Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(51)
A flush darkened the older man’s face. “It is not a proper topic to discuss in front of ladies.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she said, batting his concerns away. “Piles of dead bodies in the Amur River aren’t proper either, so this isn’t the time to worry about delicate sensibilities.”
“Very well,” the admiral said. “Count Cassini is an unmarried gentleman and has brought his niece to Washington to serve as his official hostess. She is a teenaged girl barely out of the schoolhouse but has acquired a rather notorious reputation. He insists that she be referred to as Countess Cassini, although it is rumored she is neither a countess nor a Cassini.”
Natalia raised a brow at the unsavory implications, but of more concern was what Admiral McNally relayed about the ambassador’s activities in Washington.
“Dr. Seaman despises Count Cassini. He suspects the Russian ambassador is trying to drive a wedge between America and Japan. A constant stream of diplomats and businessmen come and go from the Russian embassy. Ever since Count Cassini arrived in Washington, parties at the Russian embassy have become one of the most sought-after invitations in the city.”
“He’s gathering allies,” Dimitri said, his tone dark. “My guess is that Count Cassini will do everything possible to discredit Dr. Seaman’s report about what happened at the Amur.”
It sounded like Count Cassini had a head start in shaping opinions in Washington, but if they could find Dr. Seaman, they might have their first powerful ally.
At long last, Dimitri had his chance to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, but he’d lost his interest in the engineering marvel. Instead of admiring the towering pillars or the webbing of steel wire that stretched for more than a mile across the East River, he argued with Natalia.
“We must go to Washington immediately,” he said. “We cannot underestimate Count Cassini. Even as we walk, I can feel him cozying up to the Americans and discrediting anyone who dares to come forward with the truth. He is months ahead of me. I must find this Dr. Seaman and tell him what I witnessed.”
He had to raise his voice to be heard over the stiff breeze coming off the river. Perhaps Natalia mistook his shouting for anger, because she was certainly digging in her heels.
“I just got back to the city,” she said. “I can’t leave again so quickly. I have responsibilities here.”
It had been nine months since he witnessed the massacre, and for most of that time, he’d been helpless and wandering like a nomad. Meanwhile, the czar and his allies were burying whatever evidence was left of the atrocity, and Dimitri needed to sound the alarm immediately.
“Natalia, you must come with me to Washington, and it must happen quickly. If word of my supposed cowardice hits American shores before I get my story out, all the doors will slam in my face. You are correct. I do not understand American politics and need your help. I realize I am asking a great deal of you, but it is like in the beginning of War and Peace. Prince Andrei didn’t want to go to war, but it was his duty. His sacred—”
“I told you that’s a horrible novel, and it won’t persuade me to do anything.” She twitched as she strode along the bridge. It was crowded today, requiring them to angle around others walking and riding bicycles on the boardwalk.
“War and Peace is a timeless masterpiece of love and sacrifice. Now is your opportunity to fight for a valiant cause.” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Natalia, I know you better than anyone, and you will regret it forever if you do not come with me because of some mundane meetings at a bank.”
She wilted a little. “It’s more than the bank. I need to repair my house. The plaster, the water. I’ll probably need a new floor in the washroom.”
“Shh,” he said, laying a fingertip on her lips. “Let me hire someone to do the repairs. You are not a plumber or a carpenter. You are one of the few people in the world who knows both the situation along the Trans-Siberian route and how to navigate American high society. I am a stranger here. I need your help. My three hundred years of aristocratic entitlement are begging you to come with me.”
She looked up at him with wistful resignation. “I wish you didn’t know how to get the better of me.”
“It is a gift,” he said, relief trickling through him. She would come. His darling Natalia would always come through for him.
They stood in the pedestrian walkway, and unmannerly people were giving them sidelong looks, so he pulled her to the metal railing where they could be out of the way. The city of Manhattan was straight ahead of them, an impressive view of towering buildings huddled on a narrow strip of land. Natalia was a woman of that city. She loved it, just as he loved Russia. He clasped her hand while they looked toward the Manhattan skyline.
“I wish you could love New York as much as I do,” she said, and he looked at her in surprise.
“Did I say that I don’t?”
She smiled and leaned against him. “You don’t have to say anything. I can tell.”
He closed his arms around her and looked over her shoulder toward the city. She was right. He didn’t belong here. In a perfect world, he could sweep her away to Russia, where she could be Countess Sokolova and they would rule at Mirosa, his wild, rustic kingdom.
But for today, they needed to plan how to conquer Washington, DC.