She was walking down a long, dark corridor. Searching. She was searching for something. She didn’t know what, but she knew she would find it soon.
Sinister shadows reached out for her, raising the hair on the back of her neck with their feathery caresses. She shivered despite the heat and quickened her step.
The house was completely silent except for the distant hum of voices. She remembered there was a party going on downstairs in the grand ballroom. She could dimly make out the first strains of Mozart as the orchestra began to play. The music filled her with a sense of dread. Odd, she always used to enjoy Mozart.
There was a door slightly ajar at the end of the hall. Lamplight peeked out around it. Slowly, she moved toward it, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs. She didn’t want to go inside the room, but she couldn’t stop. A force greater than her own will was propelling her legs.
The door swung open, allowing her full access to the room.
It was Ivan’s bedchamber. The crimson draperies and heavy oak furniture seemed debauched and sinister in the lamplight.
Ivan knelt over the still figure of a girl on the bed, his profile to her. He was nude, his large body knotted with thick muscle. His buttocks flexed as he pumped himself into her. His grunts mingled with her fearful gasps. His hands were wrapped around the girl’s throat; his face was flushed with exertion and sexual pleasure. He was strangling her.
Varya’s horrified gaze went to the girl, who turned terror-filled eyes toward her.
She ran toward the bed as the girl began to thrash underneath Ivan. Her flailing arms bounced off his arms and chest with as little consequence as a child’s.
“Get off her,” she screamed, tearing at his hair. He loosened his grip on the pale throat. She felt her nails rend his flesh, drawing blood, and she fought all the harder. She had to save the girl. He turned on her, snarling and she froze.
“You’re mine now, Varya,” Ivan growled.
It wasn’t Ivan.
Varya jerked upright in bed, a cry tearing free from her throat.
It was Miles.
The grin on his face was so broad it made his cheeks ache, but it felt good, euphoric even. Varya wanted him, and despite his nagging distrust of her, he
wanted her too. If it hadn’t been for his decision to search the study on his own, he might be in her bed at that moment.
He glanced toward the door that connected their chambers and wondered if she was still awake.
Determinedly, he strode toward the door. He raised his fist to knock, and heard a sob from the other side.
“Varya?” A jolt of fear ran through him as he opened the door.
The drapes were tied back, allowing the room to be illuminated with silvery light. The pale furnishings and fabrics glowed eerily under the moon’s aura. Out of habit, his gaze scanned the room looking for any threat.
In the middle of the chamber was a large four-poster bed, and in the middle of that, amid tangled, stark white sheets, sat Varya.
For a moment, all Miles could do was stare. She looked like an enchantress with her tousled hair and flimsy negligée that left very little to the imagination.
His gaze went to her face, and he saw her eyes widen briefly at seeing him, as if he were a childhood monster come to life.
“Varya?” He moved toward her. Her fear seemed to give way to relief as he came closer. “What is it? I heard you cry out.”
“I had a bad dream,” she replied as he sat down on the bed beside her.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“No.” She leaned back against the pillows. “I would not.”
He wished she would open up to him but he could not force her trust. And to be honest, it wasn’t trust he wanted from her right at that moment.
“Then don’t talk. Would you let me kiss you, Varya? Would you?”
Her gaze locked with his. He sat silently as she searched his face, letting her find what she was looking for. Finally, she nodded.
Miles groaned at her acquiescence. This glorious, unorthodox woman surprised him at every turn. Despite the warnings from his brain that he shouldn’t allow himself to get so close to her, he drew nearer.
Varya closed her eyes as his head lowered to hers. His fingers splayed along her back, pressing her closer. Almost as soft and light as the touch of a feather, her lips parted as his mouth brushed hers.
She was his.
H
eat.
All Varya could feel was a burgeoning warmth. It radiated from his skin, and made her head spin.
She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as her tongue met his. The silk of his dressing gown was cool against her flesh, but she could feel the heat of his hard, muscled flesh beneath it.
Never would she have thought the feeling of two tongues sliding against each other could be so…exciting. Pressing her body against him, she could feel his growing arousal against her thigh. A heady sense of power raced through her at the knowledge that she could have such an effect on him.
The memories of Ivan were no match for the touch
of Miles’s hands and lips. The images that had haunted her since that night in St. Petersburg began to waver and fade under his gentle assault on her senses.
A feeling of peace settled over her. She felt safe and strong in his arms. Suddenly, she knew that not only did she trust this man with her life, she trusted him with her very being.
It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
Strong hands slid down her back and along the curve of her hips to stroke her thighs. The thin silk of her gown bunched under his fingers, creeping stealthily upward so that she was left bare from the waist down.
Varya’s heartbeat quickened and she shifted her hips, unconsciously trying to urge him to touch her more intimately. A pulse drummed heavily within her, driving her more than any craving had before. Instead of slipping between her legs as she wished, his strong fingers kneaded and caressed her buttocks. She whimpered in frustration.
Soft, warm lips moved across her jaw and down her throat, planting feathery kisses along the exposed skin just above the lace of her gown’s low neckline. His breath raised goose bumps where it teased her flesh. Her nipples tightened in anticipation, aching for the heated caress of his mouth.
Varya tried not to think about how he sent her senses reeling. She didn’t want to analyze her body’s fevered reaction to him. Her fear would ruin the moment, and she didn’t want these wonderful sensations ever to stop. Tomorrow she might regret her actions,
but for now she would think of nothing but how wonderful it felt to have Miles’s body against hers.
“So beautiful,” he murmured against her breast. “So incredibly beautiful.”
His hand slid up to cup her breast. Slowly, his thumb traced torturous circles around her puckered nipple. A sharp gasp of delight escaped her lips. Miles yanked the neckline of her negligée, pulling it down to expose her flesh. The savagery of the action betrayed his passion. A low growling sound rumbled from his throat as he took her nipple into his mouth.
A shock of incredible pleasure shook her, arching her back and making her gasp in pleasure. Bella had told her a man’s touch could be exquisite, but she had never prepared her for
this
.
“Oh, Miles!”
His hand was on her thighs again, nudging between them as his tongue laved her breast. It was torture—torture that felt incredibly wonderful.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her. Her body hummed with the tension that seemed to start between her legs. She parted her thighs so that he could touch her, gasping as his fingers slid into that part of her that burned for his touch. The muscles in her thighs tensed and relaxed almost rhythmically.
His fingers moved inside her, spreading warm dampness to her outer flesh, making her writhe impatiently as the throbbing in her loins built to a sweet agony.
Miles lifted his head long enough to move to her
other breast, his tongue flicking at the puckered peak greedily.
Varya moaned, nearly delirious with pleasure. She bit her lip to keep herself from making vows she knew would be better left unsaid.
His thumb rubbed gently against her most sensitive spot; the tiny bud throbbed acutely with every stroke. Deftly, he manipulated her flesh so that the pleasure was almost too intense to bear. He seemed to know how to sustain the delicious torment until Varya thought she might go mad.
Then he sent her over the edge.
Ripples of incredible release shuddered through her body. Incapable of thought or speech, she felt her mouth go slack. She heard a high, keening cry, dimly aware that it was coming from her own throat.
When she finally came to her senses, it was to find him watching her intently. His face was flushed; his eyes bright with unspent passion. His expression was tenderly hungry, affecting her even more than his touch had.
“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, not caring that her body was still exposed to his gaze.
He chuckled somewhat hoarsely. “It was my pleasure.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Boldly, she reached out and caressed the bulge tenting his dressing gown.
His body jerked at the touch. Empowered, she moved to slide her hand inside the robe…
“Let me give
you
pleasure.” She knew his member was the key to a his sexual fulfillment, and she wanted
to give Miles the same experience he had given her. The need to share this moment was overwhelming.
He smiled ruefully, seizing her by the wrist and moving her hand away from him. He shook his head. “No.”
It was as though a bucket of cold water had been tossed on her, and she drew back from him.
“No?”
“Not here.” He reached for her, pulling her close once again. “My pleasure lies in being able to make love to you in your bed. I want to take my time. I want to make you scream with pleasure. I don’t want it to happen in someone else’s house, someone else’s bed.”
She stared at him, wondering if she had heard him correctly. Had he actually demonstrated a streak of discretion? Somehow, she found the admission heart-warming—just as she found her own behavior disgusting. She had no willpower when it came to him, and her loyalty to Bella meant nothing when he held her in his arms.
Gently, he lowered her onto the sheets. Where the warmth of his body had been was now chilled.
“Get some sleep,” he told her, rising to his feet. “We’ll talk in the morning.” He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was still very much aroused.
She said nothing. He strode to the door that separated their rooms.
“Sleep well, Varya.”
She turned her back to him. “I can’t wish you the same, Miles.”
“I know.” The door clicked shut behind him.
What had just happened? Why did the incredible passion he had given her now feel cold and empty? And why did it hurt so much that he had treated her more like a lady than his mistress?
Wrapped in her guilt and confusion, Varya fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Miles couldn’t sleep. His mouth still tasted of her, his fingers smelled of her. He still wanted her, and his mind was whirling with questions, and a profusion of images that ranged from erotic to disturbing. He thought of Varya, her body open to him, and sighed in frustration.
He was getting too close to her. What had started as a mild distraction had blossomed into something heady and sweet, and decidedly dangerous. He could have taken her. Could have spent himself on her delicious body until these confusing thoughts swimming in his brain couldn’t even summon the energy to form.
He couldn’t bring himself to use Varya so cheaply. He didn’t want the maids to find the evidence of their passion on her sheets and giggle about it in the laundry. He wanted their first time together to be special, meaningful.
He had never wanted that with anyone before. He was fascinated by her, enslaved by her. Completely and utterly besotted with her.
And still he did not know her.
What frightened him the most was that not only did he want to know everything about her, right down to her favorite color, he wanted to feel that he might be able to share all of
his
secrets with her.
Damn, this poetic nonsense had to stop. He didn’t particularly like this new melancholy, romantic side.
Rolling over onto his back, he gave up on pursuing sleep. His mind was far too busy, his body still too heated for rest. Had Varya found sleep yet? No doubt she had tumbled into a languorous slumber despite her anger at him. Sexual pleasure often had that effect.
He felt guilty for leaving her after making her feel so vulnerable, but he couldn’t stay with her and not make love to her. The temptation of her body was almost too great to resist, as his actions earlier had proven.
Was he so quick to forget his mistrust of her? How could he even entertain having a relationship with her when he was certain she was still hiding something? He’d have his answer soon enough. If the investigator he had hired didn’t find out her secrets, Miles would himself the night of the regent’s party.
Even though he feared the outcome, Miles would personally see to it that Varya was introduced to Czar Alexander.
When Varya woke the next morning she was astonished that she had actually managed to fall asleep with Miles only a room away—his wonderfully talented fingers had drained every ounce of energy from her body.
Stretching languidly, she tried to keep her mind from dwelling on the passionate response his touch had brought out in her. Such thoughts would only make her hungry for more, and he had already made it clear that he would not make love to her until they returned to London.
Only two more days. She could survive.
An uncommonly bright smile graced her lips as she slipped out of bed. A part of her felt guilty for throwing herself so wantonly at the man Bella had loved, but she pushed it aside.
Gone was the doubt and fear of the night before. In the light of day, it was easy to understand Miles’s reluctance to make love to her for the first time in a strange house. She had no idea what the experience would be like, but if it was anything like the pleasure he had already given her, she certainly didn’t want to risk the rest of the house knowing about it.
Besides, it wouldn’t do for the maids to find virgin’s blood on her sheets.
She washed quickly, scrubbing away the heaviness of sleep from her face, and the scent of Miles’s flesh from her own. She rang for her maid and set about selecting a morning gown.
Not quite a half hour later, she entered the sunny breakfast room, feeling more lighthearted than she had in years.
That she was alone in the room surprised her. It was by no means early morning, but surely everyone hadn’t eaten already? She stopped and listened. The house was quiet except for the distant sounds of the servants going about their daily business.
Shrugging, she helped herself to the buffet of buttered eggs, ham, sausage, cheese, and bread. The food was still warm, so obviously she couldn’t be all that late.
She seated herself at the table, ravenously attacking
the food on her plate. A cup of tea followed—the crowning glory to a full stomach. But now that her hunger had been sated, it was time to discover where everyone else could possibly be.
She wandered out the front door. She inhaled a deep breath of the fresh, sweet air. The odor of flowers, grass, and horses pleasantly assailed her nostrils. The air here was much preferable to that of London. Perhaps she should consider purchasing a house in the country.
There was no one on the lawn. She shrugged and started around to the west side of the estate. The thick grass tickled her ankles through her stockings as she skirted around the corner. Still nothing.
This was very odd. Perhaps they were all on the back lawn playing horseshoes or some other inane English game. She lifted her skirts a few inches so she might move a little more quickly and hastened toward the back lawn.
It was a cockfight.
That was the only word she could think of to describe the scene that met her as the grassy area that framed the courtyard came into view.
Almost everyone on the guest list surrounded two gentlemen who were pummeling each other. Well, actually one was doing all the pummeling and the other was simply receiving.
Much to her astonishment, the ladies seemed to be taking more enjoyment from the pugilists’ battle than the gentlemen who also looked on. So many squeals and titters, and not one swoon in sight.
Varya moved closer. As she did, she noticed several curious—even envious—glances shot her way. Peculiar. A slight tremor of dread crawled up her spine.
“Oh, Madam Varya,” Lady Dennyson greeted her breathlessly, her florid face quivering with excitement. “How romantic! Just like a knight rushing in to defend your honor!”
“I beg your pardon?” Varya stared at the woman as if she were mad. What did
she
have to do with this exhibition of masculine stupidity?
“Lord Wynter, of course!” the older woman gushed. “Lord Pennington made a
very
rude comment about you in front of him. Lord Wynter, gentleman that he is, gave Lord Pennington a chance to retract his statement, but Lord Pennington continued his slander—by the way, my dear, I want you to know that
I
don’t believe one single word of it—and wouldn’t you know Lord Wynter couldn’t stand by and allow him to say such things!”
Varya’s head swam.
“He demanded Lord Pennington give him satisfaction,” Lady Dennyson continued, “and when Lord Pennington refused to duel over ‘a mere bit of muslin,’ Lord Wynter struck him! I do declare, I have never seen a man knocked so far by a single blow as Lord Wynter knocked Lord Pennington!”
She patted Varya’s hand and winked knowingly. “You’re a very lucky young lady, my dear.”
Horrified, Varya turned her attention to the fight. Miles had Lord Pennington by the shirtfront. The tips of the battered earl’s boots barely brushed the grass. She winced as Miles’s fist met his opponent’s nose
with a resounding
thwack!
Pennington’s head snapped back.
Miles seemed unaffected by the blood his opponent was losing. In fact, he was speaking—grunting—at the nearly unconscious man. Varya hated to admit she almost felt sympathy for Pennington, despite his previous insult toward her character.
“You”—
smack!
—“will”—
whooomp!
—“apologize!”—
thud!