You Belong to Me (2 page)

“Last week.”

She had hoped, for the sake of her mounting exasperation, that he would have answered more than one of her direct questions. “But you were here last week,” she pointed out. “And we have had no visitors—”

“The betrothal is with Simeon’s son. I reminded Maria of it, and suggested that it was high time she send her son to collect his bride—but not in those words. I was quite diplomatic about it, though the essence was the same.”

Anna was incredulous, more than incredulous, having never heard a word of this before. “
Why
did you never mention this be
trothal? I assume it must be long-standing, at the very least made before Simeon’s death. And why have we been pushing eligible men at Alex all these years, with the hope that one might interest her, when she is already bound in contract to this—he would be Cardinian, wouldn’t he?”

Again he answered only her last question. “Yes.”

She offered a smile. “So why the long face, darling? This match must delight you.” And then she paused, drawing her own conclusion. “Don’t tell me you actually forgot about it until last week.”

“No, it wasn’t forgotten.” Constantin turned to drain his glass and then poured in more vodka before he added, “It wasn’t even conceived.”

Anna gasped. “What are you saying?”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes again, and he had to take yet another swallow of his drink before he said, “What I wrote to the countess was mostly lies, with only a few truths thrown in. Simeon and I did discuss a betrothal of our children back when Alexandra was born. At least that is true. We discussed it at length. We both thought it was a splendid idea. But we never made it official. There were years to do so, after all. Alexandra was not even a year old yet; Simeon’s boy was only six. So—so now you know what I’ve done.”

Anna let out a sigh. It wasn’t nearly as bad as she had thought, and could be corrected
with another letter that could be dispatched immediately.

But just to be sure she understood the entire matter, she said, “You made claim to a betrothal that was never settled, and you did so because your friend is dead and can’t dispute it. Is that what you’ve taken so long to tell me?”

“I was drunk at the time I did it. It was the night you stayed in the village to help with that birthing. When it occurred to me, it seemed like the perfect solution for Alexandra. In fact, I have not the slightest doubt that had Simeon lived, our children would have wed each other seven years ago.”

“That may be so, but it didn’t happen that way, and your wishing it were otherwise is not going to make it happen now. You must write Countess Petroff immediately with the truth, before she does send her son here.”

“No.”

“No?”

“It is still a perfect solution.”

Anna’s eyes narrowed on him. “So
that
is why you are feeling so guilty? You have no intention of correcting what you’ve done?”

“That will be my cross to bear,” Constantin said with the stubbornness inherent in his family. “But think, Anna. What if they are ideally suited to each other? What if this one little lie—”

“
Little?
” she cut in.

“Harmless, then,” he insisted, continuing. “What if it brings together two people who
would never have met otherwise, and they are so taken with each other that they cannot help but fall in love?”

She shook her head. “You are dreaming. Or is it merely wishful thinking to absolve your guilt?”

“It’s not impossible—”

“With
our
Alex?”

Her skeptical tone annoyed him. He, more than anyone, knew his daughter’s faults.

Ignoring those faults, he stressed the one thing in Alexandra’s favor. “She’s beautiful.”

“No one can deny that, darling, but has it gained her a long list of suitors? You know as well as I that she offends more than she charms, and men don’t usually make a habit of courting embarrassment. It’s a wonder that Englishman attended her as long as he did in St. Petersburg, and continued to correspond with her all these years. The English are sticklers for proper behavior, after all.”

He didn’t like reminders of the foreigner who had stolen his daughter’s heart with no intention of nurturing it. Were the man still in Russia, Constantin would seriously consider shooting him. But that bounder was no longer at issue, and the saints be praised for that.

“Simeon was a tolerant man just like me. He admired frankness, scoffed at hypocrisy, and was certainly no snob. It isn’t unrealistic to think that his son will have inherited his qualities.”

“Didn’t you also once tell me that your friend was a womanizer?”

Anna
would
have to remember that. “Simeon never confessed a great love for his wife,” he explained. “Theirs was an arranged marriage.”

Anna gave him a pointed look. “Which is exactly what you’re trying to foist on his unsuspecting son—an arranged marriage. Do you honestly expect the son to be any more faithful than the father, or for Alex to stand for anything less than complete faithfulness, considering how possessive she is of what’s hers?”

Constantin flushed bright red. “Dammit, Anna, it’s not at all the same. What I expect, or rather hope for, is that these children will find love together. If Simeon had loved his wife even a little, he would have been faithful to her. I expect no less from his son.”

“But therein lies the crux of the matter.
If
. You are putting all your hope on an ‘if,’ when you have never even met this young man. And for that matter, he’s not all that young if he’s about six years older than Alex. He would be thirty-one, more than likely already married—”

“He’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Bohdan came through Cardinia on his way back from delivering the filly the Austrian duke requested. Bohdan knew I would appreciate word of the Petroffs.”

She conceded that point with a shrug. “So he’s not married, but you can’t deny he’s old enough to know his own mind and make his
own decisions. What makes you think he will accept a betrothal to a woman he doesn’t know just because his father might have arranged it? He’s no longer a child who must do his father’s bidding, even if his father were still alive. And another thing—won’t the Petroffs wonder why they did not find a copy of this contract in Simeon’s papers after he died?”

“Possibly, but I have a copy to show the young count when he arrives. He won’t doubt his father’s signature.”

“You forged it?”

“It wasn’t difficult, with a little practice. As for the count and Alex accepting the betrothal—” Constantin paused, then added almost bleakly, “It comes down to honor. Though I have misplaced mine, they will be trapped by it.”

“What if your Cardinian has none?”

“He is Simeon’s son,” Constantin said, as if that were enough to explain his confidence.

Anna sighed. It was becoming quite obvious that nothing she said was going to make a difference. That damn Rubliov stubbornness. They all possessed it, but none so much as the father—and the youngest daughter. Once invoked, it was unshakable.

Even though Constantin was sick with guilt over what he’d done, he would cling tenaciously to his reason for doing it. He wanted his daughter to find happiness.

Anna couldn’t fault him for wanting what all parents wanted for their children, but hap
piness could be defined in a hundred different ways. After the eight years they had spent together, and the dozens of times she had turned down his proposals, he should have realized by now that marriage was not every woman’s fondest desire.

She placed a hand gently on his arm, determined to try to make him understand that at least. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed that Alex isn’t exactly unhappy. She enjoys the freedom you allow her. She enjoys working with the horses, which a husband would never permit her to do. She has friends here. And she adores you—when you two are not fighting. Frankly, I think she even enjoys your arguments. Have you ever considered that Alex just wasn’t meant to marry? Marriage would more than likely constrain her, might even stifle her—unless she can meet a man who doesn’t give a damn for convention any more than she does, a rarity—”

“Or one who loves her enough to allow her certain freedoms,” he cut in, “but also is capable of denying her those in which she risks her damn neck.”

He sounded so exasperated with that statement, Anna almost laughed. “Is
that
one of your motives? You really think a husband will be able to control Alex’s reckless nature even though you have failed?”

That got her a glower. “Perhaps not, but keeping her pregnant certainly will.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Motherhood would make a difference in Alexandra’s life.
At the very least it would keep her from racing her horses so energetically. And Alexandra was very good with children. Though she had never said so, she probably did want some of her own. And she had been willing to marry that Englishman, in fact had desired it greatly, so she was not opposed to marriage.

Anna sighed. If she wasn’t careful, she would be applauding what Constantin had done.

“We have gotten away from the point,” she said. “What you are doing is forcing Alex and Simeon’s son into a marriage that neither one was expecting. It’s likely that they will both protest it, but I am absolutely certain that Alex will. And what happens if they don’t take to each other? If they are both against the marriage, they won’t exactly meet under the best of terms. Alex could end up hating the man, which would hardly produce the happy life you envision for her.”

“Purely suppositions, Anna.”

“But more likely than those you anticipate.”

“The truth will be clear when they meet,” he replied stubbornly.

“And if I am right?”

“If it’s obvious that they won’t suit, then of course I will release them from the betrothal and compensate the count for his trouble in coming here.”

“Well, thank God you’re not going to be pigheaded about this to the very end.”

He flinched at her sarcasm and retaliated by saying, “Actually, I’m feeling much better
about it, now that you’ve raised issues that hadn’t occurred to me and I have successfully put them aside.”

She was about to reply quite scathingly to that remark when the front door slammed, and a moment later, Alexandra appeared in the doorway. She didn’t notice them yet, as she was busy slapping dust from her sleeves with her equally dusty fur cap, spreading a fine coating of it on the floor at her feet where her Borzoi was making a bigger cloud of it with his wagging tail. A single lock of ash-blond hair had escaped her coiffure and fell over her shoulder to her waist.

She looked like a Cossack, a
male
Cossack, in her baggy pants which were tucked into knee-high boots, her bright red sash tied around her narrow waist, her no-longer-white shirt with the fine blue embroidery down the front, and her knee-length coat with the wide skirt. This was her customary dress for riding and working with the horses. Her bedraggled and filthy appearance was nothing new to her family.

“Much,
much
better,” Constantin said in a soft whisper that only Anna could hear, a reiteration of what he had said moments before. “And fortunate it is that a man with a new wife will lay down the laws early in their marriage and see that they are obeyed.”

Anna’s nostrils flared wide as she gritted her teeth. But because of Alexandra’s present, she couldn’t address that statement in the manner that it so richly deserved, so she
picked up Constantin’s second glass of vodka, which still had enough liquid in it for her purpose, and without the slightest hesitation tipped it over his head.

Witnessing only the dunking and her father’s sputtering, Alexandra laughed delightedly. “Anna?
You
have given in to temper? But then, I
told
you I would be a bad influence on you eventually, didn’t I?”

“Indeed, darling—and you know where to find the bucket and mop, don’t you?”

Glancing down at the trail of dust she had tracked into the hall, Alexandra was still grinning when she asked, “Before or after Bojik and I bathe?”

With visions of the disaster that the Russian wolfhound was going to leave in the bathhouse, Anna said, “I don’t believe it matters.”

Alexandra flashed one of the smiles that could so easily turn grown men into mush if she only knew how to utilize it, and marched off toward the kitchen, Bojik following at her heels as usual. It had been unnecessary to mention the mop and bucket. The girl always cleaned up after herself—and her overlarge pet. They might have a dozen servants on hand to wait on her, but she rarely made use of them.

“Anna?”

The word came softly for all that it was a growl—as if she could forget the undoubtedly furious man standing behind her reeking of vodka. She cringed inwardly at what she’d done. Never, ever, had she stooped to such a
low level of behavior. It simply wasn’t in her nature.

“Shall I pour you another glass?” she offered without looking around.

She heard a snort. “Will I get to drink it?”

After a moment’s thought, Anna said, “Probably not,” and marched out of the room herself.

S
tefan Barony, the reigning King of Cardinia, had to laugh. He had found exactly what he had expected to find in the Gypsy camp—his cousin lying beneath a tree with a lovely young woman clinging to him. Actually, there were three women clinging to him, which was not expected, but not surprising either. Vasili had one tucked under each arm, and a third woman sat behind him, offering her ample breasts as a pillow for his golden head.

The camp was at its most boisterous at night, naked children wrestling at the feet of their dancing mothers, singing and storytelling at each campfire, pilfered fowl and rabbits steaming in cauldrons. This particular tribe specialized in horse trading. Other bands might offer repair services and blacksmithing, and still others strictly provided entertainment with their Carpathian bear trainers, snake charmers, fine musicians, and dancers.

Most of the tribes that passed through Cardinia, however, were cattle breeders who
traveled with their large herds of water buffalo or regular cattle. But all the tribes offered their women for a price, and had their old ones who could heal with their herbs what town doctors had given up on, and of course they had their fortune-tellers and charmsellers.

“Didn’t I tell you we’d find him here?” said Lazar, who was on Stefan’s right. “He still craves the wildness.”

On Stefan’s left, Serge snorted before giving his own opinion. “It’s an abundance of women that he craves, and the Gypsies never fail to supply that.”

Stefan couldn’t argue with that statement, since he’d spent a fair amount of time in Gypsy camps himself. At least he had when he had been only the Crown Prince of Cardinia with few responsibilities, rather than the king. Now, there was simply something not quite dignified about a king cavorting with Gypsy wenches and dancing by firelight. Not that he wanted to any longer. The only cavorting he did these days was with his queen. But the sight of the camp brought back fond memories.

“I suppose you two will want to remain here with Vasili,” Stefan said to his friends in a humorous tone. For all their derogatory remarks, they both held equally fond memories of Gypsy camps.

“You mean we aren’t dragging him back to the city?” Lazar asked.

“My aunt merely requested that I locate
Vasili, not deliver him. As long as he makes an appearance sometime tonight, that will suit her well enough.”

Serge was grinning now. “It’s a good thing old Max won’t let just the three of us protect you anymore, or we would be forced to escort
you
back to the city.”

Old Max was Maximilian Daneff, Cardinia’s prime minister, who was like a second father to Stefan. And Max took his duties quite seriously, including insisting that a full complement of soldiers accompany Stefan whenever he left the palace.

Those soldiers were waiting on the outskirts of the Gypsy camp so as not to cause alarm. But Stefan’s appearance was still creating a stir, for the Gypsies recognized him. Although he hadn’t been king the last time this tribe had passed through his country, its members would have found out immediately upon their arrival about any changes in government and whether they were still welcome. Such knowledge was pertinent to the Gypsies’ continuing good health.

The
bulubasha
had been summoned and was waiting warily in front of his tent with a number of elders. But Stefan didn’t care to be delayed by the time-consuming ritual of greetings and honor-bestowings which could last several hours, not when his Tanya, who was waiting for him back at the palace, had teased him with the promise that she
might
dance for him tonight.

He turned toward Serge and said, “Assure
their leader that this is not an official visit, merely a family errand.” And with a respectful nod to acknowledge the
bulubasha
and put the man at ease, he headed toward his cousin.

That single nod had put the whole camp at ease, and the singing and dancing resumed. More than a dozen women, young and old, immediately converged on Stefan. They would actually fight, to the death if necessary, for the opportunity to perform a service for him, any service, because his generosity was so well known and so prodigious that even a family of ten on whom it had been bestowed wouldn’t have to work or steal for a year.

Stefan was only vaguely aware that Lazar was keeping him from being bothered by tossing out handfuls of coins and waving the women off. What held his fascination was his cousin Vasili’s valiant effort to divide his attention among three women. And Stefan was close to laughing outright because as far as he could tell, Vasili was actually managing it, kissing first one eager wench, then another, while his hands roamed over all three. But the women weren’t competing with one another as one might expect; they had probably already been assured that Vasili would see to each of them before the night was over, if not all three of them at the same time, which seemed to be the case at the moment.

Each of those women probably had a husband somewhere in the camp, but Vasili wasn’t in danger of getting a knife in his back before he departed. Giving their bodies to men for
payment was business and an accepted practice for the women—as long as those men weren’t Gypsies. Yet let one of those women look at another Gypsy male with allure in her eyes, and her husband was more than likely to kill her. But Gypsies lived and died by their own peculiar rules, which were enforced by each tribe’s
bulubasha
.

Vasili was so involved in his lovemaking that he hadn’t even noticed the earlier quieting of the camp or the resumption of noise. He didn’t hear his friends’ approaching horses either, so Stefan and Lazar just sat there for a while, mere feet away, enjoying the performance. Stefan was still fascinated, since he had never watched his cousin work his sensual magic before, at least not to this degree. He’d always been busy with some wench of his own whenever he and these three closest friends of his had pursued their pleasures together.

But Vasili was so far advanced in his endeavors—clothes were being rapidly discarded—that it was quite possible he had forgotten that he usually did this sort of thing with a little more privacy. Or perhaps he’d reached the point where it didn’t matter to him one way or the other.

Only one of the women had noticed that they had an audience, and she didn’t seem to care, as she was too busy caressing the wide male chest that another of the women had just bared. Of course, Vasili did tend to have that kind of effect on women. He made them forget morals, modesty, and the strictures of a
lifetime. Wherever he went, whatever he was doing, women clamored to meet him, and, upon meeting him, clamored to get into his bed. Whereas other men had to work long and hard at seduction, Vasili merely had to walk into a room and crook a finger. Actually, he had to do nothing at all but be there, and women were drawn to him.

His handsomeness had always been the lure, and his friends benefited from his effect on women, so they hardly begrudged him his good fortune or his exceptional good looks. And although it might appear otherwise at the moment, Vasili didn’t devote his life to the pursuit of sexual gratification—at least not the greater part of it.

He was well honed in the military arts—all four of them were—and he had been given numerous official duties upon Stefan’s coronation. But the duty he took most seriously was being a member of the royal guard, Stefan’s personal guard, and Vasili wouldn’t be here tonight if he’d known Stefan was going to leave the palace. That Stefan wouldn’t be here if Vasili weren’t was a moot point. Vasili always made sure he wouldn’t be needed before he pursued his own interests.

At the moment, there were three young women in differing stages of need who were about to be satisfied. For the sake of future peace—Lazar wouldn’t be able to resist ribbing Vasili about his sudden lack of modesty, which would lead to blows before the two of
them would laugh together over it—Stefan cleared his throat.

It didn’t work. It still didn’t work when he tried again.

So Lazar remarked quite loudly, “The Gypsies would be rich if they had thought to sell tickets.”

And Serge had ridden up by then to add, “It doesn’t look like Vasili would mind, and this sure as hell beats the new play that opened last week at the Grand.”

Vasili had rolled over and now glared up at them, his groan caused not by embarrassment, but by being interrupted. “How the devil did you find me?”

“You told Fatima where you were going,” Stefan explained, then added with a glance at the women, who made no effort to correct their varying states of undress and were still curled all around Vasili, “She doesn’t mind?”

“Fatima doesn’t own me any more than I own her. I gave her her freedom. What more can I do?”

“Find her a husband.”

“She cries every time I suggest it.”

Vasili sounded so disgusted, all three men laughed, not the least bit sympathetic. The concubine had been a gift to Vasili from the Turkish Grand Vezir, and she was a lovely, sensual creature trained in every aspect of pleasing a man. Vasili might have freed her, but they doubted that he made the offer to find her a husband very often.

Vasili didn’t mind their humor, but in his
present physical condition, which wasn’t subsiding with more than one pair of naked breasts pressed against him, he still minded like hell their sudden appearance. “Just what are you doing here, Stefan, and why wasn’t I informed that you intended to leave the palace tonight?”

Stefan grinned at him. “If you had bothered to receive your mother’s messenger these past three days, instead of having him informed that you weren’t home when you were, she wouldn’t have found it necessary to come to me to demand to know where I had sent you. How did you avoid her at the palace, by the way?”

Vasili ran an agitated hand through his golden mane. “It wasn’t easy. I suppose you told her you hadn’t sent me anywhere.”

“No, I merely said I would locate you and send you along to her posthaste. Why are you avoiding her, cousin?”

“Because anytime she sends me an ‘official’ summons, as this one was, it’s almost guaranteed I won’t like whatever it is she has to say. Either she’s going to harp at me about getting married—it’s been three months since the last time, so she’s due—or she’s going to blast me about my latest affair.”

“Which affair?” Stefan asked curiously.

“Whichever one she’s found out about.”

Since Vasili had not one mistress but three at present in the city—not including Fatima, who was installed in his own house, or the other women who constantly threw them
selves at him—the fact that he was spreading himself around among the Gypsies had to be wondered at. Vasili liked variety as well as any man, at least any man not in love, as Stefan was, but he already had more variety than any man could want.

“Why
don’t
you send me somewhere?” Vasili suddenly suggested.

Stefan laughed. “When Aunt Maria managed to get me to assure her that I would deliver you personally if necessary? You’ll have to take the harping or blasting this time, my friend. Next time give me prior warning, and I’ll send you off to Austria or France for a few months, though I don’t see what good it will do, since she’ll still be here on your return. Have you thought about doing what she wants?”

“You mean get married?” Vasili snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t be satisfied with just one woman.”

“Who says you have to be?”

Vasili gave Stefan a sour look. “Your queen probably would. She’s got old-fashioned ideas about faithfulness, if you haven’t noticed. Jesus, if I married, I wouldn’t put it past Tanya to make it a royal command that my bed is off limits to any woman but my countess.”

Serge and Lazar were laughing before he had finished speaking. Stefan wasn’t quite amused and asked his cousin, “Has Tanya said something to you?”

“Merely that I ought to devote as much time to finding the right woman as I do to
pursuing all the wrong ones. For some reason, she’s got it into her head that I’m not happy. Can you imagine that? When I couldn’t be happier.”

“But she’s a woman in love,” Lazar remarked. “Women in love like to see
everyone
in love.”

“Either that, or my mother’s been complaining to her about me, as she does to anyone who’ll listen,” Vasili said. “It’s a damn curse, being an only child, and having a mother worried about the continuation of the line.”

“Try having a royal father worried about it,” Stefan said dryly.

They all laughed, but it had been no laughing matter last year when Stefan had been sent to America to collect his princess bride. He’d been furious about it and had dreaded his marriage. But fortunately, he’d been smitten by the royal heiress, and even more fortunate, she had come to love him as well.

“I have the answer,” Vasili said suddenly. “Why don’t you order my mother to remarry, Stefan? That ought to give her something else to think about besides grandchildren.”

Stefan shook his head, though he was grinning. “I’m too fond of my aunt to order her to do anything she doesn’t want to do, and well you know it. Now, what are you doing here by yourself? You usually drag Lazar and Serge along with you—for this sort of entertainment.”

Vasili finally smiled. “Actually, I hadn’t planned on this sort of entertainment. I came
here to purchase a new horse. Dinicu had sent his boy to tell me he had a fine stallion to sell.”

Lazar perked up at that, for his passion for fancy horseflesh was as keen as Vasili’s. “Did you buy it?”

“It wasn’t so fine after all.”

“Ah.” Lazar nodded. “So you are compensating yourself for a wasted trip?”

“Certainly. You are welcome, of course, to join me, and Serge as well—but not you, Stefan.”

“As if I would accept.” Stefan grinned.

“I’m not taking any chances,” Vasili assured him. “I’m staying on the queen’s good side these days, now that she’s deigned to forgive me.”

Stefan quirked a brow and teased, “Are you sure she has? She still calls you a peacock, you know.”

“Yes,” Vasili replied rather smugly. “But she says it fondly now, and leaves off the ‘jack-assed’ that use to go with it.”