Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(88)

“Aware, but not loyal to them,” Luke sneered.

“Murder does tend to put a damper on family relationships.”

Exchanging a glance of mutual loathing, they went to the gleaming black carriage outside. The ride to Shurikovsky's home was excruciating, the silence infused with violent undertones. The streets were quiet. Warm light glowed from the windows of the homes and palaces they passed.

“Most likely Shurikovsky is with the tsar this evening,” Nikolas said. At Luke's silence, he continued casually “They are very close, almost like brothers. When the tsar goes to his country palace, Tsarskoe Selo, he always insists that Shurikovsky is part of the royal entourage. The governor is a man of great power and cunning.”

“You respect him?”

“No, certainly not. Shurikovsky would kneel on the floor and bark like a dog if it would please the tsar.”

“What do you know of his relationships?”

“There are none outside his marriage. Some men are driven by the desires of the flesh, but Shurikovsky isn't one of them. His appetite is for political power.”

“You can't be that naive,” Luke said.

“The circle of the Russian court is very small. It is impossible to keep secrets. If Shurikovsky had a taste for boys, everyone would know. There has never been a word. Not a whisper. And my brother always boasted about his conquests, in spite of the family's efforts to keep him quiet. Misha never mentioned or hinted to anyone that he even knew Shurikovsky. There was no relationship between them.”

“So Mikhail was a family embarrassment,” Luke mused. “How badly did the Angelovskys want to keep him quiet?”

For the first time, there was a flicker of emotion in the golden eyes. “Don't,” Nikolas said in a low voice. “Don't even suggest it, or I'll…”

“You'll kill me?” Luke suggested, arching a dark brow. “I imagine you're capable of murder—family ties notwithstanding.”

Nikolas kept his mouth closed, glaring at him. Hatred seethed in the air. Finally they reached Shurikovsky's residence, a two-story wooden manor house located on the Neva. There were two guards at the gilded and carved door. “Dvornik,” Nikolas said, swinging out of the carriage. “Harmless watchmen. Before you begin to carve them up like roasted grouse, let me speak to them.” Luke followed Nikolas from the carriage and watched as he exchanged a few words with the men and slipped them a handful of money. They were quickly and discreetly admitted entrance.

After speaking to an approaching manservant, Nikolas gestured for Luke to come with him along a hallway lined with gold brocade hangings. “None of the family is at home. Countess Shurikovsky is in the country. The governor is expected to return later this evening.”

“And in the meanwhile?”

“We wait. And drink. Are you a drinking man, Stokehurst?”

“Not particularly.”

“Russians have a saying, ‘Not to drink is not to live.’”

They went to the library, designed in the European style with tall bookcases, mahogany furniture, and leather chairs. A servant brought glasses and a tray of chilled, frosted bottles. “The vodka is infused with different flavors,” Nikolas said, pouring some amber liquid into a glass. He pointed to the array of bottles. “Birch bud, wood ash, pepper, lemon—”

“I'll take the birch,” Luke said.

At Nikolas's request, the servant returned with another tray, piled with sardines, bread and butter, and caviar. Nikolas settled back in his chair with an air of contentment, holding his vodka in one hand and a sliver of dark bread piled with black caviar in the other. He finished both in short order and refilled his glass. The yellow eyes regarded Luke intently. Suddenly he gestured to the hook on Luke's left arm. “How did that happen?” he asked, sipping his second vodka more slowly.

“I was injured in a fire.”

“Ah.” The syllable expressed neither sympathy nor surprise. Nikolas continued to stare at him assessingly. “Why did you marry Tasia? Were you hoping to claim some of her fortune?”

“I have no need of her money,” Luke said coldly.

“Then why? As an obligation to your friends the Ashbournes?”

“No.” Luke tilted his head and swallowed the rest of his vodka. The drink was smooth and cold at first, but afterward came a stinging rush of heat that burned his nose and throat.

“For love, then,” Nikolas said. Surprisingly, there was no mockery in his voice. “Of course. You've never met anyone like Anastasia Ivanovna before, have you?”

“No,” Luke admitted gruffly.

“That is because Tasia was brought up according to the old Russian tradition of terem. She was hidden in the country, away from all men except her father and a few close relatives. Very sheltered. Like a bird in a golden cage. It was common to do this a few generations ago, but rare in these days. After Tasia's first bal blanc, every man in St. Petersburg wanted her. Strange, quiet, beautiful girl. It was rumored that she was a witch. I could almost believe it myself, looking into those eyes. All the men feared and desired her. Except me.” Nikolas paused to refill Luke's glass. “I wanted her for my brother.”

“Why?”

“Misha needed someone to take care of him and understand the demons inside him. He needed a wife who was wellborn, intuitive, intelligent, capable of great endurance, and above all, a woman whose sense of duty would make her stay with him in spite of his abuse. I saw all those qualities in Tasia.”