From Governess to Countess (Matches Made in Scandal)

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Which makes it unlikely that he was murdered to silence him, prevent him revealing some dark secret, I suppose,’ Allison said.

  Aleksei laughed sardonically. ‘Let us call that progress then, and forget about it for today. Grigory is a very fond uncle and the children clearly adore him. It was good of him to take them off our hands. We should take advantage of the rare opportunity to spend time alone in public together.’

  They walked arm in arm, making their way beyond the façade of the palace to where the main gardens were situated. Cavalry officers in full dress uniform were allowing children to sit up beside them on their horses. They waved at Nikki, sitting astride a large black stallion in front of a very young ensign. A puppet theatre had been set up in one of the many pavilions. In the centre of one large lawn, was a strange contraption, a tall pole, in the centre of which a complicated set of wires and struts formed a hexagonal frame. At each point, suspended on a wire, hung a carved dragon painted in garish colours, and on the back of each dragon, clinging for dear life, sat a rider, including two ladies sitting precariously side-saddle.

  ‘It is a French design,’ Aleksei told her, ‘I saw one in the Tuileries Garden in Paris, they call it a jeu de bague. Watch, it is about to begin revolving.’

  A muscular man in a leather waistcoat with the look of a Smiddy, approached the machine, and began to crank a long handle. With the creaking sound of sturdy oaks being blown in the wind, the hexagonal frame began to turn, sending the dragons and their riders spinning, slowly at first, but as they gained momentum the wires stretched taut and the dragons flew out, making everyone, riders and spectators, shriek with slightly hysterical delight.

  A knot of men lolled on the grass in the lee of a tall hedge. Officers, Allison deduced from their uniforms, though they incongruously sported long, straggly beards, and were talking loudly in Russian. They were all somewhat the worse for wear, as evidenced by the many empty bottles, and she was not unduly surprised when two of them got to their feet and began to brawl, much to the delight of their comrades, who formed a jeering circle.

  ‘Followers of Volkonsky,’ Aleksei said, eyeing the group with distaste. ‘They eschew all things French, since Napoleon invaded Moscow. They drink the peasant gut-rot spirit, vodka, they grow beards and dress like serfs, and as a result all are banned from court. They claim to espouse the cause of the common man, though to no practical purpose.’

  ‘At least,’ Allison said, eyeing the rabble doubtfully, ‘they are speaking up.’

  ‘And laying themselves wide open to arrest in the process.’ Aleksei watched the group through narrowed eyes. ‘It is not that I don’t sympathise. Our peasant army proved themselves and their love for Mother Russia at Borodino, and for reward they were sent back to the land, made serfs once more as if nothing had changed.’

  ‘In England, the hope is that the victory at Waterloo will put an end to the years of poverty which the war has caused,’ Allison said, ‘but I confess, I have my doubts. It will be the same as here—a return to what was before, and the men who fought—peasants too, many of them—their campaign medals will not put food on their tables.’

  The distinctive sound of a fist slamming into a nose was succeeded by a roar of approval, and Aleksei turned away, his face wrinkling with distaste. ‘Perhaps I underestimate them, but it seems to me they are interested only in spilling more blood, and I want no part of that.’

  ‘Even if they succeed?’

  ‘They will not. Nothing will change here unless our Emperor decrees it. Those men over there—their protests will be ignored or forcefully stifled, and that is the simple truth of it.’

  ‘If you chose to remain here, use the Derevenko influence...’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not the political animal Michael was and that power is not mine to wield. Besides, Michael would turn in his grave if I used his influence in support of what he would see as a truly subversive cause.’ He looked over his shoulder at the officers, now lolling on their backs and singing what sounded like a folk song. ‘Look at them, the future of the Russian army. It is not my future.’

  ‘You are set on leaving the army, then?’

  He smiled sadly. ‘I have no choice. All my life, I have served my country but now—no, I am done with it, there is no place for me any more. I am not one of those young hotheads, and I am certainly not one of the old guard, like Arakcheev. Besides, I’m done with killing and I am done with taking orders—and for that startling realisation, I lay the blame at your door.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Independence, isn’t that the flag you have been waving?’

  ‘For myself, yes.’

  ‘Well, it is a banner I like the idea of marching under myself. Though I’ll have to wait until I’m free of my charges first.’

  Which left her in no doubt that he was still determined to be free of them. Allison understood Aleksei well enough to know that he would very quickly find the responsibility of permanent guardianship too heavy a burden to bear. And who was she to wish him shackled, when she herself was so desperate to claim her freedom? ‘Well, we are free of them for at least another half-hour,’ she said, smiling brightly, ‘that is something.’

  ‘Something delightful,’ he agreed, happily taking his cue from her. ‘I don’t often get the opportunity to enjoy your company alone, and in broad daylight.’

  And then he smiled, the smile that sent a frisson shivering down her spine and made her forget everything and everyone, save him. ‘We are hardly alone,’ Allison said, for her own sake as much as his. ‘There must be hundreds here.’

  ‘Thousands, more likely. Sadly, Peterhof gardens during an Emperor’s picnic is an even poorer choice of location for a kiss than a rowing boat.’

  Desire flickered in her belly, a curling, tingling, unfurling sensation. ‘Yet you found no difficulty in kissing me in a sleigh. Are we to confine our kisses to ducal carriages?’

  ‘If so, then I regret the missed opportunity in the state barge. But if you recall, we have also kissed in the dining room, in your dispensary, and in the garden several times.’

  ‘You forgot the succession house. Really, when you put it like that,’ Allison replied, trying not to smile, ‘there are few locations where we have not kissed. We have been uncommonly adventurous.’

  ‘You think so?’ He eyed her speculatively. ‘I wonder, would it be wrong of me to take that as a challenge?’

  ‘Can one be delightfully wrong?’

  His laughter was a low rumble that set butterflies dancing in her stomach. ‘I hope so, Miss Galbraith. May I dare to ask if you are available to judge for yourself tonight?’

  ‘You do not have another engagement?’

  ‘I will have done my duty by the end of today.’

  ‘Then I accept.’ Smiling saucily, she dropped him a curtsy. ‘But for now, I think we should resume our duties and seek out our charges.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘The State Bedchamber,’ Aleksei announced later that night, throwing open the door theatrically. ‘Created for my grandfather in the days when the Duke and Duchess gave formal audiences from the comfort of their bed.’

  She understood now why he had kept her waiting in the corridor, for he had been busy lighting the candles, allowing her to see the stage he had set in all its glory. And it was a glorious sight. ‘You omitted to show me this room when you gave me the grand tour,’ Allison said, gazing around her, eyes wide.

  ‘I didn’t show you any of the bedchambers, actually. Frankly, I didn’t trust myself!’

  The chamber was almost entirely decorated in blue and gold. Blue-silk wall hangings were framed by blue-painted pilasters topped with gold acanthus leaves. Blue upholstery adorned the gilded chairs and chaise longue grouped at the foot of the bed. A golden guard rail forming a semi-circle around the bed itself. A duck-egg-blue-and-gold canopy stretched over the head of the bed, surmounted by the Derevenko insignia painted in gold. The white marble fireplace was inset with shards of p
eacock blue.

  And above, the ceiling depicted a celestial-blue sky. ‘Psyche’s wedding,’ Aleksei informed her. ‘The whole chamber is a copy of the Imperial bedchamber of the Gatchina Palace, which was built by Catherine the Great for her favourite lover, Count Orlov—and yes, he is a distant relation of our missing governess, I believe.’

  Aleksei released a hidden catch to open a gate in the railing. He sat on the bed, holding his hand out to indicate she join him on the embroidered silk coverlet. Light from the candles reflected from two huge mirrors which flanked the bed.

  ‘If you think it’s too bright I can snuff out some of the candles,’ Aleksei said, kissing the nape of her neck, his fingers tugging her hair free of pins, ‘But frankly I would prefer to see you in all your glory.’ More kisses, down the column of her throat.

  Until Aleksei, Allison’s previous experience of lovemaking had been under the covers and in the dark. Now she relished the contrast, relished the edge of daring, which racked up her already high level of anticipation. ‘Let the candles burn,’ she said, ‘I want to look at you too.’

  She did so brazenly, running her hands over the endearing kink in his hair, down his back, while her eyes travelled down past the open neck of his shirt, the falls of his breeches.

  She smoothed her hand over his shaved chin and he exhaled sharply. His hair was so closely cut to his head at the back, it was prickly, and yet silky smooth where it was longer. ‘Your eyes match the colour of this room,’ she said.

  He laughed. ‘As does your gown. It is almost exactly the same colour as this bed. I think we should remove it, lest you disappear entirely.’

  Her cornflower-blue day dress laced at the back. Aleksei turned her around and began to deal efficiently with the fastenings, distracting her with kisses while he worked, focusing his efforts on rousing sensations in every part of her body. His lips were warm on her bare skin, kissing her nape and her shoulders as he loosened her gown, slipping his hands inside to cup her breasts through her chemise, his thumbs circling her nipples, sending little frissons of pleasure rippling through her. Gently, he eased her arms free, pressing kisses on to the pulse points in the crook of her elbow, on her wrist.

  Easing her to her feet, he removed the gown before wrapping his arms around her, cupping her bottom through her petticoats. She twined her arms around his neck, pressing herself closer, feeling the hard length of him against her belly. Their kisses became deeper, their tongues touching and tasting, but there was still a restraint, their eyes open, watching, desire reflecting desire. His mouth drifted down to the neckline of her chemise. He kissed the swell of her breasts, the valley between them, cupping, stroking, making her pulse with pleasure. This was not to be like the last time. This was no urgent sating, but a slow savouring.

  She tugged his shirt free from his breeches. She slid her hands up, under the soft cambric, flattening her palms over the taut skin of his back, feeling the knots of his spine then moving her hands to the front, to caress the ripple of his abdomen, the breadth of his chest, the hard nubs of his nipples. His breathing was fast, like hers. Colour slashed his cheeks. His eyes were ablaze with passion. It stoked the flame of hers, the way he looked at her, the way he breathed her name. It made her feel powerful. Confident. When he pulled his shirt over his head, she pressed herself against him, kissing the hard wall of his chest, daring to lick his nipple, and when he moaned softly, further daring to suck on it.

  He muttered something under his breath in Russian. Then he picked her up, laying her on her back on the bed. Her slippers were removed. Her garters undone. There were kisses where she had never experienced kisses before, arousing kisses on her toes, her ankle, on her calf, behind her knee. First one leg, as he slowly removed her stockings, and then the other. As she held her breath, expecting for him to move higher, instead he lay down beside her, and there were more kisses. On her breasts, as he undid the ribbons at the neckline of her chemise. And then his mouth sucking on her nipples in a way that almost overset her, that made her curl her toes to regain control, and when that did not work, she pushed him away, taking him by surprise and rolling him on to his back, straddling him, her hair a curtain over them, sensing the barely leashed passion in his kiss and relishing it, wanting him to lose control, but wanting him not to.

  ‘Wait,’ she said, still kissing him, feeling the rigid shape of his erection through his breeches, between her legs, and wondering if she could follow her own advice.

  ‘I will,’ he said, ‘but you—no, I think not.’

  Catching her by the waist, he rolled her over, managing to remove her chemise at the same time. She lay naked, spread out on the blue-silk coverlet of the state bed, but the way he feasted his eyes on her prevented her from feeling any sort of embarrassment. She did not need him to tell her he thought her beautiful, but he did anyway, and she believed him. She did not need to tell him to remove the rest of his clothes. Her eyes spoke volumes, and he did her bidding, and she feasted her eyes on him, as he had done on her, relishing, unashamed. Tanned torso, narrow waist, long, muscular legs, and the thick erection jutting between them. She sat up, tentatively touching. Another new and unfamiliar act. Her fingers fluttered over the length of him, so hard and yet so silky smooth. When she curled her hand around his girth, he moaned and he pulsed and his jaw worked in the effort to control himself, and she felt herself unravel, just watching it. A careful stroke, up and down, and he moaned again, and another, and he breathed out her name, and another, and she was on her back.

  ‘You test me,’ he said, ‘and now I will test you.’

  And before she could guess what he was going to do, he parted her legs, and knelt between them, and he licked into her, and Allison cried out, partly in shock, because this was completely new experience, but mostly with pleasure.

  Kisses. Were those kisses? Stroking. Or was it licking? She couldn’t tell. She didn’t care. She was slipping and sliding into oblivion, now climbing and tensing and pulsing and whatever he was doing, she didn’t want him to stop, not ever, not ever, and oh, dear heavens...

  Her climax shook her to the core, ripping through her, tossing her high on to a throbbing, pulsing cloud of sensation. She could hear herself crying out, hear herself begging, don’t stop, more, again, her hands clutching at the silk bedcovering, her back sliding on it, as she arched and tilted towards the delicious, delightful source of unadulterated pleasure.

  ‘Aleksei,’ she breathed, when she could finally breathe. ‘Aleksei.’ More of a command this time, half-sitting up so that she could reach him, her hands on his shoulders, and then she was on top of him, skin on skin, a tangle of limbs and heat. She sat astride him, his face, skin stretched taut, eyes dark, pupils dilated. She was so glad of the candlelight, so that she could witness the desire etched in his face, and all for her.

  The tip of his shaft nudged at her. Inch by inch, she guided him inside her, shuddering as he pushed deeper, entranced by the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he thrust, so slowly, so carefully, until he was there, all there, and his eyes drifted closed as she held him, tightening around him. And then she moved, and he moved, a small thrust and then another one, and then his hands on her waist. More thrusts, wilder now, and finally his passion was unleashed, and he rolled her on to her back, her legs around his waist now, thrusting harder, oh, so deliciously, delightfully harder and harder, until she felt the thrumming pulse of her climax crescendo and, as she toppled over into the abyss again, he cried out his own release, pulling himself free with a loud guttural groan.

  * * *

  They lay on top of the silk coverlet. The candles were burning down, making the light reflected in the mirrors flicker gold, which made the room feel like an underwater cavern. Aleksei’s heartbeat was finally beginning to slow. Allison’s hair was spread out on the pillows, exactly as he had imagined it. He buried his face in the silken mass, breathing in a spicy perfume, maybe cinnamon, and the unmistakable scent of their lovemaking. She was lying on her side, her back to h
im, her delightfully curvaceous bottom tucked against his groin. He cupped her breast with one hand, his other lay flat on her flank. They had not spoken. He couldn’t think of any words.

  Perfect? No, for that would be to imply that it couldn’t get any better, and he knew, he was certain, that it could. Would. He pushed aside a thick silky handful of Allison’s tresses to nuzzle into her neck. She wriggled her bottom against him, and he felt himself stir, and she chuckled, a throaty sound that made him thicken instantly.

  ‘Aleksei,’ she said, turning around, her eyes alight with laughter and desire. ‘So soon?’

  He kissed her. ‘What is it they say about practice?’

  ‘Makes perfect.’ She cupped his buttocks, pulling him up against her. ‘Who would have thought that repetition could be such fun?’

  * * *

  Autumn arrived in St Petersburg the next morning, a stark contrast to the previous day. The sky was heavy with the promise of rain, iron-grey clouds skidding briskly across a lowering sky. The children seemed not to notice the change in the weather, happily playing their customary game of catch with a considerably less noxious Ortipo. A simple concoction of fennel seed and peppermint mixed with flour and beef tea prepared by Allison, and administered daily by the children in the form of a biscuit, had cured the dog of the worst of his emissions and earned Allison the unexpected gratitude of Nyanya. The bulldog was considerably less rotund too, thanks to the daily outing to the gardens which all three children now looked forward to every morning.

  Though it wouldn’t be long now before they would have to confine their play to indoors. She must ask Aleksei which room they might appropriate—though that was probably unnecessary. By the time the weather became too cold, she’d likely be on her way back to England. Time was, as Aleksei said, flowing faster than the Neva River. She couldn’t possibly want it to stop, that would be quite wrong of her.