Splendor (44 page)

Carolyn held him tightly. "Don't wait. I have missed you, too," she began, but then she felt him, huge and hard, entering her, and she gasped.

"Don't tense," he whispered, slowly, very, very slowly, sliding himself inch by agonizing inch inside of her. He was wide and thick and he was long and the pressure was exquisite. Their eyes met and held.

And Carolyn knew that she had found heaven on earth. To be joined with the one she loved. To become one with him.

Carolyn woke up when she rolled over and was drenched by a surprisingly bright light. She blinked, finding herself hugging a crimson pillow, in a huge bed with dark red hangings and darker red covers. And then she recalled all of last night. She was in Nicholas's bed. They had made love—not once, but several glorious times.

She started to smile. Her body was sated, and so was her heart and her soul. But then her smile faded as full comprehension began to intrude and she sat up, holding the sheets up over her breasts. Where was Nicholas? She looked toward the windows. The curtains were drawn, but not fully, and bright sunlight was pouring through the six-inch opening left by the drapes. Oh, God! It must be mid-morning! It was so late!

For one instant, Carolyn tried to comprehend what waking up alone in Nicholas's bed, at this hour, meant. She looked across the room. There was a door on the other side; she assumed it led to a sitting or a dressing room. Abruptly, Carolyn flung off the covers and leapt to the floor.

She cursed, searching for her clothes. Her pantalets and chemise were on the floor scattered about the foot of the bed. She struggled into them. Her dress lay in a pile on the floor in the middle of the room, and she rushed to retrieve

it, coloring, finally recalling all of last night in exquisite detail. She l^lt her cheeks heat. No one had ever told her that passion could be so fine, so grand, so absolutely astounding.

Carolyn pulled her dress over her head, turned it backward, and did up all of the buttons before twisting it back around so that it was properly in place. She could only find one stocking, so she slid her slippers onto her bare feet. And she ran to the closed door on the far side of the room.

She flung it open. "Nicholas?"

Her smile faded. It was a fabulous sitting room, for it would qualify as a salon for most people, but it was empty, Nicholas was not there. The thought crossed her mind that he had already left St. Petersburg. Her heart went wild. That was, she told herself furiously, impossible. He would not leave without saying good-bye. Whatever had made her even think of such a thing?

She crossed the sitting room and found a dressing room adjacent to it, but it was also empty. Immediately she saw his dirty uniform lying in a pile on the floor. Her heart lurched with sickening force.

Had he left?

Carolyn left the suite, fighting nausea now. She hurried down the hall, ignoring his ancestors, who seemed to be glaring this morning and hardly as benevolent as they had been last evening. He would not leave without a good-bye. But now she had the folly of remembering that he had a wife, even if they were estranged, and she did not want to think of Marie-Elena at all. Not now, dear God, not now.

She had promised him that she would not have regrets. But now, close to tears, Carolyn did not know what she was feeling. She supposed the only emotion that she could identify was fear. No—it was more like terror combined with dread.

Carolyn smmbled down the two flights of stairs, and rushed toward the salon where she had fallen asleep last night. It was vacant, not even a small fire stoked in the hearth. The dining room was edso empty, but the buffet on

the sideboard and the used place settings told her that breakfast had already been served.

She could not have missed him.

Carolyn turned, panting, and ran down the hall to the stairs, flying down the steps to the ground-floor landing. A servant was approaching. Carolyn grabbed the maid's arm, aware that she was frightening her but helplessly out of control. "Nicholas—Sverayov! Where is he?" she cried wildly.

'fhe maid blinked at her and responded in Russian, not a word of which Carolyn understood.

"The prince! His Excellency! Nicholas Sverayov! Where?" She gestured urgently, shrugging her shoulders, hands lifted, imploring the heavens, it seemed. "Where is he? He did not leave?"

The maid pointed toward the central wing of the palace, eyes wide.

Carolyn released her wrist and lifted her skirts and ran as fast as she could through the rest of the e^st wing. And in the foyer she skidded to an abrupt halt. Clad in a clean uniform, his greatcoat swinging from his shoulders, Nicholas squatted there, hugging his daughter. Taichili looked on from a short distance away.

He was leaving? Without a good-bye? Carolyn was stricken.

He released Katya, looked up, saw her, and slowly rose to his full height. Not a trace of emotion showed on the mask of his face.

Carolyn started forward quickly. "Nicholas! It's late and—" She darted a glance at Taichili, saw the other woman's motded face and dark glare, and thought. Oh, God, she knows. She glanced at Katya, who was regarding her innocently and felt instant relief—the child did not know. She turned her eyes back to Nicholas. "Excellency," she said, panting. "It's late and you're leaving? So soon?" Her words came out with a hysterical pitch.

He inchned his head. "Good morning. Miss Browne. I am afraid I have a seven-hundred-kilometer ride ahead of

me. In fact, my departure is already somewhat tardy." His gaze was remote, and what? Disdainful? Heartless? Thoroughly detached? Chillingly cold?

Carolyn stared. It was hard to breathe. Her mind raced, spun dizzily. This could not be happening. She glanced once more at Taichili and Katya; the governess was glowering. Desperate, she turned to Nicholas. "May I walk outside with you, Your Excellency?'' She forced a too-bright smile. Surely he wished a private word with her. A private good-bye.

One brow lifted. "I am behind schedule, Miss Browne. Is there something you wish to ask of me?''

Carolyn stared, shocked, for he was as cold as ice, as if she were a mere member of his staff, dear God, not as if, he had made love to her last night with unimaginable passion, with love and devotion. But surely she was wrong. Surely he was only acting this way because Taichili was present. 'T hoped to briefly discuss a matter with you that relates to your daughter," Carolyn said huskily. Do not cry now, she told herself. This is not happening. This is a performance, for the sake of Taichili—it must be.

He shrugged. "Very well." He faced his daughter. "Write me, dushka, and I will write you, too." And then he wheeled, his coat swirling about his shoulders. Without waiting for Carolyn to follow, he strode quickly from the house.

Carolyn lifted her skirts and ran after him, stumbling down the front steps. A groom was holding Nicholas's horse, a huge chestnut with a white blaze, while two footmen remained at the front door. Carolyn's heart, sick with dread, sank.

She reached Nicholas as he took the reins from the groom and swung up into the saddle.

Oh, God! How could he leave her like this?

He stared down at her. "Yes?"

"Nicholas," she began.

His nostrils flared and he cut her off. ' T am pleased that you have come to take care of my daughter after all. I am

sure she shall be well cared for while in your capable hands. Is there something of importance that you wish to discuss with me?"

She stared up at his beloved face, his words a kniffe blade dragged through her from neck to groin. Clearly he was telling her that he wished only to be formal. Why did he not dismiss the groom? She shot a glance at the servant, but Nicholas did not order the fellow away. "Nicholas. What have I done? How can you leave me like this?" she asked desperately.

He tightened his reins; his horse pranced impatiently. "I do not understand you. Miss Browne. To my knowledge, you have done nothing but perform your duties with excellence and dedication, which is no more than I or anyone could ask. As for my hasty departure, I do believe I mentioned last night that I would leave first thing in the morning." He inclined his head. "Adieu, Miss Browne."

"Adieu?" She was in disbelief.

He wheeled the horse and, without a single backward glance, cantered across the short drive, through the courtyard, and onto the cobbled street. A moment later he turned a comer and was swallowed up by the city, disappearing from sight.

Carolyn thought she would die. She staggered, losing the ability to stand upright. Her world daikened, turning black. And as the blackness overcame her, she was vaguely aware of being caught by the groom. Her last coherent thought was. Why?

This would not do.

Carolyn sat upright, her faCe wet with tears, gulping air. She was in her bedchamber, where she had fled after regaining consciousness from the very first swoon of her life. She used the sheets to wipe her eyes, then burst into tears all over again.

It had not been an act. No one could be so cold, so cruel, as to perform in such a manner. And what did a Russian prince care if his child's governess or even if his entire

household staff knew of his affair? Had Sverayov not said, time and again, that he was used to doing as he pleased, that the Sverayovs were notorious for their flamboyance and disregard of convention? It had not been an act. She was the idiot. For clearly she had imagined that his interest in her was anything other than mere lust.

She moaned, covering her face with her hands, while a little voice inside of her head berated her, trying to whisper in her ear that she was not a fool, that he loved her, he did, how could she doubt it even for an instant? Trust your heart, the voice said. There is an explanation. There is!

Carolyn managed to stop crying. She knew she must not listen to her overly imaginative, romantic self. Logic must rule the day. She must listen only to her head. And her mind was convinced that she had been foully abused—that she had been an utter idiot.

She slipped from the bed, to splash water on her face. She regarded herself dismally in the looking glass. It was obvious that she was devastated, and that she had been weeping. Either that, or she was ill.

She felt as if she were going to die.

She dried her face and hands and left her room. She was heartsick, heartbroken, in a world of shadows and darkness, but she had a job to perform, and it was far too late for regrets now. Katya needed her. Maybe this war would finally end. In which case, Carolyn would return home. Sverayov would have to find someone else to take on the role of companion and supervisor of his daughter.

She paused before entering the classroom. Raffaldi was drilling Katya on her spelling. The language they were speaking was French. Taichili was not present. For that, Carolyn was thankful.

But the moment she stepped inside, both student and tutor saw her, and faltered. Raffaldi turned red and avoided her eyes even while bowing and murmuring, "Good day."

Carolyn was too despondent to blush, but it was obvious that he knew of her fall from grace, and if he knew, surely

the entire staff knew as well. "Good morning. It is twelve. Time for Katya's half hour of philosophy."

Katya brightened, but then said, "Miss Browne? Have you been weeping?"

Carolyn had the urge to cry all over again; Nicholas's cold expression was engraved on her mind, as he sat his mount, preparing to leave, gazing down at her as if she were of no consequence at all. "I am slightly ill," she said.

That seemed to satisfy Katya. Carolyn walked over to the table and sat down beside Katya, clasping her hands in front of her. "Did you write the essay about Socrates that I assigned to you?" Carolyn asked.

Katya nodded, reaching for the sheet of vellum in her desk drawer. Suddenly Taichili strode briskly into the room—ignoring Carolyn. "Katya. Come immediately. Your mother is here."

Carolyn's heart skipped numerous beats. She stared in alarm.

Katya was standing, eyes wide. "My mother? But. .. she is at Tver!"

"The princess is here, downstairs, she has just arrived." Taichili's tone was urgent. She still refused to look at Carolyn. "And as she has come with several trunks, I think she intends to stay. We must go down and greet her."

Carolyn was light-headed. How could this be happening? First Nicholas's cruel rejection, and now this, Marie-Elena's arrival. How could she manage? How? The other woman was going to take one look at her and sense her vulnerability and attack. Carolyn had never been more sure of anything.

Katya turned. ' 'Miss Browne?'' Her expression was eager. "I must go down and greet Maman. May I?"

Carolyn stood; how weak her knees felt. She forced a smile. "Of course, dear. We will continue tomorrow."

Taichili gripped Katya's arm, steering her toward the door, when brisk slippered footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, swiftly approaching. Carolyn tensed. Marie-Elena swept into the classroom, exquisitely dressed in a high-

splendor yil

necked silvery-gray silk gown and a matching fur-lined cape. Her gaze immediately settled on Carolyn, and it was piercing. "You! I just learned that you were here!" she cried, gloved hands on her hips.

Carolyn did not move. But then, neither did the tutor, Taichili, or poor Katya, who gazed at her mother expectantly. "Good day. Princess," Carolyn said huskily.

"Maman," Katya began eagerly.

But Marie-Elena stepped forward, apparently not having heard her daughter. "What are you doing here? You are too bold, following my husband all the way to Russia! How dare you!"

Carolyn was aghast, and she shot a horrified look at Katya, who was regarding them both, distraught. "Your Highness, I beg you, if you wish a word with me, may we do so privately? And do you not wish to greet your daughter?"

"If I wished to speak to you privately, I would," Marie-Elena said harshly. Then she glanced at her daughter. "Katya is a very grown-up child. Aren't you, baby?"

Katya nodded uncertainly.

"She need not be left in ignorance of her father's outrageous behavior. Niki has gone too far." Marie-Elena marched forward to stand face-to-face with Carolyn. She stared at her and said triumphantly, "You have been crying!"