From Governess to Countess (Matches Made in Scandal #1)(53)

‘Certain. She kissed him again, just to make sure he knew that she was.

*

Allison waited in her sitting room, where she had taken her dinner alone, for Aleksei had another engagement. The confidence with which she had issued the invitation had turned to fluttering nerves as she waited, still in her day dress, but with her hair down. But when he arrived, knocking softly on the door, the nerves dissipated instantly, for he pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, and Allison stopped thinking.

The first time they made love, it had been an urgent satisfying of a hunger. The second time, they had made a banquet of each other. This time it was different again. Their touch was more confident. Their kisses measured out the pace, from the slow fire which had been smouldering since their kisses this morning, to the stoking of that fire as they touched each other, as their clothes dropped to the floor, as they sucked and licked and stroked and cupped, hurtling toward the urgent need for completion.

Naked, in front of the sitting-room fire, they knelt facing each other, still kissing, their breathing ragged. When he slipped his hand between her legs, stroking into her, she took his shaft in her hand, stroking too. He fell back on to the rug, taking her with him. When she leaned over to kiss him, her breasts brushed his chest and he shuddered, so she did it again, relishing the shivering, delicious, dragging response in her nipples. But it was not enough.

She needed him inside her. She had to have him inside her. As she took him in, his thick, hard, satin length, she tightened around him, watching her arousal reflected on his face, feeling him thicken. She sat back, pushing him higher, and he groaned, cupping her bottom with his hands, though she needed no encouragement to move, to lift herself, to thrust. She tightened around him, wanting to savour that twisting, throbbing, tension that preceded her climax. But she could not stop, did not want to stop. Harder, faster, she moved, lost in a rhythm that was theirs, only theirs, until she was thrown, out of control, could hear herself crying out her pleasure, pulsing around him, barely aware that he had lifted her free to spend himself, falling against the breadth of his chest with a sob, and finding his mouth for one last, deeply satisfied kiss.

*

But later, after they had lain communing silently in front of the fire for hours, lying alone in her bed, the hazy, floaty aftermath burst like a bubble, leaving Allison anxious. There had been so few words, because they had needed none. Their touch had been so sure, for lovers who barely knew each other. How many more days did they have together? How many nights? How many more times would they make love? Not enough, that much was certain. Not nearly enough.

The future beckoned. The future she had come here longing to grasp was within her reach now. She wanted it. She did want it. But just—just not yet.

*

Aleksei watched the children at play in the garden from Michael’s study the next day. Grigory had just stopped by, en route to Finland once more, at the Tsar’s behest. Aleksei had no problem in keeping silent on the matter of Elizaveta, having a very strong desire to draw a veil over the whole affair. If Grigory was in blissful ignorance of his sister’s perfidy, let the poor man remain so. There was nothing to be gained by shattering his illusions.

‘I will be gone for a considerable period,’ Grigory had informed him. ‘As for you, dear boy, it is time you stopped burying your head in the sand and accepted what you must have known in your heart from the moment the contents of Michael’s will were made known to you. Your army career is over. Your future lies here, with those children.’

Grigory had left with a jaunty wave, leaving Aleksei silently fuming. How dare the man dictate his life. How dare he presume to know what was best for Aleksei. And for his wards. Dammit, how dare he!

Over and over again, he’d asked himself why Michael had excluded Felix from his will. It occurred to him then, that the more salient question was why he had written Aleksei in? It didn’t matter why Michael didn’t want Felix, what mattered was that he wanted Aleksei.

Deep down, he realised with a sinking feeling, he must have known this. It explained why he had been so reluctant to agree with Allison when she’d pointed out that he was now free to do what he’d planned to do all along, and reverse Michael’s decision.

Wearily, Aleksei put his cup down, leaned his head back on the wing chair, and closed his eyes, trying desperately to talk himself out of this most unwelcome insight. Felix was the perfect guardian. He knew the ways of the court, the ways of the city, the ways of tradition. Felix would ensure that the girls made excellent marriages. He’d ensure that Nikki made a conscientious duke. He would ensure that the Derevenko dynasty continued as it always had, using its sons and daughters to spread its influence, increase its wealth. Exactly what Michael wanted.

Until he changed his will.

He jumped to his feet, cursing. Michael was under no illusions about Aleksei’s views on the subject of dynasty and power and influence. But on the other hand, he also knew that Aleksei had a very strong sense of duty. Michael would expect Aleksei to see that things were done as Michael wished them to be done. He would not expect Aleksei to change things. Would he?

Outside, the children were screaming with laughter at Ortipo, who had once again jumped into the fountain after a stick. Aleksei smiled as the dog clambered out, shaking water all over a delighted Nikki. He would miss them, but it wasn’t as if he’d never see them again, once they were in Felix’s care. He could visit them. Send them presents from whatever part of the world he ended up in, doing whatever he ended up doing.