You Belong to Me by Johanna Lindsey

  He had the grace to blush. "I don't believe in burning my bridges, darling. I still hoped we would one day end up in bed together."

  Why wasn't she furious, or slapping him, or crying? "You should have said so," she re­plied flatly. "I probably would have been quite willing at the time."

  "But you were an innocent and I don't—" He paused, and his expression changed to a curious, hopeful look. "Are you still?"

  Alexandra decided a lie was appropriate at that point. "Yes."

  "A shame." He sighed. "But tell me, what are you doing here in London? I hope you didn't come all this way just to see me."

  Another lie, for her pride's sake. "No, I didn't. I just ended an engagement to a Cardinian count and decided to travel a while before returning home."

  "A Cardinian?" He was suddenly excited. "Is there no hope of patching that up?"

  "Why?"

  "Because that would be ideal for us, dar­ling. I've just learned that I'm going to be as­signed to the embassy in Cardinia in a few months. And if you're there, and married—"

  "That would be an excellent idea, Chris­topher, except ... even if I did marry my Cardinian, and did find the need for a lover, which would, in fact, be likely"—she patted his cheek before ending—"I am absolutely certain that I wouldn't choose you." And she walked out of the room with her pride intact, if a little bruised.

  36

  Nina was waiting for her when she returned to her hotel room, and one look at Alexandra's expression made Nina say, "He wasn't there, was he?"

  Alexandra removed her coat and sat down carefully on the bed. "Oh, he was there," she replied dryly. "And we had quite an interest­ing conversation. Apparently lechers aren't exclusive to Cardinia."

  "I never thought they were." Then Nina's eyes flared in understanding. "You mean the Honorable Christopher Leighton isn't so hon­orable?"

  Alexandra nodded and, as briefly as she could manage it, related what had happened. When she had finished, Nina was furious.

  "That rotten bastard! That miserable de­ceiver, to give you no indication of his true motives, to deliberately let you think—"

  "He said he assumed I understood."

  "That's a lie and you know it, Alex—and don't you even think about trying to defend him."

  "I wasn't."

  "Good, because—" Nina broke off when she finally realized that she was doing all the yelling and Alexandra wasn't doing any. "Why aren't you angry?"

  "I suppose I am."

  The lackluster answer had Nina rolling her eyes. "You don't sound it. You don't even sound upset. In fact, you sound no different from when you left here."

  "I'm still adjusting to the fact that Chris­topher isn't the man I thought he was." And then Alexandra frowned thoughtfully. "But you're right, I should be more upset about this than I am, shouldn't I? After all, I've loved him for so long—"

  Nina's snort announced her opinion on that, yet she responded, "You say that from habit only."

  "Nina—" Alexandra began defensively, but that, too, was out of habit, and her friend wasn't going to let her trot out the same old, lame excuses this time.

  "I'm telling you, you didn't love him!" Nina interrupted hotly. "Not then and not now. I've always said it, but now you're going to believe it." Then she said, less severely, "You wanted him when you met him, but you were young and romantic then, and you needed a name for what you were feeling, so you called it love."

  "And all these years—"

  "All these years you simply haven't cared one way or the other, Alex, or you would have done something about it. Think about it. If you had really loved him, would you have been content to sit at home and wait?"

  Put that way, the question demanded an obvious answer. Alexandra didn't have the temperament to be that patient, not if her emotions were involved. So why had she been deceiving herself? From habit, as Nina had said? Or because she had mistaken infatuation for love and was too stubborn to admit she'd made a mistake?

  But Nina wasn't finished. "Even if you didn't love him, you still ought to be angry about what he's done to you. If it weren't for him, you would have been more favorably disposed to Count Petroff and would be mar­ried to him by now."

  Would she? No, what she would have been was angrier at Vasili for not giving them a chance, because his sentiments wouldn't have been any different. He would have turned on his contempt no matter how she'd felt about him.

  "My being more agreeable to him, Nina, would only have led to hurt." And hadn't she been hurt? Hadn't she been sick with regret? In a tone of annoyance she said, "I'm going to bed. Maybe tomorrow I'll be angry. Now I'm just tired."

  But the next day didn't bring anything ex­cept a return of her melancholy—with the ad­dition of knowing that she had to make a difficult decision. She was still pregnant, and she still needed a husband, quickly. And with Christopher no longer a candidate for the po­sition, she was going to have to settle for a stranger.

  That actually wasn't as daunting as it sounded. Alexandra had been quite happy with her life these past few years, with only one exception—her desire for children. But she had her baby now, and she still had her horses, and she could be content with that. And there was even the possibility that she might like whomever she chose to marry, might even one day come to love her hus­band. It wasn't that unlikely. But it didn't re­ally matter to her if love happened or not.

  She wished she didn't need a husband just because she was pregnant. It would be so much easier if she could settle somewhere and raise her child by herself. Her horses would support her quite adequately, would even make her rich if she decided to race them. But her child would suffer for that, would be branded illegitimate, and that was not an option she cared to exercise.

  She didn't even consider going home, since she hadn't forgiven her father and doubted that she ever would. It still hurt even to think about him and what he'd done to her—what she was now suffering because of it.

  Her only other option was Vasili. If the dis­tance weren't so great, she'd return to Cardi-nia and insist that he marry her. But she was already seven weeks along in her pregnancy. It would take another month just to get back to Cardinia; then more time would be wasted arguing with Vasili in order to get him to agree, which wouldn't be easy after he'd been reprieved from the "hated state of matri­mony." She would probably be showing her condition by then. Of course, a baby being on its way before marriage would be no more than anyone would expect from him.

  The stirring of excitement she felt from merely considering the idea infuriated her. She still didn't want the kind of marriage he would give her. If she hadn't found out how wonderful those marital rights could be with him—which he intended to deny her—her decision might have been different. But she did know, and she would come to hate him after a while, might even toss her pride away and ... no!

  A stranger was much better. No emotional involvement and something in common, be­cause the man would have to be an avid horseman, and from conversations she had overheard, she knew that many Englishmen were.

  He would also have to have a strong pen­chant for horse racing, since that was proba­bly the only thing that was going to get her a husband quickly. Although she had enough money to keep her comfortable for some time to come, even if she didn't sell another horse, she could in no way be classified as a rich catch. And she wasn't going to count on her minor title of baroness to aid her either.

  Her thoroughbreds were the temptation she was counting on. Whomever she proposed to wouldn't just get a ready-made family; in all likelihood he'd get some wins at the race­tracks as well. He'd have to want those wins, desperately, to accept her pregnancy, and her terms.

  Deciding on a course of action was one thing, but implementing it was another. In that, Lady Beatrice helped immensely, obtain­ing invitations for her, spreading the word about her horses and that she was in the mar­ket for a husband. After only a few days, ev­eryone was wondering about the Russian baroness who had come to London to find
a husband.

  As it turned out, her title was a bigger draw than she had supposed it would be, es­pecially since she came with a guaranteed income from her breeding stock. But then, her looks alone turned out to be an equal en­ticement. She was attracting too many men who weren't horse fanciers, and although she would have discouraged them in her frank way, Lady Beatrice recommended that she not do so.

  "Gossip, my dear," Beatrice explained. "Right now it is in your favor, but rejected suitors can turn it against you overnight."

  "But won't too many suitors discourage the ones I'm interested in?"

  Beatrice laughed. "Not at all. The ones you want will be even more intrigued by your popularity. If a girl has three men bussing about her, she'll soon have ten. If s human nature to see what all the fuss is about, and men always want what other men want."

  That conversation took place, incredibly, on Alexandra's first evening out in London soci­ety, her acceptance by the ton was that quick. By the second evening she had met at least three gentlemen who fit her purposes exactly, and since she was in no position to waste time tiptoeing around the subject, she told each what her requirements were.

  The first she took aside to speak with pri­vately was apparently too shocked by her di­rectness in doing the proposing to stick around to hear the rest of what she was offer­ing, which was just as well. If he couldn't handle a simple thing like her proposal, he probably would have fainted when she got around to telling him about the baby.

  After that experience, she was a little more careful with the second man, leading into the subject a bit more slowly, making sure that he was aware that she was seeking marriage be­fore she asked if he was interested. He wouldn't give her an immediate answer, needed time to consider her proposal, though he hadn't counted on raising children so soon—he was only twenty-six.

  The third man held the highest standing as a viscount, though he was the least attractive, a bit on the portly side. However, he fairly drooled when she mentioned how many horses she owned, and hardly batted an eye over the fact that she was pregnant. He did, in fact, give her a resounding yes, saying he would be delighted to marry her.

  It was Alexandra's turn to be shocked. She really hadn't thought it would be this easy, or this quick, and she put him off, suggesting they spend a few days getting to know each other before they completely committed and set a wedding date. But at least the pressure was off. She'd solved her problem. Only now that she no longer had to worry about a father for her baby, her melancholy returned.

  She spent a good portion of the next day with her viscount, Gordon Whately, which in­cluded riding through one of London's many parks. He brought one of his own thorough­breds for her to ride—she had the impression it was a test of sorts, since the mare was high-spirited, which condition she had no difficulty controlling—and they ended up talking horses and nothing else. At least they would never lack for conversation as a married couple.

  He was having no second thoughts—which had been a possibility—and believed every­thing she claimed about her animals. She couldn't afford to have second thoughts her­self.

  Since it looked as if she would be staying in England, she would soon have to visit a dressmaker for clothing other than the com­pleted, unclaimed dresses she had been able to buy with a minimum of alterations. That was how she had been surviving so far with her evening apparel, but she would soon run out of dressmakers who could accommodate her so quickly. And with all the invitations that Beatrice had lined up for her—which the older woman insisted Alexandra must still attend to broaden her acquaintances, even though she'd already accomplished her goal—she was going to need a much larger wardrobe.

  That night there was a ball for which Beatrice was picking her up. Gordon wouldn't be attending, since he had a previous engage­ment he was unable to cancel, but Alexandra wasn't disappointed. Too much of his com­pany gave her a headache.

  She'd found a gown suitable for a ball late that afternoon, a fancy concoction in deep burgundy and black lace that showed off more of her bosom than she was used to, though she knew it to be the fashion. Still, she would have preferred not to go, having no more desire to socialize now than she'd had these past seven years.

  But she went, and she even made an effort to enjoy herself. She wasn't succeeding very well, though, with visions of her future damp­ening her mood. Having spent so much time with Gordon today, she really couldn't imag­ine spending the rest of her life with him. And she certainly couldn't imagine making love with him. Yet what choice did she have?

  She was dancing when the buzzing started, conversations everywhere picking up in vol­ume, as if everyone were suddenly talking at once. Her partner was trying to look around to see what was happening, but he was no taller than she was, and he could find nothing amiss. She wasn't curious herself, although she couldn't help hearing some of the talk go­ing on around her as they continued to twirl past the other couples on the dance floor.

  "Is it the queen?"

  "Over there by the ..."

  "... never seen anyone so ..."

  "Good God, who is ..."

  "... so handsome ..."

  "... so handsome ..."

  "... so handsome..."

  Her partner had actually stopped dancing, even though the music continued to play. He didn't remember to apologize, he was so curi­ous. But everyone else around them was doing the same thing, and the buzzing was getting even louder.

  Alexandra sighed and excused herself to leave the floor. Whoever had so impressed these people was of no interest to her. So handsome? They'd have to go to Russia, to Cardinia to be exact, to see really handsome.

  And then the crowd was suddenly parting before her, clearing a path for the man slowly walking across the room. And in the opened space she couldn't miss him, couldn't believe her eyes either, and couldn't take another step.

  Vasili in London? Impossible. Yet there he was, coming straight toward her, his honey-gold eyes, as bright as she'd ever seen them, locked on hers. Everyone else saw an inscrutable expression, but she knew what that golden brightness indicated, that he was an­gry enough to throttle her, and she couldn't decide whether she ought to run, faint, cry—or laugh for the sheer joy that was over­whelming her senses at the very sight of him.

  37

  We can discuss this for everyone's delectation, or you can come with me," Vasili said with forced evenness. "I have a car­riage waiting outside."

  That wasn't at all what Alexandra was ex­pecting to hear. If she had been as angry as she suspected Vasili was, she wouldn't have held off whatever "this" was, just to avoid making an embarrassing scene. Of course, she was used to causing scenes and—and she'd better answer him before he made the deci­sion for her.

  "I was just about to leave anyway," she told him, her own tone carefully neutral.

  It wasn't true, even if it was what she'd wanted to do ever since arriving. But she fig­ured if she didn't go with him, he'd just be­come angrier, because then he'd be making that scene she knew he didn't want to make.

  However, she nearly changed her mind about going anywhere with him. Although he had her compliance, she still felt as if he were dragging her out of there. But before she could make up her mind whether it would be in her best interest to remain where there were people, they were outside, and she was being shoved into his waiting carriage.

  "Is it your intention to freeze me?" she asked, her tone sarcastic.

  He hadn't stopped long enough to retrieve her evening cloak, and the winter night air was damp and frigid. Inside the large, well-appointed carriage, it was not much warmer. But rather than go back for her wrap, he tossed a carriage blanket at her before he sat down.

  The vehicle departed immediately with the slamming of the door, jerking Alexandra nearly off the edge of the seat. It wouldn't take much more for her to be losing her tem­per.

  "Explain yourself, Petroff. If I had known you had a trip to England scheduled, I would have gone elsewhere."

  "Woul
d you? I doubt that."

  He was sitting opposite her with his arms crossed, his legs stretched out and also crossed, his eyes still aglow as he stared at her. Whatever pleasure she had felt upon first seeing him was fast dissipating, irritation tak­ing its place. And that he said no more after his sardonic remark left a silence that un­nerved her.

  She broke it, demanding, "Well? I assume there is some particular reason you have sought me out—or did we have the misfortune to turn up at the same function as well as in the same town?"

  "We'll get to that in a moment, Alex. Right now I'm having a little trouble adjusting to seeing you, for all intents and purposes, look­ing like a lady. Or do you have your britches on underneath that gown?"

  She couldn't imagine why that question made her blush, but it did. "If you failed to notice, that was a ball you dragged me out of. I do happen to know what the required dress is for such an occasion."

  "No britches, then?"

  She glared at him in answer. Vasili wasn't amused. He was, in fact, even more incredu­lous now than when he'd first spotted her on the dance floor. Silk and lace. He'd had fanta­sies of her wearing just that, but he could never have imagined anything like this. The artfully arranged coiffure, the long evening gloves, the deep scoop of her neckline—Jesus, her breasts, her magnificent breasts on display for any man who cared to look.

  Even as that infuriated him, Vasili had to al­low that he had never seen Alexandra looking more beautiful. And he resented that she had always denied him this soft, feminine side of her, that he hadn't known she even had a side like this—except in bed.

  She could dance. She could apparently con­verse with her peers for a while without swearing or shocking them. And obviously she was careful not to attend gatherings where dinner was included, or she would very quickly become excluded from guest lists. But apparently she'd been able to fool these English into believing she was a lady, or that she knew how to act like one.

  He was also furious that he hadn't been able to catch up with her before she sailed for England, that it had taken him more than a month to finally find her. They'd lost her trail twice, first when she had begun heading for the mountains, as if she were going home, then had changed directions to travel north. He'd sent home most of the men he had with him at that point, since it appeared they wouldn't be needed.