You Belong to Me (4 page)

T
wo months later, the girl Tanya had pitied was still blissfully unaware that she had a betrothed, or that his arrival was imminent.

Anna was with Constantin when Bohdan brought the news that the Cardinian was only a few hours away. The baron had stationed a number of men along the roads leading to his estate for just that purpose, so he wouldn’t be caught unawares, and because, despite Anna’s pleading to do otherwise, he was waiting until nearly the last minute to apprise his daughter of the upcoming nuptials.

“He has certainly dragged his feet about getting here,” Constantin felt compelled to grumble. “The countess’s letter informing me that he was coming arrived more than a month ago. He should have been right behind it.”

“And what does that tell you?” Anna asked, receiving no more than a scowl for an answer. “Exactly. It says he doesn’t want to get married.”

Constantin was nervous, extremely nervous, not only because Count Petroff was finally about to arrive, but because he had yet to inform Alexandra that she had a betrothed.

Anna read his thoughts correctly. “When are you going to tell her,
after
he’s arrived here?”

“You don’t think that might help, letting her meet him without knowing who he is?”

“Are you mad?
He’ll
mention the betrothal and she’ll laugh in his face, and that will start things off wonderfully, won’t it?”

His scowl grew darker. Anna had done nothing but nag him about his decision since he’d first told her about it. Perversely, the more she inflamed his guilt on the subject, the more stubborn he turned.

Now, when he made no move to summon Alexandra to finally break the news to her, Anna sighed in exasperation. “At least give her time to change, or do you want him to meet her when she’s in her britches?”

She was right, that wouldn’t do at all, and he hadn’t even thought of it. Alexandra would need at least an hour to wash the stink of the stable off her and to make herself pretty, and there was no telling how long their argument was going to last before then. Not once did he consider the possibility that there wouldn’t be an argument. He knew his daughter too well.

Immediately he left the dining room, where he and Anna had been sharing a late breakfast. He sent a servant straight out to the stable, then retreated to his study to wait.

Anna poked her head around the door, and despite the odds they had been at over this subject, she gave him a fond smile and said, “Good luck, darling.”

Some of the tension eased out of him. He was a very fortunate man when it came right down to it. He had three healthy children, a brood of grandchildren—and Anna.

“Now that we may have this house to ourselves,” he said, “will you marry me?”

Her smile widened just a bit. “No.”

He chuckled as she went off to another part of the house. One of these days she was going to surprise him and give him the answer he wanted. In the meantime, it was certainly no hardship being a lover rather than a husband.

A few minutes later, Alexandra marched into the study with her usual brisk energy. “This isn’t going to take long, is it? I have to exercise Prince Micha.” She was referring to one of her own stallions, one of her “babies,” as she called all the offspring from her own personal stock.

“You might want to let one of the Razins exercise him today.”

She lifted a finely arched brow. “It’s going to take that long?”

“Quite possibly.”

She removed her hat, sticking it in the pocket of her coat, and plopped into the chair across from his desk with a sigh. “All right, what have I done now?”

“What you
could
do is show me that you know how to sit like a lady rather than a—”

“It’s so bad you’re going to prevaricate?”

Her feigned look of surprise brought his brows together. Whenever Alexandra would rather be doing something else, she made sure people knew they were wasting her time. He decided to take a leaf from her book and get to the heart of the matter.

“You haven’t done anything, Alexandra, but what you will be doing is getting married, possibly in the next few days. Your betrothed will be here in less than two hours, and I would appreciate it if you would be on your best—”

“You can stop right there, Papa. Whatever you have promised this man to marry me, you can go ahead and give it to him before you send him back where he came from. My mind hasn’t changed since the last time we had this discussion.”

She hadn’t raised her voice and didn’t even look the least bit annoyed with him. Of course, she hadn’t yet grasped the full meaning of what he’d said.

He did not make a habit of lying to his daughter. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done so. That he was going to now made the color rise in his cheeks. Fortunately, she mistook it for his usual high temper.

“This has nothing to do with our last discussion on the subject of marriage,” he told her. “This has to do with a betrothal contract that Simeon Petroff and I signed fifteen years ago, before he died. And it is a binding con
tract, Alexandra. It promises that you will wed Simeon’s son, Count Vasili Petroff.”

She came to her feet and leaned over his desk, her color now as high as his, but there was no mistaking that hers was from temper. “Tell me you’re lying!” At the hesitant shake of his head, she emitted a shriek of rage. “You are, I know you are! You can’t tell me I’ve had a betrothed for more than half my life and you never bothered to mention it before now. It defies reason. You would have thrown this man in my face when I told you I was going to wait for Christopher’s proposal. You wouldn’t have let me go on waiting
seven
years if I were promised to another. And what about all those other men you hoped I would take an interest in?”

“If you will calm down for a moment, I can explain.”

She didn’t sit down, didn’t calm down, but she held her tongue, which wasn’t easy when all she wanted to do was scream. Constantin was aware of that fact, but he had had ample time to come up with a reasonable explanation for his so-called “silence” all these years.

“I can’t deny I wanted you to marry Simeon’s son, just as he wanted it. He was my closest friend, as you know. And you were so young then, so—biddable. There was no way to know that you would grow to be so willful and assertive, argumentative, obstinate—”

“I get the point, Papa,” she practically growled.

He grunted before continuing. “I realized when you had your first season that you
would balk at having a husband chosen for you. So with your happiness in mind, rather than my honor, I decided to give you time to choose for yourself—and hoped Count Petroff would turn out to be dishonorable and marry someone else, thereby breaking the betrothal.”

“And what if I
had
married someone else?”

He was well prepared for that question. “First, you need to know that young Vasili never wrote to me, which caused me to wonder if Simeon had gotten around to telling his family about the betrothal before he died. It was a slim possibility that he hadn’t, but one I was beginning to count on back then, especially when you showed such interest in that Englishman.”

“Count on? You despised Christopher!”

“But if he would have made you happy—”

“Never mind that,” she cut in impatiently. “If your friend’s family never knew—”

“I didn’t say that,” he cut back in, “only that it was possible they might not know. But in either case, if you
had
accepted someone’s proposal, I would have had to write Vasili Petroff to inform him of it, and I was fully prepared to
beg
him to relinquish his claim on you.”

When Constantin had rehearsed this conversation in his mind, he had decided the word “beg” was brilliant, designed to let her know that he had been completely on her side in this before she became unreasonable in her refusal to marry. But her expression said she couldn’t have cared less.

“So when did he write to you?” she demanded.

He had been dreading that question, had hoped she wouldn’t have thought of it. Now all her rage would come squarely down on his head, because he couldn’t lie about this when she was likely to get the truth from Count Petroff. “He didn’t.”

“
You
did?!”

“You have given me no choice,” he said defensively. “You’re twenty-five years old and still without a husband. If you had made the slightest effort to change that fact—”

“I don’t
need
a husband!”

“Every woman needs a husband!”

“Who says so?”

“God in His wisdom—”

“You mean Constantin Rubliov in his!”

They were down to arguments they’d had before, ground he found much more familiar. “You need a husband to give you children.”

“I don’t want children!”

The lie was so blatantly obvious, he had to say so, though his voice gentled to a near whisper. “You know that isn’t true, Alex.”

Alexandra was close to tears in her fury—at least she told herself that her anger was responsible for her upset emotions and
not
the fact that she was childless and so far beyond a marriageable age that it was laughable. At times like this, she actually hated the man she’d sworn to wait for. Although Christopher still wrote to her frequently since he’d left Russia three years ago, not one of his letters
had contained the marriage proposal she longed for.

She had nearly reached the point of finally giving up on Christopher, though she hadn’t told her father so. Obviously she should have. Perversely, what her father had done had just changed her mind. But even if she weren’t in love with someone else, she wouldn’t accept a complete stranger for a husband. Betrothals were archaic. That her father had arranged one for her wasn’t merely intolerable, it was outrageous.

She tried to moderate her tone and was only slightly successful. “When that man arrives, do the begging you would have done and get rid of him. You can give him Sultan’s Pride for his trouble in coming here.”

She’d managed to shock him. “You would
give
away your prize stud?”

“Do you begin to see that I don’t want a stranger for a husband?” she countered, though the words were almost sticking in her throat. She’d raised Sultan’s Pride from a colt and loved him passionately.

“He won’t
be
a stranger once you meet him. For God’s sake, Alexandra, Simeon’s son is first cousin to King Stefan of Cardinia. Do you realize what a prime catch he is?”

“Is that supposed to matter to me?”

He came to his feet, facing her angrily across the desk. “Yes, and it most certainly matters to me. Besides, you are deliberately ignoring the fact that a betrothal is as binding as a marriage. This one was arranged in good
faith, with the best of intentions, and duly sworn to by Simeon and me. And, my girl, after all these years, Vasili Petroff is still unwed.
You
are still unwed. So we can no longer in good conscience delay the nuptials.”

“You could at least ask him to tear up that damn contract!” she cried.

“You could at least give the man a chance. He is coming here to marry you, thereby honoring his father’s word. How can you do any less?”

“Honor,” she choked. “You would make this a matter of honor?”

Constantin hesitated. He’d known she would be angry, but now she looked as if she were about to cry, and he couldn’t stand to see her cry. It was that damn Englishman, he thought furiously. She was still hopeful that he would marry her. Such misplaced loyalty. But it was a father’s duty to protect his daughter from her own foolishness. However, he would end the betrothal, even if he had to confess the truth to do it, if there was no chance that Petroff could make her happy. But he wasn’t going to end it before that could be ascertained.

“It already is a matter of honor. I gave my word when I signed the betrothal contract.”

Her fingers curled into fists, and she slammed both against his desk before she turned her back on him. For good measure, she kicked the chair she had vacated, toppling it over.

“There’s no call to wreck my study,” her father said stiffly.

“You’re wrecking my life,” she replied bitterly.

“What life? All you care about is the horses. You spend nearly your every waking moment in the stables. Half the time I think that you forget you’re a woman.”

That comment brought forth the tears that she’d been fighting to hold back. But she vowed her father wouldn’t see them. He’d betrayed her. It didn’t matter that he’d done it fifteen years ago—
with the best of intentions
. And what he scorned, her so-called lack of femininity, was what allowed him to win. How many women cared about honor? But
she
did, and he knew she did.

“Very well, I won’t refuse to marry your precious Cardinian.” She was halfway to the door when she added, for her benefit alone,
But I promise you he will refuse to marry me
.

“Then you’ll make yourself presentable? At least change your clothes.”

“Oh, no. If he wants to marry me, he can see me as I am, not as I rarely am.”

Red-faced, Constantin shouted for her to come back, but she marched out of the room and slammed out of the house. He slumped back in his chair, wondering if he’d won, and worried because she hadn’t argued as much as he’d expected. Alexandra was not to be trusted when she gave in easily.

A
lexandra rode past the village, past the town, beyond the fields to the grazing meadows, where she finally gave Prince Mischa his lead. One of the Razin boys was behind her as always, but she hadn’t noticed which one had followed her, nor did she look back now.

It was probably Konrad, who at the age of thirty was the oldest and the most responsible of the three brothers. Timofee and Stenka, the twins, only scolded her whenever she went off on her own without telling them, but Konrad would give her hell and make her feel it.

She had grown up with the Razin boys and spent as much time in their home as she did in her own. They were like the brothers she never had, they were her friends, and sometimes they were pains in the neck. Their only sister, Nina, who was supposed to be her maid, was really her dearest friend. She was a year younger than Alexandra, but even she had married, though her husband had died two years ago.

Marriage.

The chill autumn wind had dried Alex’s tears, a foolishness she so rarely gave in to, but her urge now wasn’t to cry any more, but to keep on riding and never return home. Konrad, of course, wouldn’t let her. Even when he found out what her father had done, he wouldn’t let her take the cowardly route. He’d be angry, just as angry as she was, but Cossacks didn’t run from battles, and he’d view this betrothal as a battle. She would, too, once she stopped hurting and feeling so betrayed.

Marriage.

Damn Christopher Leighton, why had he noticed her at her first ball in St. Petersburg? Why had he courted her so diligently and claimed he loved her? He was an assistant to the English ambassador, so worldly, so sophisticated, so handsome. She’d gotten her head turned royally.

She loved him—she
must
love him to wait seven years, which even she knew was a ridiculous amount of time to remain loyal to a man who had yet to propose marriage to her, and whose image she couldn’t even recall clearly anymore, it had been so long since she’d last seen him. But his letters were always so full of passion and his depth of feeling for her, even the last one, which she had recently received.

Always he wrote of his love and how much he missed her. And since he had returned to England, he had been assuring her that he was
trying to get his diplomatic posting switched back to Russia so he could be near her again. But in all his letters, not once had he ever mentioned marriage. And for all her boldness, she had never been able to write the few words that would have elicited from him a reply that would have either strengthened her hope or ended it. She simply couldn’t bring herself to ask him outright if he intended to marry her.

She should have, she realized now. She also should have followed him to England when she’d wanted to, instead of giving in to her father’s refusal. If she could just see Christopher once more…

Alexandra made up her mind then and there. She would go to England as soon as she got rid of the Cardinian and the matter of honor was satisfied. After all, she had a sizable amount of money saved up from the sale of her horses. All she had to do was figure out a way to leave the country so that her father wouldn’t immediately try to stop her. With so many routes to England, once she was on one of them, he’d have the devil’s own time finding her.

With that decision made, some of the tightness left her chest and she pulled up on the reins, allowing Konrad to catch up to her. But it was Stenka Razin who drew up beside her and glared at her because of the mad ride he’d had trying to keep up with her.

“You were trying to kill us both, right? Or just the horses?”

“I was trying to outrun a few demons, if you must know,” she replied.

“Any I know?”

“My father, for one.”

“Ah, another fight with your papa,” he said with a knowing grin.

Of the three Razin brothers, Stenka was the one who didn’t have a serious bone in his body. He loved life and found pleasure, and more often than not humor, in just about every aspect of it. Whenever Alexandra was angry, or hurt, or just plain moody, he always managed to make her laugh. She was afraid he wasn’t going to manage it this time if he tried.

His brother Timofee was only slightly less carefree. The twins were so alike it was uncanny, and not just in their identical features. They were twenty-seven, had the black hair and blue eyes that ran in their family, and wanted the exact same things, including women, which was why they constantly competed with each other—and fought. It didn’t take much to set those two off, and it wasn’t unusual for one or the other to sport a black eye or a split lip from their tussles.

“I don’t know why you let these arguments with your papa upset you, since you always win,” Stenka remarked.

“I didn’t win,” she mumbled.

“You didn’t win?”

His deliberately incredulous look didn’t bring the grin he was looking for. “I didn’t win!”

“I suppose there is a first time for everything.” He sighed. “So what didn’t you win?”

“He has betrothed me to a Cardinian.”

There was nothing feigned about his new incredulous look. “He wouldn’t do that to you.”

“He did it fifteen years ago.”

“Ah, when you were still a baby,” he said, as if that explained it.

“A ten-year-old baby?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “So what are you going to do?”

“Honesty would be the best strategy, I think,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ll simply tell this Cardinian count that I don’t want to marry him.”

Stenka gave her an assessing look that ran from her fur-topped head to her booted feet and, in his opinion, passed over a great many assets in between. “He could be as homely as hell, take one look at you, and think he’s died and gone to heaven. Your honesty won’t matter in that case.”

Alexandra groaned over that possibility. “You aren’t helping, Stenka.”

“Was I supposed to?”

“It would be appreciated.”

“Well, then,” he said cheerfully, “Timofee and I could ambush him, beat him up, and warn him off.”

“Except he’s probably arriving even as we speak,” she predicted, then added, just in case
he’d mistaken her response to his suggestion as permission, “and we’re not going to beat up a king’s cousin—except as a last resort.”

He whistled softly. “A
king
’s cousin? So why don’t you marry him?”

Her midnight-blue eyes took on a deep purple hue when she glared, which she was doing now. “Because I happen to love Christopher.”

“
Him!
” Stenka said with such derision that she nearly winced. They all knew about her Englishman and they’d been happy for her—until the years had started to pass with no ring forthcoming for her finger. “That no-good laggard!”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“But it would do me a world of good to get it off my chest.”

His expression was so earnest, she couldn’t help chuckling. He grinned, having finally gotten the result he was after.

“So let’s go and meet your betrothed,” he suggested. “You never know, you might like him.” When she just snorted, he added, “It’s not impossible.”

“But it wouldn’t matter.”

He didn’t have to ask why, and that was the hell of it, Stenka thought, feeling disgust now. Their Alex was too damn loyal, even when her loyalty was misplaced. And her papa had the right idea. Stenka’s own father, Ermak,
had heard the baron repeat it more than once, and every one of the Razins seconded the opinion. Someone should have shot that Englishman a long time ago.