Revenge of the Heart

by Barbara Cartland

  Because it was so perfect and so very different from any kiss he had ever known, his lips became more insistent, more possessive, but still he was very gentle.

  He knew that he must comfort her for what she had been through, even while at the same time she entranced him.

  Only when it seemed that, as he kissed her, time stood still did he raise his head to ask,

  “My precious, my darling, you are all right? They have not hurt you?”

  “Oh, Warren – you are here! I was so – afraid you would never – f-find me!”

  “I have found you,” he said, as if he must reassure himself, “and this will never happen again!”

  Then he was kissing her with long, slow, possessive kisses, as if to make her his and show he would never lose her.

  It was a long time later when he looked down at her again and thought that no woman could look so radiant, so ecstatically, gloriously happy and still be on earth.

  “I love you!” he said again and again, as if he could not say it too often.

  “I – love you too!” Nadia replied. “But I – never imagined – never even dreamt that you might – love me!”

  “I love you as I have never loved anybody before! And so that I can keep you safe from all these horrors which should never have happened and must never happen again, we will be married very quickly!”

  It was then, to his surprise, that Nadia stiffened, and turned her face to hide herself once again in his shoulder.

  “What is the matter?” he asked. “I cannot believe that you do not love me enough to marry me.”

  “I love you with my whole heart. I love you until you fill the sky – the world and there is nothing else but you – but I cannot – marry you.”

  Warren’s arms tightened around her as he asked,

  “Why not?”

  She did not answer, and after a moment he asked,

  “You must tell me your secret, my precious one, and I swear that whatever it is, nothing and nobody will prevent me from making you my wife.”

  “No – no!” she murmured. “It is – impossible – and might – hurt you!”

  “The only thing that could really hurt me,” Warren said, “is that you should not love me enough to trust me.”

  He felt her quiver and knew she was deeply perturbed.

  “You have been through enough,” he said quickly. “We will talk about it when we get home. Besides, this is not a very romantic place to be talking of our love.”

  Nadia raised her head and he saw she was smiling through her tears.

  “Wherever we are – it is romantic when you tell me that you – love me,” she said, “but – do you really – mean it?”

  “I love you in a way I did not know existed until this moment. But come along, Nadia, I refuse to stay here any longer.”

  He took her by the hand and helped her up the stony incline and across the rough ground of the wood to where the horses were waiting.

  He lifted her into the cabriolet, picked up the reins and Jim, somewhat bemused by the turn of events, climbed up behind.

  As they drove off, Nadia lay against the cushioned seat feeling as if nothing mattered except that her heart was singing because she was with Warren and he had said he loved her.

  Then she told herself she had to be firm and that however much she loved him she could not let him become involved in the terror that had stalked her these last years, culminating in her mother’s death.

  ‘I have to go away and leave him,’ she told herself and felt her whole body cry out at the agony of it.

  Because the groom could hear what was said they did not talk, but Warren drove as quickly as he could back through the wood, into the Park and down the drive.

  He did not take Nadia to his mother’s house, but to Buckwood.

  He did so deliberately because he felt that already she belonged there and that was where they should decide their future.

  He determined to make quite certain that they would be together and she would be his wife.

  He drew up alongside the stone steps and then sprang to the ground to go round to the other side of the cabriolet and lift Nadia down.

  Then he put his arm protectively round her shoulders and led her into the house across the hall and into the drawing room.

  For a moment the study was too closely associated with Magnolia for him to wish to take Nadia there.

  The drawing room was filled with flowers and the last rays of the evening sun streaming through the windows glittered on the huge crystal chandelier.

  Warren shut the door behind them and drew Nadia to one of the elegant gold-edged sofas by the fireplace.

  She sat down and he said,

  “My precious, you have been through so much! Shall I fetch you a drink?”

  “I want nothing,” she answered, “except to be certain that you are here and I shall not die of cold and starvation in that horrible damp mine.”

  She shuddered and then realised as she spoke that Warren was looking at her as if he had never seen her before.

  “I must look terrible after having a blanket thrown over my head and I am sure the mine has made me very dirty.”

  “You look perfectly lovely!” he replied, and his voice seemed to vibrate on the word. “Lovelier than any woman I have ever seen! Oh, my darling, how lucky I was to find you!”

  She knew he was referring not to saving her from the slate mine, but to finding her by the Seine.

  “I-I seem to have brought – you a lot of – trouble,” she muttered in a low voice.

  “That is all over now,” he said, “but I want you to understand that the only way you can be safe and be sure that Magnolia will never trouble us again is by becoming my wife!”

  He was holding Nadia’s hand and he felt her fingers tighten on his as she whispered,

  “I cannot imagine anything more – perfect than to be – married to you and to be with you – all the time. But because I – love you I cannot put you in – danger.”

  “Why should I be in any danger?”

  As Warren asked the question, Nadia looked away from him and he knew that she was wondering whether she should tell him the truth or to go on hiding her secret.

  As he waited, the door of the drawing room opened and Mr. Greyshott came in.

  “I heard you were back, my Lord,” he said, “and thought you might like to have the newspapers which have just arrived.”

  He walked across the room with them in his hand and putting them down on an embroidered stool in front of the fireplace added conversationally,

  “There is news that Czar Alexander III is dangerously ill with dropsy, and is not expected to live. You will remember your uncle visited St. Petersburg in 1882 to represent the Queen at his Coronation.”

  When he had put the newspapers down, Mr. Greyshott looked towards Warren as if he expected an answer and with an effort, because he found it difficult to think of anything but Nadia, he replied,

  “Yes, of course, I remember!”

  Then in a very odd voice that seemed as if it came from a stranger Nadia asked,

  “D-did you – say – the Czar is not expected to – live?”

  “That is what it says in the newspapers,” Mr. Greyshott replied. “In fact, according to The Morning Post the doctors say his life is despaired of.”

  As he spoke, he stared at Nadia in astonishment because she had put her hands up over her eyes, and Warren who was sitting close to her knew she was fighting for self-control.

  He looked at Mr. Greyshott meaningfully, making a slight gesture as he did so, and with his usual tact his secretary understood he should leave them alone.

  He walked quickly from the room, and as the door closed behind him Warren put his arms around Nadia and drew her close to him.

  “I think what we have just heard means something important to you, my precious,” he said quietly.

  “It – it means – that if the – Czar dies – I am safe!” she replied in a voice that trembled
. “Oh, if only – Mama was still alive!”

  Warren drew her closer still.

  Then he said,

  “Tell me about it, darling. I hoped you were going to tell me anyway before Greyshott interrupted us.”

  “I want you – to know,” Nadia said. “I – hate having any – secrets from you.”‘

  “Then let us be rid of them.”

  She looked up at him and despite the tears in her eyes he felt in some strange way she was suddenly transformed.

  It was not only her love for him that made her face radiant, but also it seemed as if the misery he did not yet understand had slipped away from her and she was free to be herself again with all the joy and happiness of youth.

  She drew a deep breath before she declared,

  “My real name is Princess Nadia Korzoki and my father was Prince Ivan Korzoki.”

  “You are Russian!” Warren exclaimed.

  “Well yes, half Russian,” she confirmed. “You thought I was not – wholly English.”

  “I was sure of it,” he said, “but tell me your story.”

  “Mama was the daughter of the British Ambassador to St. Petersburg and Papa fell in love with her and she with him the moment they met.”

  She glanced up at Warren as she spoke and he knew how much she loved him before she went on,

  “They had to have the permission of the Czar Alexander II to marry, which he gave them only reluctantly, because Papa had Royal blood in his veins. In the end he agreed on condition that they went to live in the country on Papa’s large estate that bordered on Hungary.”

  Nadia then paused, as if she was looking back, before she went on,

  “They were very happy and Mama and Papa never regretted missing the gaieties or indeed the intrigues and problems of St. Petersburg.”

  “So it was in Russia that you learned to ride so well!”

  “I rode in Hungary also,” Nadia answered, “but I have not reached as far as that yet.”

  “Go on, my lovely darling.”

  “I shall always remember how happy everything was at home, but Papa was deeply shocked when Czar Alexander II was assassinated thirteen years ago and his son, when he came to the throne, revised all the reforms that were being made in the country.”

  Warren was listening intently as Nadia continued,

  “The first thing the new Emperor did was to tear up an unsigned Manifesto which had provided for a limited form of representative Government in Russia. It was something that was very dear to Papa’s heart, and it soon became clear that Alexander III was determined to bring back into Russia all the cruelties that his father had begun to eliminate.”

  Nadia’s voice was very moving as she said almost in a whisper,

  “Worst of all he was – determined to destroy – the Jews.”

  Warren had heard this and knew how everybody in England had disapproved of the Czar’s action.

  But he did not say so and let Nadia continue,

  “The new Czar decreed that one third of the Jews were to be exterminated, one third assimilated and one third driven out of the country.”

  She gave a deep sigh before she went on,

  “You will understand that as Papa’s estate was on the border many of those who were rounded up by the Cossacks were driven over our land, chained, starving and whipped into Western Europe!”

  She fought against her tears before she went on,

  “Mama used to cry at night because she had seen their suffering and Papa helped where he could, telling our own people to give them food and sometimes, when the Cossacks were not looking, a little money.”

  “Then what happened?” Warren asked.

  “Papa had a Jewish friend, who was a very famous and brilliant surgeon and had operated on him and on many of Papa’s friends. One night he arrived at our castle saying that he had learnt he was to be arrested the next morning and taken to St. Petersburg for investigation.”

  Nadia’s voice was very low as she added,

  “We knew this meant torture and a slow and lingering agony before he died.”

  “And your father saved him?”

  “Papa smuggled him and his wife into Hungary and gave him enough money so that he could start life again in Europe.”

  Nadia made a helpless little gesture with her hands before she said,

  “But of course somebody reported to the Czar what Papa had done and he was furiously angry with him for helping such a well known Jew to escape.”

  Warren began to understand what had happened.

  “In fact, the Czarevich Nicholas, who had always been very fond of Papa and was a quiet, gentle, rather weak young man, was courageous enough to send one of his trusted servants to warn Papa of the danger he was in.”

  “That was brave of him!” Warren exclaimed.

  “Very brave, because he was frightened of his father. Anyway, as soon as Papa received the warning he hurried Mama and me to the border, knowing it was only a question of days, perhaps only hours, before he was taken to St. Petersburg.”

  “He did not leave with you?”

  “Both Mama and I begged him to do so, but he was adamant.”

  “‘I will not be a refugee from my own country’!” he declared. “‘I do not believe even the Czar would dare to execute me for a kindness to an old friend’!”

  “But he did die?”

  “He was – murdered, but we did not hear about it until we were told the Czar had commanded that Mama and I were to be brought back and stand trial also for helping the enemies of Russia, who were the Jews!”

  “So that is why you were hiding!”

  “We had to hide unless we wanted to – die like Papa.”

  There was a break in Nadia’s voice that made Warren hold her closer to him.

  “Tell me another time, if it upsets you,” he said softly.

  “No, no!” Nadia replied. “I want to tell you – I have wanted to tell you before – but I have been too afraid to do so.”

  He kissed her forehead before she went on with a determination he admired,

  “Everything after that became a nightmare. We had been staying with friends in Hungary, but, of course, we could not involve them in our troubles. Then we thought it wise to go to France, and from there to England to Mama’s relatives.”

  “That sounds very sensible.”

  “That is what we thought when we started off,” Nadia answered, “but we soon realised that the Secret Police, when they are intent on revenge, never give up. They tracked us all through Hungary and were not far behind us when we passed through various small Principalities until eventually we reached France.”

  She gave a little sob before she added,

  “It is – difficult to remember the details – but it was all terrifying. All we knew was that the Russians were looking for us, determined not to let us get away and we realised that we must involve as few people as possible.”

  She paused for a moment before she went on,

  “Nevertheless everybody was very kind and we passed from friend to friend, but as our money grew less and less we had to sell the jewels Mama had brought with her.

  “That was dangerous because the Russians following us recognised them and knew they were only a few days behind us.”

  “So when you finally reached Paris you had nothing left.”

  “Only the clothes we stood up in and so few francs that we could only afford to stay in an attic in a dirty, squalid lodging house, which made Mama worse than she was already.”

  Nadia made a little helpless gesture as she said,

  “You know the rest of the story. Mama died and because I had nothing, really nothing – I wanted to – die too.”

  “Thank God I prevented you from doing that,” Warren exclaimed. “But now, my precious, it is all over. The Czarevitch is your friend, and I am sure the programme of cruelty against the Jews will cease as soon as he comes to the throne.”

  “Do you really – think I am – safe?”


  “You will be safe as my wife,” Warren said, “and we are not even going to wait until the present Czar dies. We will be married immediately, but everyone except my mother will still know you by the name we invented.”

  He pressed his lips against her cheek before he went on,

  “Later, when it is safe to do so, we will tell the truth, and I know everybody will think it a story of great bravery, as I do.”

  “I – it was not very – brave of me to – want to – die.”

  “It was very brave of you to let me save you and to come here and do everything I asked of you.”

  She turned her face up to his and he said,

  “I adore you, my beautiful little Russian Princess, and all the horrors and miseries are over. You will live a very quiet uneventful life here in England, which perhaps after all the dramas you have been through you will find dull.”

  He was teasing her, but Nadia gave a little sob and put her arms round his neck to say,

  “May I really do that? It sounds so wonderful, so like being in Heaven that I feel I must be dreaming.”

  “It is a dream come true,” Warren said, “and I assure you that when you are my wife and the Marchioness of Buckwood, there will be no Secret Police lurking in the shadows and I will make sure there are no jealous women either.”

  “How can you be – certain of – that?”

  Warren smiled.

  He knew he had threatened Magnolia in a way that had frightened her more than he could have effected by any other means and would ensure they were free of her in the future.

  Her beautiful face was the only thing that really mattered to her and to risk damaging it would be unthinkable for her.

  “She will never worry either of us again,” he said reassuringly.

  Then he had an idea.

  He remembered the Special Licence that Magnolia had tried to blackmail him with.

  His uncle had been a close friend of the Archbishop of Canterbury and Warren had met him on several occasions.

  He happened to know that he was in London at the moment because it had been reported that His Grace was officiating at a Memorial Service for a famous politician who had recently died.

  He was sure that if he wrote to the Archbishop asking for a Special Licence for his marriage to Nadia and explaining that, because he had just returned from abroad, he was unable to come in person, the Archbishop would understand.