Chapter Seven
Allison awoke with a start, her heart pounding, bathed in sweat. Completely disorientated, she lay staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm her breathing, but the image remained with her, the child’s waxen face, his hands curled tightly around the sheets, his mother staring at him in utter disbelief. There had been the oddest silence for what seemed like eons, before a series of horribly rhythmic high-pitched screams started.
It was the lady’s maid who stopped them by striking her mistress across the cheek. It was she who helped the broken woman to a chair, ringing the bell to summon a manservant, demanding brandy be brought, the whole time looking at Allison, who was standing stock still in the middle of the room. It had been the lady’s maid who heard Dr Anthony Merchmont’s accusations, who had witnessed Allison flinch at them, bow her head abjectly, visibly wilt under them. She might as well have held up a placard proclaiming herself guilty. Even now, forcing herself to sit up in the bed, pushing aside the tangle of sheets and blankets, she felt a surge of guilt. What had she done? What should she have done?
Staggering out of bed, she drank thirstily from the jug of water left on her night stand. Why had the dream returned to torture her now? She had not forgotten, she would never, ever forget that tragic night, but she was in the process of putting it behind her. She was once again practising her skills, helping people, easing suffering which had been borne stoically, in some cases, for years. Ironically, the free dispensary, which was growing in popularity by the day, was proving more rewarding than her lucrative practice in London.
She pulled back the curtains, leaning her forehead against the cool window pane. For six long months she had withdrawn from society, punishing herself by giving up the thing most precious to her. For six months she had tortured herself by constantly reliving the tragic events of that day, doubting herself, berating herself, making the slurs thrown at her by the medical establishment seem trivial in comparison. She had even managed to convince herself that she deserved the scandalous accusations spread by the press.
She had paid a heavy price. And now she was atoning, through her charitable dispensary. A spark of anger flared inside her. ‘It was not my fault,’ she muttered. ‘It was not my doing,’ she said again, with a new certainty. ‘It was not.’
She could not envisage returning to London, but the fee she would earn here would give her the freedom to go anywhere she wished. Edinburgh, York, Bristol, even Paris. She could start afresh, and on her own terms.
And as for physician Anthony Merchmont! At the end of the day, all he’d wanted was to protect his exalted status with his privileged clientele. Well, she’d conceded him that, quite uncontested. Foolishly, she could almost hear The Procurer say in her lilting tone, and could easily imagine her grandmother nodding in agreement.
Allison reached for the locket under her pillow and opened it up to look at the miniature portrait. ‘He’s welcome to it, Seanmhair,’ she whispered in Gaelic. ‘I will start again somewhere else.’
She closed the locket, kissing the gold casing. Her heartbeat was back to its usual steady thump. The last horrible remnants of the dream faded. She was ready to face the new day, and to make a fresh start with her charges.
She’d been hiding behind the excuse she’d given Aleksei, that it was for the best that they didn’t care for her. The children had no one else but her for the time being, and they needed someone. She’d been too reserved with them, following their lead, and fretting about the shadow of the much-loved Anna Orlova. It was time she tried to build bridges her own way, with stories and cuddles and entertaining games. She couldn’t bring herself to like that blasted dog of theirs, but if she could find a way of making him less noxious? He was a greedy thing, which was part of his problem, for he ate anything and everything. If only he could be persuaded to eat something that was good for him, and good for his closest companions too! Allison smiled to herself. Yes, she was pretty certain it could be done, and she was pretty certain the children would like to help her too.
* * *
Aleksei wearily pushed aside the sheaf of papers that he had been working on, and rolled his aching shoulders. He’d been hunched over the desk for hours working on his suggested reforms. The only positive thing to come out of the effort he’d been forced to put in to oversee the Derevenko estates these last few months had been his ideas for change. Working through them with the extremely enthusiastic and supportive man of business, who produced a suspiciously complete set of his own proposals, Aleksei got the impression that Michael had been even more of a traditionalist than he’d thought. Now, the whole antiquated system would be made more efficient, and brought into the nineteenth century. Aleksei had been forced to learn a great deal more about estate management than he’d ever wished to know, and he’d had a surfeit of it for today.
The study looked out over the formal gardens at the rear of the palace. It was a lovely day outside, the early autumn sunshine giving no hint of the harsh winter to come. He opened the window, and a burst of laughter alerted him to the presence of his wards. They were throwing a stick for that dog of theirs, and the rotund animal was lumbering after it. They probably fed it sweetmeats. He should have a word with them, put an end to that.
Elena was wrestling the stick from the dog now, falling on her bottom when it wouldn’t let go. Aleksei waited for the wail which routinely preceded her tears, but instead the little girl laughed as the bulldog licked her face and Nikki started to tickle her. There was such sheer joy in the sound of their unbridled laughter, he couldn’t help but smile.
Allison, who must have been watching on from one of the benches just out of view, now appeared, engaged in conversation with Catiche. What were they talking about? Aleksei felt oddly left out, like a stranger looking down on a tableau which he was permitted to view, but not to participate in. There had been a dog when he was Nikki’s age, he recalled suddenly. Not a bulldog, something much larger and long-haired, a hunting hound big enough to carry him on its back—or so he’d thought. Michael had acted as the mounting block, crouched down on all fours when he had failed to help Aleksei up using his cupped hands as he’d seen the stable hands do. He couldn’t recall the dog’s name or what had become of it.
Were the children unhappy, as Allison alleged? They didn’t seem to be. A week ago, she’d claimed they hadn’t warmed to her either, but either her expectations were high, or there had been a recent thawing, for there were Nikki and Elena shouting to her now to throw the stick for the dog, laughing at her paltry attempt to do so. Catiche, who had been hanging back, had decided that the game of tickling wasn’t beneath her dignity after all, and was now joining in.
Thirteen, an age which hovered between childhood and adulthood. She’d be expected to embrace society soon. Catiche and Elena were destined to follow in their mother’s footsteps, just as Nikki couldn’t escape following in Michael’s. It was how it was, how it had always been. Aleksei couldn’t change that.
His own solution had been to join the army to escape his predetermined fate. ‘And look where that has got me,’ he muttered to no one in particular. Ought he to stay here, sacrifice his freedom for those three children out there? Was that what Michael expected of him, when he wrote that damned will? And if so, why the devil hadn’t he discussed it with him?
Outside, Allison was attempting to restore order. He smiled, remembering their midnight row. A whole week ago, and they had barely spoken since, while he endured seven days and nights of tedium playing the aristocrat. How Michael put up with it was beyond him. Tonight he was engaged to dine at the Winter Palace again, but he could see it far enough.
As he watched Allison swoop down to catch Nikki up, swinging him around in the air, Aleksei felt something approaching a physical shifting inside him. Elena was pleading to be swung too. Catiche tried to pick her up, staggering backwards with her sister’s weight until they both fell on to the grass. They rolled over, leaning on their elbows, looking expectantly at Allison, who set Nikki down and joined them. What was she saying? Her hands were clasped together. He remembered the way she’d recounted the tale of the seal husband, that same teasing, smile on her face. She must be telling them a fairy tale. The only tale he could recall being told as a child was the legend of the Derevenko dynasty, and a more tedious tale he could not imagine. Whatever tale Allison was telling, judging from his wards’ entranced faces, it was not tedious.
To hell with it, he deserved a break. Closing the window, he gathered the papers together and stuffed them into a drawer of the desk. He locked it and put the key in his pocket, before making his way out into the gardens.
To his consternation, his arrival made all three of his wards jump up into awkward curtsies and bows. Strange to feel uncomfortable with this formality, when it was what he’d required of them.
‘Miss Galbraith was telling us a story,’ Elena informed him, ‘but it’s finished now. You are too late.’
‘Not too late to help you exercise that dog of yours though, I hope. He is too fat.’ Aleksei picked up the stick. ‘You need to make him run a bit further than the end of his nose.’ He bent down, putting the stick in the little girl’s hand, gently angling her arm to maximise the throw. ‘Now, you take first turn, and then we’ll see which of the three of you can make Ortipo run the furthest.’
* * *
‘So, while I could now write a thesis on who is bedding who,’ Aleksei concluded some time later, as he sat with Allison in the herb garden, ‘I have been unable to uncover any plausible motive for Michael’s murder. Which, ironically, is the one thing people are not speculating about.’
Allison studied him from under her lashes. He looked tired and unusually despondent. ‘Did you encounter your cousin Felix during any of your socialising?’
Aleksei rolled his eyes. ‘It has been four months since Michael died, yet Felix still avoids company.’
‘I know. The children have been asking for him. It seems he used to be a regular visitor here.’
‘I called on him at home. He all but fell on my shoulder and wept like a widow when I tried to talk of Michael. Of course they could be crocodile tears, but I really don’t think so.’ Aleksei cursed under his breath in Russian. ‘In all honesty, I can’t believe Felix is guilty of anything more serious than a predilection for mawkishness.’
‘That is rather uncharitable.’
‘I don’t feel like being charitable! What possessed Michael to leave his progeny in my charge? Why he imagined that I was in any way suitable to do what he’d expect by his children...’ He shook his head wearily. ‘He should have stuck with Felix. The man lives and breathes St Petersburg, he could care for them in a way that I cannot. I wish to hell I could prove him as innocent as I believe him to be, but we are no closer to the truth than we were a week ago.’
He dropped his head on to his hands, rubbing the frown which was etched on his forehead. Allison put her hand on his knee. ‘Not necessarily. I might have made a significant discovery. I hadn’t planned on telling you, because I’m not absolutely certain yet, but...’
His eyes lit up. ‘What have you found? Tell me.’
And so she did, explaining how the delphiniums triggered her memory of the existence of Wolf’s Bane. ‘I need to pay another visit to the Apothecary’s Garden to confirm, as I would expect in such an extensive collection, that it is grown there.’
‘Sweet heaven! So it is what you have been looking for, lethal and simple to use?’
‘Wolf’s Bane is unusual in that every component of the plant is poisonous.’
‘And the symptoms?’
‘It very much depends on the dosage, and which part of the plant was used, but if Michael ingested the root in any quantity, he would have died almost immediately.’
‘And it would have appeared to have been an apoplexy?’
‘With a high dosage, the symptoms would have seemed very similar. It would have been very quick-acting.’
‘Then we must be thankful for small mercies,’ Aleksei said grimly.
‘Yes.’ Allison bit her lip. ‘I’m afraid there’s more.’
‘What? For the love of—spit it out.’
‘It is Elizaveta. I don’t think she died of natural causes either.’
His brows snapped together. ‘Elizaveta fell ill after suffering a severe reaction to a fish she should have known better than to eat.’
‘That may be what she thought happened, and it is certainly what she told the doctor, but I don’t necessarily believe it is true. You remember what I said, about the symptoms of Wolf’s Bane poison varying depending on the dosage...’
Aleksei’s jaw dropped. ‘You believe—are you really telling me that we are dealing with not only one murder but two?’
‘Yes.’ The more she thought about it, the more certain she became. ‘Elizaveta was very sick, with severe stomach pains. The symptoms appeared to ease after a day and the sickness stopped, as one would expect in such cases of food intolerance, but then, as they do sometimes, they returned in a different form, and Elizaveta went into a rapid decline. Her pulse grew weaker, her breathing became laboured, until she could breathe no more. It could have been an extreme case of intolerance, as the doctor concluded. But the same effect could have been achieved with a small dosage of Wolf’s Bane.’
‘Not a tragic coincidence after all, but simply too much of a coincidence.’ Aleksei looked every bit as dumbfounded as Allison had been when she had first made her discovery. ‘By all the stars in heaven! This puts Michael’s murder in a very different light. But why would anyone kill Elizaveta? I know nothing of the woman.’
His brow cleared. ‘Though I know someone who does. Her brother has been in Finland on some errand for the Emperor, but I think he is due back in St Petersburg soon. Grigory Fyodorovksi is a charmer, a rake and a rogue, but a likeable one, welcomed everywhere because the currency he deals in is what St Petersburg thrives on.’
‘Gossip?’
‘And scandal. A more contrasting pair of siblings you could not find, for my sister-in-law was, as they say here in St Petersburg, as straight as the Kryukova Canal while they say that if Grigory Fyodorovski doesn’t know a secret, then that’s because it doesn’t exist. Perhaps he’ll be able to shed some light on the situation.’
Aleksei got to his feet, looking a very different man than the one who had joined her in the garden an hour before. ‘I’m going to spend a few hours going through Elizaveta’s papers. And I’m going to excuse myself from tonight’s dinner at the Winter Palace. I think we both deserve some time off. Would you do me the honour of dining with me?’
Allison pursed her lips. ‘I will have to consult my diary, it is very short notice.’
‘May I hope that if you do have a prior engagement, you will cancel it?’
She laughed. ‘You may. I look forward to it.’
Aleksei smiled, bowing over her hand, and pressing a fluttering kiss to her fingertips. ‘As do I.’
* * *
They dined as before, à deux, in the Green Dining Room, and as before, Allison wore her green evening gown. Though he needed some tactful encouragement, she persuaded Aleksei to tell her something of his life in the army. An itinerant life, it seemed to her, where the excitement and terror of battle were intermingled with long periods of tedium, waiting out winters or waiting for new orders.
‘I’m making it sound as if I’ve spent my life doing other’s bidding,’ he said, frowning. ‘In a way, I suppose I have, though it did not seem so at the time.’
‘But you cannot remain in the army and be a law unto yourself, unless you have set your sights on General Arakcheev’s job,’ Allison said.
Aleksei shuddered. ‘Heaven forbid. Besides, ultimately Arakcheev dances to our Emperor’s tune.’
‘Then you must set your sights even higher,’ Allison teased.
‘If I wished to do that, I’d stay in St Petersburg. I’d find a couple of European princes to marry Catiche and Elena off to. I’d abandon my plan to employ some of my former comrades as estate managers and keep Nikki’s empire in my own iron grip. And I grow weary of talking about myself.’
Allison pushed her empty plate to one side and leaned on the table, resting her chin in her hand. ‘Then let us talk of other things.’
Aleksei pushed back his chair, pulling her to her feet. ‘Or we could stop talking altogether.’
There was a gleam in his eye that made her stomach flip. ‘We could. We are off duty after all.’
His hands smoothed up her evening gloves to rest on her shoulders. She stepped closer, reaching up to touch the white-blond kink in his hair. He dipped his head, nipping her earlobe, then kissing the column of her neck. She moaned softly, flattening her hands over the expanse of his shoulders. He slid his hands down her back, cupping her bottom to pull her up against him, and then their mouths met.
Such a kiss. Sweet and deep, a long, slow slaking of a thirst. Enough, just this meeting of lips and this tangling of tongues, it was more than enough for now. Allison closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensations, drowning in their kisses, sinking slowly, into the dark folds of their passion. His hands swept over her body, her bottom, her breasts, the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, sensing her, mapping her, learning her, rousing her. More kisses, and she touched him too, learning his body as he did, not yet frustrated by their clothing, wanting only to kiss and to touch and to kiss, and to lose herself, to forget herself, to submerge herself in the languorous, melting sensations of their kisses, more and more kisses.
And then the nature of the kisses changed, became more urgent, and their hands became more demanding, and their clothes became a barrier, and Allison pressed herself against Aleksei, and he staggered back, and a large serving tureen crashed on to the floor, and they both leapt apart as the door opened, and a sheepish footman asked if they required him to clear the table.
‘No!’ Aleksei cursed under his breath as the servant retreated hastily. ‘Do not tell me he was simply doing his job, I am perfectly well aware of that.’
‘I wasn’t going to say any such thing.’ Allison stared in dismay at the shattered, no doubt priceless, Derevenko china. ‘I can’t think how we came to...’
Aleksei grinned. ‘We were not thinking.’
‘No. But we can’t possibly—at least, not here.’
Her words, the product of her thrumming body, spoken without thinking, seemed to crackle in the air. ‘Do you mean that?’ Aleksei asked. ‘That you would, if...’
Her mouth went dry. She could deny it, but it would be a lie, and who was to say when there would be another chance? ‘Yes.’
Yet he did not move. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, but not...’
‘Not here.’ He kissed her. ‘We will go where we will not be disturbed.’ He kissed her again. ‘Not your chamber. Nor mine. Not any room in this damned palace where a servant is a bell-pull away.’
‘The barge?’ Allison suggested, half-teasing.
‘Too far away, but if you are in the mood to be transported, I have just thought of the perfect venue.’
* * *
Ten minutes later, after traversing a bewildering maze of corridors and staircases, Aleksei pushed open a huge wooden door. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, as he held the door open, ‘the stables and the grooms’ quarters are in quite another part of the grounds. This is the carriage block, and no one will come here unless summoned, but just to make sure we are not disturbed...’ He turned the key in the lock, then held the lamp high. ‘What do you think? Are you transported?’
‘Good heavens.’ Allison stared around her in astonishment. ‘How can one family possibly require so many sleighs?’
‘The rivers and canals of the city are generally frozen from December until March. A sled is the quickest and safest way to get around. Here,’ Aleksei said, pointing, ‘are the small ones used by servants, which can be drawn by a pony or dogs.’
There were several simply constructed sleds, the main body a basket-like structure, balanced on wooden runners. ‘They are compact enough to be used on the narrowest waterways,’ Aleksei told her. ‘Michael and I had our own sleighs when we were children. Mine was just exactly like this one, but Michael, naturally, had his livery painted on it. It will be Nikki’s now.’
‘And will you teach him to use it?’
‘That is for one of the grooms to do.’
Allison said nothing. Sometimes it was best, she had discovered, to allow her silence to ask the question. And she was rewarded this time.
‘Though the grooms likely have more than enough to occupy them, and if I do say so myself, I reckon I’ll be able to pass on a few winning tips to my nephew.’
‘I hope not a few neck-breaking tips.’
He laughed. ‘No, he’ll discover those for himself. I shall teach him how to sled at a nice sedate pace.’
‘Something tells me that a nice sedate pace is anathema to you.’
‘No option, in one of those, but if you come over here—here is a troika. Now this,’ Aleksei said, running his hand over the sleek little sled, ‘is built for speed. Three horses, harnessed abreast, so it can only be used on the widest of the rivers or in the open country. The middle horse wears this larger collar, see. The trick when driving, is to keep him at a slower pace than the two outsiders.’
‘That sounds challenging,’ Allison said, eyeing the narrow seat doubtfully. ‘And extremely dangerous.’
‘This is a racing sled. This one,’ Aleksei said, taking her a few paces on, ‘is the Duke’s official troika. Still tricky to drive mind you, but as you can see, designed for show rather than pace.’
‘Good grief! It looks like a throne balanced inside a crown.’ The troika was curlicued and gilded, the velvet-lined seat seemingly held aloft by four burnished angels, an elaborate construction of mystical creatures rising to a peak at the front of it, topped with the birds which adorned the portico of the palace.
‘Magnificently monstrous, isn’t that how you described the barge? Wait until you see the pièce de résistance.’
Aleksei led her through a maze of smaller sleds designed to seat one or two. Some were stacked with wicker baskets, some bore the ducal crown and the bird symbol. Some had no covers, some had leather hoods.
‘Miss Galbraith, I present to you, the ducal sleigh.’
She burst out laughing. The so-called sleigh was actually a full-size carriage on runners, painted, predictably, in crimson and gold, the Derevenko coat of arms emblazoned on the central panel, which also served as the door. There were four windows on each side. ‘It looks big enough to hold—what six people?’
‘Eight, at a push.’ Aleksei opened the door and pulled down the step. Inside there was a throne-like seat at each end, and wide benches lining each side, all upholstered in velvet. ‘Like the barge, it’s ridiculously heavy and is rarely used. Six horses struggle to get it moving. I’ve only been in it once. I can’t remember the occasion, it was at the Winter Palace, I think. I was very young, and forced into wearing some ridiculous robe.’
‘I can’t imagine what the Imperial carriage must be like, if this is for a mere duke. The ice on the river must be very thick, to support such a contraption.’ Allison sat down on one of the benches. The ceiling of the sleigh coach depicted the heavens, complete with puffy clouds, putti and winged horses. ‘This reminds me of the Winter Palace.’
Aleksei sat down beside her. ‘Most likely by the same artist.’
His leg brushed her gown, and excitement flickered low in her belly. It had been possible, while engrossed in this display of sleds, to forget the purpose of this tryst. No, that was not true, but she had pretended to forget.
‘Allison.’
She jumped as Aleksei took her hand. Butterflies fluttered wildly in her belly. His thumb stroked circles on her palm. He smiled at her quizzically. ‘If you have changed your mind I will understand perfectly.’
Her heart was racing. Though she was flustered, terrified of making a fool of herself, and feeling irrationally gauche, she was also... ‘No. I mean, no, I have not changed my mind.’ And she was blushing furiously. ‘It was different, in the heat of the moment. If you would just kiss me or—or something, then I would be able to stop thinking and...’
‘I want nothing more, but I can’t, not while you are uncertain.’
‘I’m not!’ She grimaced. ‘I know, it sounds as if I am but I’m not. I’m nervous. What if you are disappointed?’
‘That is simply not possible.’ Aleksei turned her hand over, pressing a kiss to her palm. ‘I have wanted you so much from the moment I met you.’
‘Have you?’ Her voice no longer sounded strident, but breathy. Her pulses were still fluttering, but in a very different manner.
‘You know I have.’ He touched her hair lightly. ‘I want to see your hair tumbling down over your back. I want to find out if your skin is the colour of cream, as I imagine it to be. I want to kiss you, not just on the mouth,’ he said, pushing back an escaped curl to kiss her cheek, then the sensitive spot behind her ear. ‘I want to kiss every inch of you. Here,’ he said, cupping the swell of her breast through her gown. ‘And here,’ he said, sweeping down the dip in her waist to the curve of her bottom.
‘Aleksei. Yes.’
* * *
The taste of her sent his senses spinning. He eased himself on top of her, kissing her all the while. She returned his kisses eagerly, and he lost himself in the sweet, drugging taste of her, in his own aching response as he cupped her breasts, as she ran her hands over his back.
Why were there still so many layers of clothes between them? He shrugged himself out of his coat. He had not allowed himself to believe this could happen, though he had imagined it many times. The reality was so different, nothing like anything he had felt before, infinitely superior. Her kisses. Her mouth. Her tongue touching his, her hands on him, her hot, sweet breath. He wanted to devour her. He wanted to lose himself in her. Blood surged to his groin, making his shaft pulse. Aleksei groaned. If he was not careful, he’d lose himself far too quickly.
Her hair was spread over the velvet of the carriage upholstery, the copper and auburn putting the crimson cushions to shame. Her lids were heavy with desire, her cheeks flushed. Breathing raggedly, he dragged his mouth from hers to concentrate on loosening the fastenings of her gown. Her hands fumbled with his waistcoat buttons. He tore himself free of it, and his shirt at the same time.
‘Aleksei,’ she whispered, in that tone that sent his pulse rocketing. ‘Aleksei.’ He adored the way she said his name. Her hands were on his chest, flat over his nipples, making his throat constrict. He eased her gown over her shoulders. He loosened her corset enough to free her breasts, now covered only by a white chemise. He could see the dark, peaked outline of her nipples through the linen.
He untied the ribbon of her chemise. Her skin was like cream and silk, just as he had envisaged. He dipped his head, kissing the warm valley between her breasts, then licked his way around the contours before taking one dark pink nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. Allison arched her back, moaning her pleasure. He was so hard he ached. He sucked on her other nipple. Her nails dug into his back.
He wanted to take his time. He wanted to savour her. But her kisses were fervent, her hands urging him to hurry, and his own body was clamouring for fulfilment in a way that was impossible to resist. When he slid his hand beneath her gown, he forgot all about the kisses he had dreamed of bestowing over her shapely, stocking-clad legs, drawn irresistibly to the heat of her thighs, the musky, damp, feminine core of her. She was so wet, his fingers slid easily into her, the harsh, yet sensuously female cry his touch elicited making his shaft pulse in response. Their kisses were feral now, their tongues thrusting and clashing. He wanted to pleasure her, to linger over the readying of her, but she was more than ready, saying his name over and over and over, a plea he could not resist.
He would curse his lack of his usual finesse later, he knew that as he struggled to unfasten his breaches, to kick off his damned boots at the same time, but Allison didn’t want to wait, and he wasn’t sure that he could.
At last he was free. His shaft sprang to attention. He wanted her to wrap her hands around it, but he couldn’t wait for that either. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, clinging desperately to the last vestiges of self-control.
‘You really need to ask?’ she replied, pulling him down on top of her. ‘You need not worry, if that is what concerns you, I have the skills to ensure...’
But this was too much to take for granted. It was a matter of honour with him that he always took care. A kiss, the deepest of kisses, the most sensual of kisses. His hands under her full buttocks, lifting her. Slowly, slowly, he entered her. Slowly, he told himself, but as soon as his tip nudged the slick heat of her he was lost, and as soon as he sank into her, her climax took her, strong, pulsing waves that he could not resist. She was crying out, shaking and shuddering under him, and he thrust wildly, hard, driven by a primal need he had never felt before, falling suddenly, fast, to his own completion, only just managing to spend himself safely, in a shuddering climax that felt like it would never end.
* * *
She was sprawled semi-naked on the bench of the Derevenko state sleigh, with the completely naked His Illustrious Highness Count of Derevenko on top of her. ‘I think we may just have committed treason,’ Allison quipped, because the situation was so unreal, she felt she had to say something.
Aleksei’s laugh seemed very slightly forced. ‘Desecration, perhaps.’ He sat up. His colour was high. His torso seemed tanned. She hadn’t expected that. His chest was smooth. She hadn’t expected that either. The ripple of his hard-packed muscles had had a very unexpected effect on her senses too. In the heat of passion, she hadn’t even been able to look at or to touch the rest of his body, and now she was too embarrassed, in the aftermath, to do anything but look the other way as he grabbed his breeches and pulled them on.
She had behaved like a wild animal. Her one lover had been accomplished and selfless, but had never kissed with the wild abandon of Aleksei’s kisses, had never lost himself totally in passion as Aleksei had. Her response tonight had been visceral, her climax sudden, violent, unstoppable.
Belatedly realising that she was still supine, Allison sat up in a tangle of skirts and petticoats. Her fingers fumbled with her various hooks and fastenings. How did there come to be so many! Her hair most likely looked like a bird’s nest.
‘I’m sorry.’
Startled, she looked up from her attempt to straighten her attire. Aleksei had pulled his shirt on. He was sitting beside her, but they were no longer touching. ‘What for?’ Allison asked, confused.
‘My lack of finesse.’
The white-blond streak in his hair was standing up like a comma. A cow’s lick, her grandmother would call it. ‘Your lack of finesse. I behaved like—like a wanton.’
‘Allison!’ He pulled her into his arms. It was so very, very good, to be able to burrow her head into his shoulder, but Aleksei gently forced her to look up, to meet his eyes. He laughed awkwardly. ‘I wanted it to be perfect but I lost control.’
I lost control. Was it wrong of her, to take delight from those words? ‘We both did.’
His eyes darkened. His smile became sinful. ‘Perfectly so.’
He kissed her, a sated, deep kiss, that gave her confidence. And to her astonishment, made her realise that she was not so sated as she had thought. ‘True perfection,’ Allison said wickedly, ‘is something which requires diligence. There is a saying—if at first you don’t succeed...’
‘Try again?’ Aleksei pulled her to her feet, pulling the back of her gown together, and managing to deal efficiently with the tiny buttons. ‘I look forward to that. But in the meantime...’
‘Is it very late?’
‘I don’t know. I was going to suggest a riverside stroll, but if you are tired...’
‘No,’ Allison said hurriedly, ‘I’m not tired. Not a whit.’
* * *
Aleksei found a thick cloak belonging to one of the coachmen for her, and they walked along the embankment of the Moyka River, following the same route they had taken in the rowing boat. ‘I can’t believe I’ve been in St Petersburg less than a month,’ Allison said.
‘I know, time is flowing faster than the Neva.’
He pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist. It was another clear night, the stars pinpoints of light in the canopy of the sky. Though the buildings varied in size and height, in colour too, the façades painted gold and white, terracotta and blue, at night they formed one solid, dark mass on the narrow towpath of the embankment. The lights from some of the windows reflected in shimmering gold in the water. Allison shivered. There was a marked autumnal bite in the air that made her grateful for the heavy cloak.
‘The season is changing,’ Aleksei said, as if he had read her mind. ‘We will not see many more days such as this one. You brought the sunshine with you from England. It has been unseasonably warm since you arrived. Soon, the temperature will plummet, and the rain will set in. St Petersburg in the rain is not such a beautiful place.’
‘In Scotland, we had rain in the winter, the spring and the summer as well as the autumn,’ Allison said. ‘Freezing rain in the winter, soft in the summer, but it soaks right through you all the same. It makes everything very green, mind you. It’s a different kind of climate in London, much warmer and drier. You’d be astonished at the difference five hundred miles can make—and at the variety of plants which can be cultivated as a result.’
‘You have your own garden?’
‘Of course I do, and grow many of the same herbs as are grown in the palace garden. Would that I had a little succession house though, I’d grow a lot more than orchids.’
‘Is that what we have in our succession houses, beside deadly poison?’
‘Ours, is it now?’ Allison teased. ‘Don’t you mean Nikki’s? There’s a grape vine in one of them, and lemons and oranges in another, and then of course there is the fern house, but it’s all very—very ornamental.’
‘You don’t approve of ornamental plants?’
‘Only if they also have a practical application.’
‘Well you’ll have the luxury of being able to afford both, once you have completed your work here.’
They had arrived at the Red Bridge, and of one accord stopped to lean on the railings, to watch the faint ripple of the Moyka as it flowed out towards the Neva and then on, out into the Baltic Sea. The journey she’d be taking, when this adventure was over.
Her stomach lurched. How soon would it be over? How many more days and nights did they have together? Surely she should be counting down the time with anticipation, for when she left, her new life would begin. And this interlude would be over. No more St Petersburg. No more Catiche and Elena and Nikki. Though there were times, especially with Catiche, when her ingenuity and her patience were stretched, her efforts to engage with them on her own terms, without trying to emulate the saintly Madame Orlova, were increasingly paying off. The dread she’d felt every morning at the schoolroom door was a thing of the past. She relished their company now, delighted in stretching her always vivid imagination to invent new stories to tell them, new ways to entertain them. She was beginning to enjoy their company far too much for her own good.
But worse, much worse than no more children, would be no more Aleksei.
‘I’m glad,’ Allison said, surprising him by throwing her arms around him. ‘Tonight. I’m glad we did not wait.’
He pulled her tight against him. His lips were cold, but his kiss was warm, sensual, a promise. ‘I’m glad too,’ he said. ‘Very glad.’
* * *
Only afterwards, lying alone in her bed, unable to sleep, watching the dawn light filter through the curtains, did Allison finally concede to herself that she was in far deeper waters with Aleksei than she ever intended.
It was not their lovemaking but the aftermath, the intimacy of their stroll, the recognition that time was against them and all that implied about their feelings. For the first time in her life, she had an inkling of what it would feel like to fall in love. Not that she would allow herself to do such a thing. She was only envisioning it, because Aleksei was—yes, she could admit that much—he was like no other man she had ever met. Though they were polar opposites in many ways, they were also in many ways soul mates. As for the unbridled passion that had flared between them—didn’t opposites attract? Particularly when the situation encouraged them to surrender to that attraction without fear of consequences.
That was it. Nothing more. She was not falling in love with Aleksei. She was immune to love. And even if it turned out that she was not, the antidote was there, waiting for her, in the form of a ship which would transport her back to England at the end of her assignment, where her future awaited her.