Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(95)

Tasia turned and grasped his hard wrists. Her eyes were luminescent as she stared at him from the shadow of the hooded mantle. Her sense of impending doom, not for herself but for him, was suddenly overwhelming. She had a flashing vision of him crying in agony, his face covered with blood. She trembled in distress. “Nikolas,” she said urgently, “you must leave Russia very soon. You must consider joining us in England.”

“Not if my life depended on it,” he said with a short laugh.

“It does,” she whispered intensely. “It does.”

Nikolas stared at her, his smile fading. He leaned into the carriage as if to tell her something important, confidential. She stayed very still. “People like you and me always survive,” he murmured. “We take our fates into our hands and mold them to our liking. How many women would have gone from that rotting prison cell to being the wife of an English aristocrat? You used your beauty, your wits, and everything else you have to get what you wanted. I'll do no less for myself. Don't worry on my account. I wish you happiness.” She felt his cool, firm lips touch hers, and she shivered as if she had tasted death.

The carriage door closed, and Tasia settled back against the cushions as the driver snapped the horses into action. She gasped in surprise as she realized there was another presence in the vehicle. “Oh—”

“Lady Stokehurst,” came Biddle's mild voice. “It is gratifying to find you in good health.”

Tasia laughed breathlessly. “Mr. Biddle! Now I'm finally beginning to believe I'm going home.”

“Yes, my lady. As soon as we collect Lord Stokehurst at the shipyards.”

She sobered at once, her face tense with concern. “It won't be soon enough to suit me.”

Marie joined Luke at the window to watch the departing carriage. She gave a relieved sigh. “Thank God she's safe.” She turned to Luke and touched his arm. “Thank you for saving Anastasia. It is a comfort to me to know that she has a husband who is so loyal. I must admit, at first I was dismayed by your lack of wealth, but now I see there are more important things, such as trust and devotion.”

Luke opened and closed his mouth several times. As the heir to a dukedom who had added an industrial fortune to his already considerable landed income, possessing estates and forests that covered territory in seven counties—not to mention the majority of shares in an expanding railroad company—he had never anticipated being confronted by a mother-in-law who had decided to overlook his “lack of wealth.” “Thank you” was all he could manage to say.

Marie was suddenly misty-eyed. “You're a good man, I can see that. Kind and responsible. Tasia's father, Ivan, was like that. His daughter was his greatest happiness. ‘My treasure, my firebird,’ he always called her. His last words were about Tasia. He begged me to make certain she would marry a man who would take care of her.” Marie began to sniffle. “I thought my daughter would be well off as the wife of an Angelovsky. She would never want for anything. I convinced myself it was for the best. I didn't listen when she begged me not to force her into marriage with Mikhail. To me she was just a child prattling about love and dreams…” She bent her head and dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief Luke gave her. “I'm responsible for what happened to Tasia.”

“It does no good to assign blame,” Luke murmured. “It's been difficult for everyone. Tasia is going to be fine now.”

“Yes.” Marie leaned up to kiss him on each cheek, in the European fashion. “You must go to her right away.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he said, patting her silk-covered back. “Don't worry about your daughter, Madam Kaptereva. I'll keep Tasia safe in England—not to mention happier than she ever dreamed.”

Tasia and Biddle waited alone at the corner of a warehouse used for storing cargo. There were pockets of activity around them: sailors on leave from their ships, dock laborers, a few merchants squabbling over damaged cargo. Drawing into the shadows, Tasia watched anxiously for a sign of her husband.

Biddle sensed her growing worry. “It's too soon for him to have reached the island, Lady Stokehurst,” he said quietly.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “What if they have discovered I'm gone? They could detain him for questioning by the state police—he could be accused of committing political crimes against the imperial government, and then—”

“He'll be here shortly,” Biddle assured her, though a note of worry had entered his voice.

Tasia went rigid as she noticed a tall man approaching them, dressed in the black, red, and gold uniform of the corps of gendarmes, a special section of police serving under the jurisdiction of the Imperial Chancellery. As the gendarme came closer, the suspicion on his whiskered face was blatant. He would want to know who they were, and what they were doing there. “Oh, God,” Tasia whispered, thrown into panic. Her thoughts moved at lightning speed. She turned and wrapped her arms around the surprised valet beside her. Ignoring his shocked sound, she pressed her lips to his. She continued the embrace until the gendarme reached them.

“What is this?” he demanded. “What's going on?”

Tasia sprang back from Biddle and gasped in feigned dismay. “Oh, sir,” she said breathlessly, “I beg you, don't tell anyone of our presence here! I have come here to meet with my English beau…My father doesn't approve of him…”