Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  He levered himself up beside her, the bubble of bliss around them shattering like broken glass. He stroked her shoulder. Just a moment ago, she had lain so warm and sweet in his arms.

  “Helen, are you all right?”

  She looked back at him, her beautiful face flushed, her lips pink and swollen and so seductive. He was still aroused, still wanted her. And he had no idea how to calm himself down.

  “I just—” she cried out. “Did I not just betray my fiancé?” Her eyes widened. “Oh dear God. I betrayed him with his own brother!”

  Roman clenched his jaws. If only she knew that her fiancé had betrayed them both with the woman Roman had loved. But even now, Roman could not bring himself to tell her that, to cause her the pain and humiliation he had felt ever since he’d learned that Alex had run off with Kitty.

  Roman took her hand in his, and to his relief, she did not pull it out.

  “You did not betray him,” he said. “The fault is mine, Helen. I seduced you. I betrayed him.”

  He gazed at her. How he wished he could save her from feeling that betrayal. How he wished that he had a right to do what he had just done. How he wished that she was his—that she would be marrying him.

  The thought deafened him more than a cannonball explosion. He wanted her to be his wife.

  But he could not tell her that. It was just a dream. If she said no, he would be crushed. And she would say no. She was betrothed to his brother, had been in love with him since she was a girl, just like her cousins. Of course she would choose Alex, the bright, handsome, life-of-the-party brother who could charm anyone.

  He was out of his mind wishing to marry Helen. It was just lust. It was just a fling—

  But his heart said otherwise. His chest tightened every time he saw her. Could she ever love him?

  He could tell her he’d marry her. He had just compromised her—of course he’d marry her if Alex did not come back. If she would have him.

  But the last thing he wanted was to lock her into a marriage to someone she didn’t love. He would never wish to make her miserable.

  Helen shook her head. “It is partly your fault, Roman, but I should never have agreed. I could have just said no.”

  She stood up, straightening her skirts. “If I only I knew if he was coming back. And what will I do if he does not?”

  Roman stood up, too. He must tell her now. He had been postponing it long enough. “Do you love him?” he asked.

  She inhaled sharply and held her breath, her lips parted. “I do not think that love is what matters.”

  He swallowed. “What if it did?”

  “I am promised to him. I will not break my word and bring shame and embarrassment on my family. I will not be a burden to anyone anymore.”

  “But do you love him?”

  Their eyes locked for a long moment, and in hers he saw warmth. He saw something resembling affection.

  “I do not know anymore. I thought I did before,” she said, and her words kindled a tiny flame of hope in him.

  “But where is he now?” she continued. “Where is he when I need him? When he should be the one taking me ice-skating and dancing with me at balls and saving little girls?” She swallowed and looked at Roman’s lips, setting his loins on fire again. “Kissing me…” she said.

  “Alex has always been spoiled, the favorite son,” Roman said. “He has always done whatever he pleased, and everything was forgiven. While he was raised by our mother and father in England, I stayed here to get a Russian education and become a government official. I—I was raised by governors in a private boarding school while he had our parents’ love and attention. I was not allowed to marry a ballet dancer while he—” he cut himself off.

  She frowned and opened her mouth to say something, but he interrupted her.

  “Which is why I must finally tell you the truth.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she stepped back from him. “What truth?”

  “Alex is on the way here. Several days ago he was in Poland and is said to be heading back home.”

  Her eyes dampened, she swallowed visibly, and her chest rose and fell quickly. “Oh.”

  Roman had thought she’d be relieved, happy. Angry with him. But, if anything, she looked worried.

  “How could you keep this from me?” she asked.

  “I just wanted to have you to myself a little longer.”

  Helen sighed and closed her eyes for a moment as though trying to collect herself.

  “So my fiancé is coming back to marry me, and I go around the city kissing his brother, having a fling with his brother.” She opened her eyes and there was thunder in them. “I feel like an adulteress. This is not the new life I came here for. How am I supposed to live with myself now, Roman?”

  She picked up her pantaloons and put them on, then stormed out of the room.

  He should have told her that she was not an adulteress, that she even had her virginity intact, while Alex had truly betrayed her.

  But he hoped she would never find out about that and that she would be happy with Alex one day, even though Roman’s heart would be crushed to pieces.

  She deserved to be happy, and he would do everything he could to ensure Alex made her happy. Because the thought of Helen’s pain made him want to rip the world apart and put it back together, solve any mystery, pay any price so that she was all right.

  The thought came crashing over him. I love her.

  I love her.

  And this love was not like what he had felt for Kitty. That had just been infatuation.

  He knew this was love because he was ready to do everything for Helen’s happiness, even if it meant he would be alone and miserable forever.

  Chapter 11

  18th December, 1813

  The sitting room in the Fyodorov palace shone brightly with lit candles everywhere. A band in the far corner played music, which could barely be heard over the chatter of voices. The Christmas ballet soiree Helen and Roman had been invited to was full of the highest nobility of St. Petersburg.

  The ballet was about to start in the ballroom, where the footmen were probably setting out chairs and another band tuning in in preparation for the performance. The Fyodorov family had specially invited the Italian ballerina, Francesca Ricci.

  Helen smiled politely at Princess Fyodorova, the well-known St. Petersburg social lioness, who had been telling a small circle of people gossip about Napoleon and his love affairs. She especially wanted to know Helen’s opinion as an Englishwoman, and all Helen could say was that she did not really know anything about that and had no opinion.

  The princess hid her disappointment under a polite smile and, thankfully, moved her attention to another young woman, no doubt hoping for a juicier exchange.

  Roman stood next to Helen, all tall and cold and proud. His face was a mask of social politeness.

  As though he had not turned Helen’s world upside-down two days ago when he’d touched her—

  Right there…

  Heat stroked through Helen at the memories of his hands and lips touching her. Her chest began rising and falling, lungs hungry for breath. Roman’s presence next to her radiated power like an invisible but palpable shield of warmth, making her knees weak.

  And the thought that Alex was coming back—and that she had become an adulteress even before the wedding—made her feel ashamed. Made her feel that she had betrayed not just her fiancé but herself. She was an honest woman. A good woman. Everything that she was went against what she had allowed herself to do.

  But there was more.

  She could not stop thinking about Roman. Her heart filled with lightness every time she looked at him, heard his voice or even thought of him. She wanted more with him—more talking, kissing, laughing, ice-skating. More time.

  And Alex could appear at any moment. How was she supposed to marry him when she was falling in love with his brother?

  Love… When had that happened? She was so foolish.

  Her eyes burned w
ith unwelcome tears.

  “Do you need to sit down, Helen?” Roman asked. “You look ill.”

  Of course. One moment he was a cold statue, the next he noticed the slightest discomfort in her. Helen licked her lips and forced a smile. She threw a glance at him but looked away quickly. He was so gorgeous it hurt to look at him.

  “I thank you, Prince Roman. Just a little headache.”

  He bowed his head slightly.

  “I hope it is nothing like your fiancé has,” Princess Fyodorova said. “He has been ill awfully long. Is he feeling well enough to come back for your wedding day? Only a week left, is there not?”

  Helen could feel Roman’s body stiffen. She also tensed.

  “My brother is better,” he said. “He is on the way back.”

  Princess Fyodorova smiled. “Oh, you will be a beautiful bride.”

  Helen had tried on her wedding dress just yesterday and showed it to Princess Anna, little Irina, and Jane. All three were in awe. Irina had been feeling better but was staying with Lipovs a little longer just to make sure she would not develop pneumonia. She was delighted to be included and had gaped at Helen with wide eyes full of wonder. Jane had proclaimed that if she ever looked like this on her wedding day, her life would be complete.

  Helen supposed the dress was beautiful, but she could not see past the guilt and dread it signified. Past the fear that she was not in love with her groom anymore.

  Had she ever been truly in love with him? She had not seen him since they were children. Back then he had been the center of attention, and from her naive and limited worldview even his pranks had seemed charming. But she knew now that she had not seen him as he truly was.

  She wondered if Roman had ever forgiven Alex or if he still had some grudge against his brother.

  Helen smiled. “I am very fortunate with the dress, yes. If I look beautiful, it is only because of it. Princess Anna commissioned Madame de Brouille to make it.”

  “Oh! How did she succeed in securing Madame de Brouille’s services? I have been trying to get a dress from her for years. Well, what will Princess Anna not do for her future daughter-in-law? You are fortunate with this family, dear. I look forward to seeing the dress myself.”

  The master of ceremonies opened the doors to the ballroom and exclaimed that the performance was ready to start, and the guests began slowly entering the room.

  “Ah, my Italian ballerina,” Princess Fyodorova said to Helen as a slow procession started to enter the ballroom and they stood facing the grand doors and slowly advancing towards them. “I hope you enjoy her. I haven’t seen her myself, but we had to replace Kitty Kovrova with someone.”

  Helen raised her brows and looked at the princess. “Was Kitty Kovrova supposed to preform today?”

  “Ah yes,” the princess said. “She was. But one cannot rely on these ballerinas. They are better than actresses, of course, but still…Kitty Kovrova disappeared a few months ago.”

  She leaned a little closer to Helen. “They say she ran away with someone to Italy.”

  Helen blinked. Roman took a step towards them, his eyes alarmed under the mask of social calm. “These are just rumors, your grace. You must not believe everything you hear. And you must not either, Helen.”

  Helen frowned. There was something odd about his quick reaction, about the edge of worry or even fear in his voice. Then she realized, Kitty Kovrova was the woman he had loved…

  And he obviously still cared about her, wishing to protect her reputation.

  Helen’s stomach twisted.

  They took a few more steps. Helen had been looking forward to seeing a ballet performance—it would be the first time in her life. But now something about it had been spoiled.

  “Ah, I hope you like it, dear,” Princess Fyodorova said, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle out of her gown. “If Kitty Kovrova were performing, there would be many more men among the guests.” She chuckled, then glanced at Roman who was walking with barely contained anger at Helen’s left shoulder. “Prince Roman, in particular, would have been happy. Were you not her long-time admirer?”

  His jaw muscles worked, his eyes like steel.

  “I used to be an admirer of her talent, yes, indeed. I have seen many other talented ballerinas since then.”

  Princess Fyodorova clasped her hands. “Ah, quite the connoisseur. I hope you appreciate our Italian performer, as well.”

  Roman gave a curt nod. “Quite.”

  A worry settled in the pit of Helen’s stomach. She could not place why exactly, but she could feel that something was wrong, something she could not put her finger on. She told herself it was just the mixture of her guilt and her silly fondness for Roman and that it would go away once she settled in her seat to enjoy the performance.

  But when the lights dimmed, the music started, and Miss Ricci began dancing, Helen could not concentrate on her. She was very talented, no doubt. The way she moved was awe-striking. How could she stand on one leg like that and quickly beat her ankle with another foot, then jump and fly through the air, as though one with the music? Her body was so flexible and strong, almost like a wild animal’s. There was a natural, perfect grace in every limb.

  Despite all that, Helen could not immerse herself in the performance. She found herself constantly glancing at Roman, looking for any sign of awe and admiration in him, wondering if he looked at Kitty Kovrova like that. And even if he was not in love with Kitty anymore, was it possible he would be enchanted by this ballerina? Helen could never compete with that.

  But then, she should not worry about who Roman found attractive at all—she should worry about Alex being on the way back.

  Finally the performance was over, and the ballroom exploded with the applause and cheers. When the people had dispersed through the rooms, Miss Francesca Ricci had joined the guests and flown from one group to another. Soon, she arrived to talk to Roman and Helen. They had to switch to French.

  “You were magnificent.” Roman bowed with a smile and kissed her hand, setting Helen’s blood to boil. He had smiled at her! Just a moment ago, he had been all ice and stone with Helen.

  “Thank you, Monsieur—?” Miss Ricci said with a coquette smile.

  “Prince Roman Lipov at your disposal,” he said, his eyes on the beautiful little Italian woman. “This is Miss Helen Courtney.”

  He did not even look at Helen when he introduced her. Helen nodded a little by way of greeting, but Miss Ricci did not notice.

  “Prince Lipov?” she said. “I know that name.”

  Roman’s smile tensed. “You do?”

  She nodded, slowly. “Do you not have a brother?”

  Every sign of joy fell off Roman’s face. He was now alarmed and finally threw a glance at Helen—but it was full of worry.

  “I do, but I am sure you can’t have met him—”

  “No, no. Alexander Lipov, correct?”

  Helen swallowed. Was it not enough that one ballerina had the heart of a Lipov brother? Did both Lipov brothers need to be known by all the ballerinas in the world?

  “Yes, that is the name of my brother, and he is—” Roman looked at Helen, do doubt about to tell Miss Ricci that Alex was Helen’s betrothed, but the ballerina continued.

  “I met him in Milano last month. Do you know Miss Kitty Kovrova? She was supposed to dance here tonight, but she took a much-needed rest in Italy. He accompanied her. He was well when I saw him.”

  The world spun, Miss Ricci’s words echoing in Helen’s ears. Roman’s worried eyes flashed before her. His muffled voice was saying something, but Helen could not understand.

  Alex was not ill, had not mysteriously disappeared, and was not in any danger.

  He had run away with another woman.

  With the same woman who had made Roman put a dagger at his brother’s throat eleven years ago.

  Chapter 12

  “You knew, did you not?” Helen said, her voice trembling.

  In the darkness of the carriage back home, her face loo
ked pale and cold, like a beautiful Roman statue.

  “I did.” There was nothing more he could say.

  “Yet another thing you failed to tell me.”

  Roman looked away. Outside, the white streets of St. Petersburg passed, windows of palaces and houses glowing with the light of balls and dinners and soirees. “What good would it have done if you had known?” he said. “I did not want you to be pained by the knowledge.”

  “Like you were pained?”

  He exhaled shortly. “Indeed. Feeling betrayed is not something I wanted to inflict upon you.”

  From the corner of his eye, he noticed that she shook her head. “Betrayed… You must have been thundering inside—your brother ran away with the woman you love.”

  The last word broke off, and Roman looked at her quickly.

  “Loved,” he said.

  Her eyebrows rose. “Astonishing, Prince Roman. You have just revealed yet another layer of the puzzle that you are to me. It seems that your antagonism towards your brother lies deeper than I had ever thought it would. Now I know that the black pearls were not the only wound he gave you. He hurt you for a second time with Kitty. This time, I doubt you can forgive him. I can only imagine what impulses his actions might have spurred in you. And since you failed to tell me the truth, I am wondering, what other lies and intrigues am I to expect from you?”

  Roman was speechless. Her trust had just slipped from his fingers like a wet piece of ice. And he was at a loss as to what he could do to regain it. The only thing he could do was to reveal his true feelings to her, to open up his heart and to tell her he loved her.

  To make her see him.

  But he was not that man. The attention was always on Alex.

  And now, after everything Alex had done to both of them, he was still winning. He still got Helen. Anger rose in Roman, hot and quick.

  He should tell her. He would tell her. I love you, rose up his throat. Forget Alex. Marry me.

  But if he said that, it could not be undone. He would betray his family. He would become the impulsive one, the irresponsible one, the weak one.