Love Me Again

by Wendy Burge

  Disgusted with the revelry around him, Varek quickly strode out of the room provided for the ‘knights’ use and made his way down the long corridor, sidestepping the tide of people going in the opposite direction. Hopefully, if he hurried, he just might find Christina still on the dais.

  Christina had been right, as usual. He had been a fool to participate in an event that should have been left to the young. He was ashamed to admit it to himself, but he knew why he had gotten swept up in the seduction of a fantasy. In a weak moment he had had this puerile, idiotic notion that flaunting his skills before Christina would impress her. He would wear her colors and win honors for her. The humbling fact is, she hadn’t been impressed at all—she had instead gotten herself drunk! A spurt of reluctant laughter passed his bruised lips. Lord, what a mess this day had turned out to be. Next time he talked himself into such an insane situation he would have Sergei slap some sense into him.

  Von Serent’s face again plagued him as he continued through the maddening throng. Over and over, those last fatal minutes of the mock battle twisted and shifted about in his mind. Maybe there was something else he could have done to bring the young fool down? Something he should have said when he had a sense of what was coming? But no matter how many times or in how many different ways he replayed the blighted scene in his mind; it always had the same unfortunate ending. He had had no choice but to repel von Serent’s attack exactly as he had. Would he ever forget the sight of the young count being taken from the field in disgrace, his father turning his back on his only son? Attacking a man’s back could not be condoned as anything but what it was—the act of a dishonorable man.

  Varek’s temper, not at its best at that moment, only flared higher, when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the cause of today’s debacle. Smiling and laughing with a conscienceless frivolity that made Varek grit his teeth in enraged frustration; Sophy sauntered along with the crowd preparing to depart for the main ballroom. So much for flying to her lover’s side in distressed devotion, Varek fumed as he continued on his way, not trusting to contain his temper if he was forced to confront her.

  Unfortunately, Sophy turned at that moment and caught sight of him. Immediately, she crossed the busy corridor and darted his way. Biting back a particularly vulgar curse, he tried to sidestep around a group of giggling ladies, in vain hopes of dodging her. No such luck, however, for she was too intent on her prey to give up easily.

  “Varek, darling,” Sophy purred, her claws latching onto his sleeve.

  Taking a deep breath, he stopped short. His headache flared with a vengeance as he fought to hold back the rage he felt, picturing her as he had last seen her in the stands, urging her besotted lover on. His hands clenched as he swung around on her, shaking off her hold. “You had best stay out of my way,” he warned coldly as he stepped away from her encroaching presence.

  Her eyes widened in a pretense of hurt. “I just wanted to compliment you on your valiant play in the games. A truly heroic knight, to show such mercy where none was given.” Her low, breathy voice grated on his already strained nerves.

  Varek couldn’t believe the gall of the woman. For a long moment he contemplated the wall behind her, his expression flat. “Listen to me, madam,” his steely voice was all too evident of his distaste of her. “Since it is obvious you have no intention to conduct yourself with any integrity, then so be it. You leave me no recourse but to treat you accordingly. ” His gaze suddenly shifted down.

  Sophy gasped as she involuntarily stepped back. Those famed icy blue irises were frigid with a devouring rage held close on the edge. His glare met her wide eyes full on and she felt as if his very fury would rend her apart. Swallowing hard, her breath accelerating, her hand inched up to clutch her throat—as if to protect that defenseless flesh from the jaws of a ravening beast.

  Through her fear she heard his voice, low and clipped—so very precise. “Your petty vengeance has done irretrievable harm this day. Because of you, a brilliant young man lies paralyzed and his noble and ancient name has been brushed with the taint of dishonor. Least of which, you have forced my hand to be a part of this sordid mishap.” Leaning down, he pinched her chin between ruthless fingers as he brought her face so close she could feel his breath burn her lips. “Listen to me true, madam. I give you till tomorrow to remove yourself from Vienna. If you ignore my offer, I shall feel it my duty to seek retribution from you—that equal to what you have taken from the von Serent family.”

  Sophy tried to pull free of his painful grip, but it only tightened. When tears sprang to her eyes, she saw him smile, the cruel lips curving slowly. “Do we understand one another?”

  Shaken, her face still painfully clutched in his merciless fingers, she whispered back fiercely, defiant to the bitter end. “What could you possibly do to me that you haven’t already? I loved you, damn you!”

  Varek’s crack of laughter mocked her words. “Loved me?” he derided callously. Flicking the expensive circlet of diamonds around her wrist with his finger, he taunted her, “This is the only love you know, madam. This is what you dream of, what you covet. As to what havoc I could wreck in your life?” His finger brushed with seeming tenderness over her cheek. “Von Serent lost the use of his legs this night. How would you be able to sell your body for such jewels as these with a scar running down your pretty cheek? Would that be retribution enough?” He smiled in genuine amusement this time as his threat sank in and terror flashed across her flawless features. Softly, he drawled, “Perhaps now we understand one another?”

  Through tight lips, she asked, “Do I have a choice?”

  His gaze raked over her, his expression flint. “None.”

  When she said nothing further, he brushed past her and hurried on his way.

  Shaking with the power of her rage, Sophy took a deep breath as she struggled to gather up the shreds of her ravaged pride. When she finally had the courage to look about her, all she saw were malicious smiles spread before her like the evil tides of an approaching storm. Her narrowed gaze swung back to Varek and she caught a last glimpse of his broad shoulders before he disappeared behind the curtain that led to the dais of the ‘Queens’. To lick his lady’s feet, no doubt, she thought viciously.

  Then, as the crowd thankfully continued on its way, teeming around her as if she didn’t even exist, she raised her head high. Her fingers clutched into the folds of her skirts to hide their trembling and, with unhurried grace, she left the gaily-laughing people behind as she headed for the exit.

  Tonight she had to pack and make arrangements for traveling. But, tomorrow. Tomorrow she would have all the time in the world to decide how she would make that bastard pay.

  “Oh, dear!” Varek heard Laure’s voice before he snapped back the curtain and stepped onto the now empty dais—empty except for a very pale Christina and her obviously worried friend.

  “Good evening, my ladies.” He bowed low, amused at the sight before him. As he had thought, Christina was now paying for her slight transgression. “Did you enjoy the games?”

  Christina didn’t even look up at this bit of mockery and Varek’s smile faded a bit at this untypical reaction to his teasing. His gaze shifted to the princess who was glaring at him in obvious irritation.

  “Stop teasing, Varek, and help me. I believe she is going to be ill, poor thing.”

  The grin now wiped from his face, Varek was on his knee beside Christina in a heartbeat. True to Laure’s words, Christina’s face had a decidedly sickly pallor; her skin was damp and clammy. He could feel her shiver as she struggled to keep the contents of her belly down. When she slowly turned her head to look at him, his face close to hers, he could see her eyes were painfully red and watering.

  She swallowed heavily, her lackluster eyes lighting a bit at the sight of him. “Are you all right?” she croaked, her shaking hand gripping his with surprising strength.

  “Of course I am, lark. How could you have thought otherwise?’ He gently removed the heavy headpiece pinchi
ng against her temples, then smoothed away the damp, errant curls that fell about her face. Not caring who might be watching, he gathered her close and felt her head drop onto his shoulder. Feeling her shiver again, he sat on a nearby chair and easily pulled her, ungainly costume and all, onto his lap. As if she had never been out of his arms, she snuggled in with familiar ease, sighing.

  “My poor love,” he murmured, his lips brushing her clammy skin. “You know what drink can do to you.”

  “Don’t preach to me, Varek,” she whispered, her voice defiant, despite her pain. “If you do, I promise you won’t like the consequences.” Again, she swallowed then buried her face against his warm neck.

  Laure frowned down at them, then looked about warily. “I had best get her to her rooms immediately. She needs to get out of that torturous gown and into…” Laure flushed under Varek’s penetrating gaze.

  Christina’s head lifted weakly. “Oh, please, Laure, don’t miss the ball on my account. I’ll be fine in a few moments. Just let me rest for …” In mid sentence her eyes closed and she again leaned back into Varek’s arms. She was too tired to try and convince them let alone herself anymore. She was content to let Varek take care of her.

  Shaking her head with frustrated affection, Laure watched her friend. “Come, Varek,” she demanded in a voice she usually reserved for her errant children. “Help me get her to my coach.”

  Varek, with plans of his own, followed along docilely enough, his love secure in his arms. As they exited the dais, they were thankful to see that the crowd had thinned out greatly and what people did linger, were politely pushed aside by the Princess Metternich’s servants. Most of the Carousel’s celebrants were, doubtless, already crowding into the buffet and ballroom, continuing the festivities till the early morning hours.

  Worried at Christina’s stillness, he glanced down and again noticed the delicately shadowed skin around her closed eyes. Her lips appeared bloodless, and the sight of them brought back, with all too much clarity, the terrible days after Christina’s many miscarriages. His breath hitched with the remembered anguish.

  “Damnation,” he bit out roughly, ignoring Laure’s shocked glance. “How much did she have to drink, Laure?”

  Laure, also gazed anxiously at Christina’s limp body in Varek’s arms. “I’m not quite sure. But Dorothea, who was sitting next to her, said she had stopped counting after Christina’s fifth glass.”

  Again Varek cursed, this time quietly. What was wrong with Christina? She knew well her body’s low tolerance to wines or spirits. Was she that upset over the absence of her precious Robert? Not liking the direction his thoughts were taking him, his arms instinctively tightened about his love.

  When they reached the carriage, Laure was preparing to mount the steps when Varek’s firm voice stopped her short. Looking over her shoulder, she immediately recognized the belligerent stance of his long legs and the hard glitter in his gaze. Expecting an argument, Laure stepped back down and turned to face him, a militant stiffness in her usually benign expression. She was not about to see further harm come to her childhood friend.

  “I’ll take her back to her apartment, Laure. You go on to the ball…”

  “I vow, Varek, at times you can be the most pig-headed, selfish bastard.” Laure grated out heatedly. Varek stifled a smile as the shy Laure gave him a piece of her mind—and with such wicked language, to boot. He suddenly felt like a despicable hawk swooping down on her defenseless chick. Varek grinned down into Laure’s frown.

  “Good lord, Laure, I’m hardly going to ravish her.” He paused as Laure blushed, then took pity on her. “I assure you, as much as I love her, I have no intention of putting myself in the position of having her cast up her accounts all over me.”

  Laure’s eyes widened, she blinked, then self-consciously laughed at the picture Varek’s words brought to mind. “Very well, Varek. But, that is not what I was worried about. Not entirely, that is,” she added when he gave her a skeptical look. “It’s Viscount Basingstoke. He can’t get word of this, Varek. Their relationship is under enough strain, thanks to you and her life has become unbearable, pulled hither and yon between the two of you. Don’t cast any more fuel on the fire you have already lit. Please, Varek, for Christina’s sake.”

  Basingstoke, be damned, Varek thought uncharitably. Giving cause for the man to divorce Christina was exactly what he wanted. However, in the face of Laure’s pleading, how could Varek do otherwise? With a sigh, he nodded as he stepped past her and climbed into the carriage. Christina moaned as he settled himself onto the plush squabs of the Metternich’s royal coach, Christina still held firm in his arms. Hearing a tap on the door, he winced then stuck his head out the window and stared down into Laure’s worried face, expecting another lecture.

  “I’ll expect to see you no later than twelve of the clock, Varek. Don’t let me down.”

  Giving her a wry smile, he nodded. “Very well, my solemn Laure, by the twelfth stroke, my sworn word.”

  Laure smiled back. “Tass, here, will help clear your way unobserved into the British Consulate and to Christina’s rooms.” she motioned to a young, red-headed footman standing at her side. Then she gave Varek an uncharacteristic grin. “Please tell me you don’t know where Christina’s rooms are, Varek?”

  “Not a bit of it, I swear.” Varek sat back as the carriage leaped forward. Even though he had never been to Christina’s rooms in truth, he was sure he could find them blindfolded. His spies were always very detailed when giving directions.

  ∞∞∞

  Varek stood back from the bed staring down on Christina, at last deeply asleep. His poor little lark had not had an easy time of it this evening and his heart turned over at the sight of her. If he lifted the cover he knew exactly how she would be positioned—her knees drawn up to her chest, her toes curled inward, her fisted hands tucked snugly under her chin. Many had been the night he had laid beside her watching her sleep, wondering if their children would sleep in the same endearing way.

  Suddenly realizing he was exhausted, he silently circled the bed and very carefully climbed in beside her. Out of years of habit, he turned on his side and pulled her warm body gently back against his. The fit was perfect, as always.

  Tired, yet restless, his heavy-lidded gaze wandered around the room. Did she share this bed with Basingstoke? He couldn’t see any masculine paraphernalia lying about. Picking up a strand of her hair, the ebony tress curled about his fingers and idly he wound it around his finger till it wouldn’t go any further. Then he let the silken strands spring free, before he began again.

  He remembered the first time she had allowed him to touch her hair. She had turned thirteen and, he had found out later, had just had her first menses. She was feeling very much a woman and curious to test her newfound status.

  She had followed him to his secret hideaway, a secluded part of the lake where he would go to escape his studies and the endless calls of duty upon his time. He had tried every day to slip away and swim in the brisk waters when the weather allowed.

  He had almost had a heart attack that day when, as he broke through the surface of the water and spotted little Christina solemnly staring at him from the bank of the lake. And him buck-naked! Yelling at her had made no impression; pleading with her hadn’t swayed her. So, in hopes of frightening her off, he swallowed his self-consciousness and marched straight at her. How was a lad of nineteen supposed to respond to such boldness in a lass of thirteen, even if she was his affianced wife? Apparently, it hadn’t been a problem. Christina had calmly held out his breeches and innocently asked him if all men had one of those? Varek doubts there had ever been a time up to that day nor since that he had blushed so thoroughly.

  As it had turned out, it was to become one of the most memorable afternoons of his life, forever branded into his mind. After dressing, he had sat beside her and for the first time since she had been delivered to them five years before, they had talked. For hours. He had been amazed at his future wife’s
intelligence, her sprightly humor and learned, one by one, of the many quirks that made it possible for her to be able to laugh at herself. It was that day he had fallen so irrevocably in love with her. Needing an excuse to touch her, he had hesitantly stroked her long midnight curls, which were tangled in an untidy mane down her back. With the simple trust she had always given to him alone, she turned her back to him, asking if he would braid it for her. The last thing he wanted to do was tell her he had no idea how to braid a lady’s hair, so he quickly ran his fingers through the silken mass and trembled.

  Nothing had been the same between them since that day. That day he knew she would never leave his side, and for the next twelve years she never had.

  But, if they were meant to be together, why have they been so cursed?

  “This is right, isn’t it, Christina?” he whispered into her hair, his lips brushing the silky texture. His hands slid along her arms till he felt her fisted hands tucked beneath her chin. Gently, he pried them open so that they rested palm to palm and held warmly between his own. “If we weren’t meant to continue on, why would we have been brought together once more? God couldn’t be that cruel to us again.”

  Releasing her hands, his arms slowly enclosed about her, his heart pounding with a sense of homecoming. It felt so right. “All those lost years, lark. Were they as hard on you? Did you waste countless hours, then days, then years, searching endless crowds for my face?” Sighing, he stared into the fire, his cheek pressed against her cool hair. “I did. However, it never helped, because each night I still went to bed with my arms as empty as the night before.”

  And every damned night for six cursed years. But, the year his daughter had been born— that had been the worst. With the death of the second archduchess he had been free again; only Christina had been lost to him. She had preferred to flee rather than trust him. He had stopped looking for her then, at least officially. His emotions were too twisted, not knowing if he loved her still or hated her more. But, still he had looked at every face…