Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(44)

When he finally found the nursery, he stood silently in the open doorway, rendered breathless by the aching love on Natalia’s face as she stroked the baby slumbering over her shoulder.

“This is your brother?” he asked quietly.

Natalia beamed, gently shifting so he could admire the child. The tender pride on her face was laden with adoration, and he sank down onto his haunches to be on the same level as she and the baby. He set a hand on her knee.

“I feared you were leaving,” he whispered. “I couldn’t let you escape without saying good night. And to thank you for bringing me here.”

He loved looking at her with the baby even though it was exquisitely painful. He would never see a woman cradle his own child with the look of contentment on Natalia’s face. Her maternal pride looked like a da Vinci masterpiece. Her allure was like a Botticelli. Her fusty sense of humor was pure Natalia Blackstone. The compulsion to claim her as his own was growing stronger each day he was with her.

“Put the baby down,” he said softly.

She met his eyes in surprise. “Why?”

“Put the baby down.”

She didn’t say anything else; she simply rose and carried the boy to the crib. He held his breath as she lowered the sleeping child, settling a blanket over him with infinite care. Her motions were timeless. For millennia, mothers had performed such motions with breathtaking grace, and he felt privileged to witness it.

They tiptoed out of the room, and he held his hand over the doorknob to muffle the sound as he closed the door. He reached out to catch Natalia’s elbow when she turned to head down the hall. He wasn’t ready to let her go yet.

“Why did you leave the table so abruptly?” he asked quietly.

A hint of mutiny appeared in her expression. “I needed to see Alexander. And I was tired of watching you flirt with Poppy.”

It was as he suspected. “Were you jealous?” He braced an arm on the wall above her, enclosing her within the shelter of his body.

“Of Poppy? Don’t be ridiculous.”

She was jealous, and it pleased him. His vow not to pressure Natalia unless she decided to pursue a courtship with him was becoming increasingly difficult. She was everything he wanted in a woman. Smart. Principled. She was deeply passionate but masked it beneath a veneer of cool logic, and he adored that about her. Nevertheless, he’d come to New York on a mission, and he couldn’t forget it no matter how badly he wanted her. He needed more allies, and Poppy could help.

“Poppy knows people who may be able to open doors for me,” he said. “Senator Lansing sounds like the sort of man—”

“He’s not. And quit talking so loudly. The baby is sleeping.”

He lowered his voice and tried again. “Senator Lansing seems well positioned to communicate with the czar. We can use him—”

“Dimitri, please,” she quietly implored. She cupped his face between her palms, looking up at him in appeal. “We already have a plan. Don’t let Poppy sway you from it.”

The touch of her palms sent a thrill through him. Every nerve tingled, made worse by the longing he saw in her face as she locked gazes with him. He remained motionless as he fought to control his breathing.

“Dearest Natalia, I would prefer if you did not lay hands on me unless you wish for a far greater intimacy, because I am dangerously close to pressing you up against this wall and kissing you until we are both mindless.”

She sucked in a breath and jerked her hands from his face. “You wouldn’t.”

“I most certainly would. I wish I could do so morning, noon, and night, but you already know of my miserable failings as a man. I won’t make any sort of advance unless you ask me.” He leaned down, close enough that the tip of his nose brushed against her soft hair, and whispered in her ear. “Ask me.”

She tilted her face toward his, her mouth only an inch from his own. Time felt suspended as she said nothing. He kept his arm braced on the wall above her, but true to his word, he did not touch her. The sound of their breathing was the only thing that could be heard in the marble emptiness of the hallway.

Then she stepped away. “I need to get back to my family.”

She did not look back as she hurried down the hallway, the gentle swish of her skirts sounding fainter as she departed. His heart thudded in disappointment, but he’d suffered worse. He could be patient.

“Good night, my dearest Natalia,” he whispered after her.





20





After the cramped and rackety sleeping berth on the train, the massive four-poster bed in the Blackstone guest room made Dimitri feel like a visiting potentate. He awoke on his first morning after arriving in New York enveloped in such grandeur that he simply lay flat on his back to savor the opulence. Velvet draperies framed the windows, an Aubusson rug warmed the floor, and crystal teardrops dangled from the chandelier. Each corner of the room featured marble Corinthian columns made to look like they were holding the carved plaster ceiling aloft.

The bedroom was gaudy, but he loved it. No more shivering on a bed of pine needles or wearing boots taken off dead soldiers. No more cedar nuts washed down with hot water for breakfast. He now had silken sheets, running water in the adjoining washroom, and servants to assist him with whatever he needed.

He eventually rose and pulled on a robe, then pressed the call button to summon a servant. He had no idea where or when breakfast would be served, but a footman wearing a cutaway black jacket arrived two minutes later with an invitation to join Mrs. Blackstone in the breakfast room. Dimitri thanked him and offered a five-dollar bill, but the man seemed taken aback and made no move to accept it.