“How so?” Dimitri asked.
Natalia began by describing an attempted assassination that took place seven years earlier, when an anarchist lobbed a bomb at Oscar as he left the bank. The bomb destroyed the façade of the bank and killed three bystanders. Her father was badly injured, losing an eye and the use of one leg, but he survived.
“I think it was the first time he realized he wasn’t invincible,” Natalia said. “My mother was still alive then, but she couldn’t help him. She tried to tidy the bedsheets in his sickroom and bring him meals, but he was so angry. He barked at her to leave him alone, and my mother was too soft-hearted to stand up to him. She always felt inadequate because she hadn’t been able to give him a son, and she tried to make up for it by catering to him, but it just made him feel like an invalid.”
Oscar’s leg refused to heal, and he relied on a wheelchair for years before he met Poppy Galpin, a young, athletic woman whose father managed the country club where Oscar onceplayed golf. Oscar’s days as a sportsman ended after the bombing, but he still visited the dining room at the club for business meetings. When Poppy saw him being wheeled across the lobby of the clubhouse, she boldly approached and asked when he intended to take up golf again. The people accompanying Oscar glared in disapproval, but her father was curious, challenging her to suggest how a half-blind cripple dragging a useless leg could play golf.
“Easy,” she tossed off. “You’ll have to get out of that chair and start working on developing your strength and balance, but it can be done.”
Her father scowled, but Poppy shrugged and tossed a parting quip over her shoulder. “It takes a strong man, but if you think you can handle it, tell my father. He can arrange some lessons.”
Oscar took the bait. Instead of handling him with kid gloves, Poppy bullied him into standing on his own and ordered him to the gymnasium to develop the muscles that had atrophied after years of disuse. Soon her father abandoned his wheelchair in favor of a walker, and then a cane. At first he could only manage a few steps, but exercise helped build his strength. Then Poppy got him out on the golf course. His initial attempts to swing a club were feeble, but he grew stronger and more confident by the month. He and Poppy played incessantly. It got to the point that junior businessmen joined him on the golf course to brief him on bank developments, because when the weather was good, there was no way Oscar would miss a chance to squeeze in a round of golf with Poppy. It was as if his life depended on those rounds of golf, and in a way, it did.
As Oscar regained his physical strength, his passion for the bank came roaring back stronger than ever before. He earned money hand over fist. He engineered million-dollar deals and extended the bank’s influence to all corners of the world. He brokered funding for the Trans-Siberian Railway, their greatest overseas investment, solidifying the Blackstone reputation in the international arena.
Then, four years ago, Natalia’s mother died while deliveringa stillborn baby boy. Her father had mourned. Of course he did. But five months later he married Poppy Galpin.
Or Poppy Blackstone, as she was now called. They still played golf, and her father’s dependence on Poppy still annoyed Natalia.
Natalia stirred cream into her coffee and looked up at Dimitri. “I’m grateful for what she did for my father, I merely wish she wasn’t a howling, self-centered snob in all other areas of her life. But she is indeed an excellent golfer.” She set the spoon on a dish with a clink. “Andthatis the nicest thing I can say about Poppy.”
Dimitri seemed amused. “You may cringe in horror, but what you just said about your reviled stepmother was actually quite flattering. I am looking forward to meeting her.”
Natalia raised her teacup. “And I am looking forward to seeing you regret those words.”
He flashed an engaging look of challenge, and she could sit here for hours wallowing in his charm, but she needed to watch out. Dimitri had been starved not only of food and shelter, but for the past four years, he had also been devoid of female companionship. He would probably flirt with a doorpost.
And yet there were plenty of appealing women in the café, and the waitress was especially pretty, with red hair and a sweet disposition, but Dimitri seemed oblivious to them all. The way he focused entirely on Natalia felt enthralling. She could drown in this sensation, even though opening her heart to him would be risky.
For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to do the sensible, logical thing. She wanted to let Dimitri swoop her up in a joyous embrace like he had at the Ferry Building. She wanted to argue overWar and Peacewith him. She wanted to laugh about those stupid lice, because even though he’d initially been mortified, by the end of last night, they had found the humor in it.
She drained the last bit of her coffee and set the cup down. “Come, we should head toward the station. Our train doesn’t leave for two more hours, but I need to send a message to myassociate at the bank who has been handling the railroad account while I’ve been gone.”
Dimitri clamped a hand over her wrist, holding it immobile against the table. “Not yet.”
She stilled. The intensity in his voice was odd. “What’s wrong?”
“I think you should delay sending that message to your associate at the bank.” He removed his hand and folded his arms across his chest, looking at her with a dark, brooding frown. It alarmed her.
“What are you talking about?”
Dimitri was suddenly at a loss for words. He opened his mouth several times, but nothing came out. He blotted his forehead because he’d started perspiring even though it wasn’t warm in here.
“Natalia, there are many things to consider,” he finally said. “At my trial in Russia, I was ritually humiliated. My lands and title were stripped from me, and then the court branded me a coward before the entire nation.”
He looked at the floor as he spoke, the pain obvious in his voice. It hurt to see.
“I understand,” she said softly. “We can hire a lawyer for you in New York. Pay him to fight your battle in Russia and perhaps get your title back.”
He blanched. “Do you think it ismy titleI care about?”
He looked wounded. Oh dear. She’d always known Dimitri’s feelings could be easily hurt, and perhaps it was too early to discuss this. In all likelihood, he was going to live the rest of his life in exile, and it would take time to become accustomed to this reality.
Dimitri leaned across the table, his face dark and earnest. “Natalia, you must understand. Although I would like my title and lands restored, it is not a priority. I witnessed thousands of innocent people driven to their deaths, and this will haunt me until justice has been served.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that. It must have been terrible for you.” What else did he want her to say?
Dimitri’s eyes softened in pained sympathy, and a hint ofmisgiving took root. He wanted something from her ...something he knew she would be reluctant to provide. Suddenly, she felt very cold.
