"Yes!" Camille spoke the word clearly.
"Well done, Camille." He pushed strands of dark hair away from her face, tucking them behind one ear.
"You are to sit in the chair. I need you to stay awake for a short time. Camille, you must do as I have instructed. If you are a good girl, I will let you go back to sleep. If you do not do as I tell you, you will be kept awake all night. You must do as I say."
Her eyes snapped open, her face crumpled for a moment as if she was on the verge of tears. "Yes, sir, I understand."
Dmitri wiped her eyes with the lapel of the dressing gown. "Gregor, find the Captain, please. We are ready now."
With a shake of his head, Gregor left the cabin. Dmitri helped Camille over to the chair and then moved to stand behind it. He could not recall a time when he had felt more ashamed of himself. Dmitri stroked the girl's hair, as he asked her questions to keep her awake.
Samuel Devins entered the cabin. A look of surprise flitted across the Captain’s features as he paused just inside the doorway. Dmitri understood the man had questions he had no intention of answering.
"You will begin now Captain." Dmitri observed the Captain's hesitation and took advantage of it. Devins would not be allowed to question Camille.
The Russian’s command caught the Captain off guard. He automatically responded and began to read the ceremony. When Devins came to Camille's part, Bressoff bent his head to whisper in her ear. Camille turned her head to look up at the Count.
"Yes." Her reply was prompt and precise.
Devins noted his niece was concentrating all her attention on the man who held her hand in his. She appeared in command of herself.
Dmitri saw Devins' confusion. He held the girl's hand tighter. Good! He thought. Let the bastard wonder. It serves him right!
Devins pronounced them man and wife. When he would have stepped forward to speak to Camille, he found himself being steered firmly toward the cabin door and out onto the deck by the Count's man. Realizing Bressoff had been pushed far enough, Devins quietly made his way back to his cabin. He had accomplished his purpose, which was sufficient.
Dmitri swung his new bride up into his arms. Her eyes closed, then jerked open. "Well done, Camille. You may rest now."
"Sleep?" Her voice was husky, as she slurred the word. Her hazel eyes seemed to focus on him for a moment.
"Yes. You may sleep now."
Long dark lashes fell gently onto her flushed cheeks. Ever so slowly, her dark head slipped down against his chest.
For a moment, Dmitri felt sympathy for the girl who lay so trusting in his arms. Then anger once again boiled through him, as he thought of the man who just joined them in marriage. It was clear to Dmitri how her uncle had manipulated the situation. He did not even know this child, yet now; they were saddled with each other until death.
As he carried the young woman from her cabin to his, Dmitri's resentment grew. He had thought about marrying again. However, this was preposterous! How on earth would they survive each other on the island he called home? How would Camille and Anya get along? He knew Devins felt he was the victor, having rid himself of the girl, as well as having gained a wealthy relative.
Dmitri hated Devins. Perhaps he even hated the girl for the position he now found himself in. But Dmitri hated himself, as well. It was possible he detested himself more than he hated either the Captain or the Captain's niece.
Dmitri was careful to restrain himself when he finally reached his cabin, where he placed the female in his bed. Somehow, he must deal with things as they now were.
Removing his clothing, Dmitri let it fall to the floor. Pulling down the bed covers, he maneuvered Camille out of the dressing gown. Dmitri lifted her and deposited the limp young woman gently into bed on the far side of the mattress. After pulling the covers over them both, he turned to blow out the lamp. Dmitri lay awake beside her for hours, thinking. Shortly before daylight, he fell asleep.
With a jolt, Dmitri woke as he felt the girl stir beside him. Her movement had roused him. Very soon, the girl would be awake. He lay quietly beside her for a moment longer. Dmitri was exhausted, yet he still felt the residue of his anger hovering on the fringes of his thoughts.
Today would be very difficult for all of them. He must not, must not, lose his temper. Dmitri sighed, then rose cautiously from the bed, anxious not to wake Camille. The longer she slept, the longer he would have to come to terms with the situation. Also, the more time he would have, before having to give Camille an explanation. He opened the connecting door to his cabin and Gregor's cubbyhole.
"Gregor," he called softly. The little man was instantly awake. Gregor was an even lighter sleeper than he. Gregor smiled at Dmitri.
"Coffee and rolls for two please, Uncle."
Gregor yawned. "Of course, Nephew."
The older Tlingit man sat up and began to pull on his pants. "Oh, sir, did you wish preserves as well?"
Dmitri nodded in the affirmative. He was also acknowledging by Gregor's use of the word "sir", they were back to their business relationship. Dmitri closed the door quietly.
Gregor was his wife's mother's brother. When they were among the Tlingit side of his family, it was Gregor, his uncle, who was treated differentially by Dmitri, the young nephew-in-law.
In this society, things were the other way around. He might have chosen someone else to act as his servant in the society in which he must travel for business reasons. However, Gregor was family. The Tlingit elder took care of Dmitri in ways other people could only guess at.
Camille moaned behind him, causing a tight knot of anxiety to form in his chest. The girl tossed the covers aside. Dmitri dreaded the coming hours. He did not wish to see her eyes open.
For one instant, Dmitri wished she had overdosed on the drug, so he would never have to face the accusations that would soon be forthcoming. Dmitri caught sight of his face in the dressing table mirror.
Had he wished her dead? He collapsed in the chair and clasped his shaking hands together.
God forgive me! He thought. Dmitri buried his fleeting wish to be free of Camille deep within his consciousness. He could not and would not hurt her. This situation was his fault. His lustful desires had trapped them both.
It was imperative he remember who the guilty party was here. Camille was innocent of all wrongdoing; he was the culprit. As such, he would bear the brunt of it. Dmitri promised her silently to protect and provide for her. He could not promise more.
Dmitri rose from the chair to dress, as he waited for Gregor's return. The routine of choosing clothing, which befitted his station in life, was a calming influence.
He picked out clean silk undergarments, then hose. He then slipped into navy blue pipe stem pants. After putting on a white shirt, finished with a navy blue cravat, he felt somewhat armored against what might transpire in the future. His businessman persona was firmly in place.
The elder entered silently and placed the breakfast tray on a small table near the bed.
Dmitri finished buttoning the navy and fawn checked vest, then turned to Gregor. "Thank you, Gregor. However, from now on you must remember to announce your presence."
"Ah. True." Gregor glanced pointedly at the bed, where his new mistress lay asleep. "I am sorry, I forgot."
"No matter, Gregor. There will be changes for all of us now."
With a slight bow, the old man left the cabin. Dmitri brushed his hair, then adjusted the eye patch. He made sure the thin strap securing it was hidden beneath his blonde hair. It was a foolish vanity on his part, it should not matter if the strap showed, but it did.
Turning from the mirror, Dmitri stood by the bed. She was almost awake. He turned the chair around to sit astraddle of it. After folding his arms over the back of the chair, Dmitri put his chin down on his arms and stared at the girl in his bed. In the morning light, her cheeks were smooth and pale. She was small and softly rounded.
"Camille." Softly, he called her name. It was time. He would wake her, which
perhaps might allow him to retain some control over the coming confrontation. She stirred and Dmitri called her name again.
***
Camille opened her eyes. Wide eyed, she stared at her surroundings in surprise. Someone, Count Bressoff, sat on a chair next to the bed. "Why are you here?"
Her voice was still husky. Dmitri decided it must be her normal tone of voice. Becoming more aware of her surroundings, Camille pushed herself into a sitting position. Pulling the coverlet around her breasts, she tucked it tightly under her arms.
"Count, if you do not answer me, I shall be forced to scream."
"Be quiet, Camille." The flatness of his tone shocked her into silence. "You are in my cabin, little girl."
Camille's hand flew to her mouth, her face flushed.
"It is all quite proper."
Camille winced at the anger in his words.
"Your uncle married us last night. You are now my wife and the Countess Bressoff."
"I do not know you!"
Her lower lip quivered. Suddenly enraged at himself, for having been caught with this child, his control shattered. "I know you intimately, as of last night." He spat the words out.
"Mon Dieu!" She whispered. "What has happened?"
"Unfortunately, you took too much laudanum last night, my dear, and I, I had too much brandy entirely." Dmitri acknowledged his part in the proceedings.
"How did this all culminate in marriage?"
"Damn it, woman, do you want details? Then think on this. You are no longer a virgin. You are my wife, and as soon as Mrs. Coapes reaches San Francisco after her little jaunt to Sitka, everyone will know the one and surmise the other."
As he watched, tears welled up, then slid from her large sad eyes down her cheeks.
"Damn it!" Dmitri cursed under his breath, as he searched for his handkerchief. Would he never stop feeling like a monster around the child? For all his good intentions, he lost control again.
"Here." He tossed her the handkerchief. "Would you care for some coffee? Perhaps it will help to alleviate the cobwebs."
Dmitri tried to moderate his tone to something nearly normal, as he rose from the chair, then crossed to the table where the breakfast tray sat. "Do you want sugar?"
He did not look at her. Camille was grateful for the opportunity to compose herself. She pulled a pillow up, then tucked it between herself and the wall behind her.
"Yes..and..." She hesitated.
"What else would you like, Camille?"
"Cream please, if there is any. I like my coffee au lait if you don't mind."
"Certainly. There are rolls with butter and preserves. Would you like one of those as well?"
"Yes, thank you." It occurred to Camille, perhaps it was better to preserve the amenities for the moment, and she did need food.
He buttered two rolls and then spread jam on them. Camille watched him walk toward the bed, carrying her roll and coffee. He silently handed her the plate, then the cup and saucer. Turning away, the Count then went back for his breakfast.
He moved with an easy grace; she had not noticed in other men his age. Attempting to watch him covertly, Camille tried to take stock of the man who was now her husband as she watched him return to the chair at her bedside.
Camille flushed, as the first thought left her mind to be replaced by another, which was slightly terrifying. The man had married her, spent the night with her and she was unable to recall anything, but the haziest of visions.
Never again, she vowed to herself, would she take laudanum. Headaches and nightmares were preferable to waking up with no memory of the previous evening. The Count spun the chair around with his foot and sat down in it facing her.
As he drank his coffee, Dmitri watched her break off pieces of roll, which she delicately nibbled between sips of coffee. When he felt his temper was sufficiently under control, he attempted to discuss the matter with her again.
"There was no choice for either of us, Camille. It was necessary we be married last night."
She glanced up at him for an instant, then down again, far too quickly for him to discern what she might be thinking. The girl quietly took another sip of coffee.
"Were we married before I came to your bed last night, or after?"
Her softly spoken question surprised him for a brief instant. He would spare her if she allowed it.
"It was before." Dmitri deliberately placed his cup on the saucer.
Her cup rattled slightly in the saucer, as she placed it down on the bed beside her. Camille picked up the roll. "How did it all come about? I just do not understand." Her voice broke slightly. Camille was careful to keep her face averted, as she nibbled at the roll.
Dmitri sensed her control was marginal. Tears and God only knew what else, lurked beneath her facade. His hatred of Devins rose into his throat in a sour knot, which threatened to choke him.
Devins! He thought. Perhaps, she has as much reason to dislike the man as I have.
"Have you been happy living with your uncle, Camille?"
She shook her head negatively, still unable to face the stern looking man who was now her master.
Frank! How could you leave me to this? Camille called out to her dead husband, from the safety of her mind.
He had been young and as inexperienced as she. A cheerful, smiling young man, Frank was the direct opposite of her uncle. Now she was faced with another older man she must deal with. Silently, she prayed he was not always this grim.
"As my wife, you will be free of your uncle forever. He forced this on us. It is up to us to make the best of things. Please leave it at that, Camille."
There was a mystery here the Count wished buried. He apparently was a victim of her uncle's manipulations as well. As much as he wished the events of last night forgotten, it was impossible. Somehow, someway, she would find out what had happened. If not from Count Bressoff, she would learn the truth from someone else.
She stared at the Russian for a moment. "I will not ask you about last night again."
He evidently expected that would be her answer. Bressoff picked up his cup to drain it without comment. The Count balanced the empty cup and saucer on his knee.
"There are some questions I must ask of you, Camille. As a Countess and my wife, your behavior must be impeccable. There are a few of the aristocracy left in Sitka, and once in a great while, I visit my estates in Russia. I have a cousin who is content to remain there; she runs everything. There will not be many occasions during which you will have to act as befits your station, yet they will occur. I must know about your background."
For the first time, Dmitri saw anger on Camille's face. Her dark head lifted and her large hazel eyes glinted, as she stared at him, chin in the air.
"I was a LaTours before my first marriage. My parents were among the cream of Creole society. We also had an estate before the Yankee carpetbaggers, among them, my uncle bled the Confederate States dry. My childhood was spent in gentile poverty monsieur, however; I was brought up a lady.
Taking a breath, she continued. "New Orleans is not some back woods settlement. I would wager New Orleans has more to offer than the little island that is your present home, or the entire extent of ‘Seward's Folly’".
Her hair was sable brown and tumbled around her in a delightful fashion. Anger brought color to her cheeks. Dmitri realized she was a pretty child, even if a bit too thin.
Camille had obviously been distraught over the loss of her husband. Mourning had taken its toll. Dmitri recalled how he had looked the year after Anya's death.
Dismayed by her outburst of anger, Camille hoped her tongue had not propelled her into an argument with the man. However, as she watched, he seemed to close up, vanishing into his thoughts. Unsure of what to do next, Camille turned her attention to the remainder of her roll. Hurriedly, she ate it.
Watching the Count through lowered lashes, Camille determined he was a handsome man, outwardly. There was so much she must learn about him. Her outburst had been ignored th
is time, but how would he treat her in the future?
Was she truly caught in this trap? She had only his word for it. Perhaps she could discover what took place from her Uncle Samuel if she were careful with her questions. Would Devins help her to escape Count Bressoff?
Camille decided to discuss the matter with Devins as soon as possible. Discretion would be necessary. If she were to believe Bressoff, her Uncle Samuel had somehow engineered the marriage. It was possible. Devins was pushing her toward Barrow the entire length of their stay in Seattle.
Her uncle also lectured Camille on the advantages of marrying a man of property. What good was property? Something beyond your control, war or disaster, could easily take away property. She wanted more from marriage.
Whatever happened last night, had caused Bressoff to become enraged with her uncle. How Uncle Samuel felt about the matter was another unknown part of the puzzle. It would be necessary for her to obtain information, without allowing her uncle to realize her lack of it.
Dmitri rose, placed the empty cup and saucer on the table and then glanced at Camille. "I believe I shall go on deck for a while. Is there anything you would like before I leave?"
"Clothing." She waved a hand at herself and the bed. "I still need something to wear."
He nodded. "My valet, Gregor, will attend you when I leave. Is that all, Camille?"
"You know my first name, as well as many things about me. I, in turn, know only that you are Count Dmitri Bressoff. As a wife, I believe I might know a bit more."
A trace of a smile lifted the corners of her full lips. The petulant droop disappeared. Struck by the promise of sensual womanhood he observed in her, Dmitri stared at Camille, as he shrugged into the navy blue coat.
"Have I said something wrong, monsieur?" The smile left her face.
"Not at all, my child."
Seating a fawn colored hat upon his head with a slight pat, he reached for his red cedar walking stick. "My full name is Dmitri Ivan Osvic Bressoff. We will talk about my antecedents tonight over dinner. I am sure you have many questions."
He grinned at her, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "For now, I am off to still the tongues of the curious."
Behind the Raven Mask Page 3