28 #2
And she was proven correct when he joined her at the front door and knocked for entrance. While they waited, she sensed that he was more than just annoyed about her putting him to this bother. He seemed…nervous? Was he actually worried about what she would think of his home?
Highly doubtful. She must be imagining it, and what did she care anyway?
She was too disappointed that his house had been so close and that visiting it wouldn’t take as much time as she had hoped it would.
Her despondency was returning, and with it, some self-defensive apathy.
What difference did it make if his mother didn’t like her?
What did it matter if her father was mortified when he learned of her behavior?
So what if Christopher would be lost to her if this marriage took place?
The door opened, and Vasili was being greeted by a crusty-voiced servant who surprised Alexandra by his very size.
He was the tallest, largest man she’d ever encountered, a giant, really, and ancient, with white hair and wrinkles.
By the look of him, he should have been retired twenty or thirty years ago.
He was certainly too old to be a butler, which he apparently was since he began directing several waiting footmen, including sending one out to see to the horses.
But she had to allow that in his day he must have had no problem keeping out unwanted visitors—What was she thinking? He still wouldn’t have any problem.
Vasili was telling him—Maurus, he called him—that he wasn’t staying now, but would be back late that evening. He didn’t bother to introduce Alexandra, so she ignored them and glanced around one of the loveliest entrance halls she’d ever stepped into.
The white marble floor reflected the jewel tones of the mammoth stained-glass window above the door, which cast a rainbow of colors that turned even the three large crystal chandeliers hanging from the second-floor ceiling into glittering gems. It was a long hall, and quite wide, with a grand staircase centered at the end and corridors on either side of it going deeper into the house.
Many closed doors lined the left side of the hall; only two sets of double doors were on the right, the first set open, revealing a glimpse of white carpeting.
She could also see a few pieces of furniture in rosewood, and light-blue-and-gold upholstery on a sofa and some chairs, indicating a drawing room.
Along with an array of paintings in all sizes that filled the high walls, there were a number of ornate mirrors in thick frames, with hothouse flowers on pedestals or long wall tables set before them.
The flowers were such a welcome sight in winter.
Above some pink roses, Alexandra caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors and winced.
She wasn’t as dusty as usual—the roads they had traveled since yesterday had been well maintained—but as always with her fine locks, she had hair escaping from under her fur hat.
She’d also picked up a black smudge on her chin, she couldn’t imagine from what.
Her clothes, of course, were wrinkled, and she looked tired—exhausted, actually—but that wasn’t surprising either.
A trip that could have taken three weeks had taken five because of the wagons, but Vasili had still managed to keep them on the road for most of the daylight hours of each day.
The circles under her eyes, though, were caused by lack of sleep—that little voice that had been bothering her the past couple of days did so mostly late at night.
She wondered whether she should be glad that she looked so terrible for her first meeting with Vasili’s mother, or if she ought to take a few minutes while she was here to improve her appearance.
She couldn’t do anything about the circles under her eyes, but Vasili apparently had a typical staff which would include someone who could give her clothes a quick press. And her hair was easy to—
“Master!”
Alexandra turned abruptly. She first saw Vasili rolling his eyes, then followed the sound of the rushing footsteps to the staircase, where a small, black-haired woman in a flowing silk caftan of floral print—a thin garment more suited to the bedroom—was running down the stairs.
She appeared to be in her early twenties and was exquisitely lovely, her long black hair nearly reaching her knees, her dark brown eyes large, her body delicate, graceful even in her rush, her features exotic and sensual.
Alexandra merely lifted a brow and said to Vasili while the woman was still a distance away, “Master?”
“Fatima was a slave when she was given to me,” he said in exasperation. “I freed her, but she was born in a harem and persists in calling me—”
Alexandra had to interrupt at that point because Fatima had reached them and was about to throw herself at Vasili. “Hold it right there,” she said, her voice so commanding it would have stopped a battalion. The ex-slave obeyed instantly.
Oddly enough, Alexandra wasn’t angry, though the woman’s position in the house was pretty obvious. She should have been angry, probably would have been mere days ago. But today her mood was so gloomy with hopelessness that it didn’t leave much room for any other emotions.
If she didn’t have to remain consistent for Vasili’s benefit, she might not have stopped the girl at all, might have just quietly left so the two lovers could enjoy their happy reunion.
At least she understood now why he hadn’t wanted to bring her here.
And she could see that he was braced for her attack, expecting the worst.
She surprised him instead, merely telling Fatima, “You’ll have to find somewhere else to work.”
“But I live here, mistress.”
“Not anymore. Your master is getting married.”
Fatima turned to Vasili, apparently thinking that, as the man, he was going to have the last word on the subject. And to make sure his decision would be in her favor, great fat tears appeared in her pretty eyes.
That was when Alexandra got angry. Of all the rotten, female things to do, to use tears to appeal to his protective instincts. As if he had any. It was his rutting instincts that were going to be swayed, but not while Alexandra was there to witness it.
Vasili saw her unhook the whip from her belt, but she’d already snapped it once before he could reach her.
The sound brought back to him the painful memory of the welts he still wore, but that wouldn’t have stopped him if her intent had been to do damage.
Since all she’d done was crack the lash to regain Fatima’s wide-eyed attention, and was even now rewinding it, he decided not to tempt her further… the hell he wouldn’t.
He snatched the whip from her hand, but she merely gave him a disgusted look and chided, “You should recall that I always give fair warning first, Petroff—and I have other whips.” Then her expression turned positively menacing as she fixed her dark blue gaze on Fatima to say, “You want to share his bed some more, you’re going to pay a price for it. Are you sure you want to?”
Fatima was too frightened to answer. She simply shrieked and ran toward the back of the house. Vasili was torn between going after her to assure her that she wasn’t in danger of losing any skin, at least not yet, and wringing Alexandra’s neck. He took a step toward Alexandra.
She backed up, but her expression didn’t change. If anything, she looked like she was about to scratch his eyes out now that they were alone, but it was a verbal attack she unleashed first.
“You are the most perfidious, lecherous, despicable man in creation! You went to collect a bride, but kept your mistress installed in your own house? You couldn’t even move her to another house?”
She was shouting at him. He answered her almost too quietly as he forced her to retreat another step.
“I went to Russia to get rid of a bride, not bring her home with me. You were supposed to have sense enough to see that we wouldn’t possibly suit.
But rest assured, my other mistresses are in other houses, and Fatima will be installed elsewhere before the end of the day. ”
“But you won’t get rid of them?”
“I warned you I wouldn’t, sweetheart. So why don’t you rejoice and realize that that gives you grounds to end this thing?”
“I’m not just bound by that betrothal contract, you fool, I’m bound by my own word to marry you. When are you going to realize that that means it’s going to happen no matter what you do, with only one exception? Refuse to marry me, and that will end it.”
Another step had her backed up against a wall, and he braced his arms on both sides of her. “I’m beginning to look forward to this marriage, just so I can spend the rest of my life making you miserable.”
Alexandra was too angry to be intimidated. “Misery loves company, sweetheart,” she shot back. “So don’t think I’ll be suffering mine alone.” She slipped out from under his arm and marched out the door.