanied. Terrible times, though. The French devil marches north, you know. But I expect Old Douro will contain him—always does, doesn’t he? Just wish they’d hanged him rather than exile—saved us a good deal of trouble.”

  “Yes. Thank you,” she murmured.

  Relieved, Bell exhaled, then turned to Kate. “Yes, well, if it is settled, I shall push on. This part, at least, of your ordeal is over, my dear.”

  “Where are you going?” Pritchard asked curiously. “And will you not need papers also?”

  “No. I went to Russia as Bellamy Townsend.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. Very well, Countess Volsky, Baxter will discover someone for your bags.”

  “Thank you.”

  To her dismay, Bell was already walking toward the door. “Your pardon, sir,” she said hastily, excusing herself. “I had intended to give a small token of my appreciation to the driver. He has endured so much.”

  “It’s very kind of you,” the man murmured.

  She caught him in the street. “Bell, were you not even going to tell me good-bye?”

  “I expect I will see you in England someday, Kate.”

  “But—”

  “And I always try to leave my friends happy.” His mouth twisted for a moment, then he managed to smile. “If you had wanted, you could have come to Italy,” he reminded her.

  That was it. She stared incredulously. “Then none of it meant anything at all to you, did it? You did not care a button for me?” Her voice rose, prompting him to draw her into a corner. “Bell, I—”

  “Look, Kate, we have been through hell together.” He caught her arms and held them for a moment. “I will always feel bound to you for that alone, even if we did not count the other. But since you are determined in this, I cannot aid you now.”

  “I see. I do not expect you will write, will you?”

  “Not until everything is over.”

  “You asked me for a week,” she reminded him desperately.

  “And you did not give it.”

  “I gave everything else.”

  For a moment, she thought she’d gotten to him, but then he said soberly. “In the event there is a child, I want to know, Kate. I’ll send Harry my direction.”

  “And what good will that do?”

  “I w
on’t saddle you with a bastard.” He set her back and started to leave again.

  “You offered to marry me—at St. Basil’s, you offered to marry me! Surely—”

  “The offer is still on the table, Kate. Look, you cannot stand out here like this—not if you are going to England.”

  She waited until he was nearly to the curb. “I am not twice the fool, Bell Townsend! Hell will freeze before I pick it up!”

  He winced, but did not turn back to her. It was hard enough to leave her, as it was. He’d long thought he was an empty fellow, but now the tightness in his throat, the very real pain beneath his breastbone gave the lie to that. He almost wished that he hadn’t been so damned noble, that he’d not given her the choice at all. He should have just carried her off to Italy with him, and they both could have taken the consequences later.

  He swung up into the carriage, then allowed himself one last look through the window. She stood there, looking not like the waif he was used to think her, but like the woman who’d chosen what was left of her honor over him. He raised his hand to her, then tapped the roof, telling the driver to go.

  Turning, she walked back to the embassy, where a guard regarded her curiously. “Is aught amiss, miss?”

  “No.” But as she mounted the steps, she wanted to cry. Everything was amiss. Twice she had been fooled. And this time, the pain was far greater.

  May 16, 1815

  The Winstead town house looked much as it ever had. For a moment, Katherine stood there, drinking it in. She was in England. She was home. Still, she had to take a deep breath before going up the steps. She’d written from Hamburg that she was coming, and there had been no way to get a response.

  Her heart pounding, she climbed the portico steps and lifted the knocker. It seemed as though it took forever for anyone to answer. Finally, the door opened inward, and Dawes stood there, regarding her. Turning around, he directed a footman to inform her ladyship that Countess Volsky is returned.”