“No?”
“No.” He would not kiss her but….
“He cares that little.”
“Stay still.” He leaned in, held her head in both hands, rested his cheek against hers and rubbed. Her breath hitched as he gently rubbed his chin on hers and then his cheek on the other side. All the while feeling the soft skin against his, the graze of her lips on his as he marked her. Her hands had curled into his coat, his lips hung above hers. “That’s better.”
“What was that for?” her eyes were glued to his lips.
He uncurled a hand from his coat and ran it over his cheek finally drawing her eyes away from his lips, “I have stubble. It would scratch if I kissed you.”
“It would?” They were back on his lips again. “You don’t want to kiss me, do you?”
He would devour her in an instant. Instead he ran his finger over her lips.
“Any man would want to kiss you Georgie.” He stroked her cheek, “but that doesn’t mean he will.”
“You mean that doesn’t mean you will.”
“That’s right.”
“What if I want you to?” she whispered.
He rested his forehead on hers. “This can’t be Georgie." The color rose in her cheeks.
“Time’s up, you two.” The people on the other side of the door started to count down. Ten, nine, eight…
“I’ll go first. Stay behind me and I’ll shield you from the worst of it.” Demetri started to step forward, but a small hand stilled him. Seven, Six…
“Wait.” Five, four….in a second she stretched on her small slippers and gave him the softest of kisses on his lips. An absurd heat flushed through him as he saw her beam at him as if she were a scarlet seductress.
Three, two… “Now we don’t have to lie about kissing.” One.
She smiled and stepped through the door ahead of him despite his request.
Her lips and hair were pointed to and remarked upon as well as the redness on her chin, and the room clapped.
“I’ll join you in the hall.” Georgie said, face flushed from the attention and the whisky.
Madam Debuverey came forward and linked arms with Demetri, “You brothers play at the strangest games.”
“How so?”
He looked over his shoulder at Georgie, talking to the blackguard, Lord Marsden, who laughed out loud then whispered something back to her. He wanted to tug away from Madam Debuverey’s arm and punch Marsden in the mouth for defiling her with whatever words came out of his mouth. He tried to release Madam Debuverey’s arm, but her grip tightened.
“Calm down. This is not like you, Demetri.” Madam Debuverey looked at him with piercing gaze. “You… care for her.”
He stepped out of her hold. “I am almost family.”
“Oh, come now, Demetri,” she leaned forward voice hushed, “everyone knows Vlad is trying to cause enough offence to break whatever agreement he has with her and her family. Good for her, coming here tonight, but she is most certainly a lamb to the lion if you allow her to marry Vlad.”
He scowled down at Madam Debuverey. It hadn’t mattered when they started on their plan to cause Georgie to call off the betrothal but now, as he saw how people looked at her, with the papers making it painfully obvious that the betrothal was unwanted but that she was holding on to it, he smarted. Her father may have done the dishonorable thing but, for him to do the same now that he had met Georgie, felt a far greater slight.
Demetri called for her carriage as Georgie joined him. Madam Debuverey said her farewells then returned to the salon.
“What business did you have with Lord Marsden?” He growled as he bundled Georgie into her velvet cape, smoothing it over her shoulders and down her arms.
“We are not acquainted,” she replied, not seeming to hurry out of his touch.
“And your business with him?” He turned her to face him, such eyes in this light.
“Is none of your concern.” She turned away from him and he scowled at her back.
“That man insulted you, I stepped in to defend you and then you seek him out?” he growled in Russian.
“Much like a couple of other men I know.” She replied in kind then raised her head and pressed her lips together in silence.
The carriage arrived and he whisked her out into the night. Snow fell, catching the lamp light in golden drifts.
He opened the carriage door and he helped her into the cabin, his hands lingering a touch too long on her waist. He looked back and scowled at the closed salon door, scowled at the man inside. The man she chose to talk to then leave him in the dark as to what kind of matter they addressed. However, what smarted most was the realization of how easily he would be replaced once the betrothal was annulled.
Chapter 9
Georgie settled on the bench; the carriage lurched as Demetri stepped in bringing a few stray snowflakes into the cab with him. A decisive moodiness swirled around him now. The cane in his gloved hand knocked on the roof to announce they were seated and ready to depart. The vehicle lurched forward before it settled into a regular rhythm as the horses trotted down the street.
“You’re scowling at me,” her cheeks heated as his gaze bore into her. “Did I make such of a fool of myself?”
“I told you not to come.” He said as he brushed the snow off his arms. The lamplight in the cabin made his face all shadows and angles, hard lines to match the clipped tones he was using with her.
“You are not in a position to direct my behavior.” She turned her gaze to the window and looked out to where the snow fell.
“I stand in my brother’s stead. I was placed in a position to protect your honor tonight.”
She scoffed. “My honor was besmirched by the first gossip column revealing our betrothal alongside Vladimir’s antics. With the two of you gallivanting around town night after night, covert glances fell my way. By the time the two of you did the house party in Bath, I was the topic of hot discussion in every parlor and at every luncheon across London and who knows where else, as people wait for me to call it off and I look like a desperate spinster.” Her voice caught and she looked back out the window counting the gas lights to stop the tears embarrassing her further. It was shameful beyond words to have to continue to endure the glances of people, wondering what was going on, wondering why she didn’t very publicly call it off.
“Why don’t you call off the betrothal?” He growled out.
Her breath caught, as if he was in her mind, knew what was circling around and around, thoughts like a peregrine hawk above a field mouse. It did however add further insult to already injured pride that he made the suggestion yet again. Jaw tight, she looked over to him.
“So, is that the purpose of all this? Embarrass the gauche English girl so she calls the betrothal off?” Her thoughts earlier in the day about why they were doing this were now so incredibly clear. However, the deeper reality of it only now began to unfold. If that was so, it meant all those years of silence, all those cancelled events meant that she had been an unwanted burden since she was six. Georgie studied his face for anything that would show she was overreacting, that she was wrong.
“Self-depreciation does not suit you,” he said in Russian, face tight.
Throat tight, seeing nothing to indicate her assessment was false, “It is not self-depreciation if it is true….” she retorted in the same language, a language she now had no use for.
He leaned forward, the carriage contracting down to the space between their torsos.
“Do you want a marriage in name only? A marriage where you are parked somewhere and forgotten? Because that is what this marriage will be for you.” Somehow, hearing the raw truth was easier in Russian. The sound in a foreign langue gave it distance even as it sliced out her heart and tore her childhood dreams in two.
It hurt to swallow. “Of course not. I want what every woman wants, I want to be loved and cherished by a husband I can be proud of. I want children and a chance to make a difference in the world.�
�� She whispered, the Russian words ironically making that possibility feel ever so distant.
He was shaking his head no. “You want to marry a Prince.”
She curled her hand in his coat so he could not draw away. “That is unfair. I did not arrange the betrothal. Our fathers did. I understood it to be something both families wanted.”
Demetri scoffed, covering her hand with his before he leaned closer still, sending her body into a riot. His lips were a fraction from hers. A sudden bump on the road and they would touch.
“Oh yes, arranged.” He smelt faintly of whisky and soap.
“Father said the offer came from your father, was that not true?” she replied, uncurling her fingers from his yet not quite letting go. His hand lifted but only to run a gloved finger down her cheek.
“Can you imagine what would compel a Prince to betroth his eldest son to a family of no standing? A family no one else knows or has met? A man who came to my Father solely for business purposes?”
She drew away then. “Your implication is offensive. If your family felt that way, they could have asked to have the agreement broken, instead there were letters and miniatures.”
“It was not for the Petroski’s to do.” Oh, that Russian pride again. “The fact we never attended a single arranged meeting should have been message enough.”
Georgie sat up straighter and raised her chin. “Every one of the cancellations was accompanied by gifts, apologies and explanations. It was disappointing, yet understandable, given the position of your family.”
He simply shook his head.
“Father said he and your father were good friends that your father wanted a closer connection…insisted on it.”
Demetri sat stiff beside her. “Oh, a closer connection with an untitled businessman who hustles the elite into schemes for money. You have a lot to learn about the world, Georgie. Not everything is as your father says, or as simple as it sounds.”
Heat flamed under her skin and she wrapped her arms around herself.
“You speak too plainly! My father is not a hustler and he has made a handsome living by his business ventures. The world has changed, business and investing are where wealth comes from now. Or perhaps that reality hasn’t reached your province yet.”
His face was taut, his anger clearly restrained under the surface.
“Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.” He said in English finally, then looked out the window.
They sat in uncomfortable silence. Had father manipulated the situation? He was a crafty man when he set his sights on something. Yet, he was so transparent, she always knew when he was ’fudging’ with her, when he was underplaying their financial position or the risk of a scheme he had landed them in. All discussion around her betrothal had been fond, contained stories of his friend Mikael and of young Prince Vladimir.
“I would ask that you do not repeat your suggestion that I cancel the betrothal.” She asked in Russian.
“We are at odds then.”
“It is very offensive how clearly you speak both yours and your family’s disregard for the betrothal and your opinion of my father’s and my motives.”
He turned back to look at her. “It is not my intention to cause unnecessary harm or distress, however if your father will not tell you the facts surrounding your betrothal then I must.” He said in English.
“Prince Vladimir is honor bound to marry me.” She said in English even though she already wished to release them from that betrothal. However, it was a matter of principle that it was by her choice, rather than because of being badgered.
“He is.” With that he turned to look out the window again. The gaslights threw extra light on his face as they passed, one moment lit up, the next in shadow again until the next light, a flickering of flames as if they rode through hell.
“Why didn’t he come to discuss these matters himself, with my father, with me?”
He made a sound which showed some frustration. “It is my job to do that and here I am.”
“Surely it is his, since the betrothal is with him?”
“These matters are best dealt with by me.”
“Why not even meet me? Why even bother to send those paintings if Vladimir was so against the betrothal? You said Vlad never does anything he doesn’t want to, yet he sat for those miniatures.”
Demetri simply looked at her under hooded eyes. “The miniatures are always done in multiplies. No doubt someone else wanted to have one.”
That was simply hurtful.
She shook her head no “There are more?” It hurt her throat to push the words out. She was such a fool.
He was silent. Maddeningly silent while she tried desperately to forget how delighted she had been when each one arrived.
Slowly Georgie reached into her purse and pulled out the damn miniature. Heart squeezing tight, she slid the carriage window open and dropped out onto the roadway before she could change her mind.
Demetri sprung to life, banged on the carriage roof and shouted out for the driver to stop. He jumped out of the carriage muttering words she could not understand but which clearly conveyed his agitation. Georgie leaned out to see him scouring the ground. A strange sensation rippled through her, an ache, a hurt mixed with longing. She stepped outside into a soft swirl of snowflakes and walked to where he was searching, that want, that need building with each step.
“Please return to the carriage. It is cold.” He waved her away.
She stood taller. “What are you looking for?” She knew. They both knew but it made no sense.
He muttered Russian words she didn’t need to understand, as his tone spoke volumes.
A few more minutes, and a few yards further down the road he bent down, picked up what must be the miniature, took out his handkerchief and polished it. Tears pricked her eyes. He walked over to her, caught her arm and walked her back to the carriage.
She turned at the step and he patted the snow from her cape, “You asked me to release your brother and now you act annoyed that I let his portrait go.”
He handed the miniature back to her then helped her step up, his wide strong hand an anchor for hers. “They are two entirely different things.”
Just at that moment the horses moved, and the cabin lurched.
His hands came around holding her steady and ripples of sensation fanned from his hold from her waist throughout her body.
“I’ve got you.” He growled in her ear as his chest pressed against her back and he half lifted her into the carriage ensuring with his body she would not fall. An awkward but delicious hold as he moved her inside. The warmth of him washed over her and her body flared to life.
The horses tugged again as she was pressed down on the bench with his leg between hers and just like that she throbbed, ached for things she had yet to experience, yet her body seemed to know.
“Easy. Easy,” cajoled the driver to the horses. “Whoa.”
Demetri looked down at her and as one second stretched endlessly into the next, something passed between them. His face unveiled what usually he so cleverly kept hidden. She was not the only one affected. His eyes were pools of dark hunger.
His hand lifted off the bench and he ran his fingers over her chin. “I scratched you too hard.”
She shook her head. No. She remembered the feel of his rough skin and now in this moment, with him so close and her body flaming she wanted him to scratch her all over with his stubble and then trail behind with kisses soft and hot.
“I feel like I have known you…forever...”
And just like the mask closed over his face and he righted himself. He moved to the bench opposite and tapped his cane on the roof.
Georgie looked at the miniature still in her hand and back at him.
“How alike are you and your brother?”
He turned his face to look out the window. “I am taller.”
“He has blonde hair like you?”
He turned, face exasperated. “Are we really doing this Georgina?”
he asked in Russian.
“Da.”
He shook his head. “Darker….” Their eyes met and her heart beat faster.
“Tell me the truth. You owe me that much for all the gossip and pity.”
He gave a single nod.
She took a deep breath and leapt off the cliff. “Those images…they were of you, weren’t they?”
He starred at her for a few seconds as heat inched up her chest.
“Yes.”
Her world turned. Tipped and tumbled. That was why she felt so comfortable with him. He didn’t just look like the miniatures; those portraits were of him. She had grown up looking at his face, telling him her heart’s deepest secrets. “I carried them everywhere,” she whispered.
Silence.
“Why?” she asked.
More silence. She sat up straighter, wrapped her hands tighter into her cape.
“Didn’t you ever wonder about the girl who would get them?”
He was back to looking out the window, his face might have been carved in stone.
“Demetri?”
“They took hours,” he said harshly as he turned. “I resented the time.”
A tear fell then, ripped from her, hot and full of aches despite her best efforts.
He pulled out a handkerchief and leaned forward. “Call off the betrothal Georgie.”
She slapped his hand away, shook her head no. And next moment she had launched herself at him and was pummeling his chest releasing a stream of words, anger, tears.
His arms came around her, strong and firm, drawing her across to sit on his lap, pulling her tight against his chest, crooning nonsense to her as she cried big shaking sobs at the depth of betrayal. Her childhood was a mockery of affection totally unreturned. And here she was in the arms of a man she had loved all her life from his image, and he wasn’t even the man she was betrothed to.
He held her like that, whispering sounds which soothed her until they reached home and the carriage drove in stopping in the portico.
Georgie, pulled herself together, straightened her cape. He guided her to sit as he leaned over to the door and opened it after the driver pulled down the steps. He held her hand to steady her as she stepped down.
Once Upon a Christmas Wedding Page 172