When he followed her eyes and noticed that behind him stood a little girl of about ten years of age. Something about her reminded him of Helen as a child, and his heart ached a little for the girl Helen had been, knowing she had felt unwanted. The girl was thin, with clear porcelain skin and mousy dark hair that hung in partly unbrushed tresses. She had dark-gray eyes, long eyelashes, and thin lips. In her arms, she was hugging a rag doll that looked as if she was made of burlap.
Roman stepped aside a little, hoping he had not slighted the girl and wondering how it was possible he had not seen her standing there when he entered.
“Hello there,” Helen said in Russian. “I have not met you yet, have I?”
The girl hugged the doll closer and shook her head.
“What is your name?”
The girl pressed her lips together and crushed the dolly against her chest.
“This is Irina,” Pogozhin said. “Do not be shy, Irina, talk to the lady. She came all the way from England.”
Helen sank to her knees and smiled warmly at Irina, then looked at Roman. “Can you please ask her if she made the dolly? She looks very pretty.”
Irina looked up at Roman and raised her brows. Roman translated.
“No,” Irina said. “I found her. She is an orphan, nobody wanted her.”
When Roman translated it back to Helen, his throat scratched.
Helen swallowed, her eyes glistening. “You are very kind, Irina. The dolly loves you very much for not abandoning her.”
Roman translated and Irina smiled shyly. “She was afraid no one would notice her. But I told her I always will.”
Helen’s eyes brightened. “We went ice-skating today. Do you like ice-skating?”
Irina beamed. “I do not know how, but I always wanted to try.”
“Would it be possible, Monsieur Pogozhin? I should be delighted to take the girls out ice-skating. With your permission, of course, and with the supervision of the governesses.”
Pogozhin smiled. “Yes, we can arrange that. The sledging mountains should be up soon, and the girls have never seen them. Perhaps that would be an occasion?”
“Prince Roman?” she said.
“I do not see why not,” he said. Though the idea of entertaining a group of children did not appeal to him the way it clearly did to Helen, he couldn’t deny her when she looked at him with that hopeful, excited expression.
But what he’d said was not true. He could see many reasons why it was a terrible idea. The main one, of course, was that he was already looking forward to spending that day with her much more than he wanted to. The second one was that he was reluctant to share her attention with anyone in the limited time remaining before Alex’s return.
When they walked through the corridor, her eyes burned, and a smile lit her face. “Oh, Roman, thank you for bringing me here. This orphanage is in so much better shape than the one in London. I really would like to help here, especially if I am to stay.”
Roman stopped and frowned.
“I mean …” She shook her head, lowered her gaze and sighed. “I am sorry. I should not talk to you about this.”
Roman’s gut twisted. He should tell her. “I am exactly the person you should talk to. Do you not think he’ll return?”
She fiddled with her fingers. “Time is flying. You are clearly trying to distract me with all the ice-skating, soirees, activities, and visits. And all the meanwhile, no one in the house is talking about the fact that there has been not a word from him. And then—”
“Then what?” Roman said, breathing heavily.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
She opened the doors and marched outside towards the carriage. She didn’t answer him until they were both inside and the vehicle was moving.
“You,” she said.
Roman’s mouth went dry. “What about me?”
“Our kiss.”
“Helen, please stop answering me with such short sentences. What about it?”
She gasped, and her sweet pink lips opened in the most seductive way. “What about it? It should have never happened! I am engaged to your brother. The wedding is in ten days!”
He clenched his jaws to stop himself from drawing her to him and tasting her luscious mouth again.
“It was a mistake, Helen,” he said.
“Yes, of course. For the first time in my life, since my parents died, I feel like I have a family again—Prince Pavel and Princess Anna. I do not want anything to take it away from me.”
He should not feel anything for her. She was not his fiancée. So why did his chest ache when she said that? He should just let her be. But after seeing her with the orphans, he realized she must have felt so lonely growing up. And he wanted to know. “Do you still remember them? Your parents?”
She smiled and looked out of the window, her eyes lost in thought. “Just vaguely. Papa was a bit older. Maybe it just seemed that way to me. Well, he did marry late I was told. My uncle is Mama’s older brother. Mama—she was petite and dark-haired, like me. I remember how she smelled when she read me a book with her arms around me. Roses. She always smelled of roses. She did my hair every morning. My favorite dolly was the one we made together.”
She looked down at her hands folded on her lap. “And I remember the day I found out I’d never see them again. I was staying with the Herberts because my parents were in London for business.”
She paused, her throat moving as if she was fighting with her own words. “Papa and Mama died during bread riots in London. They were caught in a mob and their carriage was thrown into the river.”
Tears crawled down her cheeks, and he watched her helplessly. God, he did not know what to do with himself when women cried. When Kitty had cried it had often seemed orchestrated to manipulate him. But Helen’s tears were honest, of pure pain and sorrow.
He took her hands in his, but that was not enough so he put his arm around her shoulders. She rested her head on his chest and cried silently.
“They looked at me as one would at an unwelcome guest who would stay indefinitely. Aunt and Uncle, they never even talked to me about it. I love them, I really do. They did everything to raise me in safety and prosperity. But, Roman, I have felt more warmth from your family than I have ever felt from them. That little girl, Irina, I think I know all too well how she feels.”
Roman’s fists clenched, he wanted to tear apart the whole world so that this woman would never feel unwanted or alone. The worst was, he was perpetuating her feelings of being unwanted and alone by keeping her in the dark about Alex’s imminent return. He should tell her.
“I will not let you feel like that ever again,” he whispered. He opened his mouth again to tell her about his brother just as she looked up at him.
Her eyes were big and wet, dark and deep. Her mouth was right there, soft and slightly swollen. Their eyes connected, and he sank in those liquid depths, forgetting any thoughts he had in his head.
“Thank you,” she said, and as though following an invisible force that drew them together, she leaned in and kissed him.
He should have pulled back. He tasted salt and wetness and grief. The kiss was light, surely only meant to find comfort. But as their lips touched together and came apart, he knew she tasted too good. They came together again at the same time and kissed longer. And then, finally, the softness of her mouth, the brush of her lips caught him—caught them both—because as his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her against him, she responded with the same passion.
Chapter 7
Helen melted, evaporated, floated. His mouth was both exquisite and wanton, and she could not get enough. He smelled like cologne and clean skin. His lips were velvety, and his tongue sweet and tantalizing. His jaw had just the slightest hint of stubble, the gentle rasp of his skin on hers adding to Helen’s excitement.
She’d never felt anything more delicious. Her body had never been so alive as it was in his hands, as if every part of her was being opened
up and made aware of the world.
Of life.
But, too suddenly, he withdrew and leaned back. His blue eyes were almost black now and burned in the semidarkness of the black carriage.
“I am sorry, Helen,” he said through heavy breathing.
And before she could respond, before she realized what was happening, he knocked on the opposite wall and yelled. “Stop the carriage, Foma!”
“Da, Your Highness!” Helen heard.
They stopped, Roman opened the door and climbed down without looking at her. He closed the door and yelled, “Take her home, Foma.”
The carriage moved forward, and Helen, bewildered, watched as Roman walked away.
She touched her lips. How could he abandon her like that? How could he kiss her and then just leave? Not a word? Not a glance? Nothing.
Take her home.
He must hate her. God, she hated herself.
How could she have forgotten about Alex? She was the one who had started the kiss—Roman had only been comforting her.
She hid her burning cheeks in her gloved hands. This was unacceptable and completely unforgivable. She should be ashamed of herself, and she should apologize to Roman. What must he think of her now? Surely he would not think her worthy of marrying his brother.
Alone in the library, Helen stared unseeingly at the pages of the English edition of Philosophia Botanica by Carl Linnaeus. Her mind rehashed the events of yesterday. Seeing the girls… meeting little Irina…confessing her fears to Roman…kissing him… She’d kissed him. And enjoyed it. Again. Oh, shame on her. Kissing her fiancé’s brother, what a dishonorable thing to do. She, the invisible one, the good girl! No wonder he’d just stormed off without so much as a word to her.
And why, oh why, had she loved it so much?
“I was hoping to find you here,” Roman said, his voice coming from somewhere behind her.
Helen started and pressed her hand to her racing heart. She put the book on the table, stood up, and turned to him. He was at the door, tall and proud, his eyes dark.
“You found me. It did not seem that you were so eager for my company yesterday, though.”
Roman cleared his throat, the muscles of his jaw working. “I need to apologize for that, Helen. There was a good reason for my rudeness.”
Helen raised her brows. “Oh.”
“I would not have been able to stop myself had I stayed longer in the coach with you.”
Helen’s mouth went dry. What would have happened if he had stayed? What had he stopped himself from? Something within her smoldered in a slow, low heat. “Oh,” she said and licked her lips.
Roman’s eyes fell on her mouth and stayed there, his eyes darkening further. Helen’s legs felt weak.
Then he looked away and cleared his throat. “I would not have bothered you today, but the arrangement was made yesterday for the girls to go ice-skating.”
“Did you not cancel that?” Helen asked. “I assumed you would not like to see me more than necessary.”
Roman’s eyebrows crawled up. “That is impossible, Helen,” he said, his voice hoarse. He swallowed, then added, “I would rather not disappoint Irina and the others by withdrawing the invitation. The day should be warm. It is good weather for ice-skating. If you are free, of course?”
Helen smiled. “You are right. And I am free.”
He gave a nod and turned to walk away when she took a step forward. “Prince Roman?”
He turned his head slightly, his eyes uncertain, making him look younger in that moment.
“I wanted to apologize, too. For yesterday. I was inappropriate. I never should have kissed you. You must hate me even more.”
He blinked several times and frowned, shaking his head slightly. “That was as much my fault as it was yours. But, hate you, Helen? Where do you take that notion from?”
“Well, you—you said such a mean thing to me, ‘Take this dagger and cut out your heart’…do you remember?”
Roman squinted, shaking his head slightly. “A dagger? When did I ever—”
“It was at Herberts’s country estate, and you were trying to kill Alex… There were black pearls crushed on the floor.”
His face straightened, and he looked at her with anguish. “No, no, that was not about you at all. He—Alex—is…charming and a great flirt, but he can also be jarring and well—”
He walked into the library and stood by the window.
“I do not want to darken his reputation in front of you.”
Helen frowned. “Now you must tell me. Please.”
He hesitated. “How well do you know him?”
“Well, we spent the summers together as children, before your family left England. I would say, quite well.”
He clenched his jaws. “Maybe not. I bought those pearls as a gift for the woman I was hoping to court at that time. Her name is Kitty Kovrova.”
“The ballet dancer?”
“How do you know her name?”
“I heard about her, some gossip that she ran away with someone.”
Roman stiffened. “Yes. Her.”
Helen had heard that she was as beautiful as Aphrodite and as graceful as a muse, and that there was not a man alive who was not taken with her. Even the emperor, Alexander I, was rumored to have had a private audience with her, so talented and skilled was she. All women hated her, and all men adored her.
Helen had not believed a woman could have such power over men. But now a bad feeling coiled in her stomach, and her chest burned as though set on fire, smothering her breath.
“Did you—” she swallowed. She should not ask that. What business was it of hers? “Did you love her?”
He nodded. “I did.”
Now Helen was among the women of St. Petersburg who hated Kitty Kovrova. “Oh.”
“I was hoping to win her interest with that necklace, and eventually her love. Black pearls are rare—”
“Very rare. From French Polynesia. One pearl grows for several years.”
“How do you know?”
She moved to stand next to him by the window. “I’ve always been interested in natural science. Botanicals, fauna. When you and Alex had left the room, I collected the remnants of the black pearls and studied them. They are so fascinating. I would have loved to look at them through microscope. I never had one.”
Instead of thinking of all the wondrous things she would see under her microscope, Helen studied his thoughtful profile. That day…if he had intended the pearls as a gift for a girl and they were crushed, and he had been holding a dagger at Alex’s throat…
“He crushed them, did he not?” she said, the realization making her fingers chill.
Roman’s eyes turned from thoughtful to cold. Still without meeting her gaze, he said, “He did.”
Helen’s frown deepened. That did not sound like the Alex she knew. “Why?”
“He did not want me to give them to her.”
“Why not?”
Roman’s lips drew into a straight line. “It is best you ask him yourself. I do not feel at liberty to uncover his motives to you. They are but my speculations, and if I am wrong, your image of him will be forever distorted.”
She clasped the skirt of her dress. “I am certain it was just a misunderstanding. Because if it was something dishonorable, you would tell me, would you not, Prince Roman?”
He glanced at her, and for a moment she glimpsed hidden pain in his eyes. “I would. But it was just me, Helen. He was joking, and I had always been jealous of his popularity, his lightness, his charm. I have always been the dependable one, the responsible one.” He inhaled sharply and looked away, then added quietly, “The invisible one.”
Helen held her breath, his last words resonating within her, reverberating, blasting away some walls that she had not known existed. And something warm and light poured in through them.
“I do know how you feel, Roman.” He met her eyes, and something pure and wonderful connected them. “You have never been invisi
ble to me. And you never will be.”
Chapter 8
16th December, 1813
Roman watched as the girls from the orphanage put on the skates that Foma had bought yesterday. Birds chirped cheerfully, enjoying the sunlight. The day was surprisingly warm, the snow soft and sticky as it was in spring. Local serf boys and girls from the nearby village held snowball fights, and the older girls from the orphanage threw shy and curious glances at them. Helen sat on a log and put on her own skates, chatting with Irina who was squeezing her dolly to her chest.
They were some distance from the massive fete around the giant sliding hills that had been erected further down the river and closer to the city. Here, it would be easier to keep an eye on the girls. It had been a tradition in St. Petersburg since Peter I to build the two giant ice slides, and people would jump on cowhides, in a heap of arms and legs, and slide down, laughing and squealing. Roman could see the tall icy slides from here and the crowds of people skating. There were also carts with warm pancakes and samovars with tea, as usual. Serfs played folk songs on accordions and people sang. Further up the river, local Samoyedic people bred caribou, and now they offered rides on caribou-pulled sledges.
The festivities over there were fully underway, the noise of the crowd, music, and singing echoing over the white field that River Neva had become. It was a wild, broad, and strong river, now fully frozen; although, Roman knew that in places the current was so strong the water would not freeze until later in winter. In those spots, the ice was wavy and lumpy.
But here, the ice was smooth and strong, according to Foma. The perfect place to take the girls out.
“Hold my hand,” Helen said to Irina, who had just put on her skates. “Do you want to leave your dolly here?”
She was speaking in basic Russian, and her accent was sweet, like melody to Roman’s ears.
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