as if the name belonged to a seductress, a woman with the power to captivate men, to captivate him. ‘Are there any less crowded routes in this park of yours?’ Now he was being bold, all but asking to be alone with her. The possibilities inherent in such a request sent a frisson of excitement down her back. She was not used to men affecting her this way.
‘There is a place where we can walk the horses down to the water.’ She gestured towards the trees, not wanting to dwell too long on comparisons between Nikolay and the English gentlemen she’d debuted amongst. The destination she had in mind would be private, away from the other riders crowding the paths. She could try her probe again from a different angle. At the trees, they dismounted and led the horses to the water’s edge. ‘Sometimes the Serpentine freezes and there’s skating.’ She smiled coyly. ‘When I was eleven, the Thames froze for a month. There was the most amazing frost fair. My father took me one day. It reminded me of the Neva River in St Petersburg. I had only been home from St Petersburg for four years, then, and still remembered it. The Neva froze every winter without fail, December through March or even April. I skated almost every day with my nyanya.’ The Russian word for nurse came easily to her after all these years.
She shrugged, surprised at herself. ‘I haven’t thought about that for years.’ It was quiet down here, the water dark and cold. Perfect for disclosures. ‘I was only there once and I was very young, but I miss it,’ she hinted carefully, hoping he would take the opportunity to share something of Kuban with her, a story of himself, a chance to get to know him. What did he miss about his home? Surely there must be something to have spoken of Kuban with such wistfulness in his brief remarks.
Nikolay did not take the hint. ‘You will go back some day.’ He was redirecting the conversation, back to her, away from him. It didn’t matter. She had her opening from his own words. If he wouldn’t tell her why he’d left, perhaps he’d tell her if he intended to return.
‘And yourself?’ she asked. ‘Do you plan to go back?’ There was no crowd to blame his reticence on now. Their horses stopped to drink and he faced her squarely, a glimmer of warning, in his eyes. ‘I cannot go back, Miss Grigorieva.’ His words were stern, a punishment for having intruded into his private realm. ‘Is that the answer you are looking for?’ She had gone too far. She immediately regretted the intrusion. She took an involuntary step back from his fierceness.
‘I’m sorry, I had no wish—’
‘To pry?’ Nikolay finished sharply, advancing, not allowing her the distance. ‘You had every wish. Do not deny it. It has been your intention since we met.’
Klara’s chin went up in defiance. She’d been caught, but she would not give him the satisfaction of making her feel ashamed or cowed. ‘If you’d been more forthcoming, I wouldn’t have to pry.’ She took another step back. This close, he was far larger than when Zvezda walked between them or when she looked down at him from Zvezda’s back.
‘Why pry at all? I was unaware riding instructors had to provide their pupils with detailed histories.’ His advance forced her back another step. She was running out of room and becoming sharply aware that the tenor of this exchange was transforming into another sort of challenge, their awareness of each other palpable.
‘Not all pupils are the daughters of foreign diplomats. Our lives are under scrutiny from two nations. We have to be careful with whom we associate.’ They stood toe to toe now and she had nowhere to go, her back firmly up against a tree.
‘I am a prince who cannot return to his kingdom. I, too, must be careful with whom I associate.’ His voice was a caress, low and husky with caution. It was not caution for himself, but for her, a warning she realised too late.
His mouth was on hers, sealing the distance between them. He kissed like a warrior; possessive and proving, a man who would not be challenged without choosing to respond in kind.
Her mouth answered that challenge, her body thrilled to it. This was what it meant to be kissed, not like the few hasty kisses she’d experienced during her first Season out before it was clear she’d been set aside for the Duke. That should have told her something. Well-meaning gentlemen held their baser instincts in reserve, they didn’t kiss as if the world was on fire. There was nothing altruistic about Prince Nikolay Baklanov when it came to seduction and he wanted her to know. As a warrior, as a lover, he took no prisoners.
Two could play that game. Her arms went about his neck, keeping him close, letting her body press against him, feeling the hard ridges and planes of him, knowing he felt the curve and softness of her. She let her tongue explore his mouth, her teeth nipped at his lip as she tasted him. There were things she wanted him to know as well. She was not one of his spoiled students. She would not be cowed by a stern look and a raised voice. She was not afraid of passion. Nor was she afraid to take what she wanted, even from him. She was good at showing people what she was not. It was easier than showing people what she was: a girl forced to marry, a girl who knew nothing about where she came from, a girl caught between worlds. Her hands were in his hair, dragging it free of its leather tie. She gave a little moan of satisfaction as his teeth nipped at her ear lobe.
At the sound, he swore—something in Russian she didn’t need to understand to know what it meant: that their kiss had tempted him beyond comfortable boundaries. He drew back, his dark eyes obsidian-black, his voice ragged at its edges as if he’d found a certain amount of satisfaction and been reluctant to let it go. But there was only that glimpse before the words that indicated this might have only been a game played for her benefit, to show her what it meant to poke this particular dragon. ‘Forgive me,’ he began, ‘I did not intend...’
Cold fury doused the newly stoked heat of her body. ‘Yes, you did. You’ve had every intention of kissing me since we met.’
‘Touché.’ He gave her a short, stiff gesture, more of a nod than a bow. ‘Then that makes us even.’
His audacity angered her. She wanted to lash out in a fiery display of temper, to slap him for the advantages he’d taken, but he’d like that. It was what he expected, perhaps even what he’d been playing for—a wedge to drive between them, or even to drive her away. She had too much on the line to allow that, or anything that bore the slightest resemblance to victory. She played her trump card. ‘Hardly even. My father wants you to come to dinner.’ She gave him a look, part cold anger, part dare. If she’d learned anything about Nikolay Baklanov thus far it was that he wouldn’t back down, especially if he believed she thought he would.
‘I’ll be there.’
She felt the guilt prick her again. Surely a small hint of warning would salve her conscience without betraying her father’s intentions in inviting him. ‘Don’t you want to know why?’ The words came out in a rush. She hadn’t much time left with him here in this quiet grove. The horses were getting restless. They’d have to leave soon.
Nikolay gave her a frustratingly confident grin. ‘Don’t worry, kotyonok moya, I already do.’
* * *
‘You’ve invited a potential viper to dinner,’ the Duke of Amesbury postulated from the comfortable arm chair in front of Alexei Grigoriev’s fire. It was hardly an original idea. Surely Grigoriev was already keenly aware of the risk he took in inviting the Russian prince to dinner. Amesbury’s sharp eyes watched the ambassador as he paced the long windows of his study to the gardens beyond.
‘Or,’ Grigoriev drawled with considerably more optimism than Amesbury felt, ‘I’ve invited the perfect solution. Serving Russia’s better interests is always a delicate proposition, never more so than now when the country’s better interests aren’t shared by its ruler. I think an exiled
