Chapter Nine
‘The State Bedchamber,’ Aleksei announced later that night, throwing open the door theatrically. ‘Created for my grandfather in the days when the Duke and Duchess gave formal audiences from the comfort of their bed.’
She understood now why he had kept her waiting in the corridor, for he had been busy lighting the candles, allowing her to see the stage he had set in all its glory. And it was a glorious sight. ‘You omitted to show me this room when you gave me the grand tour,’ Allison said, gazing around her, eyes wide.
‘I didn’t show you any of the bedchambers, actually. Frankly, I didn’t trust myself!’
The chamber was almost entirely decorated in blue and gold. Blue-silk wall hangings were framed by blue-painted pilasters topped with gold acanthus leaves. Blue upholstery adorned the gilded chairs and chaise longue grouped at the foot of the bed. A golden guard rail forming a semi-circle around the bed itself. A duck-egg-blue-and-gold canopy stretched over the head of the bed, surmounted by the Derevenko insignia painted in gold. The white marble fireplace was inset with shards of peacock blue.
And above, the ceiling depicted a celestial-blue sky. ‘Psyche’s wedding,’ Aleksei informed her. ‘The whole chamber is a copy of the Imperial bedchamber of the Gatchina Palace, which was built by Catherine the Great for her favourite lover, Count Orlov—and yes, he is a distant relation of our missing governess, I believe.’
Aleksei released a hidden catch to open a gate in the railing. He sat on the bed, holding his hand out to indicate she join him on the embroidered silk coverlet. Light from the candles reflected from two huge mirrors which flanked the bed.
‘If you think it’s too bright I can snuff out some of the candles,’ Aleksei said, kissing the nape of her neck, his fingers tugging her hair free of pins, ‘But frankly I would prefer to see you in all your glory.’ More kisses, down the column of her throat.
Until Aleksei, Allison’s previous experience of lovemaking had been under the covers and in the dark. Now she relished the contrast, relished the edge of daring, which racked up her already high level of anticipation. ‘Let the candles burn,’ she said, ‘I want to look at you too.’
She did so brazenly, running her hands over the endearing kink in his hair, down his back, while her eyes travelled down past the open neck of his shirt, the falls of his breeches.
She smoothed her hand over his shaved chin and he exhaled sharply. His hair was so closely cut to his head at the back, it was prickly, and yet silky smooth where it was longer. ‘Your eyes match the colour of this room,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘As does your gown. It is almost exactly the same colour as this bed. I think we should remove it, lest you disappear entirely.’
Her cornflower-blue day dress laced at the back. Aleksei turned her around and began to deal efficiently with the fastenings, distracting her with kisses while he worked, focusing his efforts on rousing sensations in every part of her body. His lips were warm on her bare skin, kissing her nape and her shoulders as he loosened her gown, slipping his hands inside to cup her breasts through her chemise, his thumbs circling her nipples, sending little frissons of pleasure rippling through her. Gently, he eased her arms free, pressing kisses on to the pulse points in the crook of her elbow, on her wrist.
Easing her to her feet, he removed the gown before wrapping his arms around her, cupping her bottom through her petticoats. She twined her arms around his neck, pressing herself closer, feeling the hard length of him against her belly. Their kisses became deeper, their tongues touching and tasting, but there was still a restraint, their eyes open, watching, desire reflecting desire. His mouth drifted down to the neckline of her chemise. He kissed the swell of her breasts, the valley between them, cupping, stroking, making her pulse with pleasure. This was not to be like the last time. This was no urgent sating, but a slow savouring.
She tugged his shirt free from his breeches. She slid her hands up, under the soft cambric, flattening her palms over the taut skin of his back, feeling the knots of his spine then moving her hands to the front, to caress the ripple of his abdomen, the breadth of his chest, the hard nubs of his nipples. His breathing was fast, like hers. Colour slashed his cheeks. His eyes were ablaze with passion. It stoked the flame of hers, the way he looked at her, the way he breathed her name. It made her feel powerful. Confident. When he pulled his shirt over his head, she pressed herself against him, kissing the hard wall of his chest, daring to lick his nipple, and when he moaned softly, further daring to suck on it.
He muttered something under his breath in Russian. Then he picked her up, laying her on her back on the bed. Her slippers were removed. Her garters undone. There were kisses where she had never experienced kisses before, arousing kisses on her toes, her ankle, on her calf, behind her knee. First one leg, as he slowly removed her stockings, and then the other. As she held her breath, expecting for him to move higher, instead he lay down beside her, and there were more kisses. On her breasts, as he undid the ribbons at the neckline of her chemise. And then his mouth sucking on her nipples in a way that almost overset her, that made her curl her toes to regain control, and when that did not work, she pushed him away, taking him by surprise and rolling him on to his back, straddling him, her hair a curtain over them, sensing the barely leashed passion in his kiss and relishing it, wanting him to lose control, but wanting him not to.
‘Wait,’ she said, still kissing him, feeling the rigid shape of his erection through his breeches, between her legs, and wondering if she could follow her own advice.
‘I will,’ he said, ‘but you—no, I think not.’
Catching her by the waist, he rolled her over, managing to remove her chemise at the same time. She lay naked, spread out on the blue-silk coverlet of the state bed, but the way he feasted his eyes on her prevented her from feeling any sort of embarrassment. She did not need him to tell her he thought her beautiful, but he did anyway, and she believed him. She did not need to tell him to remove the rest of his clothes. Her eyes spoke volumes, and he did her bidding, and she feasted her eyes on him, as he had done on her, relishing, unashamed. Tanned torso, narrow waist, long, muscular legs, and the thick erection jutting between them. She sat up, tentatively touching. Another new and unfamiliar act. Her fingers fluttered over the length of him, so hard and yet so silky smooth. When she curled her hand around his girth, he moaned and he pulsed and his jaw worked in the effort to control himself, and she felt herself unravel, just watching it. A careful stroke, up and down, and he moaned again, and another, and he breathed out her name, and another, and she was on her back.
‘You test me,’ he said, ‘and now I will test you.’
And before she could guess what he was going to do, he parted her legs, and knelt between them, and he licked into her, and Allison cried out, partly in shock, because this was completely new experience, but mostly with pleasure.
Kisses. Were those kisses? Stroking. Or was it licking? She couldn’t tell. She didn’t care. She was slipping and sliding into oblivion, now climbing and tensing and pulsing and whatever he was doing, she didn’t want him to stop, not ever, not ever, and oh, dear heavens...
Her climax shook her to the core, ripping through her, tossing her high on to a throbbing, pulsing cloud of sensation. She could hear herself crying out, hear herself begging, don’t stop, more, again, her hands clutching at the silk bedcovering, her back sliding on it, as she arched and tilted towards the delicious, delightful source of unadulterated pleasure.
‘Aleksei,’ she breathed, when she could finally breathe. ‘Aleksei.’ More of a command this time, half-sitting up so that she could reach him, her hands on his shoulders, and then she was on top of him, skin on skin, a tangle of limbs and heat. She sat astride him, his face, skin stretched taut, eyes dark, pupils dilated. She was so glad of the candlelight, so that she could witness the desire etched in his face, and all for her.
The tip of his shaft nudged at her. Inch by inch, she guided him inside her, shuddering as he pushed deeper, entranced by the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he thrust, so slowly, so carefully, until he was there, all there, and his eyes drifted closed as she held him, tightening around him. And then she moved, and he moved, a small thrust and then another one, and then his hands on her waist. More thrusts, wilder now, and finally his passion was unleashed, and he rolled her on to her back, her legs around his waist now, thrusting harder, oh, so deliciously, delightfully harder and harder, until she felt the thrumming pulse of her climax crescendo and, as she toppled over into the abyss again, he cried out his own release, pulling himself free with a loud guttural groan.
* * *
They lay on top of the silk coverlet. The candles were burning down, making the light reflected in the mirrors flicker gold, which made the room feel like an underwater cavern. Aleksei’s heartbeat was finally beginning to slow. Allison’s hair was spread out on the pillows, exactly as he had imagined it. He buried his face in the silken mass, breathing in a spicy perfume, maybe cinnamon, and the unmistakable scent of their lovemaking. She was lying on her side, her back to him, her delightfully curvaceous bottom tucked against his groin. He cupped her breast with one hand, his other lay flat on her flank. They had not spoken. He couldn’t think of any words.
Perfect? No, for that would be to imply that it couldn’t get any better, and he knew, he was certain, that it could. Would. He pushed aside a thick silky handful of Allison’s tresses to nuzzle into her neck. She wriggled her bottom against him, and he felt himself stir, and she chuckled, a throaty sound that made him thicken instantly.
‘Aleksei,’ she said, turning around, her eyes alight with laughter and desire. ‘So soon?’
He kissed her. ‘What is it they say about practice?’
‘Makes perfect.’ She cupped his buttocks, pulling him up against her. ‘Who would have thought that repetition could be such fun?’
* * *
Autumn arrived in St Petersburg the next morning, a stark contrast to the previous day. The sky was heavy with the promise of rain, iron-grey clouds skidding briskly across a lowering sky. The children seemed not to notice the change in the weather, happily playing their customary game of catch with a considerably less noxious Ortipo. A simple concoction of fennel seed and peppermint mixed with flour and beef tea prepared by Allison, and administered daily by the children in the form of a biscuit, had cured the dog of the worst of his emissions and earned Allison the unexpected gratitude of Nyanya. The bulldog was considerably less rotund too, thanks to the daily outing to the gardens which all three children now looked forward to every morning.
Though it wouldn’t be long now before they would have to confine their play to indoors. She must ask Aleksei which room they might appropriate—though that was probably unnecessary. By the time the weather became too cold, she’d likely be on her way back to England. Time was, as Aleksei said, flowing faster than the Neva River. She couldn’t possibly want it to stop, that would be quite wrong of her.
The stone bench she favoured while watching the children play was cold, but Allison, huddling her cloak around her, did not notice as she sat down, closing her eyes as her mind drifted back to last night.
Last night had been—she didn’t think there was a single word that encapsulated it. Exciting. Passionate. Wildly, ecstatically satisfying. She had never imagined that lovemaking could be so utterly enthralling, so all-consuming. And so liberating. She had forgotten herself last night, entranced by Aleksei’s touch, by the strength of his reaction to her. She had forgotten who she was and had discovered some other, sensual, powerful being, who cared not where she ended and where Aleksei began. As if their borders had become blurred. As if they had somehow been transformed into...
Allison sat up abruptly, opening her eyes. What nonsense was this! Certainly no way to be thinking about a man who was destined to become part of her past in the not-too-distant future. Independence was what she had come here to achieve, freedom to be herself, to make her own life. She had not come here to entangle herself in someone else’s life, to think herself only half a person without him.
She frowned at this notion. Since coming to St Petersburg, she had not only regained her shattered confidence, she had become ever more sure of herself. Increasingly certain, in fact, that she would and could make a new, better life for herself, and she didn’t need Aleksei for that. So it was this other creature then, who craved him?
She rolled her eyes. This fanciful piece of imagining was not at all like her. But last night—oh, last night had been so very different from anything...
Which brought her back full circle, just as the object of her thoughts appeared, making his way towards her at a run. ‘You will never believe this,’ he said, waving a letter at her. ‘Look what Catiche has just shown me.’
* * *
The next day, Allison paced the floor of the chamber she now knew as the Square Room, awaiting Aleksei’s return. What was keeping him?
She considered making herself a cup of tea but, daunted by the complicated process, she instead pulled the letter from her pocket and scanned the contents one more time. With every reading—and this was at least the seventh—she became more convinced that she was not looking at the words of a murderer. Anna Orlova’s script was elegant, flowing across the page in impeccably straight lines. The hand of an educated woman. A well-born woman, who wrote in grammatically perfect English. A woman whose care and love for the recipient shone through in every gentle reminder to Catiche to tend to her lessons, in every entreaty that she look after her little brother and sister.
Very soon you will be attending your first children’s ball, little one. Have you chosen the fabric for your gown? Gold, the colour of your hair, or blue the colour of your eyes would suit you best. I hope that my replacement will guide you wisely.
You will have a dancing master, I expect. I wish that I could be with you to practise your steps.
Catiche had however, in her own inimitably contrary fashion, insisted on a pink gown. She had been a very unwilling pupil for the dancing master too, though Allison had put this down to a natural reluctance to attend the event after the tragic turn in her fortunes. Or perhaps she simply didn’t want to attend with Allison.
Though the question of the upcoming ball was hardly the most important point of the letter she was holding. Catiche had sought Aleksei out, so excited had she been to finally receive word from her beloved governess, the missive having been delivered by some unknown intermediary to Nyanya.
‘May I write back, as Madame Orlova requests, Uncle Aleksei,’ she had asked, utterly unaware of the potentially life-changing nature of the letter she held. It was to Aleksei’s credit, Allison thought, that he had refrained from snatching it from her. Instead, containing his excitement, he calmly informed Catiche that he was honoured she’d consulted him, and that he wished to do justice to her request by reading the letter carefully. He promised her an answer on his return from urgent business.
Which he had not returned from. Where on earth was he? Allison was consulting one of the three clocks in the Square Room yet again, when the doors were thrown open, and Aleksei appeared, a petite, cloaked figure in his wake.
‘Ensure we are not disturbed, under any circumstances,’ he commanded the footman, before closing the doors firmly behind him.
* * *
The governess, Anna Orlova, looked to be somewhere between thirty-five and forty. She had the kind of gentle countenance, with brown eyes set under a mop of soft brown curls, which would have placated any fractious child, were it not for the fact that her complexion was ashen, and she was, quite clearly, terrified. She wore a white cap over her hair, the kind of everyday cap a woman would wear when she was not expecting visitors. Whatever had delayed Aleksei, it had not been waiting for the erstwhile governess to change into travelling clothes.
‘We lost a wheel from the carriage, we had to wait two hours while it was repaired,’ Aleksei said brusquely. ‘Now, Madame Orlova,’ he said, ushering the woman towards a chair, ‘you will oblige me by repeating this improbable tale of yours to Miss Galbraith.’
Aleksei began to deal efficiently with the samovar, while Madame Orlova stared helplessly at Allison. ‘My apologies, I am somewhat—I was not expecting His Illustrious Highness, though I should have—it was both wrong and ill judged to write to Catiche on impulse as I did, I know that. I promised Her Serene Highness I would not—and I swear, Miss Galbraith on my honour and my life, the letter is the first and only time that I have broken my solemn vow. But His Illustrious Highness has every right to be angry.’
‘His Illustrious Highness is not so much angry as still trying to make sense of what you told him,’ Aleksei said, handing Madame Orlova a cup of tea, ‘and Miss Galbraith must be thoroughly confused already. Please start at the beginning,’ he added more gently as he sat down. ‘Recount to us exactly what transpired on the morning of your dismissal.’
Madame Orlova took a dainty sip of tea. ‘Nikki had been sick in the night, and would not settle, he kept calling over and over for his mama. Nyanya was staying with her sister for a few days, so I took it upon myself to fetch Her Serene Highness. It was very late—or early, I suppose, about three in the morning, so I was astonished to find that she was not in her bedchamber. But at that point my only concern was Nikki, and so I returned to comfort the child.’
Madame Orlova smiled tenderly. ‘Poor little mite, he had quite worn himself out with crying and was soon asleep. I slept in a truckle bed in his room to keep watch over him. When he woke, his temperature was almost back to normal, so I dressed and went to find Her Serene Highness, to reassure her...’
Here, Madame Orlova’s voice faltered. Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked quite stricken. ‘I said...’ She cleared her throat. ‘I told Her Serene Highness of how I’d found her chamber empty when I’d come to fetch her in the night, and she...’ What little colour the tea had put back in the governess’s cheeks disappeared. ‘She was like a woman demented. Screaming at me that I lied, calling me such names, using language I would not have imagined she even understood. I thought—even now, after all these months, the memory—I barely recognised her.’
Allison, quite astonished by this revelation, cast a questioning look at Aleksei, but he shook his head, indicating that she should take the lead, while he removed Madame Orlova’s empty teacup from her clasp, and set about refilling it. ‘What happened next, madame?’ Allison asked.
‘She had obviously been crying,’ the governess replied, her voice not much more than a whisper. ‘I noticed it straight away, when I entered her bedchamber. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her hair, her beautiful hair that she was so proud of, it was a tangle. Only I was so concerned to tell her about Nikki, I did not at first ask her what had overset her so—as I should have. We were not close friends, that would not have been appropriate, for Her Serene Highness was a duchess, and I—but we shared, as you do, spending so much time together with the children, little confidences, small jokes. I thought she trusted me.’
A sob was quickly stifled. Madame Orlova’s hands were shaking when she accepted her second cup of tea, and she drank it, as was Aleksei’s custom, in one draught.
‘You are still much affected by the events of that day,’ Allison said, trying to disguise her impatience, for she had no idea, as yet, where the governess’s story was leading. Save that she was by now certain that Madame Orlova was not a murderess.
‘I have missed the children terribly.’
‘And they you, madame.’
‘How are they? I have been so worried about les pauvres petites. Such a terrible tragedy they have had to cope with.’
‘Indeed,’ Aleksei interjected as her mouth trembled on the brink of another sob. ‘But you will be able see for yourself that they are well, that Miss Galbraith has been taking excellent care of them, just as soon as you have finished your tale.’
‘Oh!’ The governess’s face lit up. ‘Oh, Your Illustrious Highness, I cannot thank you enough.’
‘I do not want thanks, madame, I wish you to tell Miss Galbraith what you have already told me, as concisely as possible.’
‘Yes. Of course, Your Illustrious Highness.’ The governess obediently set down her cup and sat up straight. ‘I asked Her Serene Highness if I could help her. Whatever had kept her from her chamber last night had obviously overset her, I said, and it was that I think, the mention of her absence, which sent her over the edge. She screamed at me that no one on earth could help her and that I was to leave. I was so shocked. I tried to reason with her, but Her Serene Highness seemed quite beyond reason. She insisted that I leave the palace at once and never return. I was not to communicate ever again with anyone from the Derevenko family, nor with any of the palace servants. I was never to mention her absence from the palace the night before or the conversation we were having to a living soul. She said—she said that if I did there would be most dire consequences for both myself and my family. I had no option but to give her my word, and I kept it, Your Illustrious Highness, but Her Serene Highness has been dead some months, and I have been so worried about the children, so I very foolishly and impetuously wrote to Nyanya enclosing the note for Catiche. When you arrived at my cottage, I assumed that you...’
‘That I was the bearer of the dire consequences Duchess Elizaveta had promised?’
‘Yes.’
Aleksei frowned. ‘You clearly know that both the Duke and Duchess were dead within a few days of your leaving the palace?’
‘Of course. It was in all the newspapers. A terrible, terrible tragedy.’
‘But still you did not break your promise? Despite being, as you have just admitted, very concerned for your former charges?’
‘You can have no idea how concerned, Your Illustrious Highness, but the reach of the Derevenko family is long. I could not know what measures Her Serene Highness had taken to ensure my ongoing silence. I could not risk any harm befalling my family.’
Aleksei stared at the governess, making no attempt to disguise his scepticism. ‘You honestly believed that the Duchess Elizaveta would do—what?’
‘I chose not to imagine,’ Madame Orlova answered with a shudder. ‘Forgive me, Your Illustrious Highness, but you were not present that morning. Her Serene Highness was quite demented, clearly at her wits’ end. Her desperation was obvious. I took her threats very seriously indeed.’
‘What can have transpired for her to be at her wits’ end, as you put it?’ Allison asked.
‘I would not wish to speculate, Miss Galbraith, but I will say this. Their Serene Highnesses were very, very proud of the Derevenko family’s spotless reputation. At court, the Duke and Duchess were uniquely famed for their honesty and fidelity, and above all, for being above any sort of scandal. I believed that morning, and am of the same opinion now, that Her Serene Highness would do almost anything to protect that reputation.’
* * *
Aleksei paced the Square Room, his mind seething as he awaited Allison’s return from the schoolroom, where she was temporarily reuniting the children with their very grateful and relieved governess. The Orlova woman was not a murderer. Her convoluted tale was so unbelievable it could only be true. But the implications...
His hands formed into tight fists. The implications were quite literally unthinkable.
One of the double doors opened just enough for Allison to slip through. She crossed the room to join him and he clasped her hands gratefully.
‘The children were delighted to see Anna,’ Allison said. ‘Catiche was eager to thank you in person, but I told her later, tomorrow. I thought—how are you, Aleksei?’
From the way she looked at him, a mixture of sympathy and trepidation, it was obvious she had drawn the same conclusions as he. ‘Never mind how I feel,’ he said roughly, pulling himself free from the comfort of her touch. ‘What do you make of the governess’s tall tale?’
Allison was trying to decide whether or not to pull her punches. He could read her as easily as a book, and knew, from the downward quirk of her mouth, the slight slump of her shoulders, exactly when she had reached her decision. ‘I don’t think it was a tale, but the absolute truth.’
She sat down on one of the chaises longue, patting the space beside her encouragingly. Aleksei surrendered to the temptation. It was not that he needed comforting, simply that he wanted to be by her side, and why not, dammit! ‘For the record,’ he said, ‘I believe she spoke the truth too. But you haven’t answered my question.’
‘No.’ Allison angled herself on the sofa to face him and, pulling a pin from her hair, set about teasing it into a circle. ‘Though there are still some questions which remain unanswered, I think we can conclude from what Madame Orlova told us, that—that this was a domestic matter, a crime of passion.’
‘By which you mean that either my brother or his wife is a murderer,’ Aleksei said brutally.
Allison dropped her hairpin. There were tears glittering in her eyes when she lifted her head. ‘I’m so sorry, I wish it were otherwise.’
There he had it, the confirmation he needed and so desperately didn’t want. The confirmation that his instincts had been right all along. How he wished, how he desperately wished he’d left well alone. But it was too late now. Best to lance the boil quickly and efficiently. ‘Do you think it was Michael?’
Allison’s hand hovered over his, but she decided—quite rightly—not to touch him. ‘Before we leap to any conclusions,’ she said gently, ‘I think we need to review the few facts we can be certain of.’
Aleksei crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Go on, then.’
She did not flinch from his gaze. She would not, he thought with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, tell him what he wanted to hear but what he needed to know. He could trust her to tell him what she really thought.
‘For a start,’ she began, ‘I think, as Anna Orlova clearly does, that Elizaveta must have been having an affaire.’
Exactly as he had concluded, but hearing the words aloud made it so much worse. ‘I find it utterly unbelievable that Elizaveta would cuckold Michael!’ Aleksei exclaimed. ‘The only faithful married couple in St Petersburg, someone told me the other day.’
‘But it is the only logical conclusion, Aleksei. I’m sorry to say.’
‘You’re right. I know you’re right. But if this got out, if it were known that Elizaveta—by the stars, Elizaveta!’ Aleksei shook his head. ‘The sacred Derevenko name would trailed through the mud, the family’s peerless reputation besmirched. It doesn’t bear contemplating.’ Which was exactly what Michael would have thought. And indeed Elizaveta. Which would lead one to conclude...
‘What else?’ he asked. ‘Before I torture myself with speculation, what are these other facts that you think we can be certain of?’
‘We know we are dealing with two suspicious deaths and not one. Possibly one murder and one suicide?’
‘Then it cannot have been Michael,’ Aleksei said with utter certainty. ‘Knowing the kind of man he was, I cannot believe he would deliberately deprive his children of both their parents.’ Was it wrong of him to hope that she was right, to condemn his sister-in-law to clear his brother? But with a sick feeling, he perceived the flaw in this logic. ‘Though the same must be said of Elizaveta. She too was a loving parent. I think we must rule out suicide. Which brings us back to a double murder. Someone else must have been involved.’
Allison furrowed her brow. ‘Perhaps. Though it is possible—I’ve been thinking, Aleksei, about the poison. It is possible that the second death was an accident. If the perpetrator cut the root with a knife, and perhaps cut his or her hand in the process, the wound could have become contaminated with poison. Or even if some trace of the root was left on the fingers which were then licked—you see, a low dosage, taken by accident—that would have done it.’
‘A murder and an accident?’ Aleksei nodded slowly. ‘That sounds much more plausible.’
‘Yes, but there is one other aspect of the poison which we have not taken account of,’ she added, in a tone that sounded horribly ominous. ‘To administer poison, one must first obtain it, Aleksei. Wolf’s Bane grows in quantity at the Apothecary’s Garden, I saw it myself on my second visit. One plant would not be missed.’
It took him a moment to realise what she was implying. ‘The murder could not have been committed on impulse or in a fit of rage.’
‘Only if one had already obtained the means.’
He could no longer contain himself, jumping to his feet, clutching at his hair and cursing under his breath. ‘I cannot believe that my brother would do such a thing! I simply cannot. If he discovered his wife’s affaire, he would be furious beyond words, and deeply hurt too. I can just about make myself believe that he might lose control and lash out, perhaps throttle her or take a knife to her. But to act in cold blood, to actually plan to kill her—no.’
‘Aleksei...’ He flung up his hand to quiet her, but she ignored him. ‘Aleksei,’ Allison said determinedly, ‘I agree.’
‘You do?’ He sat back down abruptly. ‘Why?’
‘We have no evidence that Michael knew about the affaire. Remember, from what Anna Orlova told us, that it was Elizaveta who was at her wits’ end, Elizaveta whose behaviour was completely out of character. Her absence had been noted by Anna. She took the extraordinary step of effectively banishing her, threatening her family—if Michael already knew, what would have been the point?’
‘By the stars, you are right. You think then, that Elizaveta murdered Michael?’ Aleksei shook his head, as if that would clear the tangle of thoughts careering around it, like a whirling cloud of starlings. ‘But then why kill him? If she had banished the Orlova woman, there was no need to worry that she would be discovered.’
‘Perhaps that wasn’t the motive. What if she planned to kill Michael in order to be free to marry her lover?’
‘Completely out of the question,’ Aleksei said firmly. ‘Elizaveta was Her Serene Highness, Duchess Derevenko. She was born and raised to the position. She and Michael were betrothed as children. She dedicated her life to keeping herself and her family at the pinnacle of St Petersburg society. It is inconceivable that she would throw that away for any man, no matter how in thrall to him she may have been.’
‘Whoever the man was, he must have held her in thrall for her even to risk an affaire, considering the risks she was taking,’ Allison said drily. ‘If Michael had found out, Aleksei, what do you think he would have done—assuming, as we have, that he would not kill Elizaveta, the mother of his children.’
‘He’d have taken steps to ensure the scandal never saw the light of day. So the obvious step would be to silence the only other person who knew.’ He clutched her hand. ‘So what Elizaveta would be concerned about if he found out would not be her own safety...’
‘But that of her lover!’
‘Precisely. And what’s more, it wasn’t only Michael who would do anything to protect the Derevenko name. What was it Grigory said to me? Something about Elizaveta taking the moral high ground, and being careful to ensure that she remained there.’
‘Isn’t that more or less what Anna Orlova said, that the Duchess would do almost anything to protect her reputation?’
‘Including go to the length of killing her husband? Is that really what we are saying?’
Allison spread her hands. ‘It explains Elizaveta’s insistence that a fish intolerance was the cause of her own illness. She must have realised she’d poisoned herself by mistake. She would have been desperate to prevent the doctor from making any sort of link between her illness and Michael’s death because she would have been absolutely determined that no one would know what she had done. Even in the throes of death, she did all she could to avoid a scandal.’
‘If she’d been so concerned about scandal, she should have refrained from taking a lover,’ Aleksei exclaimed furiously. ‘Can we really discount the possibility that the lover was responsible? What if he murdered them both to protect himself?’
Allison shook her head. ‘That isn’t likely. The poison had to be administered in situ. We have no evidence of anyone else being here at the palace on the morning Michael died. And really, Aleksei, would Elizaveta’s lover consider murder the best way to protect himself? The consequences would be an unspeakable death, if his act was discovered—and it would be likely that he would be discovered if he was so foolhardy and reckless to come anywhere near the palace. Don’t you think silence on his part would be the safest route?’
‘So it was almost certainly Elizaveta,’ Aleksei said grimly. ‘Her hand may well have been forced when the Orlova woman discovered her absence, but the fact remains, she had the poison already prepared. She was planning to kill my brother, one way or another.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
He shrugged away her comforting hand. ‘As to her unnamed lover, whether he was embroiled or not, he must have his suspicions, given the circumstances. When the deaths were proclaimed, he would have been terrified, knowing that he would be deemed guilty by association if his affaire was discovered. But no one knows of it, save us, of that I am sure, for there has not been even a whisper at court—nor even from the greatest of all gossips, Grigory Fyodorovski,’ Aleksei said bitterly.
He sat back heavily in his chair, rubbing his temples. His head ached. Michael was murdered by his wife. Elizaveta was a murderess. Was it really credible? That sick feeling in his gut told him it was. ‘Whether Elizaveta’s lover was guilty of plotting a murder, or guilty only of cuckolding my brother, we will never know. The dead cannot speak, and he has the most compelling of reasons to remain anonymous. So it seems we have an impasse. The truth, but not all of it.’
‘At least now we know that your cousin is innocent,’ Allison said tentatively. ‘The murders were nothing to do with acquiring the Derevenko fortune.’
Aleksei sat up with a harsh bark of laughter. ‘Trust you to put a positive slant on the situation. You’re right. It seems like Michael’s change of will was, after all, a coincidence.’
‘Your brother must have known, as we all hoped, that Napoleon’s defeat was imminent, that peace would follow. Perhaps he had always wished you to be his children’s guardian, and only ever named Felix because you were not available?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose that makes sense.’ Aleksei rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘Perhaps.’
‘I’m sorry, but it looks unlikely that you will ever know some things for certain. I am so very sorry that I can’t give you the complete proof you need. I know how much you want to be sure of the facts.’
‘And how sure I was, that I wanted to know them,’ Aleksei said, with a twisted smile. ‘We have a Russian saying, it means something along the lines of impaling oneself with one’s own bayonet.’
‘Shooting yourself in the foot. I prefer to say, be careful what you wish for.’
‘I think I prefer that too. When you arrived here, my most fervent wish was to uncover the true circumstances surrounding my brother’s death. With your help, we’ve done that, and though we don’t have complete proof, I think we have proved what happened beyond all reasonable doubt.’
‘Will that be enough for you, Aleksei?’
‘It is enough for your English courts, and so must be enough for me. I need time to think. I need time to come to terms with it, but it will have to be enough. Which effectively means that you have fulfilled the primary objective of your contract. Congratulations.’
His words silenced both of them. Allison flushed red and then turned quite pale. Her eyes were stricken. ‘You wish me to return to England forthwith?’ she asked, with a catch in her throat.
No! It was like a punch in the gut. Of course he had always known she would go, but—but not yet. Though he didn’t have any right to detain her. And perhaps he was mistaken, and she was keen to go and get on with carving the new life she talked so passionately about. ‘There is no perpetrator to be brought to justice,’ Aleksei continued roughly, ‘indeed no justice to be served, for I am hardly going to cause a scandal by proclaiming murder.’
‘So now you can make plans to give the children into Felix’s care,’ Allison said, her practical words belied by the giveaway catch in her voice. ‘And Anna can resume her duties, I suppose. The children adore her. Now that she can return, I won’t have to worry about—they won’t miss me.’
They would, but not as much as he would. And as for the children, he felt strangely resistant to releasing them into anyone’s care. Timing, Aleksei told himself, that was all it was. He wasn’t ready to hand them over yet. Any more than he was ready to let Allison go. Not quite yet. ‘I have not decided whether to re-employ the Orlova woman yet,’ he said. ‘And if you recall, the terms of your contract included a secondary objective, of taking care of the children. So that duty is not fully discharged, Governess.’
His words were mere sophistry and if he knew it, so too must she. But she chose not to dispute it. With relief Aleksei noted her demeanour brighten visibly. Allison didn’t want to go either. Not yet. Thank the stars she was so endearingly transparent.
‘I would not like to leave so abruptly as Madame Orlova,’ she said. ‘The children do not love me as much, but I think they do care a little.’
‘They care a great deal, as you must know,’ Aleksei said, sitting back down beside her, taking her hands in his, refusing to acknowledge how relieved he was save in the tightening of his clasp. ‘We will need to accustom them to the idea of your departure.’ And himself too. ‘Allow them to spend a bit more time enjoying your company before you leave.’ And him too. Yes, that was it. ‘So I’m afraid I can’t release you from your contract just yet.’
‘No, I don’t think you can.’
She smiled at him mistily, and he felt a strange twisting in his gut. A long tress of auburn curls had been released by the hairpin which now lay discarded on the floor, shaped into an imperfect circle. He pushed her silky strands back from her cheek, twining her curls around his finger. Wanting manifested itself in an ache low in his belly. Not desire, something different. He rested his cheek against hers, breathing in her particular scent, his mouth on her hair, and closed his eyes.
Her fingers fluttered over the back of his neck, stroking, soothing. ‘It has been what my grandmother would call a bit of a day,’ she said softly.
Aleksei laughed silently. ‘That is an understatement.’
He lifted his head, capturing her face between his hands. And kissed her.
The sweetest, achingly beautiful of kisses it was. With a soft sigh, she seemed to melt into him. Not surrender, but giving. Succour. Release. He tilted her back on the chaise longue and she lay pliant beneath him, her hands on his arms and his back and his buttocks, smoothing, stroking, and her tongue stroking his. He was melting with their kisses, the balm of them pushing all the trauma of the day to the back of his mind. They were not the answer, those kisses. The questions would return. The agony of not knowing would come back to torture him.
‘Allison.’ He said her name, for the simple pleasure of saying it. ‘Allison,’ he said, between kisses. But for now, those kisses were all he needed. For now, she was all he wanted.