by Nora Roberts
“Mikhail.” Sydney managed to draw back an inch.
“I’m not finished yet.”
One hand braced against his chest as she gestured helplessly with the other. “My mother…”
He glanced over, caught the white-faced fury and shifted Sydney easily to his side. A subtle gesture of protection. “Margerite.”
“Isn’t there a rule,” she said stiffly, “about mixing business and pleasure?” She lifted her brows as her gaze skimmed over him. “But then, you wouldn’t be a rule follower, would you, Mikhail?”
“Some rules are important, some are not.” His voice was gentle, but without regret and without apology. “Honesty is important, Margerite. I was honest with you.”
She turned away, refusing to acknowledge the truth of that. “I’d prefer a moment with you, alone, Sydney.”
There was a pounding at the base of her skull as she looked at her mother’s rigid back. “Mikhail, would you take my bag to the car? I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
He cupped her chin, troubled by what he read in her eyes. “I’ll stay with you.”
“No.” She put a hand to his wrist. “It would be best if you left us alone. Just a few minutes.” Her fingers tightened. “Please.”
She left him no choice. Muttering to himself, he picked up her suitcase. The moment the door closed behind him, Margerite whirled. Sydney was already braced. It was rare, very rare for Margerite to go on a tirade. But when she did, it was always an ugly scene with vicious words.
“You fool. You’ve been sleeping with him.”
“I don’t see that as your concern. But, yes, I have.”
“Do you think you have the sense or skill to handle a man like that?” There was the crack of glass against wood as she slapped the little crystal goblet onto the table. “This sordid little liaison could ruin you, ruin everything I’ve worked for. God knows you did enough damage by divorcing Peter, but I managed to put that right. Now this. Sneaking off for a weekend at some motel.”
Sydney’s fists balled at her sides. “There is nothing sordid about my relationship with Mikhail, and I’m not sneaking anywhere. As for Peter, I will not discuss him with you.”
Eyes hard, Margerite stepped forward. “From the day you were born, I used everything at my disposal to be certain you had what you deserved as a Hayward. The finest schools, the proper friends, even the right husband. Now, you’re tossing it all back at me, all the planning, all the sacrificing. And for what?”
She whirled around the room as Sydney remained stiff and silent.
“Oh, believe me, I understand that man’s appeal. I’d even toyed with the idea of having a discreet affair with him myself.” The wound to her vanity was raw and throbbing. “A woman’s entitled to a wild fling with a magnificent animal now and again. And his artistic talents and reputation are certainly in his favor. But his background is nothing, less than nothing. Gypsies and farmers and peasants. I have the experience to handle him—had I chosen to. I also have no ties at the moment to make an affair awkward. You, however, are on the verge of making a commitment to Channing. Do you think he’d have you if he ever learned you’d been taking that magnificent brute to bed?”
“That’s enough.” Sydney moved forward to take her mother’s arm. “That’s past enough. For someone who’s so proud of the Hayward lineage, you certainly made no attempt to keep the name yourself. It was always my burden to be a proper Hayward, to do nothing to damage the Hayward name. Well, I’ve been a proper Hayward, and right now I’m working day and night to be certain the Hayward name remains above reproach. But my personal time, and whom I decide to spend that personal time with, is my business.”
Pale with shock, Margerite jerked her hand away. Not once, from the day she’d been born, had Sydney spoken to her in such a manner. “Don’t you dare use that tone with me. Are you so blinded with lust that you’ve forgotten where your loyalties lie?”
“I’ve never forgotten my loyalties,” Sydney tossed back. “And at the moment, this is the most reasonable tone I can summon.” It surprised her as well, this fast, torrid venom, but she couldn’t stop it. “Listen to me, Mother, as far as Channing goes, I have never been on the verge of making a commitment to him, nor do I ever intend to do so. That’s what you intended. And I will never, never, be pressured into making that kind of commitment again. If it would help disabuse Channing of the notion, I’d gladly take out a full-page ad in the Times announcing my relationship with Mikhail. As to that, you know nothing about Mikhail’s family, you know nothing about him, as a man. You never got beyond his looks.”
Margerite’s chin lifted. “And you have?”
“Yes, I have, and he’s a caring, compassionate man. An honest man who knows what he wants out of life and goes after it. You’d understand that, but the difference is he’d never use or hurt anyone to get it. He loves me. And I…” It flashed through her like light, clear, warm and utterly simple. “I love him.”
“Love?” Stunned, Margerite reared back. “Now I know you’ve taken leave of your senses. My God, Sydney, do you believe everything a man says in bed?”
“I believe what Mikhail says. Now, I’m keeping him waiting, and we have a long trip to make.”
Head high, chin set, Margerite streamed toward the door, then tossed a last look over her shoulder. “He’ll break your heart, and make a fool of you in the bargain. But perhaps that’s what you need to remind you of your responsibilities.”
When the door snapped shut, Sydney lowered onto the arm of the sofa. Mikhail would have to wait another moment.
He wasn’t waiting; he was prowling. Back and forth in front of the garage elevators he paced, hands jammed into his pockets, thoughts as black as smoke. When the elevator doors slid open, he was on Sydney in a heartbeat.
“Are you all right?” He had her face in his hands. “No, I can see you are not.”
“I am, really. It was unpleasant. Family arguments always are.”
For him, family arguments were fierce and furious and inventive. They could either leave him enraged or laughing, but never drained as she was now. “Come, we can go upstairs, leave in the morning when you’re feeling better.”
“No, I’d like to go now.”
“I’m sorry.” He kissed both of her hands. “I don’t like to cause bad feelings between you and your mama.”
“It wasn’t you. Really.” Because she needed it, she rested her head on his chest, soothed when his arms came around her. “It was old business, Mikhail, buried too long. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You keep too much from me, Sydney.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes, feeling her stomach muscles dance, her throat drying up. It couldn’t be so hard to say the words. “I love you, Mikhail.”
The hand stroking her back went still, then dived into her hair to draw her head back. His eyes were intense, like two dark suns searching hers. He saw what he wanted to see, what he needed desperately to see. “So, you’ve stopped being stubborn.” His voice was thick with emotion, and his mouth, when it met hers, gave her more than dozens of soft endearments. “You can tell me again while we drive. I like to hear it.”
Laughing, she linked an arm through his as they walked to the car. “All right.”
“And while you drive, I tell you.”
Eyes wide, she stopped. “I drive?”
“Yes.” He opened the passenger door for her. “I start, then you have a turn. You have license, yes?”
She glanced dubiously at the gauges on the dash. “Yes.”
“You aren’t afraid?”
She looked back up to see him grinning. “Not tonight, I’m not.”
It was after midnight when Mikhail pulled up at the big brick house in Shepherdstown. It was cooler now. There wasn’t a cloud in the star-scattered sky to hold in the heat. Beside him, Sydney slept with her head resting on a curled fist. He remembered that she had taken the wheel on the turnpike, driving from New Jersey into Delaware with
verve and enthusiasm. Soon after they’d crossed the border into Maryland and she’d snuggled into the passenger seat again, she’d drifted off.
Always he had known he would love like this. That he would find the one woman who would change the zigzagging course of his life into a smooth circle. She was with him now, dreaming in an open car on a quiet road.
When he looked at her, he could envision how their lives would be. Not perfectly. To see perfectly meant there would be no surprises. But he could imagine waking beside her in the morning, in the big bedroom of the old house they would buy and make into a home together. He could see her coming home at night, wearing one of those pretty suits, her face reflecting the annoyance or the success of the day. And they would sit together and talk, of her work, of his.
One day, her body would grow ripe with child. He would feel their son or daughter move inside her. And they would fill their home with children and watch them grow.
But he was moving too quickly. They had come far already, and he wanted to treasure each moment.
He leaned over to nuzzle his lips over her throat. “I’ve crossed the states with you, milaya.” She stirred, murmuring sleepily. “Over rivers and mountains. Kiss me.”
She came awake with his mouth warm on hers and her hand resting against his cheek. She felt the flutter of a night breeze on her skin and smelled the fragrance of roses and honeysuckle. And the stir of desire was just as warm, just as sweet.
“Where are we?”
“The sign said, Wild, Wonderful West Virginia.” He nipped at her lip. “You will tell me if you think it is so.”
Any place, any place at all was wild and wonderful, when he was there, she thought as her arms came around him. He gave a quiet groan, then a grunt as the gearshift pressed into a particularly sensitive portion of his anatomy. “I must be getting old. It is not so easy as it was to seduce a woman in a car.”
“I thought you were doing a pretty good job.”
He felt the quick excitement stir his blood, fantasized briefly, then shook his head. “I’m intimidated because my mama may peek out the window any minute. Come. We’ll find your bed, then I’ll sneak into it.”
She laughed as he unfolded his long legs out of the open door. “Now I’m intimidated.” Pushing her hair back, she turned to look at the house. It was big and brick, with lights glowing gold in the windows of the first floor. Huge leafy trees shaded it, pretty box hedges shielded it from the street.
When Mikhail joined her with their bags, they started up the stone steps that cut through the slope of lawn. And here were the flowers, the roses she had smelled, and dozens of others. No formal garden this, but a splashy display that seemed to grow wild and willfully. She saw the shadow of a tricycle near the porch. In the spill of light from the windows, she noted that a bed of petunias had been recently and ruthlessly dug up.
“I think Ivan has been to work,” Mikhail commented, noting the direction of Sydney’s gaze. “If he is smart, he hides until it’s time to go home again.”
Before they had crossed the porch, she heard the laughter and music.
“It sounds as though they’re up,” Sydney said. “I thought they might have gone to bed.”
“We have only two days together. We won’t spend much of it sleeping.” He opened the screen door and entered without knocking. After setting the bags near the stairs, then taking Sydney’s hand, he dragged her down the hall toward the party sounds.
Sydney could feel her reserve settling back into place. She couldn’t help it. All the early training, all the years of schooling had drummed into her the proper way to greet strangers. Politely, coolly, giving no more of yourself than a firm handshake and a quiet “how do you do.”
She’d hardly made the adjustment when Mikhail burst into the music room, tugging her with him.
“Ha,” he said, and swooped down on a small, gorgeous woman in a purple sundress. She laughed when he scooped her up, her black mane of curling hair flying out as he swung her in a circle.
“You’re always late,” Natasha said. She kissed her brother on both cheeks then the lips. “What did you bring me?”
“Maybe I have something in my bag for you.” He set her on her feet, then turned to the man at the piano. “You take good care of her?”
“When she lets me.” Spence Kimball rose to clasp hands with Mikhail. “She’s been fretting for you for an hour.”
“I don’t fret,” Natasha corrected, turning to Sydney. She smiled—the warmth was automatic—though what she saw concerned her. This cool, distant woman was the one her family insisted Mikhail was in love with? “You haven’t introduced me to your friend.”
“Sydney Hayward.” A little impatient by the way Sydney hung back, he nudged her forward. “My sister, Natasha.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Sydney offered a hand. “I’m sorry about being so late. It’s really my fault.”
“I was only teasing. You’re welcome here. You already know my family.” They were gathering around Mikhail as if it had been years since the last meeting. “And this is my husband, Spence.”
But he was stepping forward, puzzlement and pleasure in his eyes. “Sydney? Sydney Hayward?”
She turned, the practiced smile in place. It turned to surprise and genuine delight. “Spence Kimball. I had no idea.” Offering both hands, she gripped his. “Mother told me you’d moved south and remarried.”
“You’ve met,” Natasha observed, exchanging looks with her own mother as Nadia brought over fresh glasses of wine.
“I’ve known Sydney since she was Freddie’s age,” Spence answered, referring to his eldest daughter. “I haven’t seen her since…” He trailed off, remembering the last time had been at her wedding. Spence may have been out of touch with New York society in recent years, but he was well aware the marriage hadn’t worked out.
“It’s been a long time,” Sydney murmured, understanding perfectly.
“Is small world,” Yuri put in, slapping Spence on the back with fierce affection. “Sydney is owner of building where Mikhail lives. Until she pays attention to him, he sulks.”
“I don’t sulk.” Grumbling a bit, Mikhail took his father’s glass and tossed back the remaining vodka in it. “I convince. Now she is crazy for me.”
“Back up, everyone,” Rachel put in, “his ego’s expanding again.”
Mikhail merely reached over and twisted his sister’s nose. “Tell them you’re crazy for me,” he ordered Sydney, “so this one eats her words.”
Sydney lifted a brow. “How do you manage to speak when your mouth’s so full of arrogance?”
Alex hooted and sprawled onto the couch. “She has your number, Mikhail. Come over here, Sydney, and sit beside me. I’m humble.”
“You tease her enough for tonight.” Nadia shot Alex a daunting look. “You are tired after your drive?” she asked Sydney.
“A little. I—”
“I’m sorry.” Instantly Natasha was at her side. “Of course you’re tired. I’ll show you your room.” She was already leading Sydney out. “If you like you can rest, or come back down. We want you to be at home while you’re here.”
“Thank you,” Sydney replied. Before she could reach for her bag, Natasha had hefted it. “It’s kind of you to have me.”
Natasha merely glanced over her shoulder. “You’re my brother’s friend, so you’re mine.” But she certainly intended to grill Spence before the night was over.
At the end of the hall, she took Sydney into a small room with a narrow four-poster. Faded rugs were tossed over a gleaming oak floor. Snapdragons spiked out of an old milk bottle on a table by the window where gauzy Priscillas fluttered in the breeze.
“I hope you’re comfortable here.” Natasha set the suitcase on a cherrywood trunk at the foot of the bed.
“It’s charming.” The room smelled of the cedar wardrobe against the wall and the rose petals scattered in a bowl on the nightstand. “I’m very happy to meet Mikhail’s sister, and the wife of a
n old friend. I’d heard Spence was teaching music at a university.”
“He teaches at Shepherd College. And he composes again.”
“That’s wonderful. He’s tremendously talented.” Feeling awkward, she traced a finger over the wedding ring quilt. “I remember his little girl, Freddie.”
“She is ten now.” Natasha’s smile warmed. “She tried to wait up for Mikhail, but fell asleep on the couch.” Her chin angled. “She took Ivan with her to bed, thinking I would not strangle him there. He dug up my petunias. Tomorrow, I think…”
She trailed off, head cocked.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, it’s Katie, our baby.” Automatically Natasha laid a hand on her breast where her milk waited. “She wakes for a midnight snack. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course.”
At the door, Natasha hesitated. She could go with her instincts or her observations. She’d always trusted her instincts. “Would you like to see her?”
After only an instant’s hesitation, Sydney’s lips curved. “Yes, very much.”
Across the hall and three doors down, the sound of the child’s restless crying was louder. The room was softly lit by a nightlight in the shape of a pink sea horse.
“There, sweetheart.” Natasha murmured in two languages as she lifted her baby from the crib. “Mama’s here now.” As the crying turned to a soft whimpering, Natasha turned to see Spence at the doorway. “I have her. She’s wet and hungry, that’s all.”
But he had to come in. He never tired of looking at his youngest child, that perfect and beautiful replica of the woman he’d fallen in love with. Bending close, his cheek brushing his wife’s, he stroked a finger over Katie’s. The whimpering stopped completely, and the gurgling began.
“You’re just showing off for Sydney,” Natasha said with a laugh.
While Sydney watched, they cuddled the baby. There was a look exchanged over the small dark head, a look of such intimacy and love and power that it brought tears burning in her throat. Unbearably moved, she slipped out silently and left them alone.