To Love a Horseguard

by Sheffield, Killarney

He grabbed for the man just before he collapsed in the dirt. “What happened?”

  The guard grimaced in pain. “Sergi overpowered me and slipped out the back of the tent.”

  “Damn!” Dimitry turned the care of the man over to another guard, and sprinted for his horse as the clatter of hooves behind the tent alerted him to Sergi's flight. He leaped aboard his mount and kicked it into a gallop. A glance over his shoulder proved Victor and John were close on his heels. Careening around the corner of the tent he caught sight of Sergi. The man was bent low over his horse's back, flaying the animal unmercifully with the ends of his reins.

  “Sergi, Stop!”

  Sergi glanced over his shoulder and then returned his gaze to the ground ahead.

  Dimitry urged his horse over the uneven ground, but his tired mount wasn't gaining on the fresher one. He drew his gun from his holster and aimed for Sergi's mount. It pained him to see the animal shot, but he had to stop the man any way he could. He fired. The horse faltered, and dropped out from under the fleeing Cossack rebel. The man tumbled and rolled, but to Dimitry's astonishment, his half-brother regained his feet and sprinted into the brush. Dimitry urged his horse into the bushes until the undergrowth got too thick and tangled to go any farther. He leaped from his mount as Victor and John caught up. “We have to go on foot from here.”

  They nodded and dismounted, following him through the brush. Dimitry strained to hear. Somewhere ahead something crashed through the bushes. He followed the noise, freezing in place at a low growl coming from the brush ahead and to the right. A startled cry rent the air, followed by the snarl of a tiger. Dimitry waved to warn the two behind and crept forward. Sergi's agonized screams caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. He pushed through the last bramble and stopped short at the horrifying scene that met his eyes. A large tiger crouched over Sergi, the man's lifeless body pinned beneath him. Dimitry raised his pistol, recognizing the animal as Ivan, and unloaded it into the big cat. Ivan toppled over with one last snarl and lay twitching on the ground. Dimitry walked to Sergi and knelt down. The man's lifeless eyes stared back at him. He reached out and closed them.

  He hung his head as Victor placed a hand on his shoulder. “You cannot blame yourself for what happened, Dimitry. Sergi chose his fate when he decided to go against the tsar.”

  “I know.” Dimitry stood. “But he was my half-brother, and for that I will grieve. Brother should not kill brother.” He looked up as a trio of guards pushed their way into the thicket. His voice caught in his throat. “Take him back to the city.” With sorrow he hadn't known he was capable of, he trudged back to his horse.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rose sat by the empty tiger’s cage, taking in the afternoon sun three days after her rescue, focused on the birds as they flew from branch to branch in the tree across from her.

  “There you are.”

  She looked up as John strolled down the path. “John!”

  With a bright smile he sat down beside her on the bench, gave her a hug and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” she admitted. “Where have you been?”

  “I was with Dimitry and Victor touring the city. We found Sergi.”

  Rose shivered.

  “He will not hurt you ever again, Rose. Sergi is dead.”

  “You killed him?” Rose asked solemnly.

  “No. He was killed by the tiger, Ivan. Dimitry shot his horse out from under him when we tried to capture him. Sergi fled on foot through the brush and was ambushed by the animal. By the time we got to him there was nothing we could do.”

  Rose shuddered at the thought. “I should be glad Sergi is dead, but somehow it does not seem right to die in such a manner.”

  John nodded in understanding. He patted her hand. “We have been invited to a celebration at the tsar’s palace tonight. Tomorrow we will leave for England.”

  She shook her head, “I have no wish to return home.”

  John frowned. “Why not?”

  “I…” She looked down at her hands. “I do not care to marry the marquis.”

  “There is nothing you can do about that Rose. The bans were read.”

  “The marquis has made no declarations of love to me and I am sure there is no love in my heart for him,” Rose protested. “Besides, he did not even come to rescue me when I was kidnapped.”

  He shook his head. “We seldom marry for love Rose, you know that. I do think it was an appalling lack of manners on his part he did not come to Russia with me, but he did not have permission from the Emperor to declare war on the tsar. You do understand it was a purely political decision, right?”

  Rose nodded but could not help the bitterness she harbored toward her fiancée. “I suppose so.”

  John studied her for a moment. “Is there another reason you are reluctant to go home, Rose?”

  Rose bit her lip. “Yes.”

  He took her hand in his. “Is it Dimitry?”

  She nodded, and turned a tearful gaze on her brother. “I love him, John.”

  “I thought as much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A person would have to be blind to not see how you two look at each other.” He gave her a small smile.

  Rose looked down at her hands. “I am sorry, John, I never meant for it to happen. Dimitry does not love me anyway.”

  “No one means to fall in love Rose, and sometimes if you are lucky it just happens.” He sighed. “What makes you think Dimitry has no feelings for you?”

  “He told me.”

  “He told you that?”

  “He said he is in love with another, and is just waiting to ask her to marry him until he has made a bigger fortune.” Tears blurred her vision despite her attempt to stop them.

  “I see. I wish I could spare you the heartbreak, Rose. If I could change things I would. I think you are mistaken about Dimitry, though.”

  “How so?”

  John gave her a crooked smile. “Rose, darling, when a man scours the country in the middle of the night until he finds you and then carries you all the way home in his arms, I am pretty sure he loves you.”

  Was her brother right? Did Dimitry love her? Rose sighed. What difference did it make? After all she was still engaged to the marquis. Her engagement was an agreement made between two countries—two kings. It couldn't be broken. “It does not matter, John. Even if Dimitry returns my love I am still engaged to the marquis.”

  John squeezed her hand with a sorrowful look. “I am sorry, Rose. You are right and I see no way of breaking that betrothal without causing a political nightmare. Things are already strained to near political disaster what with Beth eloping.”

  Rose nodded, and allowed a single tear to slip down her cheek unheeded. “I had better get ready for tonight.” She stood, and hurried back to her room.

  Anya came to help her dress.

  “Where is Dinah?” Rose asked.

  The housekeeper straightened the deep green silk skirt of Rose’s gown. “No one knows. She disappeared in the excitement when your brother arrived. I love this color on you.”

  Rose studied her reflection in the mirror with a critical eye. Her chestnut hair was piled atop of her head, with delicate ringlets pulled loose to frame her face and cover up her scrapes and bruises. The tawny hazel of her eyes contrasted with the paleness of her face. Self–conscious, she pulled at the long sleeves on the gown to cover the bruises still visible on her wrists.

  * * * *

  Clutching her reticule to calm her shaking hands, Rose entered the tsar’s palace. All eyes focused on them as they were announced. John must have sensed her nervousness because he smiled and offered his arm. People whispered as they followed Dimitry down the aisle to the throne where the tsar of Russia sat.

  John bowed and Rose curtsied. The tsar stood and took her hand in his as she rose. “My dear Miss Wellington,” he said in perfect English. “It is high time Prince Petelovsky introduced you to me. I
can see why he was so anxious to keep you to himself. Your beauty and grace are a pleasure to behold.”

  “Thank you, Your Excellency.”

  “Come.” The tsar guided her to an empty seat next to his throne. “I must hear about your amazing bravery in the clutches of that evil Cossack rebel. I am told you have quite the ‘pluck,’ as you British say.”

  Rose sat beside the tsar, and for the next hour she answered his questions regarding her captures and escapes from Sergi.

  The tsar leaned forward intent on her every word. When she finished her tale he beamed. “You are a brave young woman.”

  “Excuse me.” Dimitry bowed to the tsar. “I was hoping Miss Wellington would honor me with a dance.”

  “By all means, but please do not keep her to yourself for too long.” The tsar kissed her hand. “I shall count the minutes until your return, my dear.”

  Rose disengaged her hand from the tsar’s and placed it in Dimitry’s. He led her to the dance floor where they moved in unison to the sweet strains of a waltz.

  “You have charmed the tsar.”

  “He is very gracious, and easily entertained.” His warm hand on the small of her back made her heart pound. She tried to concentrate on the intricate dance steps, but she was only too aware of his muscles sliding beneath his dress coat where her hand rested. He smelled of brandy and soap. Rose swallowed. When she looked up her breath caught in her throat. He is so handsome. The intense look in his blue eyes made her miss a step.

  He carried on as if she had never faltered. “I have not had a chance to talk to you since we rescued you from the cave.”

  “John told me about Sergi.”

  Dimitry inclined his head. “He paid for what he did to you.”

  Rose looked past him to where John was dancing with a very pretty Russian lady. “John says we are to leave for home tomorrow.”

  “I tried to talk him into staying longer. He has invited me to come to England to visit. I am interested in learning more about English factories. I think it would benefit my country to employ the same manufacturing system.”

  She nodded.

  “I also wanted to come see you.”

  Rose peered at him through her lashes. “Dimitry, please...”

  “Rose, I must tell you how I feel before you go.”

  She shook her head, her heart filled with anguish. “Please, it is hard enough to go back to England knowing that I love you. If I must bear marriage to the marquis do not tell me you love someone else. I cannot bear the thought of you with another.”

  He cupped her chin in his hand and looked in her eyes, his anguish matching hers. “There is no other woman, Rose; I thought you were in love with Victor. Victor is the one who loves another. I love you.”

  “You do?”

  “I love you with all my heart, flower. What am I to do, just sit here and watch you sail from my life?”

  “There is no other choice.” Tears began to flow down her cheeks. “Please Dimitry, tell me you are glad to see me go, for I cannot bear to hear otherwise,” she cried, wrenching from his grasp and fleeing through the open terrace doors. She paused in the shadows, and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. It would not do to let everyone see her crying.

  John stared at her when she returned to her seat. She knew he could tell she had been crying, and he probably guessed the cause of her tears. Turning away, she watched Dimitry with a breaking heart as he stopped to talk to a couple of gentlemen. Her dreams of someday falling in love were crushed by the cruel irony of the situation.

  “You look tired,” John remarked. “Perhaps we should return to Dimitry’s palace.”

  Rose nodded. John thanked the tsar for his hospitality, and then hurried to tell Dimitry they were ready to leave. They rode back to Dimitry’s palace in silence. When they arrived, Rose said a hasty goodnight and went to her room to nurse her broken heart alone.

  It was well past midnight, and Rose stood at the window with her head pressed to the cool pane of glass. She should be sleeping, but she did not want to close her eyes. Morning would come all too soon as it was. A light knock sounded on the door. Before Rose could answer it, Dimitry entered.

  “I saw your light.” He stood on the threshold and held out a large roll of paper. “I want to show you these before you leave.”

  She forced her feet to cross the room to stand before him. “What are they?”

  “The plans for the old theater, the tsar approved the renovations this afternoon.”

  Giving him a puzzled look she took the paper, unrolled it and scanned its contents. When she realized the significance of the documents she gasped in astonishment. “You have turned the old theater into an orphanage?”

  He smiled. “Not yet, we will start the actual work next week. Hopefully it will be finished by winter.”

  Rose smiled at him, and held out the blueprints.

  He hesitated, and then reached for the papers. Instead of taking them, he took her hand, pulling her to him and wrapping a strong arm around her waist. “Do not leave,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

  “Dimitry,” Rose whimpered. “I have to go.”

  His eyes darkened. With a groan he lowered his lips to hers. She sighed, and leaned against him as he captured her lips in a kiss that was neither soft or brutal, but passionate and desperate. Her toes curled and her arms wrapped around his neck in response. He moaned, pulling her tighter against him. Her head swam, and before she knew it he closed the door and lowered her to the bed.

  “Stay with me, flower.” He kissed her again.

  Her breath caught in her throat. God, I love him. When his kiss grew desperate, she returned his ardor. When they finally pulled apart their breath came in ragged passion filled gasps. “Make love to me,” she whispered. “Then you will always be with me.”

  He resumed kissing her. Almost frantic, they pulled at each other’s clothing until they were naked on the bed.

  Dimitry pulled back, his gaze roaming her flushed flesh. “Oh, you are beautiful.”

  Rose gasped as he lowered his lips to her breast and kissed her there.

  After a moment he sighed and sat up. “This is wrong. If I take your maidenhead I will be dishonoring you, and the vows I took as the head of the tsar’s army, and I would leave you soiled for your fiancé.” He hung his head, his grief hurting her more than the idea of having to leave him.

  He is right, we cannot do this. Even though she knew he was right, her heart cried with the need to love him, just once. Tears coursed down her cheeks unheeded and she snatched up her nightdress. “Just go. It breaks my heart to say goodbye.”

  He stood, and shuffled to the door. After one last anguished look, he opened it and walked out.

  She slipped back into her nightdress and wandered to the window. The lights of St. Petersburg twinkled against the darkness. Now, more than ever, she experienced the pain of being alone.

  She was still standing there early the next morning when Anya entered the room carrying a breakfast tray. “You’re awake I see. I brought breakfast up to you. The men have already left for the docks.”

  Rose nodded without turning around, as the housekeeper set the tray on the bedside table and poured a cup of tea.

  “Your bed hasn't been slept in.”

  With a sigh she turned from the window. “I was too warm last night,” she explained, without looking the housekeeper in the eye.

  Anya handed her a dressing gown. “Seems to me Dimitry offered the same explanation when I noticed his bed was not slept in.”

  Rose didn't know what to say, so she remained silent and sat at the small table.

  Anya passed her a napkin and placed a platter of food in front of her. She smiled. “If I were your brother, I would go back to England and tell everyone he never found you.”

  Fresh tears pricked Rose's eyes. “Thank you, Anya.”

  When she finished eating she dressed and went downstairs. A coach was waiting for her at the front steps. Anya introduc
ed her to a young Russian girl who was to accompany her to England as her makeshift maid and companion.

  “I will miss you.” Anya gave her a hug and kissed her cheek. “Godspeed on your journey.”

  Rose fought back her tears as she climbed into the waiting coach. The door shut behind her and she waved out of the window as the coach pulled away. Anya stood on the steps and waved back. When she arrived at the shipyard, John hurried across the dock to help her from the carriage. They crossed the dock to the gangplank where Victor stood.

  He took her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. “I will miss you, Lady Rose.”

  Rose gave him a weak smile. “I shall miss you too, Victor.”

  John shook Victor's hand. “If you ever come to London you are most welcome to stay with me at Wellington House.”

  “Where is Dimitry?” She scanned the deck but to her disappointment she didn't see the prince.

  Victor looked down at his boots. “I am sorry Rose; he was detained on an important matter by the tsar.”

  Nodding she took John’s arm. They walked up the gangplank onto the ship. Rose stood at the rail as the ramp was pulled away. Victor waved as the ship slid from the dock and she returned his wave. Within the hour the dock was a small sliver of brown against the green of the shore. She clutched the railing as a light breeze sprang up and blew the tears from her cheeks. Dimitry had not even come to say goodbye. Perhaps he thought it was better this way.

  “Rose?”

  She turned away as her brother approached so he would not see her cry.

  “You should go below.”

  With a stiff nod, she wandered down to the room she would occupy for the long journey home and threw herself face down on the bed. Without caring who heard, she sobbed. It is so unfair. I love Dimitry, not the marquis.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dimitry paced the anti-chamber waiting for the summons from the tsar. Finally, the door opened and a footman waved him in. He marched to the tsar’s throne and bowed. The tsar took his time acknowledging him. Only after the footman poured him some wine did he incline his head to Dimitry to rise.