Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(33)

Natalia was already seated in the first-class compartment. The booth had polished wood paneling, a table in the center, and benches on either side. Velvet draperies framed a large portrait window with a view of the train depot.

“Where have you been?” she burst out the moment he opened the door.

“Shopping. I needed a few things.”

“The train is leaving in ten minutes!”

He raised a brow. “Then I had five more minutes to shop. A pity.”

He immediately regretted the acerbic response. He needed to lower the tension between them, and Natalia had a right to be angry. Her friendship had been his lifeline, and she deserved more than what he had done for her.

A wave of sadness descended as he slid onto the bench opposite her. The porter closed the door, and they were alone.

She wouldn’t look at him. Her jaw was clenched, and she stared out the window. He wanted to lay the world at her feet, not argue with her.

“The Hebrews gave burnt offerings when they wished to restore a relationship,” he said. “Napoleon gave Josephine a palace after he annoyed her.” He set the firebird on the table. The painted tin figurine looked cheap in this lavish private compartment, but he hoped she might appreciate the gesture. “I saw this and thought of you. In Slavic folklore, the firebird is a harbinger of either great blessing or dark catastrophe. Natalia, I hope that we are at the beginning of a long and wonderful friendship. After all that you have meant to me, I cannot bear the thought of disappointing you.”

There was no thaw in her expression. She swiveled her head enough to look at him. “Are you truly going to try to block the railroad?” Icicles dripped from her words.

“I truly am.”

She batted the firebird aside, and it clattered to the floor. “I won’t let you meet my father.”

He stiffened. “You won’t ‘let’ me? I own four percent of his bank and can demand a meeting without your help.”

“Let me restate that. I won’t let you make a fool of yourself. I don’t know what you saw at that river, but news of it hasn’t reached America, and trying to stop the world’s largest engineering project is pure idiocy. My father has invested a fortune in that railroad, and you have no idea what you are wandering into if you try to challenge him on this.”

Dimitri leaned down to collect the firebird from the floor. A bit of paint from its fiery red wing had chipped off, exposing the cheap tin beneath. He set the firebird carefully on the table, struggling to find the words to express what Natalia meant to him, for he had never told her. It was time.

“After two years in Siberia, I was offered the chance to return home. I refused, because of you.”

That got her attention. She locked eyes with him and waited.

“I remembered you had said the Trans-Siberian was your chance to leave a mark on the world. That long after you were dead and in your grave, the railroad would be your legacy to the world. I wanted to join you on that quest. I also want to leave a mark on the world, so I stayed because you inspired me.”

“Then why are you seeking to destroy it?” she demanded.

“It is the only way I can get the czar’s attention. He has staked his reputation on completing that railroad, and when he ran into trouble with the Chinese settlers, the army slaughtered them. They will do it again if they get away with it.”

He stood. They both needed to calm down, and she needed time to absorb what he was telling her.

“I shall leave you in peace,” he said with a little bow before setting off to explore the train.



Natalia battled surges of guilt after Dimitri left, but he could cool his heels in the parlor car until it was time for dinner. Perhaps then they could speak logically and without threats to destroy her life’s work.

An hour after leaving San Francisco, a porter arrived to convert her first-class compartment into the place where she would sleep for the next five nights. The table slid to the side, and sheets spread over the upholstered bench made it a snug sleeping berth. She would close the drapes across the window in her door, and the compartment would be as cozy as a hotel room.

By the time she arrived at the dining car, she was surprised to see Dimitri already seated at a table with a large family. He had them all spellbound as he described the glories of the Winter Palace in Saint Petersburg, but he raised his arm when he spotted her at the entrance of the dining car.

“Natalia, come join us. You can listen to Mr. Cipolletti talk about his olive groves in California.”

How could he sound so cheerful, as if their afternoon spat meant nothing? She lifted her chin a little. “No, thank you,” she said, and asked the steward to seat her at another table.

That evening set the tone for the next two days. Each time she ventured out of her private compartment, she found Dimitri chumming about with strangers. At breakfast he was gently scolding a pretty young woman for drowning her waffle in too much syrup.

“The delicate texture of a waffle cannot be appreciated once smothered in syrup. Must I teach you everything?” he teased.

The young lady basked in Dimitri’s attention even though it was perfectly awful for him to criticize how a stranger ate her breakfast. Natalia joined a nearby table of diners but surreptitiously eavesdropped on the ongoing flirtation as the young lady asked where Dimitri was staying in New York and if he had a special lady waiting for him.