Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(87)

“Oh, yes, I have a very good appetite. They've sent up all my favorites: cabbage soup, blini with caviar, and the most wonderful mushrooms in cream. And big bowls of kasha.”

“I won't ask what kasha is,” Luke said wryly. He surveyed her face, gently touching the dark circles beneath her eyes as if he could make them disappear. “You haven't gotten much rest.”

Tasia shook her head. “They'll never let me go,” she said softly. “I don't think there's anything you can do, Luke.”

“There's a great deal I can do,” he corrected gruffly. “I'm going to leave for a little while. Try to sleep until I come back.”

“No,” she said, clutching at him. “Don't leave yet…or I'll think I just imagined you. Hold me.”

Luke enfolded her in a hard embrace. “My love,” he said, his breath warm in the hollow beneath her ear. “My sweet, precious wife. Don't you know I would fight the world for you?”

She laughed shakily. “I think you may have to.”

“The day of our wedding, I calculated the number of nights I was going to have with you. At least ten thousand. A week's worth has been stolen from me. Nothing is going to keep us apart for the rest.”

“Don't…” Her fingertips came to his mouth. “You're tempting fate.”

“I'll tell you what your fate is.” Luke pulled back and stared into her eyes. “Nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-three nights spent in my arms. And I'll have them, Lady Stokehurst, no matter what it takes.”

Sitting on the carpeted steps with one leg propped up, Nikolas watched as Luke approached. “Now you've seen that she's being treated well. Food, books, furniture—”

“It's still a prison,” Luke said coldly.

“Did Tasia tell you her story about Samvel lgnatyich?” Nikolas smiled at Luke's blank look, and added, “Count Shurikovsky.”

Pausing at the top of the steps, Luke looked down at him. “She told me you've decided not to believe her.”

“There was never any relationship between Shurikovsky and Misha.”

“Have you questioned Shurikovsky?” Luke asked.

“That would accomplish nothing, except to discredit me. It is a desperate lie that Tasia concocted in order to make us all look like fools.”

“Then why wouldn't she come out with this story in court, during the trial? She didn't lie then. She's not lying now. But you'd rather send an innocent woman to her death than face an unpleasant truth.”

“You dare mention the word ‘truth’?” Nikolas's voice was suddenly thick. He stood and faced Luke squarely. He was just as tall as Luke, but with a far different build. Luke had a broad-shouldered, muscular body, whereas Nikolas was wiry, flexible, catlike. “I'd like to shove it back down your throat,” Nikolas said. “Go question Shurikovsky with my blessing. I want to see your face when you realize what your wife has done.”

Luke turned to leave.

“Wait,” Nikolas muttered. “Don't try to see Shurikovsky now. Go tonight. After the sun sets. It is the Russian way to do these things privately, you understand?”

“I understand. Russians like to do everything in secrecy.”

“We prefer the word ‘discretion,’” Nikolas said mildly. “A virtue you don't seem to possess, cousin. I will go with you tonight. Shurikovsky doesn't speak any English. You'll need someone to translate.”

Luke gave a harsh laugh. “You're the last person I'd take with me.”

“You're a fool if you think I've persecuted your wife for personal reasons. If I could be proved wrong—if I came across evidence that Tasia has been unjustly accused—I would kiss the hem of her gown and beg her forgiveness. All I want is for my brother's murderer to be punished.”

“You want a scapegoat,” Luke said caustically. “You don't care who it is, as long as someone's blood is spilled in exchange for Mikhail's.”

Nikolas's shoulders stiffened, but he showed no reaction. “I will go with you this evening, Stokehurst, to expose Tasia's lies and remove all doubt that she killed Misha.”

Luke spent the afternoon harassing Lord Bramwell and his secretary until they began to write an official list of complaints about the mistreatment and illegal imprisonment of the wife of an English citizen. At sunset Luke returned to the Angelovsky Palace. Nikolas greeted him while casually munching on an apple. The fruit was unusual, with pure white flesh and a translucent emerald skin. Nikolas smiled as he noticed Luke's interest. “A Russian glass-apple,” he said, pulling one from his pocket. “I'm quite partial to them. Would you care to try one?”

Although he hadn't eaten all day, Luke shook his head.

Nikolas laughed. “The English are so proud,” he mocked. “You are hungry, but you will not take food from my hand. It's only an apple, cousin.” He tossed it toward Luke.

Luke caught it easily. “I'm not your cousin.” He took a bite of the crisp, sugar-sweet fruit.

“But you are. Tasia is the granddaughter of my father's cousin. And now you are connected by marriage. Russians are very aware of all family ties, no matter how distant.”