Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  “No,” Irina said. “She wants to skate, too. She does not want to be left out.”

  “Oh. Of course. We do not want to leave her out, either. Come then.”

  Helen glanced at Roman, who had joined them just to make sure everything was all right. Six governesses had come with the girls, but not all of them could skate, so Roman and Helen had to help chaperone the girls. Foma had brought ice-skating aids, which looked like small chairs on skates, to allow the children to skate easier. And most of them were giggling as they took turns sitting on the chairs while being pushed by their friends.

  He and Helen skated with Irina between them wobbling like a newborn reindeer. But the little girl’s face shone. Roman had offered to keep her dolly safe while they skated, and she had entrusted him with it.

  “You are doing great,” Helen said in Russian.

  The girl’s hand squeezed tight around Roman’s fingers, and it was as though his heart squeezed. Her skates slipped and shifted on the ice.

  They skated for a while, and soon the girl got confident enough to let go of their hands and start skating on her own. Helen and Roman stood and watched Irina and the rest of the girls skating, falling, then standing up, laughing, rubbing their backsides.

  After a while, a bunch of girls came to him with beaming faces and grabby young hands, and he got distracted. He was the only man in this kingdom of the snow queens and princesses, and they wanted his attention. Especially since he was a prince. He laughed a little nervously, unused to so much female attention.

  “How about some pancakes and hot tea?” he said looking at their sparkling eyes.

  “Yes! Yes!”

  While the girls took off their skates, he went to an old woman sitting at a small table with heaps of pancakes covered with clay bowls and bought two dozen, then called the girls to the man with the samovar and tea and paid him to give them as much tea as they wanted. The man set about his job, pouring zavarka, the highly concentrated black tea, into the tin cups, then adding the boiling water and handing the steaming, aromatic cups to the girls.

  Roman watched with a smile he could not stop, enjoying their giggling faces, rosy cheeks, and shining eyes as they ate the pancakes, blew at the steaming cups, and carefully drank the burning liquid.

  A scream cut through the air.

  “Roman!” Helen called. “Roman!”

  He looked around frantically, his heart racing, blood chilling in his veins. At some distance, he saw Helen hurrying towards the middle of the river. And then he saw her target—a small figure in a hole in the ice.

  “Everyone, stay back!” he yelled, even as he flew towards the hole.

  Too long. He was taking too long.

  When he finally drew close enough to see clearly, his breath choked off as if a fist clenched his lungs. Irina was in the hole, the soaked in dolly in one hand, the other clutching at the ice. Helen was trying to drag her by the coat but failing, and the girl’s lips were blue from cold.

  “Get back, Helen!” he yelled as he stopped a couple of feet from the hole. The ice looked dangerously thin around the opening, almost transparent. The place where Irina had fallen through was a big triangular crack, and black water rushed beneath it, dragging at the little girl’s body.

  Helen screeched, trying to pull Irina up but failing.

  “Help me!” she yelled.

  Roman heard an ominous crack under his feet. If the ice was so thin here, how long would it hold Helen? His heart sank into his stomach. He had to act carefully but quickly or Helen would soon go through the ice, as well, and both she and Irina would be lost. Roman gently lowered himself next to her. He could see black water moving under the thin ice beneath his boots, the wet cold seeping through his breeches.

  He looked at Irina, whose dark hair was now plastered to her head, her eyes wild, her face so pale she could be a corpse.

  “Ira, look at me,” he said. Ira was a nickname for Irina, something her mother or father would call her, and he hoped she would respond better to it. He waited until her gray eyes fixed on him. “It is going to be all right.” There was so much fear in her eyes, she looked like a wild animal.

  “Helen, get behind me,” he croaked. “Take my waist and pull me back when I say so.”

  She did as he asked, and he said a prayer of thanks that she was out of immediate danger.

  He dug the edges of his boots into the ice, hoping it wouldn’t break, and grabbed Irina’s hand with both of his. It was icy cold and wet.

  “Leave the dolly!” he yelled. “Grab my arm with both your hands!”

  “No!” Irina said, her teeth chattering. “I shall not leave her behind.”

  Roman grunted, his jaws tight. He pulled her towards him, pressing against the ice with his boots, but there was not enough power. “Pull me, Helen!” he yelled.

  Helen pulled him from behind. “Aaaaaaargh,” he groaned. Irina’s little hands began slipping out of his grasp, and he squeezed them tighter and pushed back faster. His muscles burned. Helen pulled him back, her arms squeezing his stomach tight. His breath caught in his throat, but finally the poor girl was on the ice.

  “Oh, thank God,” Helen whispered.

  Roman dragged Irina away from the hole, away from the thin ice, and Helen followed. They curled around the shaking and trembling girl, and Roman covered her with his fur coat. Helen put her fur hat on the girl’s head and hugged them both.

  “I-I almost fell and w-waved my arms to keep my b-balance,” Irina stuttered through tight blue lips. “The d-dolly flew away from my hand, far. I h-had to get her, Prince Roman. I could not leave her b-b-behind.”

  “Yes, dear girl,” Roman said. “You were very brave. Very foolish but very brave.”

  “Prince Roman is right, Irina,” Helen said. “It was very foolish of you.”

  “N-no one noticed she slipped, j-just me,” Irina said.

  Roman glanced at Helen, and her big beautiful eyes glistened with tears.

  “No one should be unnoticeable,” Helen said. “Thank you for saving her.”

  And then she leaned over the girl and hugged them both, putting her head on his shoulder and kissing him on the cheek. And as the three of them, unnoticeable people, sat on the ice in the middle of the frozen Neva, Roman thought that he did not remember feeling so warm and happy in his entire life.

  But then the responsible part of him reminded him that his brother would return soon, and that the woman who had made him feel visible would forget about him once again and marry a man who would never truly see how special she was.

  Chapter 9

  Little Irina looked so small in the vast bed, the poor ragged dolly, dry and washed, tucked under her armpit. Helen’s heart squeezed at the sight of the girl’s pale face.

  She quietly closed the guest bedroom door and turned to go to the tea room, almost bumping into Roman.

  “Oh!” She clenched her hand against her heart. “You startled me.”

  A shadow of a smile touched Roman’s eyes, and Helen smiled, too. “Forgive me,” he said. “How is she?”

  Helen swallowed, Roman’s presence so powerful she forgot to breathe. His eyes were like liquid bluish shadow in the semidarkness of the hallway.

  “She is better. The fever broke, and she is sleeping.”

  Images of Irina screaming for her life, the rushing water almost pulling her under, invaded Helen’s mind. She had been busy with other girls. They’d had so many questions about England and London, and if she was honest with herself, she had been enjoying the attention.

  If she had paid more attention to Irina…

  “It is my fault,” Helen said.

  “Nonsense!” Roman barked.

  “Shhh!” Helen said, putting her finger to her lips. “Do be quiet. You shall wake the poor child and likely scare her half to death.”

  Roman growled a little, took Helen by the elbow and led her to the next bedchamber.

  “Nonsense!” he said again, letting go of her and facing her.
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br />   Helen looked around. It was another beautiful bedroom, this one in pale green. Tall windows were framed with heavy fleur-de-lis drapes. The ceiling was molded, and the large bed was decorated with a pale-green silk bedspread.

  The image of Roman and her tangled in that bedspread flashed through her mind. Heat broke through her skin.

  “Prince Roman, we should not be here.”

  She took a step towards the door, but Roman said, “No. I must clarify this with you. I will not let you take the blame for Irina’s accident. It was completely my fault, not yours. I was not watching her while I should have. I should have never separated from you on the ice. If I had been next to you, I would have noticed—”

  Helen stopped and looked at him, her eyes widening in astonishment. “There is nothing you should be blaming yourself for. You saved her life! Thanks to you, she is breathing.” She pointed to the wall behind which Irina slept.

  He shook his head, eyes darkening even more. Their gazes locked, and Helen melted under the heat in his eyes. He growled like a bear.

  “Look at you, all beautiful and kind. And I am so selfish I have been keeping something to myself all this time…”

  His words made her mouth feel as dry as the desert sands. Keeping something to himself?

  “I must tell you the truth, Helen,” he said and took her hand in his. She almost jerked it away, feeling as though his touch burned her. But he tugged her towards the bed. “You must sit while I tell you. And I must once again let my brother have everything I want.”

  Helen sat on the edge of the bed, and Roman sat next to her. The image that had just flashed through her mind scorched her skin. His eyes crawled down her face, her neck, her bodice… She wondered if he imagined the same things as her, sitting next to her on the green silk, and her breath caught in her throat.

  “Everything that should be mine.” His low voice resonated deep in her stomach. “He was raised in England with my parents, while I was left alone in St. Petersburg. He even got you…”

  “Me?” she whispered.

  The meaning of his words finally registered, echoing within her like the vibrations of a tuning fork, waking up something warm and delightful deep inside. With a strange feeling of muscles squeezing in her solar plexus, she realized that part of her wanted to be his—whatever that might mean.

  “You,” he repeated. “Ah, to hell with him. I can’t stay away from you.”

  He leaned towards her and kissed her, and an ocean of sensations washed over her. The pull of his lips tugging at hers, the strokes of his skillful tongue, lashing, teasing, playing with hers. Her blood pulsed in her ears; her hands wrapped his neck; his arms enveloped her waist and pulled her to him, pressing her hard against his chest. His hands glided up and down her back. Then one hand went into her hair, the other cupping her jaw.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered against her lips. “You wake something in me—”

  He kissed her again, and she was lost in the sensation. But she had to know.

  “What?” Helen whispered.

  “Hope.”

  The word reverberated in her, soaking into her blood and her muscles, reaching the parts of her soul she had forgotten existed. They lit up like Bengal lights, sparkling in the darkness, bringing the unnoticed parts of her to life. This was why she’d come here, to this strange country, was it not?

  For hope. To start a new life—the life she had always wanted, the life she was getting. But not with the man she had come to marry.

  Alex only took hope away. He was gone, nowhere to be found. And it was unlikely he would come back for the wedding. And, therefore, the hope for a happy family life was dissolving.

  And Roman, the man she was not supposed to be kissing, gave her nothing but hope. Hope for friendship. Hope for warmth. Hope that this enchanting country would accept her and become her home.

  Helen moaned and arched into Roman’s arms, responding with as much tenderness and gentleness with which he kissed her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, crisp and soft at the same time. Her clothes became too restrictive, as though her body expanded and swelled, and the edges of her bodice and her corset dug into her flesh.

  What was he doing to her? She wanted to feel Roman, skin to skin, to dissolve in him, to glide against him. Maybe that would relieve the aching tension that had begun building between her thighs. Roman kissed her chin and traced kisses down her neck, and she gasped for air as his lips left burning tracks.

  He went lower, to her chest, and—oh!—even lower, to the tops of her breasts. He cupped them both with his hands and brought them up, kissing them, licking them as though they were the most delicious desert. Oh, how wanton this was, and oh, how good…

  Helen arched into him, her head tipping back.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured, scorching her aching skin with his warm breath. “Oh, Helen, I am going to burn in hell for this. But nothing can stop me.”

  He removed one breast from her bodice, and Helen gasped at his impudence, and at the rush of heat that went through her. “Ah,” was all she could say as she watched, astonished, at how Roman’s hand massaged the breast. Then he took it in his mouth and sucked, like a baby! Pleasure shot through her in a giant wave, and her deep muscles clenched within her, producing something wet and hot, and she clenched her thighs together.

  If he was going to burn for this, so would she—they would burn together.

  And she would not even be sorry.

  He lifted the second breast from her bodice, the first one still in his hand, and repeated the same procedure—massaged, then sucked deeply, playing with her nipple and even nibbling gently with his teeth, which sent the most exquisite sensations through her.

  He looked at her. “I want you,” he croaked. “I have never wanted anything more in my life. But I will not take you. Not like this… Still, I want to be the one to give you your first pleasure as a woman. Are you ready?”

  Helen was breathing heavily, trying to catch her breath, her skin covered in sweat. More pleasure? How much more could she take? And yet, her whole body wanted something—more. Ached for more. Breathed for more.

  She could not stop now, even if the earth cracked open under them and swallowed them whole.

  “Yes,” she breathed out, her hands finding a life of their own and running up and down his chest. Could she do the same to him? Lick his nipples, kiss his skin? She ran her hands down his waistcoat and onto his hips and then between his thighs— Oh!

  They found something hard and hot through his breeches. She moved her hand up and down the shaft and realized this must be his penis. She had seen drawings in biology texts, of course, but she hadn’t realized how long and hard it would be. His low growl confirmed the suspicion. She looked at him—his head tipped back, his eyes closed, his brows drawn together as though he was going through a sweet agony.

  He lay his hand on hers and stopped her. His eyes met hers. “Not now, Helen. Or I will not be able to control myself. It is all about you now.”

  He knelt on the floor before her, and she bit her lip.

  “I want to worship you,” he said, laying his hands on her knees.

  Helen’s groin burned just from those words. He started kissing the inside of her leg, from the ankle up, while his other hand mirrored the trace of his lips on her other leg. Helen could only watch, torn between the most acute pleasure she had ever felt and something shy, astonished, screaming that what they were doing was wrong. But she could not stop.

  When Roman was at the level of her knees, he gently pulled off her pantaloons, making Helen gasp and her face blaze. He was looking right at her most private area!

  This made her want to cover herself, but Roman said, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Even here.”

  He looked at her. “If you feel any shame or embarrassment, do not. Dissolve it, ride on it, like you will ride my tongue.”

  Helen moaned, helpless, feeling completely in his power, her soul, her heart, her body�
�her everything. He gently pushed her torso so that she leaned back on her elbows, then lifted one of her knees over his shoulder and continued his kisses towards her sex.

  The closer he got, the more acute the hot tension in her core was. Finally, when she thought she could not take it anymore, she felt his fingers spread her folds, and he touched her gently, sending a jolt of pleasure through her the likes of which she had never experienced before.

  Then something soft and wet was on her.

  His mouth!

  And his tongue began doing what it had been doing in her mouth—except to the part of her that no one had touched before. It lashed, it teased, it rolled, it played with the place that sent such pleasure through her it was better than tea and biscuits and whipped cream. It was better than port and sunlight and waltzing in the snow.

  It melted her into a hot, teasing, bubbling mixture, dissolving her.

  And when she thought she could not take it anymore, something else came in—his finger, she realized. It entered her, just barely, stopped by something narrow within her, and it began teasing her just at her very entrance.

  Oh, she wanted him to enter her. She wanted him to—she did not even know what. She wanted him close, within her, around her, everywhere.

  Tension built within her, the sweet, delicious tension that people probably only felt in heaven, and he was taking her higher and higher, higher into the branches of trees gently stroking her, higher towards the warmth of the sun, higher into the starlight. Finally something exploded within her, and she fell apart in waves of joy, pleasure, and hope.

  As the surges sweeping through her slowly calmed, Roman came to lie next to her, their hands and legs tangling together. And the only thing she wished in that moment was that it would never stop.

  Then she remembered that in less than two weeks she would either be marrying Alex or returning to Britain. And she felt as if she truly had stuck a dagger in her own heart.

  Chapter 10

  “Oh my goodness, what did I do?” Helen extricated herself from Roman’s limbs and sat up, covering her face.