The Brigadier's Daughter (17 page)

‘On what?' he prompted.

‘On…me.' She twisted her engagement and wedding rings on her finger, and stared at him, her eyes full of unspoken questions and doubts.

‘Ah. I see.'

She could not bring herself to voice the words, to ask him if he really wanted to marry her, if he had any feelings for her, any love, because she felt sure that for him this was merely a practical arrangement.

He reached out and pulled her towards him, one hand on her waist, the other sliding to the back of her head as he brought her face closer. He leaned down, and she felt the warmth and strength of his body, and then he kissed her, and she responded, parting her lips, her hands resting on his chest as his mouth took possession of hers. He lifted his head, his eyes caressing her lips, her face. ‘Sasha, I want you to be my wife. In a church on dry land, before God and the law.'

She smiled then, and refrained from spoiling the moment by demanding to know why. She would wait until he could tell her, without being forced, what his feelings really were.

‘Now,' he said firmly, setting her aside, ‘let us carry on as usual. I believe we are going to the ballet.'

 

At Reid's insistence, on Monday morning she went to visit Lady Cronin, and spent a dull few hours reading to her and listening to her blow her nose and moan about the harshness of Russian winters. She refrained from pointing out that they were well into spring now, but she tried to be kind and respectful, staying for a luncheon of soup and toast before departing for home. In the hallway of the apartment she searched eagerly for any mail from England—a letter from her mother, perhaps, in reply to her own—but seeing nothing, she surmised that perhaps Charlotte had been delayed in posting it.

 

For the next few days she waited, on tenterhooks, for some sign that they had been denounced, but life carried on very much as it had before. No one seemed to be any the wiser
and she could only hope that her little tête-à-tête with Irena would have no consequences. She had hoped that Irena had turned her attentions elsewhere, until one morning midweek when the butler, Good, knocked on the drawing-room door and announced that a package had been delivered and where would madam like it?

Sasha beckoned for him to bring it in, and Good placed a large rectangular box on a table. Sasha found her sewing scissors and cut the string, pulling aside crisp brown paper and revealing a pink-and-grey striped dressmaker's box, tied with a wide satin ribbon. There was a note tucked into the ribbon and Sasha drew it out, unfolding the familiar thick, cream vellum with a sinking heart, her eyes skimming over the copperplate script in black ink.

Dearest Sasha, Please accept these, as a gift from one mistress to another. It will drive him wild! Love always, Irena.

Sasha crumpled the note in one hand, her teeth clenched, and then tossed it in the fire. She eyed the box as though it might contain a basket of snakes, and then decided to put it out of sight, and out of mind. She had no interest in anything Irena might send to her, and she did not write a note of thanks in reply. Carrying the box under her arm, Sasha went upstairs to her bedroom and stashed it in the back of her wardrobe. She promised herself that she would not look inside the box, and she went about her day, but it niggled at the back of her mind and that evening when she was preparing for bed she opened the cupboard door and stared at it. But no, she must resist, it was only Irena playing games and trying to tempt her into something that was bound to be…indecent. She closed the doors firmly and went to bed, listening for Reid, who was working late that evening at the Embassy, and only turning onto her side and settling to sleep when she heard him come in and go to his bedroom.

 

At breakfast the next morning, Reid ate poached eggs and perused a newspaper as usual, and then glanced over at Sasha as
she picked at her toast, idly stirring a spoon through her tea as she stared out of the window with a glazed look in her eyes. He watched her for a few moments and then lowered his newspaper, saying gently, ‘Are you all right, Sasha?'

‘Hmm.'

‘You'll wear a hole in that teacup.'

‘Hmm.'

‘Sasha!'

She started at his bark and looked up suddenly. ‘What?'

‘Please don't tell me nothing, when I ask what's wrong. What's wrong?'

She opened her mouth to say
nothing
, then snapped it shut with a smile. She shrugged her shoulders and murmured, ‘I'm just bored, there's not very much for me to do all day.'

‘I see.' Reid flicked back his wrist and glanced at his watch. ‘Well, we can't have you moping around the house. I will make enquiries at the Embassy; maybe there is something you can get involved with.'

‘Oh, no, please, not Lady Cronin and her sewing circle!'

Reid laughed, pushing back his chair as he leaned over to kiss her forehead. ‘No, something more worthy of your intelligence and education. Maybe some translation work?'

She smiled, her eyes lighting up, and watched him go with a happy glow. How wonderful if she could have something worthwhile to occupy herself with each day. Humming softly, she finished her breakfast and reading Reid's newspaper, and then wandered out into the garden, taking a flat basket and snipping roses for the dining table. She thought of various menus that would please Reid and decided to ask the cook for his favourite roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Taking the flowers indoors, she sent Jane to the kitchen for a vase and then went upstairs to wash her hands. In her bedroom she went to her dressing table and opened a jar of honey-and-almond hand cream, smoothing the sweetly scented lotion into her fingers and the back of her
hands, wringing them round and round each other, and then glancing over her shoulder at the closed doors of her wardrobe.

She had thought of the box and its contents several times, and had congratulated herself on withstanding whatever it was that Irena was trying to tempt her with. Now, she wondered suddenly just exactly what it was she had sent. Why, it might well be something valuable, jewellery or a trinket that could be worth a fortune; in that case it would be best to return it at once and not be held to such an obligation. She crossed the room and opened the wardrobe doors, pulling out the box and giving it a little shake. It did not rattle, or feel particularly heavy. Then she sat on the bed and slowly lifted the lid on the box, burning with curiosity and wide-eyed apprehension all at the same time.

Between the folds of delicate tissue paper Sasha's fingers encountered soft black silk. She withdrew a pair of black lace-topped stockings, a black satin corset and a scrap of sheer black lace that must be a pair of drawers, but were the tiniest she had ever seen. Then she lifted out a book, turning it over, the lurid title inscribed in ornate gilt Russian lettering on the leather-bound cover. She opened the book and flicked through the pages, the colour suddenly rushing red hot to her cheeks as she gasped and looked at the drawings of naked men and women doing things that she had no idea a man and a woman could, or would, ever do! Part of her protested that she should fling the book away, and yet another part of her stared with burning fascination. Her heart beat very rapidly, and she felt sudden stabs of arousal in parts of her body that made her very aware of just where her passionate self was centred.

It was shocking, and yet suddenly she understood why Reid treated her with such polite distance. Is this what he wanted from a woman? No wonder he had been so hesitant! But surely not, Reid was such a gentleman, he couldn't possibly know of such things, or want them! Could he? Setting the book aside, Sasha picked up the black lingerie and went to stand before the cheval mirror. She held the satin corset against her, looking at
her reflection. Feeling almost guilty, she unbuttoned her clothes until she stood naked, and then fastened on the corset, which was no easy feat without a maid, slipped on the gossamer knickers and rolled a stocking on each of her legs, fastening them to the straps dangling from the corset. Then she gazed at herself in the mirror, and gasped.

The exotic creature that gazed back at her seemed like someone from another world, and not at all like her normal self. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was a strange glow in her eyes. Slowly she raised her arms and pulled her hair free from its chignon, her movements causing the swell of her upthrust breasts in the tight corset to sway. She remembered Irena's words—
It will drive him wild.
How? Where? When? Did she even dare to put such a theory to the test?

While she wrestled with these thoughts, she suddenly heard Reid's voice on the landing below. She froze. What on earth was he doing home? Surely it was not time for luncheon already? But across the courtyard she heard the Embassy clock strike twelve. It seemed her questions would be answered far sooner than expected, as his familiar footsteps bounded up the stairs. With a gasp Sasha rushed to divest herself of her unusual garments, but in her nervous, guilty haste her fingers were all thumbs and she could not reach to unhook the corset. She was rooted to the spot as suddenly the door opened after a brief knock.

‘S
asha, I thought we might—' Reid's swift entrance into her bedchamber came to an abrupt halt, as he stared with slack jaw and amazed eyes. ‘What on earth—?' Kicking the door closed, he looked around swiftly, and felt his temper rise with violent fury. ‘What the hell are you doing?'

‘Reid, I— I—'

‘Where is he? I'll kill him!' Reid rushed about the room, looking behind the curtains and flinging open the wardrobe doors. ‘I might have known you'd get up to mischief the moment my back was turned!'

‘No, no.' Sasha shook her head. ‘It's not what you think!'

Suddenly she began to giggle, as Reid stomped about looking for her imaginary lover under the bed and behind the cheval mirror. She flopped down on the bed, rolling around with her knees drawn up, laughing so hard tears squeezed from her eyes, and quite unaware of how provocatively alluring her shapely bottom and legs were in that position.

Reid, realising there was no one else in the room, paused, catching his breath, unable to take his eyes from the sight of Sasha rolling around on the bed in black silk lingerie and looking quite amazingly seductive. Then his eye caught sight of the
dressmaker's box and the slim leather-bound book. He picked it up and glanced through the pages, his voice quite strangled in his throat as he asked, ‘Sasha, where did you get this?'

She sobered then and sat up, her hair disordered. ‘Irena sent it to me.'

‘Really? Might I ask why?' It was difficult to speak through his clenched teeth.

‘Well, er, she thought we might be having difficulties in the bedroom, because I am still a virgin.'

With a snort of contempt he tossed the book away. It landed in a far corner and then he turned and looked down at Sasha, now sitting on her knees, the tight black corset provocative and revealing, her legs in the fine black stockings extremely pleasing to his male eyes. Considering how long it had been since he had made love to a woman, he was as easily aroused as a flame to tinder.

He leaned one knee on the edge of the bed and grasped a fistful of loose hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her gently towards him. Sasha looked up at him, her eyes wide, her mouth soft and pink. In a low voice he murmured, ‘I don't think we need books.' He lowered his head, hesitated, but he could not resist the temptation and the deep aching need to touch her with his lips, his fingers, with all parts of his body.

Sasha felt the warm smooth caress of his lips on hers, and with a soft groan she reached up and slid her arms around his broad back, so that he lost his balance and they toppled together onto the bed. He rolled over her, his kiss deepening as his tongue outlined her lips in a slow sensuous movement, nudged at her teeth and then entered her mouth as she opened for him. His hands travelled down the length of her body, squeezing her buttocks clad in the briefest scrap of lace, and Sasha lifted her knee and stroked her stockinged leg along his thigh. Her fingers smoothed over the bulk of his shoulders, and he shrugged off his jacket, toeing off his shoes that fell to the floor with a clunk. The
soft afternoon light shining through the voile curtains bathed them in an intimate glow.

As he rolled over she entwined her arms around his neck and they writhed together on the bed, groaning, gasping, panting, his hands kneading and stroking her bottom, her thighs, his mouth kissing her shoulders and the swell of her bosom encased in the black corset.

‘Oh, God, Sasha, you are exquisite!' he growled, his teeth nipping at her hips, his hand running along the smooth length of her black-silk-clad calf.

The images she had seen in the book had already imprinted themselves on her mind and inflamed her senses. She looked at Reid with new eyes, sensual and inviting, and then she pushed at his shoulders and rolled him onto his back, straddling his hips as she ran her hands over his torso, pulling off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, delighting in the feel of his chest hairs and muscles. She leaned back and closed her eyes, shaking her long hair and moving her hips in a tantalising sway. He groaned again, his fingers capturing her waist and encouraging her seductive movements. She opened her eyes then and looked down at him, leaning forwards so that her breasts tipped outwards in full mounds, and her eyes moved from the glory of his muscled chest to his male arousal, her fingers reaching out to boldly stroke him, feeling the hard bulk of him beneath the cloth of his grey trousers.

It was almost more than he could bear and his own fingers worked on the hooks and lacings of her corset, eager to free her body. It took some moments, but at last the stiffly boned satin fell away and he stared at her rose-tipped breasts, small but shapely and full. He sat up, cradling her back with his arms, and reached for her nipple with his mouth. Sasha gave a small cry, arching back as his fingers stroked along her spine, her body awash with waves of burning pleasure as he pressed hot open-mouthed kisses to her breasts, her ribs, her waist, before clutching at her hair again and kissing her mouth with frenzied
passion. But she was still attached by her corset to her stockings and now with shaking fingers she unclipped them, and Reid slid the stockings from her slender legs, his fingers making such a simple task one that aroused and excited her. Reid grasped her hips and rolled her over again, until this time she lay beneath him.

‘Sasha, Sasha,' he groaned, his fingers sliding over her soft thighs, stroking gently, his need so urgent and yet the waiting only making it more intense, as he gasped for breath and drew back. ‘We must stop, not like this, we mustn't.'

Sasha gave a cry of frustrated desperation. ‘Oh, Reid, don't stop, please, don't stop, I want you so much!' And she reached with one hand to tug away the final scrap of lace that was a barrier to their intimacy, spreading her legs and moving her hips against him.

His mouth returned to hers as his fingers kneaded her breast and then slid down the smooth curve of her waist and hips and down between her thighs, until he lightly brushed her in the one place where she longed for him to touch her, gasping with soft little cries as his finger explored gently. He could feel how swollen and moist she was, her warm skin sheened with a dew of sweat, and he had no doubt that she wanted this as much as he did, but still he would not yield to madness. He had to protect Sasha, even from herself.

‘No, we must wait until we are married.'

‘Reid, please don't be noble, not now. I will die if you don't…do something.' She did not know how to express the pulsating, urgent longing she felt inside her body, that she instinctively knew needed him, needed his body to satisfy it.

He kissed the side of her neck, murmuring gently, ‘Sasha, it's too risky. I can't. But—' his fingers stroked the soft skin of her inner thigh, moving upwards to the soft down of her maidenhair and silky folds, feeling how aroused she was ‘—I can satisfy you in other ways.' He felt her quiver, her eager moans and the expression on her face arousing him even as his finger circled
around her entrance, resisting the temptation to go any deeper into the hot, honeyed, virgin core of her.

Sasha closed her eyes, thrusting back her head as her hips moved to take the mysterious joy he offered. Confused, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. ‘What do you mean?'

‘I will do for you what you once did for me.' His fingers stroked delicately between her legs, his other hand caressing her breast, his lips nipping at hers, as he whispered soft words urging her to relax and enjoy the experience he was guiding her to.

‘But…it is—' she struggled to speak between gasps of pleasure ‘—not fair.'

‘Why? Are you not enjoying this?'

‘Oh, I am, yes, yes, I am, but…it's…selfish.'

‘No, I don't mind.' He kissed her neck with an amused smile. ‘I am disciplined enough to abstain.'

‘Oh, I wish you weren't! I wish you would take off your clothes and—'

He silenced her then, with his mouth, kissing her deeply, moving the focus of his finger's attention higher up and finding her nub, swollen and throbbing. She gave a muffled cry at the feel of him touching her there, and he watched her face as she closed her eyes and shuddered, her hips lifting off the bed, her legs spread and then closing together to press against his hand, until he parted them, stroking faster but very gently, building an erotic rhythm of pleasure, wave building on wave, shudder on shudder, pressing harder as he sensed her reaching a peak, and then she burst into the final clenching of pure ecstasy.

For long moments afterwards they lay entwined, their breathing slowly returning to normal, the creaking and shuddering of the bed now stilled in the sudden quiet of the room, where only moments ago all had been eager, desperate noise and movement. Sasha lay warm and glowing beside Reid as he slid to one side, lying beside her.

Then the sound of a bell chiming in the clock tower of the
Residency across the courtyard broke their intimacy. His hour for lunch had passed very swiftly, and in a most unexpected way.

‘I must get back.' He rose on one elbow reluctantly, leaning over to kiss her soft, swollen mouth gently, his eyes searching her face, his fingers brushing back wayward strands of damp hair. His voice lowered as he asked, ‘Are you all right? I hope, that is…'

Sasha smiled at his awkwardness, and stroked his forearm and then his jaw. ‘It was wonderful.'

He smiled, rising to sit on the edge of the bed and button his shirt, tucking it into his trousers and pulling on his shoes. ‘I am sorry to rush away. I hate to leave you like this.'

‘It's all right, you must get back.'

He glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘I will see you later.'

Again she nodded, and watched as he shrugged on his jacket and re-fastened his tie.

At the door he paused and glanced back again, nodding at the scattered black lace garments. ‘Get rid of those.'

‘Why?' Sasha sat up, modestly clutching the coverlet to her nakedness. ‘Did you not like them?'

‘They are very becoming, on a whore.' He paused, adding firmly, ‘Not on my wife.'

He closed the door, leaving her to mull over his words. She lay back and closed her eyes, her thoughts roaming this way and that. At last another secret of the passion between a man and a woman had been revealed to her and she felt a glowing sense of awe. She closed her eyes, hugging the pillow that still held Reid's scent in her arms and drifted away into a warm, contented sleep. How wonderful it would be to finally make love with Reid, fully, completely!

 

Later, as the afternoon shadows crept across the room, Sasha woke, rose from the bed and bathed. She dressed in afternoon clothes, a caramel-and-cream striped silk dress, with a cameo brooch fastened to the ruffles below her throat. Then she col
lected the scraps of black silk, the book that really no lady should ever look at, and packed them all away in their box. She stood staring at the box for some time, chewing her thumbnail, remembering Reid's command about getting rid of them. Should she? Look at the effect the black underwear had had on Reid; despite what he'd said, she was sure that he had greatly enjoyed seeing her wear them, had certainly reacted most strongly! It seemed a shame to discard items that had given them both so much pleasure, and besides, how? She could hardly ask Jane to dispose of them; it would be far too embarrassing! She pondered for a moment on the idea of returning them to Irena, which would most definitely put her in her place and make it quite clear that neither she nor Reid were interested in her…persuasions.

But then, reflected Sasha with a worried frown, she could not afford to invoke Irena's displeasure; she was privy to their secrets and to anger or insult her by returning what she would consider to be gifts would be foolish. No, best just to put them away for now; she would dispose of them later, when a solution presented itself. She opened her bedroom door, peeked out, and seeing that there was no one about, she went downstairs to Reid's study and rummaged about until she found brown paper and string. Then she returned to her bedroom, wrapped the box and tied it up securely, then stowed it in the back of her wardrobe, beneath an old skirt with an unravelled hem.

 

At his desk in the Embassy building Reid surveyed the scattered paperwork and files, his mind quite distracted. The passionate encounter he had just experienced with Sasha had been unexpected in more ways than one. All he wanted to do now was return home, run up the stairs and take Sasha in his arms. He closed his eyes, stifling a groan as he thought of her naked body, how she had felt beneath him, her sweet soft breasts, her scent, her cries of pleasure, how she had felt while he'd touched her, how he longed to possess her completely, truly as man and wife… Was he being far too noble, as she had said? Did he dare
to abandon his desk at this very moment and rush back to her? He had little enough to do—the role of military attaché was proving to be tedious—but even as he toyed with the scandalous idea, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. The Ambassador's secretary, Mr Hartley, came in, his face creased with concern, as was his usual manner.

‘Reid, old boy, would you pop along to see Sir Stanley, please?'

‘Of course.' He rose to his feet, his heart lurching for a beat or two, as his tanned complexion paled. Was he being summoned for a dressing-down? Had he and Sasha been caught out? Briskly he walked at John Hartley's side, as though nothing in the world could be of concern to him.

They entered the Ambassador's office, a large room appointed with luxurious curtains and carpets and heavy, ornate furniture. Sir Stanley was sitting at his desk, perusing several documents, and he looked up at once as Reid and his secretary entered the room.

‘Ah, splendid.' He waved them both to sit down, and they seated themselves on the pair of matching chairs in front of his desk. ‘Reid, I have just had a very disturbing report. It seems our Russian friends are moving men and armaments across the Caspian Sea. We are fairly certain that they are going to Afghanistan, to be used against British forces. Apparently there are several Afghan leaders here in St Petersburg, seeking to have an audience with the Tsar and further their ambitions.'