REGENCY: Loved by the Duke (Historical Billionaire Military Romance) (19th Century Victorian Short Stories)

by Tencia Winters

  She took a small step back, nerves once again filling her as she put a hand on her stomach before looking up at him. “Luca…” Alisa paused, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “There’s something I have to tell you…”

  Epilogue

  The following Christmas

  “Alisa! Alisa, where are you, cara mia?” His voice echoed off of the villa’s stone and marble walls as he looked around for his missing wife. Where could she have gone? He had thought she was upstairs in the nursery but he had peeked in only to find their son, the beautiful Matteo, sleeping peacefully in his crib.

  “Alisa! My love? Where are you hiding?” He called again with no answer. He walked toward the front of the house, only to find it empty. Shaking his head in confusion, trying to fight off the growing trepidation, he quickly rushed to the back, checking bedrooms and the living room as he headed for the kitchen.

  Although why she would be in there he had no idea. Over the past year he had learned so much about his wife, and had fallen in love with her even more. She was bright and clever, beautiful and kind. And above all, she loved him back. He smiled just at the thought of her. And her fire. He though he loved that most about her. He had also learned that she was a terrible cook.

  He sniffed the air, thoughts of fire conjuring the smell of smoke, but as he neared the kitchen he realizes that smoke really did hang lightly in air.

  “Alisa?” He called her name again as he pushed open the heavy wooden door and was stopped dead in his tracks at the sight. “A…Alisa?”

  He was frozen, his gaze trapped by the most captivating woman he had ever met. And she was completely naked. A tiny apron graced her feminine hips and as she turned he couldn’t stop the groan that rolled out of his chest.

  “Oh, Luca. I…” She stopped, and taking a deep breath, posed, sticking one hip out and resting her hand on it, tempting him. Teasing him.

  “Cara mia. Bella, you are…” He strode over to her, wrapping his arms around her because he couldn’t do anything else. “You are the sweetest thing I have ever tasted.” He kissed her, just to prove his words before the smell once again caught his attention. “Ah, Alisa. Is something burning?”

  “Oh, the brioche!” Alisa turned, bending to open the oven and at the same time giving him an amazing view of her fantastic backside.

  “Bella, you should bake more often.”

  She sent him a mischievous grin over her shoulder and pulled out the pan of blackened…something.

  “Dang. It’s ruined.” She looked so disheartened that he just had to reach his arms out once more, wrapping her in them.

  “Why where you trying to make brioche, my love? That’s what you have me for.” He looked her up and down, “not that I’m complaining. Especially if you dress like that.”

  “But it was supposed to be a surprise for you. For our anniversary.”

  “Cara mia, you don’t need to do anything for me. I have everything that I need right here.” He squeezed her again, pulling her close.

  “I love you, Luca.”

  “I love you, too, bella.” He gave her a kiss, drawing her out of the kitchen and the stairs to their bedroom. “You are my gift, Alisa. And you always will be.”

  “You’re mine too, Luca.”

  He kissed her again, harder, more urgent as he drew her into his warm embrace. Best Christmas gift ever.

  THE END

  Tamed by the Russian Billionaire

  Chapter 1

  Regina Wells replayed the digital voice recorder for the third time since she had left the office. The conversation was, like all conversations that she usually recorded, full of details that she carefully examined so as not to miss anything that could be useful later. She hadn’t gotten to where she was by being careless and letting simple things pass her by. Meticulousness counted for as much as attitude in her business and personal experience had taught her that little things could surmount mountain-sized obstacles.

  Details are an amazing thing, she thought.

  She keyed the recorder and listened again, closing her eyes and shutting out the sights and sounds around her. Not that there was anything interesting to distract her. The limo in which she rode was soundproofed against noises from the outside, so she was quite alone with the voices held within the simple device as much as her own thoughts.

  Her mind painted the memory of the place where the conversation had taken place a three hours before as she listened.

  She opened the door and strolled into the office of her supervisor, James Carver. The office, like always, had that distinct smell that she had come to associate with the fragrance of old books sitting on a shelf and gathering dust. It wasn’t likely that she actually smelled dust considering that the place was kept immaculate. As fanatic as she was about details, so her supervisor was on appearance. She had once seen a pile of dirt upon the carpet. It had been barely noticeable by her and likely tracked in by some unsuspecting soul and when she had returned twenty minutes later, it had been removed from the room.

  Another sign that James controls everything in his realm the same way a god does, she had thought.

  Though she supposed that was only appropriate since James was like unto her the same way holy men were to those that worshipped this god or another: a law giver.

  The office was lined wall-to-wall with bookshelves that extended from the floor all the way to the high ceiling, reminding her of libraries that she had seen in movies that she had loved as a child. Sitting on the shelves were thick and fat books with hard covers. Each contained the records of hundreds of thousands of legal cases, the precedents through which many a legal action had been settled or lost.

  The shelves were so tall that facing those volumes was a rolling brass ladder that provided one access to the many books that flanked her on all sides as she crossed the room. Only two walls of the office held no books, each at opposite sides of the room; where she had entered and where she was bound for.

  The far wall was a large tinted window that protected a sweeping view beyond. Outside was the Atlantic Ocean. The view was, in Regina’s eyes, a reminder that the work that they did here stretched beyond the waters.

  Graham & Associates was one of the few existing law firms that specialized in international law. More like the laws that nobody wants to mingle with, she had reflected. Regina counted herself fortunate that she had been able to come and work within such a prestigious firm as the waiting list to be even be considered to work in such a place was as long as her leg, even if one had the right credentials. Though a full ride scholarship through Stanford Law and that her family had ties with the firm certainly hadn’t hurt her chances either.

  She arrived at the desk to the man owning the office and gave him a quick once-over. James Carver was an old man, pushing at least seventy if she were to guess. His hair had turned silver and she almost laughed at how well it matched the expensive suit he wore. His skin bore a few wrinkles at his face and a few liver spots upon his hands, but despite his age he showed no signs of being senile.

  He was, like always, looking at some brief in a manila folder when she entered and he didn’t even look up from it when she arrived at the foot of his desk and settled into one of the two leather chairs facing him.

  “You pack a bag?” he asked, his voice thick with an English accent.

  “Yes,” she replied quickly, “why have I come and where am I going?”

  “I love how you get right to it,” he said, his eyes still scanning the contents of the folder. “Alexi Romanov, what do you know?”

  She knew the name and recited everything that she knew for a fact. “Only what I read in the paper.”

  “Highlights,” he commanded politely.

  “Russian national, business tycoon – some kind of tech industry – was over here on business when someone blew the whistle on his questionable business practices back home. No details given, but whatever it was it was enough to have him hole-up at the Russian Embassy in Washington. Because of his
contacts and because of his money he hasn’t been sent back and he hasn’t been indicted for whatever crimes the Russians say he’s committed. He’s been there… two weeks now?”

  “Three,” James corrected her.

  Regina cringed inwardly at herself. Details, woman, details!

  “And whatever his troubles, they’ve gone from being minor to being shoved into deathly-serious,” James added as he closed the folder and folded his hands in his lap with it, fixing her with his dark brown eyes. “That’s where you come in.”

  She nodded. “I’m going to Washington.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Alexi Romanov’s problems are severe enough that he’s offering five billion, USD, to whichever firm keeps him out of Russian prisons. I hear Siberia is on the table for him and I understand it’s quite miserable this time of… well… any time of year, really.”

  “And you want me to keep Alexi Romanov out of prison and attain this $5 billion for the firm.” Again, it wasn’t a question, merely a simple description of her line-of-march.

  “That’s why I’m sending you, Regina. You’re smart.”

  “Then may I bring up a point of concern?”

  “Please.”

  “Alexi Romanov’s reputation isn’t squeaky clean. From what I read in the paper his father – whom he inherited his business from – had some questionable practices of his own. And unless the acorn fell very far from the tree…”

  “You recall law school? Moral vacuums and all of that, which I’m certain sounds familiar to you?” James asked matter-of-factly.

  “I do,” she replied evenly.

  “Those classes were meant to desensitize you. The same way serial killers torture puppies at young ages so they don’t take pity on people they kill. It enables you to do the work of defending someone no matter what you know they’re guilty of. I think you would do well to tap into that right now. Alexi Romanov is no angel, but he is a rich criminal.”

  “Understood,” she said.

  “Now,” James said, becoming more businesslike than usual. “This going to be a different one for you… and it’s going to be one for the books.”

  “How so?”

  “Mr. Romanov has agreed to meet with one of our partners – you – to discuss his problems. The difficulty is that because of his traveling business status he falls into some pretty murky waters as far extradition goes. He can’t be released from the Russian Embassy and his money has made certain that his trial – more of a hearing really – takes place at the embassy rather than back home in Mother Russia. It’s as close to a fair trial as he’s going to get. The judge is one of the Supreme Court Judges from the Russian Federation and he’ll be arriving this afternoon and the hearing begins tonight. That gives you a car ride from here to Washington to get yourself organized and from the time you arrive to tonight to get a game plan together with your new client.”

  “I thought it was just a meeting?”

  James smirked. “I’m confident you’ll have Mr. Romanov as a client within an hour of arriving. Russians play hardball in everything and you know the rules of that game. That’s why I’m sending you. Normally Mr. Romanov would have been extricated back home and the court would almost certainly have been rigged against him. But because he has business contacts here that do major financial work over there, the Russian Judiciary agreed to hold the trial here with American oversight.”

  She nodded. It was a simple thing to understand: a favor for a favor. That was the Russian way, alright.

  “You’ll be quartered inside the embassy,” James went on, “at least until the situation is resolved. Mr. Romanov has made all of the arrangements. You’re going to eat, breathe, and sleep this case until it’s put to bed.”

  “Piece of cake,” she said.

  James smirked. “Bring me some of the icing.”

  Chapter 2

  Regina turned off her voice recorder and slipped it into her pocket as the limo came to a halt. She gathered up her briefcase and waited patiently for the driver to release her from the limo. As she waited she regarded herself in the overhead mirror a final time. Her chocolate colored skin was still fresh and ready from her morning shower despite the trip. Her hair was tied in thick braids and her green eyes stared back at her, full of confidence and surety.

  She smiled at her reflected twin. “Let’s go get ‘em.”

  When the door opened she felt a slight rush of heat. D.C. was having a heatwave and she was thankful that she wouldn’t have to spend so much time outdoors during this whole matter. As fabulous as she thought she looked in a bathing suit the heat did tend to get to her.

  The Russian Embassy stood before her. It was a cube-shaped building, made of granite if she were to judge. It stood seven stories tall with narrow and tinted windows on all sides that reminded her of murder holes on a castle. It looked as cold and unwelcoming as a prison to her eyes but she had learned never to judge anything from its appearance.

  There were several adjacent buildings to the embassy proper and she figured them to be living quarters, maintenance building, parking structure, and security HQ respectively.

  Charming place, she thought as she took it all in.

  The driver removed her luggage bag from the rear of the limo and wordlessly walked with it beside her to the front gate of the embassy. The compound was ringed in an iron bar fence that enclosed green lawns surrounding a courtyard of stone where the Russian flag waved lightly in the hot breeze. And inside those gates she saw large and burly men armed with pistols and escorting attack dogs mere inches from the fence.

  Really charming, she added mentally.

  At the gate they were greeted by a single guard dressed in a security booth who stopped her with an outstretched hand. “Halt… papers please?” he said in what Regina was sure was fractured and therefor school-taught English.

  She handed him an envelope holding all of her paperwork and clearance to work in the embassy and gave a detailed list of whom she was here to see and why. The man spared a moment to look over the papers before giving a rough and unfeeling nod. “You may proceed,” he said in that rough tone that she associated with all Russians. “Your bags must be inspected in embassy foyer.”

  She smiled and the man’s native language replied, “Thank you for your help.”

  She took her bag from the limo driver who wordlessly passed it to her and returned to his waiting vehicle.

  Getting herself through the embassy’s lobby was an interesting event. Her bag and briefcase both were inspected in a manner that she thought would have put the TSA to shame. Both were checked for hidden compartments or device pockets wherein she may have tried to smuggle in something nefarious. Even her pocket recorder was x-rayed thoroughly before the security men within were convinced she carried nothing that could be a threat.

  Her papers were checked, checked again, and re-checked by three different security stations until she was finally allowed to pass into the embassy’s waiting area. She had been expecting as much but that made the whole ordeal no less tedious. Russians were nothing if not thorough.

  “Wait here,” said the attendant that showed her to the waiting area once they had discovered she could speak their language. “Mr. Romanov will be with you shortly.” And the attendant disappeared through the same door they’d entered through, closing it behind him and shutting her in.

  The waiting area was simple and reminded her of the waiting room at a DMV. The room was small, thirty feet to a side, with only one window to look out through and a collection of plastic chairs and a single water dispenser to keep her company.

  Must not get a lot of visitors, she decided as she settled into a chair beside her bags. She passed the time by mentally reviewing everything that she knew about what was going to happen and the legal options that she had as things now stood. Once she had a chance to conference with Mr. Romanov she would have more to work with. But until then, it was best just to be sharp on what she could predetermine.

  Her thoughts were in
terrupted when the door opened and in came a man that she didn’t recognize. From the papers – as well as the legal brief – she knew that this man wasn’t Alexi Romanov. He seemed more intimidating than the man she’d seen in the pictures. It was a man with thick tendrils of red hair and a matching beard and a look on his face that seemed so hard it could have carved diamonds. He wore an expensive suit but the boots he wore told her that this man’s purpose was decidedly not business.

  “I am Yuri Salnikov,” he said plainly, “Mr. Romanov will see you now, Ms. Wells,” he said in a voice that sounded almost gentle. He gathered up her larger bag and gestured for her to follow him and she did.

  She was led to a bank of elevators and was taken to the topmost level. When the elevator arrived and her escort showed her out she felt a small pang of panic. Standing before her were a series of doors that, despite being marked in Russian, she could read easily enough and each was marked as either a Court Room or a judge’s private chambers. And outside those doors were men dressed as she knew only lawyers or other practitioners of the law would be.

  “Uh, excuse me…” she said, trying to get Yuri’s attention, “but I was supposed to meet with Mr. Romanov before heading into court.”

  “Plans change, Ms. Wells,” said Yuri, “Come. Mr. Romanov is waiting.”

  Perplexed and utterly bewildered she followed Yuri into one of the court rooms and found that it was empty, save for a single person sitting at one of the two tables at the front was a man who sat alone. Presumably it was her client.

  Yuri showed her to the fore for the room and indicated her chair at the defense table where she finally saw the man whom she had been sent to represent.

  Her breath was almost stolen from her lungs as Alexi Romanov looked over and stood to meet her. For a brief moment it was as if her mind had taken leave of her keener senses and had delved into some wild and primal part of her mind.