Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(56)

Count Cassini clipped the end of his cigar and leaned forward to light it from a jeweled table lighter that looked like it had come from the Fabergé studio. He took a series of rapid puffs on the cigar to ensure a proper light before leaning back in his chair to peer at Dimitri through the cloud of smoke.

“She may be a woman of good sense, but she is mistaken about what happened in Manchuria. The Russian army is entitled to maintain peace along the route of the Trans-Siberian. There were no atrocities or broken treaties.”

“We both know there were witnesses,” Dimitri said. “Russian witnesses who are willing to come forward. Dr. Seaman gave you one such report that you have already dismissed, but there will be others.”

Count Cassini drew a long pull on his cigar and blew a stream directly into Dimitri’s face. “And will that come from you, Count Sokolov?”

Dimitri tried not to let his surprise show but failed. Count Cassini was matter-of-fact as he continued speaking.

“I knew that Count Sokolov had escaped his prison sentence and assumed he’d try to find his way to the Blackstones if he made it out of the wilderness. Your instinct for survival is commendable. Given the way Miss Blackstone looks at you with her heart in her face, it appears you have her in the palm of your hand.”

Dimitri ignored the implied insult and went on the offensive. “It must be an embarrassment that the treaty you were honor-bound to enforce was so wantonly ignored by the army.”

Count Cassini shrugged. “I was on the other side of the world when it happened. If it happened,” he amended quickly.

“We both know it did.”

“If it did, there is nothing you or I can do about it now.”

Anger began to simmer, but Dimitri restrained it. “I lost everything by refusing to ignore what happened that day. Everything except my honor.”

His words did not cause a flicker of regret on the count’s face. “And I intend to save my honor by protecting the czar. No one will know what treaties might have been violated unless Russian officials acknowledge it, and I can assure you that will never happen.”

“I’ve only just arrived in America. The Blackstones know about the massacre and will support my allegation.”

“Ah yes, the Blackstones. Tell me, is Natalia your mistress?” The count spoke casually, and Dimitri bristled as he replied.

“Miss Blackstone is a woman of impeccable character, both in public and in private.”

“I saw the way you looked at each other. The unspoken communication you share is generally something that takes years to develop.”

“It is true that we have worked together for years. We were on opposite sides of the world, but we have always been of one mind. One heart.”

“Then marry her,” Count Cassini said. “Build a new life here. America is a wonderful country, and you can never go back to Russia, can you?”

The statement felt like the slash of a saber, all the more painful because it was true. Dimitri would never see Mirosa or his mother again. The unquenchable longing for home welled up inside him, but he wouldn’t indulge it while locked in battle with a man determined to defend the czar.

He spoke with the steely determination forged during thousands of miles of deprivation. “You are correct that the past cannot be changed, but I will fight to ensure it never happens again. Will you honor the 1858 treaty that guarantees the rights of the Chinese settlers north of the river?”

“Myself? Of course I shall! It is already in the books, and I would never do anything to tarnish its sterling reputation.”

That meant the count intended to do nothing. Dimitri’s lip curled. “I don’t know how you can sleep at night.”

“I have no difficulty sleeping, and neither should you. You survived an ordeal few men could endure. You should count your blessings and celebrate. Marry that woman and resign yourself to a life of everlasting luxury here in America. You could do worse.”

“Thousands of villagers are dead, and you want me to look the other way.”

The count carefully set down his cigar, adjusted his vest, and leaned across the desk, piercing Dimitri with a cold glare. “I will destroy your ability to find a new life in America if you fight me on this. I can incinerate your reputation with a few carefully placed rumors.”

“I’ve already had my reputation torn to shreds in my homeland. I survived it once. I can do it again.”

“Then I’ll go after her,” the ambassador said. “Women’s reputations are far more fragile, and the damage will last forever.”

Dimitri froze. Natalia was his greatest vulnerability. He’d already resigned himself to losing everything in Russia, but the prospect of Natalia’s ruination because of her association with him was unthinkable. “You must be a very small man if you need to wage war on women to achieve your ends.”

“I am a smart man,” Count Cassini asserted. “History is written by the winners. You can cooperate with the winning side and live a comfortable life in America . . . or not. Your decision.”

Dimitri could not bargain while Natalia’s reputation was on the line, which meant that unless he devised a way to get the better of Count Cassini, the ambassador had him pinned.





23





Natalia didn’t like being separated from Dimitri. When Count Cassini lured him away to a private meeting, she initially feared for him but soon thought better of it. She had come to Washington because Dimitri needed guidance navigating the American government, but in dealing with a fellow aristocrat from Russia, he was the expert, not she.