by The Countess
"You are no gentleman, Colonel Varanov," Alexandreya said coldly.
A smile curved around the corners of his mouth as he gazed down into her angry eyes.
"You should not expect perfect manners from a man of my breeding," he mocked.
"Nor of your reputation," Alexandreya flung back.
"Natasha has been talking, but it is not important. You and I are well matched - and you know it."
Alexandreya choked back the angry words which rose to her lips. He was baiting her deliberately in an attempt to make her lose control of herself, she thought. Well, it had not succeeded at the inn nor would it here, although with this second encounter, she found it extremely hard not only to control her temper, but also a strange weakness in her limbs. Was it anger - or fear of this man, which made her legs feel as if they were about to give way?
"You have not yet answered my question, Colonel."
She chose to use his military rank in the hope that the insult might bring him to heel.
"About my invitations?" Dmitri said. He had not expected her to accept either one, and had sent them merely as a reminder of his presence. "I sent them to annoy you, why else? It is naturally unthinkable for someone of your station to dine with a common soldier - unless as a reward for services rendered. I believe you said that was why you and I dined together at the inn, was it not?"
"It was. I felt sure it would have been an insult to offer you money and it was the only way I could show my gratitude." Alexandreya's composure was slowly returning and she looked up at him haughtily. "You have no right to act the way you did, nor to speak so disgracefully about my sister, and indeed, my motives for seeking your company. An apology would not be out of hand."
"Your short stay in St. Petersburg has made you bolder, Countess, as I thought it would. You say I am mistaken about you, yet I find you dancing with your sister's lover and apparently enjoying his arms about you as much as she does. Is it your intention to share the young man?"
"You go too far." Alexandreya was appalled by the callousness of his insinuation, but she did not deny she knew Andre Bruckner was Natasha's lover; she was too astounded that he was aware of their liaison. Her silence condemned her in his eyes and she saw his face harden.
His suspicion confirmed, Dmitri felt his previous anger return with renewed intensity. She looked like an angel, but as he had discovered so often before, ugliness and treachery lurked beneath the thin covering of innocence.
"A few weeks more and you will grow bored with this pose of virginal modesty," he answered bleakly. "I can wait." His merciless gaze swept her stricken face. "Would you care for some champagne and a little food? You are looking pale; this heat is too much for you."
"Yes, please." Alexandreya's words were hardly audible.
With a tight smile he slipped an arm solicitously beneath her elbow and escorted her through the crowd towards the Banquet Hall. Alexandreya searched desperately for her sister, but she was nowhere to be seen and she was forced to remain in Dmitri's company for over an hour before Vladimir appeared, with Natasha hanging heavily to his arm.
"Alexa dear, forgive this interruption." If her sister was surprised at Dmitri's presence, she gave no sign. She passed a hand across her forehead. "I am plagued with the most terrible headache and Vladimir is taking me home. Will you come too, or shall we send the carriage back for you?"
Alexandreya heaved a silent sigh of relief.
"I will accompany you - if the Colonel does not mind. It has been a very pleasant evening, but I am exhausted."
"The remainder of the evening will be dull without your company." Dmitri bowed low over her hand. "I will look forward to our next meeting as a consolation. Please allow me to escort you to the carriage."
"Thank you." Alexandreya forced a smile to her lips. She had spoken the truth, she was tired - tired of continually fencing with him and not retaliating to the hidden barbs behind his words.
Dmitri handed her into the carriage and watched it drive off, regardless of the thick snow flakes swirling about him. A laughing soldier ran past him, an arm about his masked companion, and he suddenly lost all desire to return to the hot, overcrowded rooms. There was no reason compelling him to stay now. Turning on his heel, he made his way across to where his horse was stabled.
CHAPTER THREE
Alexandreya had not exaggerated when she told Catherine that she rode every morning at Bratz. It had become a habit over the years. A long ride, no matter what the weather was like, and then back to the house and breakfast with her father. She had maintained the ritual after his death. The servants and villagers from the small hamlet nestled at the foot of the hill on which the house stood, would have considered it a very rare occurrence if she was not to be seen galloping across country in the early hours of the morning. It was her one release from a lonely existence which offered no escape - except, perhaps marriage.
The first weeks after the death of her father, Count Nikolai Stefan Romanov, had been worse than after her mother had died, although she had loved them both dearly. There was no one to greet her when she returned for breakfast and the empty table, with only one place laid and one chair, filled her with melancholia. To combat this overwhelming feeling of being alone, she began to fill the house with old friends, once the mourning period was over. There were balls and dinner parties as if nothing had changed. But it had, and, as the months passed, she realised not one of the people she entertained had any real understanding of her problem. She offered them hospitality the like of which was unknown in that desolate part of the country, but they gave nothing in return. She found the conversation limited to new clothes, the latest gossip and the laziness of the respective servants.
One night she astounded all present by saying she was not interested in either of the first two subjects, and as for servants, she proclaimed those at Bratz to be the best in Russia. She did not entertain again after that, and forced herself to accept the fact she would be alone for a long, long time. And then Jean-Paul had stolen into her life and given her hope - and bitter disillusionment.
"My, you are dreaming. I've been talking to you for the past hour and you haven't heard a word!" Natasha's laughing voice in her ear scattered Alexandreya's deep thoughts.
"I'm sorry. What were you saying?"
"Oh, nothing of importance. Was he nice, the man you were dreaming of?"
"No, he was not. I was thinking of those months after father's death."
"You mean Jean-Paul de Sevigne - that wretch!" Natasha's eyes grew sympathetic. Infatuation happened to every woman once in her lifetime; her own foolishness had resulted in marriage to a man she now hated. It was consoling to know Alexandreya had been saved the same fate. She knew little of the man her sister had intended to marry, except that he was well educated and a complete pauper. Alexandreya had often joked over it in her letters, and how wonderful it would be when she was his wife, her wealth would be his and they would be equals.
Two months after the wedding date had been announced, with invitations despatched and presents already arriving at Bratz, Alexandreya had cancelled the wedding, and her intended husband had departed from the house in all speed, never to be heard of again. The gifts were returned with a brief note of apology but no explanation, and Alexandreya retired into near-seclusion. Even Natasha had never been told what had happened and she had not had the heart to intrude into her sister's painful memories.
"We are nearly there. A few more minutes and we shall have a fire to warm us."
Alexandreya looked at her in surprise. For someone who had retired to bed professing to have a violent headache, Natasha had come into her room at an early hour and asked her to go riding.
"Where exactly are we going?"
"To meet Andre, of course. We use the hunting-lodge of a friend. It's the only place we can be sure no one will discover us."
She urged her horse into a canter as if to avoid further questions, and Alexandreya followed.
The trees thin
ned out abruptly. Ahead of them in a large man-made clearing, the hunting-lodge sprawled, apparently deserted.
"We must be early, Andre isn't here yet," Natasha said as they drew rein before the steps. "We'll go in and light the fire. I'm hungry too - it's this fresh air."
"What has it done for your headache?"
Natasha laughed, her eyes brimming over with amusement.
"You know that was only an excuse to leave the ball early."
The interior of the hunting-lodge was in some disorder. The massive wooden table dominating the room in which they stood still contained several empty bottles of wine, a half-eaten chicken and some black bread.
"That's strange," Natasha murmured.
Alexandreya stepped past her to warm her hands in front of the glowing embers of the fire in the hearth.
"Andre must be here after all. Why don't you go and find him, he may not have heard us ride up." She motioned to a far door. "Where does that lead to?"
"To my bedroom, Countess," a familiar, sardonic voice drawled nearby. "I assure you there is no one there."
Dmitri stepped out of the passageway which led to the kitchen and stared at the two women with a heavy frown. It was obvious from his appearance - he wore only a pair of hide breeches and a shirt - that he had not long been awake.
"Natasha, what is the meaning of this?" Alexandreya wheeled on her sister angrily.
"Yes, Natasha, perhaps you had better explain," Dmitri said. Moving to the fireplace, he raked the embers with a thick stick and then threw two heavy logs on to the fire, smiling as Alexandreya quickly moved away from him.
"I had no idea you would be here," Natasha protested. "You usually stay at the palace after a ball like last night's."
"I am at liberty to come and go as I please - this place does belong to me. I should prefer a warning before you descend on me again." His gaze rested mockingly on Alexandreya. "You never know who I may be entertaining."
"We had better leave." Alexandreya started towards the door.
"But Andre will be here soon. Alexa, please stay."
"You had no right to bring your sister here without explaining the full circumstances." Dmitri's tone suppressed hidden anger at being disturbed. "You are surely aware of the mutual dislike we have for each other."
Natasha sat down at the table and slowly began to remove her gloves.
"I'm sorry, but I am staying - even if you go, Alexa."
"I will leave you to argue it out between you," Dmitri said, turning on his heel. With a brief glance at Alexandreya, he left them.
"Natasha, how could you?" Alexandreya reproved, as the bedroom door closed behind him.
"If I had told you this lodge belonged to Dmitri, you would not have come. I didn't expect him to be here, truly." She looked up at her sister pleadingly. "Give me a little while with Andre, please?"
In her place and in love, she might well have acted the same way, Alexandreya thought, and immediately relented. For her sister's sake she would stand Dmitri Varanov, however unpleasant he made himself.
Natasha and Alexandreya did not have long to wait. Soon the sound of an approaching horse drew Natasha to the window.
"It's Andre, thank goodness! I was beginning to think he would not come."
Dmitri came out of the bedroom, more suitably attired in a fresh white shirt, black breeches and highly polished knee-length riding boots. Alexandreya was forced to admit that he was disturbingly handsome. He stood watching Natasha clasped in Andre Bruckner's arms, a cynical smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, then as if the scene suddenly disturbed him, he said roughly,
"Breakfast is being cooked in the kitchen if anyone is interested."
"I am," Andre said, raising his head and looking across at him with a smile. "Major Krylenko had an uneasy feeling before he left the palace last night, and doubled the guards outside the Czar's apartments. I've been up all night, that's why I'm late. If I didn't know better I'd suspect the dear Major of deliberately giving me extra duty."
"If Krylenko had any idea of what you are up to with his wife, you'd be in the fortress at this moment, being broken slowly and painfully on the rack," came the callous answer from Dmitri.
"Dmitri, don't," Natasha cried out, horrified.
"He's right, my love," Andre murmured. "We both run the risk of the fortress."
"But it's different now, Alexa is on our side, she'll help us." Natasha was confident that, aided by her sister, all problems could be overcome.
"The Countess has already confided in me," Andre replied. "Dmitri-we would like to be alone for a while—"
"You can use my room, if you wish." Dmitri's eyes met Alexandreya's as the young lovers disappeared into the adjoining bedroom. "So you have condoned her affairs? When I came upon you last night, you must have been telling Bruckner he has your full approval to continue seeing her," he said contemptuously.
"I believe Andre Bruckner to love my sister as deeply as she loves him." Alexandreya did not rise to the taunt.
"Love - what a farce that is! A woman has only to say she loves a man and she expects him to grovel at her feet for the rest of his life. She takes everything from him -money, 'self-respect - conscience - sometimes even pride, and then casts him off when another fool has the misfortune to attract her attention. Love and tears are the weapons of a woman when all others fail."
"But you are immune to them," Alexandreya said. If it was his intention to arouse her with his words, he had succeeded. She felt both pity and fear at the memory which forced him to speak so harshly.
"My past mistakes taught me well, Countess. I have learned to use people, particularly women, as one once used me, solely for my own pleasure, without becoming emotionally involved. I intend to remain my own master."
"Everyone must have someone to love, and Natasha deserves some happiness. Vladimir Krylenko is not the right man for her."
"She married him," Dmitri retorted. "Do you share her latent regard for the marriage vows?"
"She was very young." Alexandreya leapt quickly to the defence of her sister. "It was infatuation she felt, not love. It is hard to tell the difference the first time -" she broke off, aware of the interested gleam in Dmitri's eyes. He was the last person she wanted to know of the foolish mistake she had almost made.
She turned away, pretending to inspect the books lining the shelves along one side of the room. It was a surprise to find him interested in such dull things as books. Her surprise grew steadily as she recognised many titles from her own library at Bratz.
"Are you admiring my collection?" Dmitri asked, a touch of pride in his voice. He moved to her side. "These are my weakness - my only weakness. You will find many first editions." He pointed to a number of volumes beautifully bound in dark leather and embossed with gold. "These were a present from the Grand Duchess - unfortunately they are in French, and my knowledge of the language is limited."
Alexandreya took one down and opened it.
"Why, this is some of the work of one of France's greatest novelists. The Grand Duchess must hold you in high esteem to give you such a present."
"You obviously appreciate them more than I do." Dmitri watched her scan the book, sometimes pausing to read a passage from one of the pages. "There can be little else to do at Bratz. I expect you grow bored sometimes."
"There is a great deal to occupy my mind," Alexandreya said, determined he should not know how lonely it was for her. "The library there is a fascinating place. With your taste in books, you would no doubt find it interesting. My father was a great scholar; he thirsted after knowledge with the same enthusiasm that most men keep for breeding horses or chasing women." It was her turn for a scornful remark, and she saw Dmitri smile at the comparison, aware the jibe was directed at him. "Through him I learned to appreciate a love of good books, art and many other things. He taught me everything I know."
"He apparently forgot one thing," Dmitri said quietly.
She threw him a curious look.
<
br /> "What was that?"
"How to be a woman."
Alexandreya gasped out loud. The colour fled from her cheeks with such startling rapidity that he thought she might faint, and started towards her. Since their first meeting his object had been to shatter the virginal pose she flaunted before his eyes with insulting remarks and behaviour. Each time he thought he had succeeded, she managed to compose herself in time. Yet with five little words spoken more in amusement than anything else, he had reached her with surprising results.
"Some man has obviously told you so before." He shot home a final, cruel taunt.
Alexandreya raised her eyes to his. The stricken look in them awakened an unexpected twinge of conscience in him. He did not know that his words had been contained in the last, searing reproaches from Jean-Paul to his intended bride, a few minutes after he had been discovered making love to a servant girl.
"And why not?" he had demanded when Alexandreya stood before him, white and trembling, unable to believe what she had seen. "Do you think you could ever give me satisfaction? You have wit and charm, my dear, but there the attraction ceases. If it was not for your money I would not have lingered this long. Marriage! Did you really believe I intended to wed you? Mon dieu! I want warm flesh in my arms, not a block of ice. You have no idea how to be a woman."
His laugher echoed now, like a drum-roll through Alexandreya's brain. Dmitri's hand closed over her arm, steadying her as she swayed perilously.
"My father did not forget, Colonel Varanov." Her tone was bitter, reproachful. "If, in your eyes, to be a woman is to act like an addle-brained coquette and offer myself open to the kind of contempt you show me, from every man I meet, then I am glad I do not possess such qualities."
"Your sister apparently does not agree with you."
Alexandreya could find no answer. Dmitri stared at her thoughtfully. Whatever his opinion, he knew that this man had meant something special to her and he was only too aware how memories of the past could intrude into everyday life and brutally reopen old wounds. He suffered them often enough himself.