Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(92)

“Thank God I have you,” Tasia said wearily, resting her head on his chest. “You would never betray me.”

“Never,” he agreed, bringing a lock of her hair to his lips.

“You're the best man I've ever known.”

“You haven't known that many,” Luke said with a short laugh, embarrassed by her praise. He moved over her and cradled the side of her face in his hand. “But I love you more than my life. You can depend on that, Tasia…always.”

The following morning Nikolas unlocked the door to the suite and requested a minute alone with Tasia for a reason he would not explain. Luke refused immediately, claiming that anything Nikolas wished to say to his wife could be said in front of him. An argument brewed until Tasia interceded. She went to her husband and whispered in his ear, rising on her toes to reach him. “Please, Luke, just allow us a few moments.”

Glaring at Nikolas, Luke left the suite with the greatest reluctance. Tasia smiled faintly at her husband's surly departure and turned to her cousin. “What is this about, Nikolas?”

He stood looking at her for a moment, his face like carved granite. The thought flashed through her mind, how coldly beautiful he was. Suddenly her breath stopped as he stepped forward and knelt before her in a lithe movement. His head lowered, and he lifted the hem of her gown to his lips in an ancient gesture of homage. He let go and stood up. “Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “I did you the greatest of wrongs. My debt to you will live through my children's children.”

Tasia made an effort to gather her scattered wits. She had never imagined Nikolas would apologize for his actions, much less in such a manner. “All I ask is that you protect my mother,” she said. “I'm afraid she may be punished for helping me tonight.”

“There will be no consequences for Marie. I have friends in the ministry of the interior, as well as the department of police. They'll be angry at your disappearance, of course, but all they can do is question Marie as a formality. I'll bribe a few high-ranking officials to ensure that she isn't confined or interrogated, and to say that she is a foolish woman who was duped by her clever daughter. I'll take care of everything. You can trust me on that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good.” He turned to leave.

“Nikki,” she said softly. He stopped and glanced at her with a rare expression of surprise. No one ever called him by the dimunitive form of his name. “You know sometimes I have…feelings about things.”

“Yes.” Nikolas smiled slightly. “You and your infamous witch spells. If you've had a ‘feeling’ about me, I don't want to know about it.”

“There is disaster ahead for you,” Tasia persisted. “You must leave Russia. If not now, then very soon.”

“I can take care of myself, cousin.”

“Terrible things are going to happen if you don't make a new life for yourself somewhere else. Nikolas, you must believe me!”

“Everything I want, everything I know, is right here. For me there is no world outside Russia. I would rather die here tomorrow than spend a lifetime in any other place.” A mocking smile touched his lips. “Go with your English husband, and bear him a dozen sons. Save your concern for those who need it. Da sveedah'neeya, cousin.”

“Goodbye, Nikolas,” she replied, her face drawn with anxious pity as she watched him leave.

Madam Marie Petrovna Kaptereva entered the Angelovsky Palace wearing a green satin hooded mantle that covered her from head to toe. The sentries stationed in the entrance hall stared at her with respectful interest.

Colonel Radkov, the officer in charge of the imperial security detail assigned to the palace, approached the woman. “The prisoner is not permitted to have visitors,” he said in a forbidding manner.

Before Marie could reply, Nikolas Angelovsky stepped forward to intervene. “Madam Kaptereva is allowed to spend ten minutes with her condemned daughter, on my authority.”

“It is against my orders to allow—”

“Of course, I'll understand if you decide to take your complaints to the minister of justice. I'm known as a very forgiving man.” In spite of his words, Nikolas gave him a smile of such chilling menace that the officer turned pale and shook his head with an incomprehensible mutter. The Angelovsky reputation was well-known and, by all accounts, well-deserved. No sane man would voluntarily make an enemy of the prince.

Silently Marie placed her bejeweled white hand on Nikolas's proferred arm. They ascended the stairs together.

Luke was waiting in the antechamber of Tasia's suite as the door was unlocked and opened. He and Nikolas exchanged a subtle glance—so far all had gone well—and Nikolas left with a murmur of warning. “Ten minutes,” he said, closing and relocking the door behind him.

Luke stared at the woman before him, noting the superficial likeness between his wife and her mother. They were both small and sable-haired, with the same porcelain skin. “Madam Kaptereva,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips.

Marie Petrovna could pass for a woman of thirty rather than forty. She was a great beauty, with more classically perfect features than her daughter. Her eyes were round instead of cat-shaped, her brows as delicate as butterfly feelers instead of bold slashes. Her lips were drawn with a pouting perfection that was entirely different from the passionate ripeness of Tasia's. But there was a brittleness about Marie that would only grow as the years passed. Luke far preferred Tasia's radiant and unconventional beauty, which would never lose the power to fascinate him.