Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(82)

Mikhail's voice was silky, amused, taunting. “Does it bother you to think of her in my bed? That fresh young body, all that innocence waiting to be corrupted…”

“Misha, don't torment me like this!”

“I don't want you anymore. Leave now, and never come back. The sight of you tires me. In fact, it makes me sick.”

“No, you're my life, you're everything—”

“I'm sick of your sniveling and whining and your pathetic attempts at lovemaking. I'd rather do it with a dog. Now get out of here.”

The other man howled in agony, screaming and sobbing. There was a cry of surprise, a scuffle, violent sounds…

“I was terrified,” Tasia said, trying to steady her voice. The taste of tears was fresh on her lips, stinging the cracked surface. “But I couldn't stop myself from going into the room. I wasn't thinking, I had no idea what had happened. The other man was standing there like a wax statue. Mikhail was staggering away from him. Then Misha saw me, and started to make his way to me. There was so much blood, and the knife was sticking out of his throat, and he reached for me, staring…as if he were begging for my help. I froze in place. I couldn't seem to make my feet move, and then…Misha fell on top of me…and everything went black. When I woke, the letter-knife was in my hand, sticky with blood. The other man made it look as if I had killed Mikhail, but I didn't.” She gave an incredulous, tear-blurred laugh. “All these months I thought I had murdered a man. I suffered the most agonizing guilt, and no amount of prayer, fasting, or repentance could absolve it…but I didn't do it.;

“What is the name of the man who killed Misha?” Nikolas asked softly.

“Samvel Ignatyich, Count Shurikovsky. I know without a doubt. I met him once at the Winter Palace.”

Nikolas showed no reaction. He stood and regarded her with those unnerving eyes. Slowly he walked away.

As he reached the door, Tasia spoke. “You don't believe me?”

“No.”

Tasia considered that for a moment. “It doesn't matter. I know the truth now.”

Nikolas turned and smiled with contempt. “Count Shurikovsky is a respected man and a devoted husband, who happens to be the companion-favorite of the tsar. For years Shurikovsky has been the tsar's closest confidant and most trusted adviser, and the strongest supporter of his reforms. Without Shurikovsky's influence, the serfs of all the Russias would never have been liberated nine years ago. On top of all that, he's just been appointed governor of St. Petersburg. I find it charming that you chose to name Shurikovsky as my brother's lover and murderer. Why not say it was the tsar himself?”

“The truth is the truth,” she said simply.

“As any Russian knows, the truth has many sides,” he sneered, leaving the cabin.

It made sense that Biddle liked ships. On a ship everything was scrubbed clean and organized and lashed down. Luke realized with a touch of sour amusement that his valet's passion for keeping all things in their rightful places was perfectly appropriate on a ship—necessary, in fact—whereas it was an annoyance everywhere else. For his part, Luke had no special fondness for the ocean, and this journey was the most miserable one he had ever undertaken.

Luke paced between his cabin and the deck of the schooner, seldom stopping for long at either place. He couldn't relax, couldn't sit or stand still. He ate reluctantly and talked only when it was imperative. By turns morose and enraged, Luke entertained himself with thoughts of what he was going to do to Nikolas Angelovsky when he found him. He was terrified for Tasia's safety, and he was overwhelmed with self-hatred. He had failed her. He was supposed to be her protector. Through his lack of foresight, she had been stolen away with consummate ease.

The possibility of losing Tasia wasn't something he let himself think about, except at night when his dreams betrayed him. After Mary had died, he had been able to go on with some semblance of a normal life. He couldn't this time. Losing Tasia would break him permanently. He would have no love, no kindness to offer anyone, not even his daughter.

One night Luke stood at the stern of the ship for hours, staring at the wide, foam-ruffled wake it left in its path. It was late, and the sky was starless, a dull pewter shade with darker clouds streaked across. The sound of the waves was rhythmic and soothing. He remembered the night he had held Tasia and listened to the forest music with her, one of the ridiculous, sublime moments that only lovers would understand…and suddenly he felt her with him so intensely that he half-expected to turn and see her there. He looked down at the gold ring that had belonged to her father, and the memory of her voice was sweet in his ears…“It says, ‘Love is a golden vessel, it bends but never breaks.’”

And his reply…“We'll be all right, you and I.”

His hand clenched into a fist. “I'm coming for you,” he said, his rough voice mingling with the wind. “I'll find you soon, Tasia.”

Ten

St. Petersburg, Russia

As soon as the anchors were let go from the catheads and the ship was moored at the wharf, Luke and Biddle went ashore. There was a marketplace near the St. Petersburg Admiralty and shipyards. Luke made his way toward the main thoroughfare, while Biddle followed carrying their bags. They strode into the middle of a scene more foreign than any Luke had experienced before. Buildings, walls, and doors were painted with vivid colors that gave the area a circuslike atmosphere. The merchants wore long red or blue tunics, while the women wore flowered headscarves. Everyone seemed to be singing. Vendors called out musical descriptions of their wares, pedestrians hummed or sang as they meandered down the street—it gave Luke a discomforting feeling of conspicuousness, as if he had inadvertently wandered onto an opera stage.