Chapter Two
“Grandmère, he’s coming!”
The young woman flew into the room in a white blur of lace and silk. She didn’t even look at her grandmother, but ran straight across the room to the window where she could view the procession of elegant coaches moving swiftly up the long drive. A small drop of blood appeared on her lower lip where her teeth were set so tightly. Her knuckles turned white from gripping the windowsill. Her dark brown eyes were wide with a very real fear.
“Oh, God, what am I to do?” she cried. “He’ll beat me!”
Lenore Cudworth, Dowager Duchess of Albemarle, closed her eyes with a sigh. She was too old for these theatrics. Well, not really too old, but such drama was not needful at her age. And her granddaughter should have thought of the consequences before she disgraced herself.
“Do compose yourself, Anastasia,” Lenore said quietly. “If your brother does beat you, which I seriously doubt, it’s no more than you deserve. Even you must admit that.”
Princess Anastasia swung around and stood stiffly wringing her hands. “Yes, but—but he willkillme! You just don’t know,Grandmère. You’ve never seen him in a rage. He has no control over what he does. He will not mean to kill me, but I will be dead before he finishes with me!”
Lenore hesitated, remembering Dimitri Alexandrov as she last saw him four years ago. Then, even at twenty-four, he was an immense man, just over six feet and with a musculature well honed by the Russian army. Yes, he was strong. And yes, he was capable of killing with his bare hands. But his sister? No, not his sister, no matter what she had done.
Lenore shook her head firmly. “Your brother might be angry with you, as well he should be, but there will be no violence.”
“Oh,Grandmere,why won’t you listen?” Anastasia cried. “Dimitri has never lived with you as I have. In his whole life you have seen him only a half-dozen times and never for very long. I live with him. He is my guardian now. I know him better than anyone.”
“You have been with me this last year,” Lenore reminded her. “You haven’t even written to Dimitri in all this time.”
“So you suggest he is not the same man, that he will have changed in only a year? No, men like Dimitri never change. He is a Russian—”
“Half English.”
“He was raised in Russia!” Anastasia persisted.
“He travels extensively. He spends only half the year in Russia, sometimes not even that.”
“Only since he left the army!”
They would never agree on Dimitri’s personality. His sister would have him a tyrant, just like their Tzar Nicholas. Lenore knew it just wasn’t true. Her daughter, Anne, had contributed to his character. Petr Alexandrov had not had exclusive development of his son.
“I suggest you calm down before he walks in,” Lenore said now. “I’m sure he won’t appreciate these hysterics any more than I do.”
Anastasia glanced back out the window to see the first coach stopping in front of the huge country mansion. She gasped and rushed across the room to kneel at Lenore’s feet.
“Please,Grandmère,please. You must talk to him. You must speak for me. It will not be so much what I did that he will be furious about. He is no hypocrite. It will be that his plans were interrupted to come for me. He sets goals for himself, you see, and he plans everything far in advance. He can tell you where he will be next year to the day. But if something gets in the way of his plans, he is impossible to live with. You sent for him. You made him put aside whatever he was involved in to come here. You must help me.”
Lenore finally saw the motive for this little drama.And she waits until the last moment so I won’t have time to think about it. Very ingenious. But then Anastasia Petrovna Alexandrov was an intelligent young woman. Spoiled, pampered, with a highly volatile personality, but intelligent.
So she was to soothe the wild beast, was she? She was supposed to ignore the fact that this young chit had disobeyed her at every turn, had flouted convention, had made her own rules? Anastasia had even refused to return to Russia after the last scandal had broken. If not for that, Lenore wouldn’t have had to send for Dimitri.
She stared down at the exquisite face full of such anxiety. Her Anne had been lovely, but the Alexandrovs were incredibly handsome people. She had gone to Russia only once, when Petr had died and Anne needed her. She had met Petr’s other offspring then, his three children by his first marriage and his many illegitimate children as well. They were all exceptionally beautiful. But the two that were her grandchildren she loved. They were her only grandchildren. Her son, the present Duke of Albemarle, had lost his first wife before she gave him children. He never remarried or showed any signs of doing so. Dimitri was in fact his designated heir.
Lenore sighed. This chit could wrap her around her little finger. Anastasia needed to leave England until her most recent scandals had time to be forgotten, but Lenore knew she would invite the girl back again. Life might be hectic with her in residence, but it was always interesting.
“Go on, go to your room, my girl,” Lenore said now. “I’ll talk to the lad. But mind you, I don’t promise anything.”
Anastasia leaped up and threw her arms around her grandmother’s neck. “Thank you. And I’m so sorry,Grandmere. I know I’ve been a trial to you—”
“Better for me than for your brother, I suppose, if he’s as difficult to live with as you say. Now go, before he’s shown in.”
The Princess rushed out of the room, and none too soon. A minute later Prince Dimitri Petrovich Alexandrov was announced by the butler. At least the poor man attempted to announce him. Dimitri did not wait for such trifles, but entered the room the moment the door was opened and filled it with his presence.
He gave Lenore pause. Good Lord, was it possible he was even more handsome than when last she saw him? Yes, he was indeed. The golden hair; the piercing, deep-brown eyes; the dark, slashing brows: these were all the same. But at twenty-four there had still been something of the boy in him. Now he was a man, and like no man she had ever seen in her sixty-nine years. He even surpassed his father in looks, and she had thought no man better looking than Petr.
His long-legged stride carried him swiftly across the room, and then he was bowing quite formally. His manners had improved at least, but such imperious bearing—was this really her grandson? And then his teeth flashed in an engaging grin, and his hands gripped her shoulders. She grimaced as he lifted her completely out of her chair for a resounding kiss.
