And he was always the strong one. Always doing his duty.
He clenched his teeth and swallowed the words. Yet again, he needed to step back into the shadows and let Alex take what was Roman’s.
The carriage could not crawl any slower towards the Lipov Palace. And Helen could not wait to get out of the small, intimate space and away from Roman, to crawl into her bed and weep.
Outside, she showed nothing. Deep inside, she trembled and bled.
Now two men had betrayed her—both her fiancé and his brother whom she was falling in love with. Now that she knew Alex had run away with the woman Roman loved, she was becoming more and more convinced that Roman’s seduction had been nothing more than revenge, his way of getting back at Alex.
Nausea rose in her, her throat clenched, and her chest ached.
Both of them loved another woman. Not her.
Even here, in this faraway country where she had hoped to start a new life, she was, yet again, the invisible little mouse.
Finally the carriage stopped, and Foma opened the door to let her and Roman out. She stormed up the stairs, through the main entrance doors, feeling the tears she had been suppressing break through.
The candle-lit hall blinded her for a moment, and she peeled off her fur coat and her hat to shove them to the butler, the escape of the stairs leading to her bedroom right next to her.
“Helen, wait,” Roman said behind her. The edge of pain in his voice reverberated in her, blocking her airways, making her heart stop for a moment.
In front of her, the doors to the sitting room opened. Tall, blond, and gorgeous, Alex stood there, a chuckle curving his lips.
“Hello, dear fiancée,” he said.
Chapter 13
Her fiancé.
She had not seen Alex for eleven years, and he was even more handsome than she had remembered him as an adolescent. Not a boy anymore but a man, he was as tall as Roman. His face was proud, with a square jaw, straight nose, and blue eyes under long, thick eyelashes. His eyebrows were like the elegant brush strokes of a portrait artist. Golden, wavy locks of hair framed his face. Alex was the lighter, younger version of Roman. His frame was lean and muscular underneath his polite suit, his body an ideal triangle with broad, strong shoulders and a narrow waist and hips.
Her breath did not catch at the thought how gorgeous he was, though. Her palms did not get sweat for him. Her heart did not accelerate for him.
It beat faster because Roman came to stand next to her, his presence brushing her skin. Even the air shifted as she glanced at him and saw that he had turned from prince to a predator. The same one that had taken the dagger and held it to his brother’s throat.
Helen resisted the urge to lay a hand on his arm and calm him down. The man she was supposed to be touching stood in the doors with a glass of port.
She met Alex’s eyes. “Hello, Alex,” she said. “I hope your journey was not too hard. It took you an awfully long time to get here.”
He raised his brows, a corner of his mouth crawling up in an amused expression. “A kitten turned into a lioness. I am starting to look forward to this marriage.”
“You do not get to say that,” Roman growled.
Helen turned to him, surprised at the anger in his voice. He was a dark storm, his eyebrows a hard line, the nostrils of his straight nose flaring, his lips flattened in a pale slash. And his fists clenched until his fingernails whitened.
“You do not get to say a word to her,” Roman said, “or to me. Not after what you have done.”
A guilty, pained expression seemed to flee through Alex’s face. But then it disappeared, and a smirk settled there. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Shall I hand you a dagger, or do you have your own this time? I can ask Foma to search for one, if you like. After all, I have taken the pearls you wanted to have all to yourself. But I must tell you, they are not as pretty as you thought. Many men have touched them, as I found out. Many men, but not you.”
Roman launched himself at Alex, but Helen was faster. She stepped to stand between the two brothers, and Roman stopped abruptly, almost touching her. Their eyes locked—there was such rage in his.
“No, Roman,” she said. “You will regret it if you do. I will deal with him.”
He breathed in and out, quickly.
“I should not have left you two alone together,” Helen heard Alex say behind her back. “Just look at you. Did you steal my pearls this time, brother? Did you let him, Helen?”
She could not have stopped Roman if she’d tried this time. He flew past her like a dark flash. She turned and Alex was thrown against the wall as Roman drove a fist into his jaw.
Helen yelped and rushed to them. She hung on Roman’s strong arm, but he only shook her off like a fly. The butler came rushing, too, and Prince Pavel entered the room.
But it was a little girl’s voice that made both men freeze. “Do not hurt him, Prince Roman!”
Everyone turned to the stairs where Irina’s small figure stood. She was dressed in a nightgown and clenched her dolly to her chest, watching them with huge, frightened eyes.
Helen rushed to her and sank down to the child’s level, eyes blurring with tears. Had she not been just like Irina eleven years ago when she’d stepped into the room where Roman had his dagger at Alex’s throat. No one had offered her any comfort then. She was glad she could shield Irina from the same experience.
“Stop this at once, you fools!” Prince Pavel cried as he pushed his sons away from each other and held them at arm’s length. They stood, scowling at each other, breathing heavily. “What has come over you two?”
“All is well, sweetheart,” Helen said, cupping the girl’s delicate jaw. “Just a misunderstanding. That happens in families, but they do not mean to harm each other.”
Irina blinked, her eyes softening. “I did not think Prince Roman could harm anyone.”
“You are quite right,” Helen said. “He is not capable of that.”
Roman coughed. “I am sorry you had to see this, Irina. Go to bed, darling. Mr. Yarov, could you please take her to her room?” he asked the butler.
“At once, Prince Roman. Miss Irina, please come.”
Irina rushed to Roman and tugged his hand. He bent down, and she planted a kiss on his cheek. Helen’s heart trembled. Roman stood, bewildered, all anger gone. His eyes were sad and vulnerable.
Then Irina took the butler’s hand, and he led her up the stairs.
When she was gone, Roman straightened his back, still looking at the stairs. Alex wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Just a brotherly welcome home, Father,” Alex said. “All is well.”
Roman shook his head slowly and walked to Helen. Their eyes locked, and she lost herself for a moment in the dark depths. Pain, frustration, and regret thundered in them, and Helen itched to put her hands on his chest and soothe him. “I wish you all the luck in the world, Helen.”
His voice was soft, like velvet, and she remembered the heat of his lips on hers, the pressure of his strong arms around her, and how she’d never wanted him to stop kissing her. She remembered the desperation with which he had rushed to save Irina, the safety that Helen felt around him when he had succeeded.
Then he walked out of the house into the snowy night, leaving Helen hollow inside.
Helen’s heart thumped as she watched Alex, his hair now disheveled, his lip beginning to swell. There was regret in his eyes, too, which he quickly shut down and replaced with a cocky smile.
She wished she could so easily get rid of the regret inside of her. Yes, Alex had been with another woman, but she was as guilty as he.
They were a perfect pair.
Prince Pavel’s face grew pale and lost all expression, and somehow, this was more terrifying for Helen than if he had exploded. “You imbecile. I should disinherit you. Does Helen know why you are coming back just now?”
Alex gave his Father a long look, reminding her Roman. He gla
nced at Helen. “You know the truth, do you not, Helen?”
She exhaled to relieve the tension in her chest and straightened her back. “I do.”
Prince Pavel shook his head, his nostrils flaring.
“Running away with a ballet dancer who left you for someone else when you have this perfect woman who wants to be your wife. Helen, you do not deserve this. Can you find it in your heart to forgive this foolish boy? He will make you happy. He needs someone like you. A good woman, a good wife who knows her duty and loves her family.”
Family.
Yes, this was why she’d come here, to begin something wonderful and belong somewhere. To be happy.
Alex and she were quite a pair. Both needed, apparently, to have a little something on the side before they could commit to starting something constant. Well, now that he was here, she hoped they could finally start a new life.
“Yes, of course, Prince Pavel,” she said. “I can forgive Alex. I came here to marry him, and that is what I shall do.”
But it was as though she had trapped herself in a prison cell and thrown out the keys willingly. Her head ached, her throat thickened, and her mouth went gummy. She had the urge to cover her stomach, because pain shot through it as though someone stabbed her.
And it was not because she would be marrying Alex. It was because she would not be marrying Roman.
Chapter 14
Roman walked through the white streets with broad strides, snow crunching under his feet, the wind throwing hard flakes into his face. Foma had called after him, asking if Roman wanted him to bring the carriage, but Roman had just waved dismissively.
He needed to leave. He could not stand seeing Helen and Alex together. The bride and the groom about to be wed.
But what now?
Now, Alex was back, and Helen was going to marry him in one week. Roman’s heart ached as though a fist wrapped around it and twisted, wishing to squeeze all the life out of him. The streets were dark, the mist of the falling flakes gray in the night.
Darkness enveloped his soul. His head spun, his thoughts flying like snow in a blizzard.
How would he be able to live every day of his life when Helen belonged to another? And not just to anyone but to his brother? How would he be able to come to family gatherings, hear about their children being born? How would he be able to hear his mother and father comment on Alex’s happiness with his wife?
Roman clenched his gloved fists, wishing to punch someone or something.
To see her married to another would tear his soul apart, but if Alex could make her happy, Roman would do everything he could to protect her happiness.
Except, he doubted that Alex could make her happy.
If Alex had run away before the wedding, who could say that he would not do a similar thing after? Or even worse—what if he brought shame to Helen and her future children? Was this the kind of new life, the kind of family that she wanted?
It would crush her.
He would rather cut his arm off than see that happen. He needed to make sure Alex did not do run away with an actress or take a mistress or shame Helen in any other way.
But something within Roman knew that no matter how hard he tried to make sure Alex behaved, he was completely helpless to control what went on between a husband and his wife. He could not make Alex love her.
A thought struck him so hard Roman stopped abruptly, watching the snowed-in street without seeing it.
He loved her. And Alex did not.
Roman loved her so much that he knew his life would be covered in darkness unless she was happy. He loved her so much that everything in his life up to this moment had happened so that he could help her. So that he would breathe for her if she lost her breath and walk for her if she could not and be the family she did not have.
Roman turned around and ran as fast as he could through the snow.
Helen ran the brush through her hair and looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes burned in the dim light of her bedchamber.
She was still going through everything that had happened. Alex was back, and he was not the Alex she remembered. She was marrying a stranger. And Roman— She could not stop thinking about how pained he was, how furious with his brother.
Seeing him so angry pained her, too.
Was he cooling off now? Helen remembered the dagger. Did he think of revenge?
She heard a quiet squeak of the door.
“Jane, please, do not worry, I can brush my hair myself.”
A dark shadow moved somewhere to her side, and as she glanced up, Roman’s reflection appeared behind her. She jumped with a start. He was dressed in his fur coat, which was covered in snow. Slush dripped from his boots onto the Persian rug.
His hair was in disarray, his hat crumpled in his hands. His eyes were dark and yet full of light, and they were eating her alive. They took in her face, her hair, then crawled down her body. She was just in her simple muslin nightgown. But there was hunger and admiration in his expression, as though he was in the presence of the divine. And Helen’s gown was not transparent or improper; in fact, it covered her from neck till fingers and toes. But never in her life had Helen felt so exposed, so desired—and never had she liked it so much.
Heat rushed through her, igniting her skin till the roots of her hair. She leaped up. “Roman, what in the world are you doing in my chamber?”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Please put something on. I must tell you something important, and I do not think I can stop throwing myself on you if I see you like this…”
Helen found her dressing gown, put it on, and pulled the edges together.
“You must leave.” She walked towards the window, away from him. “This is improper. Scandalous. We have played with fire enough.”
Roman took a step towards her, and she stepped back.
“Do you love him?” he asked.
“What?”
“Do you love him? Will he make you happy? My brother.”
Helen shook her head. “You know very well that is not the important part.”
“See, I do not think you love him. I do not think he can make you happy.”
Helen’s knees weakened, her heart beat in her ears.
“But I can,” Roman said and took another step towards her. She did not step away this time.
Helen blinked. “Are you proposing, Prince Roman?”
He nodded, his beautiful dark features lighting up from inside. “I am. Marry the other Lipov brother, Helen. Marry me.”
Helen studied him, feeling anger rising in her stomach, accelerating her breathing to a new level. She could not believe he ears. “You speak of love, but what about trust? What about telling the truth? What about honor, respect, and kindness?”
His face fell, and a muscle on his cheekbone twitched.
“You lied to me about Alex. You knew where he was. With whom he was. Moreover, you knew he was coming back, and you concealed that from me. Knowingly.”
He took another a step towards her, one hand reaching out.
This time Helen stepped back. “You seduced me, your brother’s bride. You compromised me. You are compromising me now by being here! What about any of that speaks to you of honor, respect, or kindness?”
“Helen, please—”
“And let us not forget that Alex crushed the necklace intended for the woman you really loved—Kitty Kovrova. And then, he ran away with her to Italy. Do you think that I am so naive? Do you think I do not understand that I am only part of your revenge plan? He took your woman so you will take his?”
His eyes widened. “Helen!”
“No! I will not marry you, Prince Roman. You will not touch me. You will never speak of this again. I am betrothed to your brother, and whatever strange game of revenge or competition is being played between you two, I will not be a pawn in it. I will not let you use me.”
She swallowed and pushed her shoulders back. “Not anymore. Please, leave my chamber.”
&n
bsp; He took a step towards her, his hand frozen mid-air, in a pleading gesture. His eyes clouded with pain.
“You have never been part of a revenge plan,” he said. Then his hand fell and he bowed curtly.
“But as you wish, Madame. I will not inflict my feelings on you any longer.”
He turned and walked away, leaving nothing but the wet traces of melting snow on the rug.
Chapter 15
21st December, 1813
“I do think that Italians exceed in all things art,” Alex said. “Paintings, sculpture, architecture…” He threw a sideways glance at Helen and cleared his throat.
Ballet, she wanted to finish for him.
But the word was like a taboo between them, a subject to be avoided at all costs. Pretending that it had not happened took so much strength, Helen felt exhausted just by being in the same room with her betrothed.
“Yes, Italian art is remarkable,” Helen said, pointedly watching the couples dancing. They were attending the Christmas ball at the Winter Palace, a yearly tradition. Emperor Alexander I himself was there, and Helen had been presented to him by Alex just an hour ago. And yet such an event—meeting the Russian Emperor—could not have left less of an impression on her, because all she could think was how wrong it felt that Alex was the one to accompany her. That Alex was the one to bring her drinks and dance with her and stand by her side as they met countless nobles and engaged in countless social interactions.
She was soon forgotten, all attention on Alex’s stories, anecdotes, and jokes. Bursts of laughter exploded whenever he was talking. And yet all Helen could do was to press out a smile and stop herself from searching the crowd for a tall, dark man with stern eyes.
The ballroom was so brightly lit, it was hard to imagine that it was a dark night beyond the windows. The room was full of music and voices. The air was stuffy and thick with the scent of perfume. People were dressed in their absolute best gowns, wearing their best jewelry. For Helen, these were the pink pearls, Roman’s gift. They lay on her chest, warming her, reminding her of him. There were hundreds of people here, and even though Helen stood among them, talking with her future husband, she could not have felt more alone.
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