Doctor Seymour smiled widely; his likeness of her was growing fonder every day they spent caring for the Duke.
“Your Grace, how are you?” he whispered back.
“I am well.”
“I know you have developed a strong stomach for gore and wounds but I feel I still must warn you, I am here to clean the Duke’s injury.” He held up his equipment as proof.
Emma smiled, almost giggling at his compliment. “Of course, thank you Doctor.” She paused looking over at her husband. “In fact, if I may be so bold. May I clean it?”
The sweet old man looked significantly stunned at her proposal.
“I would like to learn how to do it, Doctor,” she explained. “At least take some weight off your daily burden.”
“That is beyond kindness, Your Grace,” he smiled. “Only if you are sure?”
“I am,” she assured him.
The old man was hesitant but eventually he nodded. Once it was decided, Emma felt the nerves of her choice affect her as she followed Doctor Seymour to the sleeping figure of her husband. She sat next to him on the bed as the thoughtful doctor arranged the cleaning supplies and began to remove the bandage from his chest.
The smell hit her first. The pungent aroma of rotting flesh. Then, she caught sight of the gory pulp of mangled flesh and she felt her stomach knot tightly. She sucked in a deep breath and Doctor Seymour checked on to her.
“Are you fit to continue?” he inquired; his face full of concern.
She nodded swiftly, looking at him for some confidence and he smiled encouragingly. She washed her hands in the steaming hot water and Doctor Seymour waited patiently to show her what to do. She breathed deeply, peering curiously over his shoulder, observing the manner in which he cleaned away the blood. He smiled over at her every now and then until finally he offered her the clean cloth.
Emma looked to him for some faith once more and he urged her on. She took the hot cloth within her fingers and shuffled closer to his side. He murmured in his agitated sleep and winced against every touch. Emma softly dragged the moist cloth against the spongy flesh of his weeping lesion. She shivered in disgust but it did not cause her panic. The white cloth began to stain with vivid colours of red, brown and yellow. Swapping the dirty cloth for a new one, she gained some more belief in her ability and studied the wound with some attention, cleaning out particular areas more thoroughly.
“Here, Your Grace,” she heard the doctor whisper beside her. “This ointment will help heal the wound.”
He passed her a new square piece of cloth and a small bottle of some healing lotion. She dabbed it carefully on the cloth and sealed it on his chest. Doctor Seymour grasped her hands gently and guided her to fasten the bandage securely around her husband.
“Well done Your Grace,” he commended her. “That took courage.”
She smiled somewhat embarrassed by his sincere praise. “Thank you.”
“If you would like, you may repeat this process in a couple of hours?”
Emma gazed at him thoughtfully and then at her husband. Something about him seemed to raise hope within her and he looked somewhat healthier.
“If you trust me enough to tend to him alone, I shall be happy to oblige, Doctor.”
He nodded content. “Very well, Your Grace, I trust you completely.” He made his exit toward the door and turned before leaving. “I shall bring back some clean instruments and cloths later.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Lady Hadlington stared after as he left and then turned back to her husband, smiling to herself as pride soared through her. Charles’ face was consumed with a sort of equanimity and it was calming to look at. She wished he possessed the same serenity in real life as he did in his dreams. She had long spent her time trying to come up some solution to his predicaments; the trust he had placed in her intelligence and wit now felt like she owed him some useful answer to his plights but she had been dissatisfied with every outcome she thought of.
As she cleansed the revolting gunk away from his chest, hours later, she was made to jump by an abrupt flinch from his body. He looked at her, startled and in pain.
“I’m sorry,” she apologised quickly. “Did I hurt you?”
Charles’ breaths were quick and laborious but he shook his head swiftly.
“What are you doing?” he whispered breathlessly.
She smiled and sighed, returning her attention to her task. “I hope I am being useful.” She commented. “If not, then I might be ending your life,” she jested.
His chest shook slightly as he chuckled at her. “I always knew you would kill me.”
She smiled. “How are you?” she implored of him.
Charles scoffed slightly. “I am fine.”
“I wish you would have told me of your pressing matters sooner.” She mentioned quietly.
His eyes bore upon her and she couldn’t bear to look but kept herself occupied in cleaning the wound.
“I should have, I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I was angry with you yet you had the right to know.”
“I am more sorry for my foolishness and my disregard toward you.” She gulped. “I fear it is unforgiveable.”
“No,” he shook his head and took one of her hands. “I claim to see what other men don’t, but I did not act upon it in a way you deserve perhaps then we could have been spared the sorrow.”
“Nevertheless,” replied Emma, now quite sure of the meaning in her actions. “I require your forgiveness.”
He looked at her with a sincerity she was not used to, like he was seeing a beauty much more deeper than her looks.
“I forgive you, Emma.”
She nodded, relieved. “Thank you.” She busied herself yet again as she bandaged him up again.
“I am grateful to you,” he blurted bluntly. “I understand you have barely left my side.”
Emma looked away and breathed in shakily.
“Forgive me, if I distress you.” Charles searched her face with concern and confusion.
“You do not distress me, Charles,” she assured him. “I am more distressed at myself.”
“Yourself?” he asked with confusion.
Emma glanced at his eyes for but a split second but then had to look away again.
“Emma?” his voice sent a giddy jolt through her.
“Oh what it is to blind your whole life and finally now I am able to see.” She preached poetically.
“What do you mean, Emma?” he beseeched her. “I beg you, Emma, I never once asked for you to speak your mind, but now I fear if you don’t, I shall go mad.”
She smiled and bit her lip. Gathering up the courage to stare into his dark eyes, she spoke again.
“Why speak? When I can say so much more through my deeds.” She whispered with an alluring smile.
Emma watched his brow crease as she leaned over and pressed her lips to his. The warm moist of her plump lips dampened his dry coarse lips as they brushed against each other. A sigh escaped her throat but Emma was enthralled by it and the hungry desire taking over her. He had kissed her before and she had kissed him but there had been a lacking in passion and the eager lust for each other’s souls.
Emma felt a warm eruption of want explode in the pit of her stomach as she kissed him with an ever increasing passion. His tongue sliding inside her mouth and hers in his. Excited at the mischievous passion exchanging between them, Emma was fearful of when they had to stop. But she could sense his strength was failing him and she felt sure she had to pull away.
Emma giggled with embarrassment. “Forgive me,” she breathed.
“I won’t,” laughed the Duke and she chuckled.
He looked stunned and his face was aglow with a happier spirit.
“I am only sorry, I am in this condition,” he smiled mischievously.
Emma laughed heartily. “You should rest, Charles.”
“I will rest,” he promised. “Now, I have more incentive to recover swiftly.”
Emma laughed and
kissed his brow. “There’s a part of me that loves you, Charles and it grows stronger with each passing moment.”
Charles searched her eyes for the same sincerity in her speech. His hands grasped her.
“I never wish to be parted with you,” she continued. “I won’t survive without you.” She admitted and only truly admitted it to herself as she spoke it aloud.
“Emma,” his fingers stroked her face and her lips and his eyes bore into hers.
She wondered what he was thinking but he said nothing. He just enjoyed the moment of peaceful clarity between them and the relief of finally bearing a small part of their souls to each other. Emma did not enjoy it for long; she was not accustomed to long silences even this one which she enjoyed immensely.
“I will let you rest now,” she spoke and kissed his brow.
“Emma,” he smiled warmly at her. “I don’t want you to leave.”
Emma nodded, agreeing. “Charles, I wanted to say,” she paused, swallowing. “Thank you for saving me. I will never forget it, all my life.”
“You do not think twice about giving your life for the one you love.” He proclaimed boldly in his breathless voice.
Emma crawled over him and lay beside him. Charles put him arm around her and she cuddle up against him, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He drifted in a slumber beside and she voiced the words she had been too cowardly to utter to his conscious self.
“I am in love with you, Charles.” She whispered. “I could not know a better man and I have never been so plagued with fear in my entire life until I thought I would lose you forever.”
She hugged him close. “My life is merged with yours and I will forever guard you and respect you. I offer you my intelligence and my wit and all that I possess that can be of value to your cause. All I ask is that you be my guide.”
“Only if you guide me,” he replied in a murmur and she smiled blissfully.
“Only if you say I’m beautiful.”
He chuckled sleepily. “I never saw such an extravagant beauty in all my life. Never has such a face turned my head nor have such eyes captivated me so.”
Emma smiled completely content.
Loving My Savage Russian Billionaire
Chapter 1
“Will that be all for you, miss?”
Hope jumped in her seat, startled, as she quickly looked up at the flight attending politely staring down at her.
“What? Oh, yes. Yeah, I’m fine.”
The red haired woman nodded once, and moved on the next aisle in front of her. Meanwhile, Hope tried to still her racing heart. It wasn’t like her to be so jumpy after a job, but this one had been different. Dangerously different. She thought back over the past few months as she stared out of the open hatch window, a small pane of glass the only thing separating her from a ten thousand foot fall onto the spires of Moscow.
The city looked like it was made out of brightly colored toys below her. She could just make out the colorful buildings through the grey, smoke-like clouds as they continued to ascend. She sighed in relief as they flew farther away, putting ever more distance between her and the real reason she was wound so tight she felt she might fly apart into a million pieces any second. Valentine Kamorov.
Hope pulled the worn, brown leather satchel closer to her chest, wrapping her arms defensively around it. She could just feel the outline of a hard rectangular shape pressing into her forearms and it gave her a small measure of comfort, and at the same time, sent a familiar thrill rushing through her.
Inside the bag was a very old manuscript enclosed in a hard, protective plastic case to keep it safe until she returned to America, and could hand it over to her seller. She closed her eyes for moment, the image of the beautiful book indelibly seared into her memory.
The leather of its binding was almost bronze with age and use. When she thought of all the hands that touched it, eyes that had read the same words over the vast centuries, the weight of its age made it feel like it was so much heavier than it really was as it sat cradled safely in her lap.
The fragile parchment pages were edged in gold, as were several of the illustrations through the book itself. Expensive dyes made out of lapis and cerulean, amethyst and rubies, covered the pages as well, marking this as a work of exquisite workmanship, and also incredibly valuable.
Of course, Hope couldn’t read a word of it.
It was in a Russian dialect so old that she couldn’t make out any of it except the odd symbol here or there. But she could see its beauty, could understand the poetry of the words, if not the meaning.
The cover of the book alone would be worth a small fortune. The leather was barely discernable under the heavy encrusting of various gemstones and even dotted with diamonds. It was an incredibly rare artifact and Hope still felt the same awe and wonder she had the first time she saw it, almost three months ago.
Unbidden, her memories of that day swirled, unfolding before her still closed eyes. Hope had been walking past the University, her coat wrapped tight around her body to battle the cold. The dark mocha shade of her skin was deepened to scarlet as the wind whipped a flush into her cheeks.
The cold breeze grabbed a lock of her long, curly brown hair and threw it up in front of her eyes, momentarily blinding her as she scrambled to untangle herself. Still unable to see, she had run into a bench sitting empty and alone in the courtyard, and before she could catch herself had fallen face first into the frozen snow.
She had just started to push herself up when sudden hands, strong hands, incredibly masculine hand, were on her shoulders, helping her to her feet. She looked up intending to thank the kind stranger, but the words stalled in her throat. His icy blue eyes, as cold as the snow just starting to make icy trails down the inside of her coat, stared at her, demanding she meet his gaze and refusing to let her look away.
He was taller than her, by at least eight inches if not an entire foot, and everything about him from his height to his broad shoulders and sculpted abs had her feeling incredibly feminine. The differences between them were beautiful in their extreme contrasts. He was all light, to her dark.
His blond hair and pale skin set off her dark brown hair and the coffee shade of her own skin. It made her wonder what they would look like together, their bodies twined around one another. Hope shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.
He had smiled then, an aggressively charming, lopsided smile that her insides doing all sorts of acrobatics in her chest. There was something about him that screamed play boy, but she had ignored it. Instead focusing on the unfamiliar spark of fire that had ignited between them.
Even though she had dated occasionally, with her line of work, she rarely had time to keep a steady relationship, let alone the fact that she almost never found anyone she was really attracted to. There just was never any chemistry.
Suddenly, he reached down and grabbed her hand, and Hope almost jumped at the contact, even more tiny sparks erupted along her skin like an electrical current shot from his body to hers. Yep, there was plenty of chemistry there.
That simple, chaste touch had left her standing in the snow, breathless again.
“I’m Valentine.” His deep voice was rough, gravelly, and thick with a Russian accent proclaiming him native born to the country. The sound of his softly spoken words had her melting a little as she responded in kind.
“I’m Hope, Hope McAllister.” She wondered if he was going to shake her hand or not, but instead he just held it, looking at the entrancing sight of her much smaller, more delicate, dark fingers that were encased by his much larger ones.
A sudden jolt of turbulence startled Hope out of her reverie and back to reality. She grabbed the bag out of reflex, but it was fine, still nestled safely on her lap. She took a deep breath and then exhaled, relaxing slightly as they continued to fly straight and smooth through the cloudy grey sky, any signs of Moscow lost beneath the thick, pillowy barrier of clouds.
She thought again of that auspiciou
s moment three months ago. That had been the first time she had seen him. Certainly not the last. She could just imagine him now, and it sent a jolt of trepidation and guilt running through her. He would be angry; he would probably be hurt. After sleeping together for the past few months, Hope had just up and disappeared, and something else had disappeared with her.
She glanced down at the satchel that contained one of the most valuable items she’d ever had in her possession, and over the years, she’d had a lot of very valuable items in her grasp.
But she never kept them. That wasn’t her job. Her job was just to find them, and steal them. And now Valentine would know the truth about her, the one she had never been able tell him. She was a thief.
Chapter 2
The sound of the violent bass pounded through Valentine’s chest, in perfect time with the anger bubbling just under his skin. Outwardly, he looked nonchalant, bored even, under the multicolor fluorescent lights of Chernn Kot. It meant ‘black cat’ in Russian, and it was one of the most elite nightclubs in Moscow.
Only the wealthiest citizens, celebrities, and top social dignitaries partied there. It was one of Valentines regular spots. He tried to let himself get lost in the tribal electronic music that was blaring through the speakers from the DJ table where he stood in headphones and leather, a crowd of inebriated dancers grinding against each other on the intimate dance floor in front of him.
Almost against his will, he found himself watching a couple dancing together in the middle of the crowd. The man was tall, heavily muscled, and his skin looked almost pure white against the stunning ebony of the woman in his arms. Her dark skin shone like black velvet underneath the colored lights, her long brown hair fell in curly waves, swaying as she moved, and her curves called to him.
Not because Valentine wanted her, but because the stranger reminded him of Hope, that clever minx. Respect, disbelief, and anger warred together inside him. He had billions of dollars at his disposal, the best security team, the best systems. And yet, she had outwitted him with a smile, and her intelligence. He still wasn’t sure how she had gotten into the vault, let alone steal the ancient book and get out with it without setting off the myriad of alarms and automatic locks that should have been triggered.
REGENCY: Loved by the Duke (Historical Billionaire Military Romance) (19th Century Victorian Short Stories) Page 3