A Sister's Quest

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  That thought must have been on her face, for he whirled her so she could see the back of her dress in the cracked mirror by the door. “Look. Here.” He touched a skipped button among the score running along her back. “And here. And here. You need someone to help you dress, Liebchen. We shall have to think about finding you a husband.”

  “A husband? You think I want you helping me to find a husband?”

  “Why not? You are the type of woman who would enjoy marriage.”

  Keeping her spine straight as his fingers struggled with the bead-sized buttons, she asked, “What type of woman is that? A Hausfrau?”

  “That is not what I meant.” He bent forward to fix another button. His words oozed warmly past her collar, and she leaned her hands on the footboard in front of her as her bones threatened to melt. “You have incredible passions within you that the right man would be a fool not to release.”

  She tried to pay his enticing touch no mind, but it was impossible. “Certainly you are not offering marriage.”

  He chuckled. “Certainly not. I am what the Germans call a Hagestolz, a confirmed bachelor. I might like hooking up a pretty lady, but that does not mean I wish it to be the same one night after night.”

  Michelle did not answer. This personal, very frank conversation unnerved her. He had hinted that they might be in Vienna for several months. Alexei was a virile man. While she portrayed his mistress, he would have fewer opportunities to become involved with another woman. Only fewer, she acknowledged, because she did not doubt that Alexei could do anything he set his mind to.

  “I did not mean to embarrass you, Liebchen.”

  At the unexpected apology, Michelle looked into the mirror and saw his face too close to hers. She could taste his mouth again if she tilted her head so very slightly. Lowering her eyes to stare at the reflection of her clenched hands, she said, “You must remember that I am still Fraulein D’Orage of St. Bernard’s School for Girls.”

  “Only if you want to be.” He traced the curve of her lips. “Look at these, and tell me what man could resist them.” His finger continued along her jaw to pause just below her ear. He twisted a strand of her hair around it. “This black silk is obscured within your conservative bun.” His lips seared fire against her nape. “But to think of it loose and flowing along you when—”

  “Alexei, stop!” She had intended to chide him, but the words came out as a desperate plea. With so few words, he was creating captivating fantasies, fantasies in which the man sampling her lips was Alexei Vatutin.

  “Why, Liebchen?”

  She remained silent, knowing she risked speaking the truth if she opened her mouth. Would he laugh if she told him how much she wanted him to kiss her now?

  He sighed, stepping away. “When this is finished, I shall find you a list of suitable suitors.”

  “A list?” Facing him, she asked, “Do you think I wish to go from mistress to courtesan?”

  He began to chuckle. When she asked what was so amusing, his answer was nearly lost amid his laughter. “You are so fetching when you endeavor to be a proper lady, Michelle. Why don’t you be yourself?”

  “This is me.”

  “No,” he stated, abruptly serious. “No, the prim Fraulein D’Orage is just what you have learned to be. Inside you is a woman who is as fierce as a dragon, snorting fire at anyone who gets in her way.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Is that so? I did not realize that you were such an expert on me, but I should have known that Alexei Vatutin is an expert on everything. At least, in his own mind.”

  “There.” He grinned. “St. Bernard’s language mistress would never say such a thing.” He held out his arm. “Let’s go downstairs. We can argue just as easily there, and I can find something to stanch the wounds left by your glare.”

  When he started to lead her toward the door, she said, “Wait. I need to put on my shoes and stockings.”

  He scooped them up and handed them to her with a bow. Sitting on the bed, she put her thick stockings on her lap. “Now ’tis your turn to turn around, Alexei.”

  “Why?”

  “You have already seen too much of my limbs this evening.”

  Leaning forward, he gave her a roguish leer. He picked up one stocking and dangled it in front of her. Snatching it from him, she reached up to shove him aside. As she touched his chest, she froze, aching to explore its breadth. The mirth vanished from his eyes, disclosing a fierce glow. His mouth lowered toward hers.

  With a curse, he turned his back. “Get dressed! I am thirsty.”

  “Alexei—”

  “Get dressed!”

  Hurt by his harsh tone, she drew her stockings up beneath her skirt. What had happened? What she had seen on his face could not have been anything but desire—the same desire tormenting her as she thought of his eager kisses.

  Michelle sighed. She never would figure out this enigmatic man, and she was not sure if she wanted to. It would be best to forget about his touch and think only of the job she had been hired to do. That was impossible, she knew, as she lowered her skirts and bent to hook the buttons on her shoes.

  “Here. Let me help.” Alexei knelt again and swiftly closed her half boots. “Why do you wear these clumsy things? Ladies are wearing slippers now.”

  “Fashion is not important to me.”

  “That I have noticed.” When he offered his arm again, she put her hand on it gingerly.

  She was not sure if he would smile or lash out at her. He did neither. While they walked down the narrow steps to the common room, he said nothing.

  Her nose wrinkled at the odors left from too many meals. At supper, the meat and bread on her plate had resembled slops given to hogs. Her middle cramped, making her regret that she had eaten at all.

  Several men lounged about the room, but she was the only woman. The innkeeper stood behind a table that held a keg and a pyramid of pewter tankards. No candles were lit. The flames from the hearth offered the only light. No one seemed to mind, but she did not want to call attention to herself by tripping over an uneven board.

  Or more attention. Every eye was focused on her, including those of their coachman, who was laughing with several men she had never seen. She wanted to flick away their lecherous gazes and was grateful when Alexei motioned for her to sit. Her gratitude vanished when she saw the man across from her.

  “Good evening, Rusak,” she said softly, trying to be pleasant to this man who considered her an interloper. Whether Rusak was jealous or protective of Alexei, she could not guess. All she knew was that he despised her.

  When a mug of beer was placed in front of her, Alexei sat next to her and held up his own mug. “To our good fortune. May our good luck come quickly and frequently.” He took a hearty drink and wiped his foamy mustache with his sleeve. “Drink up, Michelle.”

  “I have never had beer before.”

  “Then ’tis time that you did.”

  She recognized the challenge in his voice. She did not look at him as she lifted the heavy tankard. Taking a deep breath, she drank. Beer splashed on the table as she choked on the acrid flavor. Alexei slapped her companionably on the back.

  “I am glad I am giving you a good laugh,” she said past her scratchy throat.

  “Actually, it is good beer.”

  She pushed her mug toward him. “Then have mine.”

  “All right.” He poured some in his tankard and held the rest up in Rusak’s direction. When Rusak nodded, he dumped the rest in his mug.

  Some message she could not understand passed between the two men. Alexei comprehended his friend as no one else could. They shared an alien language of glances and motions she doubted she could learn.

  When she rose, Alexei glanced up, surprised. “Are you leaving, Michelle?”

  “I am tired, and I am interfering with your fun.” She frowned. “Of course, you will have to find someone else to hoax once I have left. Good night, Alexei, Rusak.”

  Rusak nodded with satisfaction, but Alexei down
ed his beer in a single swallow and placed the mug on the table. He stood. “Get me a refill, Rusak. I shall be back.”

  “Don’t bother,” Michelle said. “I can walk up the stairs alone.”

  He put his arm around her waist and steered her toward the steps. “I am sure you can, Liebchen, but I do not like the way the men are watching you.”

  “Again?” When she started to turn, he pushed her up the stairs ahead of him.

  “Still,” he corrected. “Pretty ladies like you cause trouble without trying.”

  She did not answer. When they reached the narrow landing at the top of the stairs, he put his hand on her elbow. She faced him, but remained silent. Tonight she had not said anything right.

  “Good night, Liebchen. I shall be only a few minutes while I tell Rusak about our route tomorrow.”

  “Oh! You wanted to speak to me about Vienna.”

  He put his finger to her lips. “We will have time in the coach on the morrow. Go to bed now. I can lock the door if you wish.”

  “That might be a good idea,” she said, although she could think only of his fingers stroking her arm. The smallest movement might urge him to draw her into his arms again. Thoughts she should not have spiraled through her mind, but she must not do anything to show him how she longed for his kisses.

  Softly she repeated, “Good night, Alexei.”

  “Will fifteen minutes be enough for you to hide under the covers?”

  “Yes.”

  As she turned to the door, he brought her face back toward him. “Are you really tired?”

  “Yes.” She was tired of the upheavals in her life. Once things had been so simple, so straightforward, so undeniably right or wrong. Nothing was that way any longer. She wanted his mouth on hers and his hands touching her in ways she was only beginning to imagine. He would be glad to oblige before he sought out the next woman who might pass through his life.

  She closed the door and heard him lock it. She should be grateful Alexei was being a gentleman. The thought of wrestling with him to keep him out of her bed was not a pleasant one. Yet … Crossing the room, she pulled her nightgown from her bag. She undid her dress and pulled it over her head. The muslin nightgown dropped over her. Nothing relieved her baffling frustration. She did not know why she was upset when Alexei was doing exactly as she should wish.

  She pulled pins from her hair and stared at her hueless face. What she should wish. Not what she wished. Brushing her hair with short, ferocious strokes, she sighed.

  Everything was wrong, but she could not return to St. Bernard without getting answers to some questions—questions of her past and of Maman and of Alexei and of how all three interacted.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Blowing out the candle, she hastily climbed into bed and arranged the covers around her. She winced as the thin feather bed shifted to leave her on a wooden slat. When she was about to adjust it, she heard the key rattle.

  The door opened with a squeak. A splash of light flowed from the lantern on the landing. Burrowing under the covers, she knew that saying anything would be an invitation to another quarrel. With Alexei or with herself? That was another question she did not want to answer. All she wanted now was to dream of a place where no one hid the truth.

  He relocked the door before walking across the room. The floorboards screamed in the darkness. It was a sound she had not noticed earlier when she had been arguing with Alexei.

  When the footfalls neared the bed, she scowled. Alexei should have seen his pillow and blanket next to the broken chair. Sitting up, she asked, “Alexei, is there something wrong? If—”

  A hand seized her arm as another clamped over her mouth. She was shoved into the mattress. She tried to scramble away, but the hands were too strong.

  The shadows congealed into a form. She fought to escape. The bed screeched as the man put a knee on it. Shaking her head, she clawed at the hand over her mouth. It ground into her lips, driving them against her teeth.

  She struck the man. He batted her hands away. When the covers were jerked away, she shrieked. She heard a triumphant laugh as the hand over her mouth slipped to her throat. She took a deep breath to scream. Broad fingers cut into her neck, gagging her.

  She struggled to squirm away from the fingers moving along her legs. They tugged aside her nightgown. The thought of kicking him flitted through her head, but was lost as she struggled to release the breath imprisoned in her lungs and gasp for another. Blackness surrounded her.

  Nothing mattered.

  Not the questions that plagued her. Not Alexei and his strange ways. Not this man who reeked of beer and was stroking her legs boldly. None of it mattered. She was nothing. She was—

  Fresh air struck Michelle like a blow. She choked, rolling on her side and pressing her hand to her throat. She heard a fist striking someone and a grunt of pain. She sucked in deep breaths. A door slammed somewhere. Voices shouted. She paid no attention. Breathing was enough.

  “Michelle? Liebchen, are you hurt?”

  Hands settled on her shoulders. She screamed. When she was pulled against an unyielding body, she fought for only the second it took her to realize Alexei held her.

  “Alexei,” she whispered. “Alexei, it was horrible. He … He—”

  “Hush, Liebchen. He will not hurt you again.” His hand tilted her face up to his intense gaze. Only now did she realize that someone had relit the candle.

  Looking across the room, she saw Rusak by the door. Rage twisted his lips, but, for once, it was not aimed at her. Compassion softened his rigid mouth as he looked at her.

  “How did that man get in here?” she asked.

  Alexei’s smile was honed with fury. “As with everything else tonight, it was my fault. After I left you here, I went outside.”

  “Outside?”

  “For personal reasons.” His eyes twinkled for a moment before they darkened with fury. “Your caller got another key somehow. He bragged to his comrade. They thought Rusak was deaf as well as mute. When he overheard their plans for one to keep me busy while you entertained the other, Rusak found me. We have settled our accounts with our innkeeper and his allies.”

  She rose as far as her knees, but gripped the headboard to keep from falling. “Thank you, Rusak.”

  Grudgingly he nodded. He seemed grateful when Alexei asked him to bring the carriage from the rickety barn behind the Gasthaus. Picking up Michelle’s satchel and flinging her dress over his arm, Rusak hurried away.

  “Let’s go,” Alexei commanded. “I have had enough of this place.”

  “You are hurt!” She touched the scarlet mark along the sharp ridge of his left cheekbone.

  His smile became malevolent. Rubbing his reddened knuckles, he laughed. “Not as much as your caller. He shall be sporting at least one black eye on the morrow. If I had not been afraid of killing you, he would have met my pistol instead of my fist.”

  “Alexei!”

  “Do not scold me,” he said, framing her face with his hands. His eyes drilled her. “I was not there when Sophie could have used my help, and I will be damned before I let you get hurt, too.”

  “It was not your fault Maman died,” she whispered, wanting to comfort him for this raw wound.

  “Be careful what assumptions you make, Liebchen.”

  She inched back. “Are you saying it was your fault?”

  “I am saying,” he murmured as he held her lips close to his, “that things might have been different if I had been there.”

  “You might be dead, too.”

  “Or she might be alive.”

  “Alexei, you cannot fault yourself for something that is not your fault.”

  “I am glad you feel that way, Liebchen, because it is not my fault that I want to kiss you so much. ’Tis yours.” His smile warmed as he tipped her lips beneath his.

  She breathed his name in anticipation of rapture, then gasped as he turned her face and kissed her lightly on the cheek. With a laugh, he draped the blanket over her shou
lders and scooped her into his arms.

  “Wrap the covers around your legs, Liebchen. ’Tis cold out.”

  “I cannot go out in my nightgown!”

  “It covers you well enough.” All amusement left his face. “Michelle, we will not stay here tonight.”

  Relenting, because she knew he was being wise—wiser than she was when she could think of nothing but his kiss—she leaned her head on his shoulder. He was correct. If they stayed at the Gasthaus, they must guard all night against another attack. As she imagined the long hours ahead of them, she hoped Alexei would hold her close as he did while he carried her toward the stairs. Nothing had ever been so splendid as being in his arms.

  She knew the peril she was courting with these thoughts, but, as she rested against his broad chest, she savored them. There could be no danger in that … could there?

  Michelle was surprised to see that Rusak was seated in the driver’s seat of the carriage. As the snow cut through the blanket, she asked, “Where is your coachee?”

  “He is no longer in my employ.”

  “You gave him his leave? Because …”

  He pushed aside the carriage door with his foot and lifted her onto the seat. “He was talking more than he should when the beer loosened his tongue.” Stepping into the carriage, he lit the small lantern near its roof. “And I suspect he helped your caller.”

  “Why?”

  “Who knows why any man will sell his loyalty in exchange for gold?” He closed the door and slapped the wall. “It does not concern me, for Rusak can drive us the rest of the way to Vienna while you play my devoted mistress, Liebchen.”

  She drew the blanket more tightly around her. “I wish you would not call me that.”

  “Now, now,” he teased as he wagged a finger at her. “Bad habits take a while to develop. We shall be in Vienna soon, and I must be able to call you that without thinking.”

  “As long as you do not expect me to call you darling, too.”

  He laughed as he stretched his arm along the back of the seat and crossed his legs so that his boot brushed the blanket. “No, Michelle, I do not expect you to call me anything but Alexei. For a woman educated at that prim school, I think that in itself is quite a concession.”