Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(73)

His spirit sagged, and he didn’t even respond before racing back downstairs. When Natalia claimed she would be cut out of the bank should she ever visibly place a foot wrong, Dimitri hadn’t believed her. Now the proof was before his eyes.

The drizzle from earlier in the day had turned into a steady rain, and there were no cabs in sight, but it didn’t matter. Natalia lived only a few blocks away, and he strode toward her house. He darted around puddles and dashed across the street to stand on her tiny front porch, banging on the door as the rain poured down. There was no overhang, and soon water dribbled from the brim of his hat.

She didn’t answer the door. Inside, music was blasting from the phonograph, and she probably couldn’t hear. He pounded with the side of his fist hard enough to rattle the door.

“Natalia!” he yelled. “Natalia, open up, it’s me.”

At last he heard footsteps thudding down the stairs. The music stopped, and the door flung open.

“Dimitri!” Natalia gasped. “Heavens, get inside, I didn’t know you were coming.”

He took off his hat and held it outside to shake water from the brim.

“Let me take your coat,” she fussed. “You poor dear, how long were you out there?” She looked tragic as she took his coat. He was dry underneath but didn’t mind accepting her pity for his drenching.

“Too long,” he said. “I’ll probably get pneumonia.”

She rolled her eyes. “Dimitri, you’re healthy as an ox.”

“A very sad ox,” he said. “Natalia, I’ve seen the newspapers. And your empty office.” He held his breath, hoping she might shrug this off with cocksure aplomb, but it didn’t happen.

Her eyes were full of anguish as she looked up at him. “My father already appointed someone else to the railroad account.”

It wasn’t fair. There were no words to express his regret. All he could do was hold his arms wide, and she immediately stepped into them. He rocked her from side to side.

“There, there,” he soothed, wishing he could say something to minimize the situation, but he would not belittle her anguish with empty platitudes.

“I’ve been ripping out the ruined floor upstairs,” she said. “It gave me something to do, and it felt good to hit things.”

Her entire townhouse was a dreary, depressing sight. Strips of wallpaper curled from the plaster, and the cracked mantel lay tucked against the wall. Not only had she lost her job because of him, but the state of this wretched townhouse was his fault too. The damage wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t gone to San Francisco.

“It seems it is your fate to suffer on my behalf.”

He held her as he recounted the telephone call with Count Cassini. Thanks to Natalia’s insight into Cassini’s relationship with his housekeeper, the ambassador had now been neutralized, but much of the damage to Natalia was already done.

“Everything is over,” she said. “The life I thought I was going to have is gone.”

He stroked her shoulders and her back, wishing he could solve this for her, but it was something she would have to do on her own. “The last chapter of your life hasn’t been written. What do you want it to be? You have the freedom to choose almost anything, and that is a rare gift in this world.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I have been blessed beyond all reason, but I’m still mourning. I think this is going to hurt for a long time.” She suddenly brightened and looked up at him with the eager, curious expression he knew so well. “How was the concert? Did Mr. Tachenko play the song?”

“He did, and received a standing ovation for it.” He relayed how the violinist stood on the center of the stage and recognized Dimitri in the audience, which caused a thundering round of applause. He could still hear it echoing in his ears.

“I’m so proud of you,” Natalia said. “You earned it.”

Had he? The months following the disaster at the Amur had been harrowing, but now he garnered accolades and acclaim from it. As soon as he got official word from the embassy, he would return to Russia, but he didn’t want to leave Natalia behind, especially not after her dreams had been stolen because of her association with him.

“Natalia, marry me. We could elope right now and start a new life together. I would gladly introduce you to the world as Countess Sokolova, and no one would dare cast aspersions on you.”

She startled and looked at him with such hope in her eyes that it made his spirit soar. “Are you going to stay in America?”

He looked away. Staying in America was not a possibility. He was a misfit in New York and would never belong. With every beat of his heart, he longed for home.

“I can’t stay,” he said gently, hating the way disillusionment took root in her face again. They could be happy in Russia. She could be happy in Russia. He just had to make her believe it. “Natalia, you could come with me. As my wife, you could be whatever you wanted, and I would make it happen for you. If you want a bank, I will buy you a bank.”

Her smile was sad. “No one in Russia would patronize a bank run by a woman.”

It was probably true. Russia was even more conservative than America.

She continued to rattle off the reasons she couldn’t move to Russia. “Dimitri, I love you, but my entire world is here. My father. Alexander. I want to be a part of his life as he grows up. I love that boy as if he were my own.”