My Angel (43 page)

One faint light cast its glow from an upstairs window. Mysterious shadows moved around the front steps. For a brief second a curtain was drawn back. Someone watched them. The curtain fluttered closed, the light was blown out and all was as it had been.

Chills suddenly swept through to her bones. Angela shivered, running her ice-cold hands up and down her arms. She had never known fear like this. It was all-consuming, yet irrational. A clock inside chimed the hour. Its sound was that of a death knell.

"What is it?" Misha asked, almost as if he'd felt the same cold draft, the same spine-tingling terror.

"I don't know,'' Angela said, trying to shrug the eerie sensation off. "I'm just tired."

The journey had been exhausting and filled with fear. Her innate courage and strength had seen her through. She missed Alexi, his smile, his gentle touch.

Angela knew she was pregnant with Alexi's child, and she found herself needing to rest more often. She'd endured bouts of nausea and uncharacteristic fatigue for miles without complaining. She hoped the sickness and the exhaustion had gone unnoticed by Misha, but she wasn't sure.

Angela thought she'd be anxious to retire when they reached
the house. Instead she felt an unexplainable anxiety, a foreboding deep in the pit of her stomach, and she knew she would be unable to sleep.

She looked at Misha, a man she'd come to rely on over the days that had passed. At times Misha had pushed them hard, saying the trail was dangerous and he would take no chances with Alexi's beloved. But at other times he'd made her rest, seen to her every whim.

Now the sight of the estate sent shivers all the way to her toes. She was thankful Misha wasn't going to leave her at the doorstep of this house that looked so very foreign and cold. This was Alexi's home. He'd spent part of his life roaming the grounds, catching fish in the rivers that swept by and playing in the abundant fields. Yet she didn't feel his presence here.

If she were to know more about Alexi, she would have to learn more about his home.

The people in the villages they'd passed earlier depended on him and his family for their education and their livelihood. What would her life be like if she were part of all this?

She would never have a place here. As his mistress she'd always be on the outside looking in. She would be an ornament, nothing more. Her heart ached for the love she'd never experience.

It was quite cold and damp, but when Misha helped her down, she forgot the discomfort and the ominous feelings she'd experienced when she first looked at the mansion. Determined to make the best of this situation, she shook off all the bad thoughts she'd harbored.

She spun around then realized everyone was watching her, including Misha. He looked tired as well, and was trying not to be impatient with her. It seemed he wanted nothing more than to escort her to her bed before finding his own.

"I will take you to your room. I'm sure the long trip has exhausted you."

"Of course," she said.

The long brick walkway was slippery; he held her elbow carefully, escorting her up the stairway to the porch. When they reached the top, Misha opened the door for her. As she stepped into the cold, empty hallway, the house became even more forbidding.

She inhaled a deep breath, summoning her courage.

"It will all feel different in the morning,'' Misha said.' 'When the sun is shining," he added, "this place will not seem so big and intimidating."

His encouragement lightened her steps but not her heart. She missed Alexi and his bold, sunny smile. Suddenly she missed the
Rockies
and the snow-covered peaks. "When will Alexi be back?" she asked, already feeling as if a part of her heart were missing.

"A few days, maybe a few weeks. It's hard to say." Misha led her up a curving staircase that rose immediately from the entry. The downstairs rooms branched off from either side of it. "You'll find the room quite nice. You must be exhausted," he repeated.

"Yes..." She touched his arm. "Thank you for all you've done."

He grunted away the thank-you, looking embarrassed by her words. "It was nothing. It's late, and you'll want a grand tour in the morning," he said, expecting her to follow behind him. "Alexi told me to put you in here." He opened a door, letting her step inside before he walked to another door across the room and opened it. "This door leads to his chamber."

Slowly she turned around, taking in everything. Her room was beautiful, more beautiful than any room she'd seen, except the one in the hotel in
New York
. It had a large bed covered with a thick blue quilt and piled with dark blue pillows. The oak furniture was massive, the wallpaper in a delicate blue floral pattern, matching the quilt, and the molding about the ceiling had been designed to mirror the paper.

"It's very nice," she murmured. But her heart felt lodged in her throat. It was her room. And it was next to his. Her parents didn't sleep alone. Alexi had insisted they share the same room and the same bed when they were on board the
Mystic,
but he didn't know for sure that she'd be his mistress then. Already he'd set her apart.

"If there isn't anything else, I'll leave you to rest." Misha started from the room but paused at the door.

She turned quickly. "Where will you be if I need you?''

"Down the hall and to the right," he said, then saluted sharply and left her. "I'll talk to you in the morning. I will give you that tour, if you want one." He smiled gently at her.

She watched him leave, staring at his back as he walked down the hall and through the door to his room. She heard the door click shut. She was alone.

For a long time Angela wandered the room, picking up a figurine, pulling back the white lace curtains at the window. She still felt restless and ill at ease. Her room looked over the front of the estate. She could see the long, tree-lined driveway leading to the front door. Moisture filled her eyes, and she fought the hot sting of tears welling deep in her throat. She didn't want to feel homesick.

She didn't want to miss Alexi either.

Someone had already brought her single bag to the room. She dreaded the thought of putting on the same nightgown she'd worn and laundered until it was slightly gray and paper-thin. She slipped off her traveling clothes and pulled the worn nightgown over her head.

She left the light burning and lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing sleep would not prove quite so elusive, wishing Alexi lay here beside her as her husband. Her hand drifted down to where her womb lay beneath. Inside her body she sheltered and nurtured a new life, Alexi's blood, his heir if he married her, his bastard if he didn't. They had lain together only once. A miracle, she thought; this tiny life was a miracle sent from God.

She would keep the miracle from God safe.

Angela did sleep, yet it seemed she'd just closed her eyes when a woman's shrill voice startled her awake in the sun-bright room.

"What are you doing in this chamber?" The question was harsh and biting.

Angela sat up, blinking the sleep from her eyes. Bright morning light filtered in through the window, the lace curtain painting
delicate shadows across the bed. A young, very pretty woman stood beside her bed. Her black hair was tied into a tight chignon at the base of her neck, little ringlets dancing whimsically around the lady's face. Fashionably clothed in a mauve day dress, the woman looked down her long, aristocratic nose at Angela.

Beneath her skirts, the woman's foot tapped a rapid beat, an impatient staccato. "I asked you a question," she said, her lips pursed into a shrewish expression, her eyes tiny slits of pale brown. "You'd be well advised to answer immediately," she said in her native language.

Angela caught the drift of the lady's words and tried her best to answer in Russian. "Misha told me to stay here." For some reason this woman didn't like her. "Is something wrong?" Angela was determined not to let the lady frighten her. She pushed her hair back from her face, tried to blink the sleep from her eyes and resist the bone-deep weariness that assailed her.

"What is Misha to you? Is Ivan back? Natasha will not be pleased you're in this room. She wouldn't even let me stay .here, and I'm Alexi's betrothed. I want you out of here." The young woman gave a stamp of her tiny foot to emphasize the point. "Get out. Out!" Once again her voice turned shrill and she shook one finger in front of Angela's nose.

Alexi's betrothed?

"No," Angela said, her voice calmer than her racing pulse. The knife Dakota had given her lay nearby, but not close enough to reach. She'd suspected she'd be in danger here. She'd been right. This woman posed a threat to her greater than anything Alexi could have imagined on the trail, a threat greater than anything she'd faced in her lifetime--and once she'd gone nose-to-nose with a grizzly for a few minutes, until her father rescued her by shooting the beast. Common sense, the uncanny instinct for survival Angela had, cried out for her to be wary.

The young lady turned florid, her fists clamping together at her sides. "You will do as I say." She trembled as she spoke, her voice filled with loathing. "You will do it now!"

Angela smiled and raised her chin a notch. "Who is in charge of the house with Alexi gone?'' Angela asked, unclear about her role or her rights. She knew Alexi would not allow her to stay in this room after he took a wife, but for now...

For now he wanted her here. He'd given Misha explicit directions.

The lady's chest swelled with arrogant pride. "I am, seeing that I'm about to become Alexi's wife. I'm in charge of everything that goes on here."

"Pity," Angela said, her voice soft but not low enough to keep the lady from hearing.