Betrothed (Russian Hearts Series Book 1) Page 4

  His brother scowled. “It’s different.”

  Demetri swore again. “It’s always different. Stay focused.”

  Ilya swore, stood and dragged the closest woman against him, kissing her hard to a cheering room. A vase crashed on the floor, people parted, an intense beauty pushed away from the wall stepping over the broken china and looking at his brother as though he were emitting the foulest odor. Ilya, released the woman he’d just kissed as if she’d burned him and looked ready to howl in frustration and pain.

  The bottle had selected it’s next couple and all focus was on them, except he looked at Ilya frozen to the spot and the stern goddess striding from the room. Demetri reached out and tugged his brother down to sit next to him again.

  “She’s not your type.”

  Ilya, just growled. “I’ll lose her.”

  “She likes you?” Demetri looked at the last glimpse of her as she wandered into the other room.

  “She hates me…that’s far better but only if I can get to her while the emotions are high.”

  “You’re a cad. Stick to the widow.”

  “I am a master!” Ilya threw back his drink and rose. “I’m going to follow her so she has to think of me.”

  “You have a job to do.”

  Ilya nodded, “and so do you, hurry up.”

  On the fourth spin the bottle pointed to Demetri and a pretty diminutive blonde. Demetri stood and extended his hand. The plan was that he and his brother would now go on the town and leave a trail of indiscreet gossip leaving the ever-hopeful Georgina ignored by them both. A betrayal and slight big enough that the father would be sure to support her request to annul the betrothal and they would all be set free.

  Chapter 5

  The roses were waiting for her alongside the morning papers. Georgie went instead to the breakfast servery. Which Petroski brother had sent the flowers? No one else had cause to send them. Would it be a thank you for the dinner the night before from Demetri or an apology from Vladimir? Bacon, a poached egg, grilled tomatoes, wilted spinach and toast arranged on her plate, she sat, flower card in hand. Tea poured, she opened the envelope and drew out the card:

  Good morning Miss Georgina,

  The dinner was delightful and the company more so, a man couldn’t wish for a more accomplished and charming sister in-law.

  Salute,

  General Demetri

  Foolish, how she warmed at the sentiment; how she felt only the smallest disappointment that Vladimir had not sent them. She was halfway through breakfast before she picked up the paper. As was her habit, she scanned the headlines as she made her way to the gossip column. She bet herself a crumpet with honey that her betrothed featured there again.

  Finally, the moment arrived where there was nothing to do but turn the page, sight snagging on the evil little column, brace and read…read and re-read.

  The Petroski Brothers reigned the night at Madam Debuverey’s salon. The writer was informed that the salon was introduced to a range of Russian salon games that, rumor has it, touched the lips of many a female salon member, especially the elusive widow. Invites abound as the Petroski brothers spend their last few nights in the city.

  Georgie, slapped butter and honey on her toasted crumpet, ripped it apart with her teeth and masticated it into oblivion….brothers. She picked up the nasty little column and read it again. And, sure as eggs, there it was again, the Petroski brothers.

  Her father came into the dining room whistling, “Morning sweet-cheeks. Paper? Anything of note?” He piled his plate with kippers, sausage, bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and pan-fried potatoes. Then stepped towards the table.

  “Spinach!” Georgie growled.

  “Yes, yes must have been an oversight.” He placed a few leaves on his plate.

  “Don’t make me come over there, father.”

  He enlarged the portion of spinach.

  Were all men weak willed? Did they all simply follow where the senses led, for better or worse? Was there no man related to her or her future who actually cared about what that future would be and what was needed to build it? The Petroski brothers certainly didn’t.

  Her father picked up the paper and settled down at the other end of the table. She watched as he took a sip of tea. Unlike her he didn’t skim the headlines, nor read the articles. He went straight for the columns. That’s where the world is played out Georgie girl, in the exchanges between people, behind the stage and in the wings. Garner as much as you can because it will explain the course of world events.

  He choked, put the paper down as he coughed and patted his chin with his napkin.

  His eyes lifted to meet hers. “A man needs to sow his oats sweet-cheeks; it doesn’t mean anything. And that dear boy Demetri, he is single, he owes no allegiance to either of us, he can play up as much as he likes.”

  “Prince Vladimir hasn’t even COME TO SEE ME.” She could feel the tears racing to burst out of her eyes and splatter all over her cheeks and she tried her damnedest to stop even one from falling because of those hell rakes. And it was both of them, Demetri was not her betrothed, she rationalized, but he was her lifeline. She counted on him to draw his brother to her, to tell his brother that she was passable, more than passable, as a woman. The dinner had flowed beautifully, Demetri had complimented every course and left with what she felt were genuine thanks for an enjoyable evening.

  Her tears had nothing to do with the fact that he sent sparks through her when he smiled. That when he complimented her, she glowed. That he was everything she hoped the Prince would be. That try as she might, deep into the night when everything was dark, that warm assured ball in her chest radiated - he is the one. It didn’t matter that there was no obligation between them, that he was out touching lips all night tore at her heart and made her want to break things.

  She slapped her napkin down. “I simply cannot abide anymore. I know their late father was a close friend of yours and you have asked me to be patient and wait, but enough is enough.”

  “Now, now dear. We talked about this. You promised to give it a chance.”

  She threw her hand up in frustration. “I have given it a chance and he hasn’t bothered to show. I am being made a laughingstock by their behavior! And if I haven’t said it before HE. HASN’T. EVEN. CONTACTED. ME!”

  Her father waved her to calm down. “He was under the weather yesterday, Demetri said so himself.”

  “Father! They were out all night playing parlor games and kissing the demimonde.” Those blasted tears of self-pity and humiliation burned at the rims of her eyes, but she refused to let them spill.

  “Did you stay out all night getting yourself in the morning papers while you courted mother? While you were together?”

  He sobered up. “I never did such a thing to your mother. She was a woman in a million.”

  “And I am not?” Those blasted tears broke through her most determined barriers and cascaded down her cheeks, much to her frustration and shame. “Am I so different from her, father?” She whispered. “Will I not have someone special, a man of my own? One who can’t believe how lucky he is to have won me? Will that not be my lot?” Her father’s arms came around her, pulling her to her feet, against his barrel chest, and patted her back.

  “Shhhh.” He crooned as she pressed against the familiar smell of wool infused with pipe smoke. “You are the very essence of your mother. A treasure. Something is clearly in the mix we do not yet understand, give it a little more time.”

  “I don’t want him. I don’t think I can love a man who treats people like this.” She muffled into the comfort of him.

  “Love is a strange and wondrous thing. It can come out of the blue in an instant or it can grow slow and steady over the years. Give this a chance. The apple can’t fall so far from the tree. His father was an exceptional man. Mikhail always wrote that the prince was a boy after his own heart as much as the younger brother took after his mother’s. And look what a nice fellow Demetri is. And he was considered t
he mischievous one.”

  “He was?”

  “Yes, imagine them thinking of Demetri in that light. The Prince will be as solid as his father.”

  Georgie pulled back and her father dabbed her eyes with his napkin.

  “Come on, sit down. I’ll make you another crumpet and you can watch me eat my spinach,” he said.

  She couldn’t help a half smile. He hated eating anything green.

  “Will that make you happy?” he pinched both her cheeks.

  She nodded. “Yes, the spinach and the crumpet but the rest…the betrothal…”

  “Shhhh. Sit, sit I’ll butter the crumpet.”

  She sat down again and waited for her father to be seated after he delivered the promised crumpet. “I am telling them the betrothal is over, father.”

  He choked. Stood and paced. This was not a good sign. It was a sign she had seen only a few times and it relayed strained circumstances.

  “What have you done?”

  He turned, suddenly looking so much older than his forty-four years.

  “I am sorry to say, I need you to hold off letting the Petroski family know of your decision.”

  She waited.

  “I have borrowed heavily against the betrothal.” He said at long last, then sat down.

  “I will not marry him.”

  He lifted a large fork full of spinach. “I would never force you to marry, I do ask you to give me more time.” Then placed the fork load of greens in his mouth.

  Chapter 6

  The following day roses arrived, as red as the Christmas tinsel draped over the mantelpiece and curling down the balustrade. The stems had foliage as green and glossy as the holly leaves hanging at the center of the ground floor doors. The note with them read:

  The Prince plans with eagerness the return trip to St Petersburg.

  Salute,

  General Demetri Petroski

  And much like the spiky points of the holly, the newspapers and their addictive gossip columns pricked and drew blood.

  The Petroski brothers returned to their Hotel in time for breakfast. We wonder what kept them out all night, not once but twice in a row. Could there be a rivalry for the remarkably beautiful and elusive widow seen with them at every venue? The writer thinks the possibility should not be overlooked.

  The next day, more roses arrived, and the newspapers drew more blood.

  Matters of state continue to hound my brother. I write to relay that they will take my brother and I from town. We will return with haste and convey travel and wedding plans.

  Salute,

  General Demetri Petroski

  The cruel and addictive gossip column reported a House party in Bath regaled by the Petroski Brothers. When the blasted roses arrived again this morning, anger flushed through her like a Guy Fawkes bonfire.

  “I’ll take care of them” Georgie took the vase holding the latest red and green floral insult from the maid and walked to the window, opened it and tipped the water and flowers out of it. A wonderful flush of pleasure rippled through her as she watched the hypocritical tribute fall and land on the small path that ran alongside the house. Georgie then walked around the room and did the same with each and every other arrangement sent by Demetri on behalf of his brother. Each bunch hit the path below and scattered red petals like blood. It was indescribably satisfying.

  By the last bunch she had become more expressive, more abandoned in her need to purge her frustration and vexation, she raised the blooms above her head and smashed them against the windowsill. The feeling was so cathartic she did it again, and again and again, breaking the beautiful heads and sending petals all over the place.

  That was how she really felt about the blasted Vladimir Petroski, about the betrothal and about the fact that she was, for the time being, locked into it in support of her father. With each swipe of the blooms and satisfying explosion of petals and leaves, some of the pent-up frustration loosened.

  How could a man so thoroughly dismiss her without ever having met her? How could her father keep her in such an unpalatable situation? And…and that Demetri, how could he make her zing and tingle with every glance, smile and charm her then spend the night on the town courting elusive and beautiful widows? She slammed the decimated bunch of buds down harder.

  A masculine cough came from behind her.

  “Not now father, I am arranging the flowers.” She flung the broken bits out the window and spun around. “I should have done that days ago.”

  General Demetri stood, hands behind his back, a picture of masculine beauty and control as he surveyed the rose petals over the floor and furnishings. Heat flushed through her body; nerves rioted as she willed herself to remain still in the sea of obliterated botanicals. Her feelings were unmistakable. And to add insult to injury, her body was turning into a whirlwind of sensations, her heart pounding against her chest because he was standing there. She swallowed. She wanted to pummel his chest for running around England delighting every woman, except her, in ways her body was telling her would be the most delicious and delectable touches and kisses she could ever imagine.

  “I take it you are not fond of roses?” He said in that beautiful treacle accent, his eyes that held things in them she was unable to read. Eyes which made her body stir in a way that mixed with her anger and frustration in the most intoxicating way.

  Georgie brushed some petals off the top of the wingback. “They are one of my favorites.” She lifted her gaze and squared her shoulders, “I thought you were in Bath, making elusive widows giggle and blush.” Her jaw tightened.

  The man stood in front of her, stiff and silent. Nothing in his countenance gave her any indication of his thoughts, about what he saw around him, her, about anything at all. Her vulnerability escalated and she countered it by reaching for her indignation. This man may not be her betrothed, but he was certainly not stopping his brother from performing all the reported antics around town. And he had the gall to tell her it was due to matters of state. It was hopeless to ignore the fact that looking at him, looking at the roses, she was angry at him. Angry that he had been doing the gallivanting not some unknown betrothed.

  “You could apologize.” The words stuck in her throat. A Russian is not a fan of apologies, given or received, even if she was.

  And still he simply stood there, his face etched in stone. She scowled at him.

  “You could answer me.” She stalked around the room batting petals off surfaces as she passed when she really wanted to go back to the pummeling-on-his-chest idea. “I thought you would be an ally, someone who would help remove any barriers between me and your brother.” I thought you felt it too, I thought you knew there was something between us.

  He said nothing, showed nothing, his eyes simply followed her path through the room and indicated…nothing.

  That unwelcome vulnerability washed through her and her hand did what it always did when she felt off balance, it stealthily clutched at the small miniature in her skirt pocket, fool that she was. Clutching no longer the man but the dream.

  “I have business with your father.” He finally said, breaking eye contact and walking over to close the window behind her.

  “I would have thought my betrothed has business with my father.” Georgie flicked some more petals off the wingback willing her heart to slow down and her backbone to be strong enough to play this game.

  “I am to act in his stead.”

  “I see.” The only way she was going to get through this was if she started to give as good as she got. She may have promised her father she would not call the betrothal off, but her mind was made up. She was calling it off as soon as her father gave the nod that his affairs were in order.

  Georgie marched over and pulled the cord to call for tea, and it would be tea, not his preferred coffee, “Let’s have tea, shall we? Did Prince Vladimir manage to draw himself away from the house party?”

  “He has matters of state.” And just like that she was furious again. In her mind if no
t her heart, this betrothal was over. It was simply a matter of time before she could say the rewarding words even if a part of her heart would break. Georgie spun around and brushed past him as if he was in her way.

  “For both our sakes please stop saying he has matters of state. I can read better than the next person and the two of you are recreating around the countryside.”

  “I am not at liberty to comment.”

  There was that blasted Russian pride and face. Never admit to a wrongdoing unless it gives you more power and advantage.

  Georgie forced her legs to walk up to him, the man who made the strangest things happen to her body just by being in the room with her. “So, just out of curiosity, will you be saying his vows for him? Perhaps you will be there to tuck me into bed in his stead?” She sidled closer, fluttered her eyelashes in mock allure, “or perhaps he has sent you to kiss me in his stead so I will not call the whole thing off?” There seemed to be the slightest flicker of something in his eyes, but it could have been the light. Eyes that she was furious with and made her long for things she could clearly never have. She waited for the rush of words to calm her, to reassure her that her betrothed was honorable, pleading to give him another chance…they didn’t come.

  And that was the trouble.

  She was fast thinking an end to the betrothal was exactly what they aimed to achieve. She would be more than happy to oblige but for the promised to her father to wait. And if she had to wait, she would taunt. Taunt and plan the words she would say. The words that would deliver her the most satisfaction.

  Chapter 7

  Demetri quashed the desire to reach out and touch her, to reach out and sooth the suffering their actions were causing her. Yet he didn’t. There was serious business to press through today with Georgie and with her father.