Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(39)
But for a few more enchanted minutes this evening, they could linger beneath the waning moon and dream of a world that might have been.
Natalia wrestled with a strange sort of grief after her evening on the caboose with Dimitri. How did one mourn a child that had never even been conceived? Logically, it was far too early to even begin considering marriage and a family with Dimitri, but there had never been anything logical about her feelings for Dimitri, and yes, her mind had already started exploring the possibility of a future together.
The following morning, she and Dimitri reverted back to their usual banter while dining at breakfast. He flirted outrageously with every female, from the toddlers on up to the grey-haired ladies leaning on canes. He flirted with Natalia too, but it was a different sort of flirting. More personal. It carried their history and shared interests. It was laden with respect and admiration, even as he freely insulted the way she put too much sugar in her coffee and criticized her love of German composers.
Though they did not discuss it again, Dimitri’s story about the mumps made her want to protect and pamper him even more. His color was better than when she met him in San Francisco. He no longer looked so weather-beaten, but his fingernails were still in bad shape, with ragged cuticles and grime embedded beneath his nails. She sent for a bowl of warmed oil and proceeded to give him a manicure. In the privacy of her compartment, Dimitri gladly presented both his hands for her to fuss over. After soaking his nails in the warmed oil, she massaged it into his cuticles while recounting her recent trip to Seattle.
“The bank is spending a fortune to deepen the harbor,” she said, then explained how she met with construction analysts and three bank auditors to confirm that the Hammonds had been directing a portion of the bank’s loan to a railroad project instead of the harbor.
“Silas would have known that if he’d been paying closer attention.” She dried Dimitri’s hands and began using an orange-wood stick to work out the last of the dirt embedded beneath his nails. “I’ve already wired the report to my father, which will make Silas hate me more. He’s always disliked me. He once told me that while he was toiling away in college and low-level clerkships, I was being bounced on my daddy’s knee.”
Dimitri bristled. “How dare he? He must never utter such a personal attack on you in my presence.”
“Pistols at dawn?” she teased. Dimitri’s gallantry on her behalf secretly pleased her, but the incident with Silas was still troubling. “I know my father opened doors for me. I know I wouldn’t have risen so far without—”
“Shh,” Dimitri said. “I do not like that this Silas fellow insulted your accomplishments. I like it even less when I hear you echo his sentiments. Here, you missed a spot beneath my thumbnail.”
She hid a smile as she tended his neglected thumb. Dimitri reveled in her ministrations, especially when she proceeded to file and buff his nails. He only complained when she began applying the cuticle pusher.
“That hurts,” he complained.
“Oh hush, you can barely feel a thing.”
“I know, and yet the thought of what you are doing hurts.”
She stifled a smile but wouldn’t let him dissuade her. Now that she had committed to giving him a manicure, she would execute it with finesse. Besides, she liked indulging him. His abused hands were evidence of the trials he’d endured while driving the sledge for months on end, foraging in the woods, and smashing pine cones for scraps to eat. No wonder his hands looked bad.
On their final night before arriving in New York, Dimitri tipped the waiters so they could once again have dinner at their own candlelit table.
He lifted his goblet in a toast. “In case I have not adequately expressed it, I will be forever grateful that you came to meet me in San Francisco. Thank you, Natalia.”
She tapped her glass to his with a gentle ping. The candlelight illuminated the fine molding of his features and made his eyes twinkle. She loved looking at him. She loved flirting and dreaming and arguing with him. Were it not for . . .
Well. She and Dimitri could never have children, and it was foolish to continue toying with the idea of forever where he was concerned.
“This time tomorrow we will be in New York,” she said. Maybe it would be easier to ignore the ache in her heart once they embarked on the next stage of their mission. This magical interlude on the train had been exquisitely painful and pleasurable at the same time. She adored Dimitri but could never have him unless she abandoned the dream of someday having a child. And she did not know if that would ever happen.
Either way, soon they would be in New York, where their real test would begin.
18
Dimitri battled a strange sense of unease as he walked beside Natalia down Wall Street toward the Blackstone Bank.
New York was different from Saint Petersburg and not what he expected. The streets were narrow and clogged by horses, wagons, and trolleys all jumbled together. The buildings were too big to be on such small plots of land, smothering the narrow streets and blocking out the sun.
“Careful,” Natalia cautioned as a young man on a bicycle whooshed past, almost knocking into them.
“Are they allowed to ride on the footpaths like that?” he asked. People in Russia were more mannerly.
“Not really,” she replied but didn’t seem overly concerned.