Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(96)

The gendarme's suspicion turned to frowning censure. “No doubt your father would beat you with a birch rod if he knew what you were doing.”

Tasia looked at him beseechingly, her eyes filling with convincing tears. “Sir, this is our last evening together…” She drew closer to Biddle and clung to his arm.

The gendarme looked at Biddle's small, slight frame with skepticism, clearly wondering how he had been able to inspire such passion. A long, agonizing moment passed before he relented. “Say your goodbyes and tell him to go,” he told Tasia gruffly. “And trust your father to know what is best for you. Obedient children are a joy to their parents. A pretty girl like you—why, they'll find a far better match for you than this scrawny little Englishman!”

Tasia nodded meekly. “Yes, sir.”

“I'll pretend I haven't seen you, and continue my patrol around the shipyards.” He shook his finger at her. “But you had better be gone by the time I return.”

“Thank you,” she said, plucking one of the jeweled rings from her fingers and handing it to him. The gift would ensure that his stroll would be a leisurely one, allowing them to stay several minutes more. The gendarme accepted the ring with a curt nod. Casting a dark look at Biddle, he continued on his way.

Tasia breathed a sigh of relief. She turned to Biddle with an apologetic smile. “I told him you were my lover. It was all I could think of.”

Biddle stared at her dazedly, unable to say a word.

“Are you all right?” she asked, puzzled by his silence. “Oh, Mr. Biddle…did I shock you terribly?”

He nodded, gulping and loosening the collar of his shirt. “I…I don't know how I shall ever face His Lordship again.”

“I'm sure he'll understand—” she began contritely, and gave a start as she noticed another man walking toward them.

Biddle froze, bracing for another possible assault, but instead Tasia flew to the stranger with a soft cry.

“Uncle Kirill!”

Kirill's bearded face split with a smile, and he engulfed Tasia in his brawny arms. “Little niece,” he murmured, holding her tightly. “It is no good for me to sneak you away from Russia if you keep coming back. You must stay away for good this time, dah?”

Tasia smiled back at him. “Yes, uncle.”

“Nikolas sent me a note to explain everything. He wrote that you had married in England.” Kirill held her at arm's length to have a better look. “Blooming like a rose,” he said approvingly, and looked over her head at Biddle. “He must be a good husband, this little Englishman.”

“Oh, no,” Tasia said hastily, “that is his valet, Uncle Kirill. My husband will join us soon…if all goes well.” Her forehead furrowed miserably at the thought of Luke being in danger.

“Ah.” Kirill nodded sympathetically. “I will go look for him. But first I will take you to the ship—”

“No, I won't go anywhere without him.”

Kirill seemed inclined to argue, but then he nodded thoughtfully. “Is your husband a tall man?”

“Yes.”

“Dark-haired?”

“Yes…”

“With a hook in place of one hand?”

Tasia stared at her uncle, stupefied. All at once she spun around and saw Luke coming to them. The sight of him filled her with overwhelming relief. She ran to him and flung her arms around his waist. “Luke,” she whispered, closing her eyes in thankfulness. “Are you all right?”

Luke tilted her head back and kissed her lips. “No. I won't be all right until I take you away from here and see you safely back in England.”

“I agree, my lord.” Tasia slipped her hand into his. Drawing him forward, she introduced him to her uncle. Kirill said a few words in broken English, smiles were exchanged, and they agreed to board the waiting ship without delay.

Suddenly remembering his valet, Luke glanced at Biddle, who stood nearby wringing his hands. “Biddle, why is your face purple? You look as if you're on the verge of apoplexy.” He watched with a frown as the valet muttered incoherently and rushed away toward the ship. “What's the matter with him?”

Tasia shrugged casually. “Perhaps the strain of the evening is catching up with him.”

Luke stared at her carefully innocent face with frank skepticism. “Never mind. You can tell me later. For now, let's get the hell out of this place.”

“Yes,” she said with calm certainty. “Let's go home.”

Twelve

London, England

In the three months since their return to England, Tasia had blossomed with well-being. They continued to live in the London villa, to make it convenient for Luke to attend to his business interests. For the first time in her life Tasia was happy, not with the brief, brilliant flashes of emotion she had known before, but with something stronger and more enduring, a steady flame that warmed her from the inside out. It was a miracle to wake up beside Luke every morning and realize that he belonged to her. He was all things to her, sometimes fatherly, sometimes devilish, sometimes as tender as a boy with his first love. He teased and played and courted her with passionate enthusiasm. As Tasia's pregnancy advanced, Luke became fascinated with the changes in her body. Sometimes he would undress her in the middle of the day just to look at her, ignoring her laughter and half-annoyed protests. He would brush his hand over the na**d curve of her stomach as if it were a magnificent work of art.