Russian Winter Nights
Автор
Linda Skye
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Chapter One
Ekaterina Romanova, the eldest, most beautiful daughter of Baron Dimitri and the niece of the reigning Empress of Russia, was standing amongst the clucking chickens outside the palace kitchens, dressed in a plain peasant smock and woollen overcoat. Her thick, dark curls were unbound and tumbled carelessly down her back. Her smooth complexion was free of fashionable white powder.
If her ageing father could see her in her current, unadorned state as she stood in a place reserved for the common folk, he would probably die of a heart attack. Her mother would swoon. Her younger sisters would tut their disapproval and hide their faces in shame.
But Ekaterina simply could not care less about what they all might think of her.
“Come, children,” she called in her sweet, chime-like voice. “Come have some bread!”
A flock of hungry children surrounded the young noblewoman, their grubby hands reaching out and their sweet, high voices calling out excitedly. For Ekaterina was passing out large, steaming loaves of freshly baked bread for the children to take home to their nearly starving families.
“Bread! Bread!” the children cried, and whistled excitedly.
“Yes,” Ekaterina laughed. “Bread! But don’t push—there’s enough for everyone!”
Within just a few minutes, Ekaterina had nothing left in her wicker basket but crumbs. She smiled, satisfied, as thick wet snowflakes drifted down around her.
It was nearly Christmas, and the bread she had just distributed would be a boon to the families of the palace servants. She could imagine them smiling around their bland pots of stew with hot slices of crusty bread to warm their bellies, when normally they would be carefully rationing out tiny portions of grain in a desperate bid to save up enough food for the endless winter, when frost would make life nearly unbearable for most.
Hardly a happy Christmas, she mused silently.
Ekaterina resisted the urge to frown. In the North, her father tried to treat his serfs fairly, and because of the example she saw in his policies, she had always campaigned for the rights of the peasants, who were the working backbone of their livelihood. But here, at Catherine Palace, the lavish rococo residence of Russian emperors and empresses, the peasant servants were treated little better than donkeys and dogs. They were reduced to scrounging about for the most minimal of sustenance, accepting the crumbs that the Empress had tossed their way because, simply put, there was no other choice available to them.
Ekaterina grimaced at the thought of her aunt, Empress Anna of Russia. She was a gargantuan woman, her pudgy features swollen from years of consuming the very tastiest and fattiest of foods. Ekaterina was almost surprised that her aunt could still breathe in her tightly laced corset.
But what was even worse than her careless, decadent lifestyle was Empress Anna’s cruel and vindictive nature.
Ekaterina slowly wandered towards the edge of the walled courtyard, her delicate brows gently creasing in thought. The summons for Ekaterina to join the imperial court in the city of Tsarskoye Selo had come as an unpleasant surprise to the Romanov family in the North. Empress Anna had always distanced herself from the old nobility, especially her siblings—so to ask for her brother’s youngest daughter to join the court did not bode well.
Contrary to what others might have thought, such a summons was not an honour—it was more likely a subtle declaration of war. Ekaterina, as a young, unmarried noblewoman, could be used as a political hostage—or humiliated for sport. Just last year, a member of the old gentry had displeased Empress Anna in some trivial way, and she had forced the elderly man to entertain her court by stripping naked and squawking like a bird in a specially constructed gilded cage. Even worse, the nobleman’s extended family had abruptly and unexplainably disappeared during the harsh winter, no doubt thanks to the actions of Empress Anna’s personal police squad.
Since arriving a mere week ago, Ekaterina had so far managed to avoid close contact with her aunt, opting to stay hidden behind the jewelled plumes of the headdresses of more ambitious court women. But being inconspicuous in such a gaudy, debauched court took quite a bit of effort, and Ekaterina could not help but resort to old tricks to keep her sanity—such as strolling anonymously through the peasant areas.
As she reached the edge of the walled courtyard, she heard soft, tinkling laughter. Pausing, she looked over to where a small gaggle of children was weaving pine boughs together to make crude Christmas ornaments. They were nothing like the expensive, gaudy contraptions that her aunt had commissioned for the Christmas season. Unlike the crystal baubles and bright candles, these simple decorations were dotted with crimson holly berries and strung together with tatty bits of string.
But they were even more beautiful in Ekaterina’s eyes.
The children’s ruddy faces shot up as she approached, her boots crunching over the freshly fallen snow. Ekaterina smiled warmly, her dainty fingertips skimming over the fragrant pine needles.
“They’re beautiful, children,” she said encouragingly.
The children’s smiles widened. Ekaterina patted each child on the head and leaned down to whisper.
“Come see me in the kitchens tomorrow,” she told them with a wink. “I’ll have some sweet treats for you to share.”
With that, she rose and resumed her stroll, warmed by the squeals of excited giggling left in her wake. She followed the stone wall to an iron gate, which she pushed open. As she stepped through the archway, a lovely winter landscape met her eyes. Brilliantly white snow carpeted the expansive meadows, broken only by a few clusters of evergreen trees. Ekaterina stepped farther away from the palace and closer to the wilderness, relishing the cold, crisp air on her face and the bright blue sky stretching as far as the eye could see.
And then she saw him.
A man was standing in the centre of the field, his the only tracks in the glittering snow. He was facing away from her, his thumbs hooked in his trouser pockets. Even though a cold wind stirred the fabric of his loose white shirt, he did not move—he didn’t even shiver! He was so still that the white puffs of his breath were the only indication that he was a living, breathing man and not a statue.
But what a statue he would have made! His figure could have made any of the marble mythical gods envious.
Even from behind, he cut a striking silhouette against the perfect blue of the horizon. He was tall, long and lean—a fact accentuated by his billowing linen shirt and fitted wool trousers. His shoulders were broad, and he had dark, tousled hair that did not quite conceal a square jaw covered in rough stubble. Ekaterina swallowed breathlessly as he shifted his weight. And then he began to walk away, his shoes crunching over the new snow as he wandered towards the copse of trees that hid a small brook from sight.
He was leaving!
Ekaterina’s feet were rooted to the spot although she desperately didn’t want to lose sight of the stranger. She was intensely curious, but at the same time, trailing after a stranger seemed a terribly dangerous idea. Ekaterina bit her lip, her brow furrowing as the distance between them grew. Should she risk revealing herself, risk her safety for a glimpse of this handsome stranger?
Just then, the man paused and turned slightly to the side. A breeze lifted his dark locks, which played across his perfect profile. Ekaterina’s stomach erupted in fluttering.
Yes, she told herself. She just couldn’t help herself.
Resolute and determined, Ekaterina followed him, carefully putting her feet in his large footprints so as to remain a silent and unseen follower. Although, she thought with a wry smile, he would see her immediately if he but turned around. Just a quick glimpse of his face, she told herself. A quick glance, and her curiosity would be satisfied. As she trailed after his loping strides, she found herself wondering if he would be angry at her intrusion or interested in her audacity?
Her thoughts suddenly ceased as the mystery man reached the creek, which had almost completely frozen over. She halted, expecting him to turn around and spot her, but a quacking pair of geese distracted them both. Ekaterina eyed the waddling birds quizzically. Had they neglected to migrate? How had they survived?
And then the man dug into his trouser pockets and pulled out a few crusts of bread. Clucking at the geese, he tossed the bread to the snow-covered ground and watched as the geese noisily snapped up the bits of food. Anger awoke in Ekaterina’s belly, rising like a flame to her throat. The squawking of the fat birds only increased her ire as she watched him toss another handful of crusts.
How dare he, she thought as she strode heedlessly forward. How dare he squander such food on mere geese!
Startled at the sound of shoes on snow, the stranger stilled and turned, his brows lifted in surprise.
“You!” Ekaterina snapped, her blue eyes fiery as she advanced on him. “What do you think you are doing?”
The stranger held up his hands, the last few breadcrumbs falling to the ground.
“Feeding the birds?” he answered, his eyes wide.
“Feeding the birds?” Ekaterina exclaimed incredulously. “You’re feeding the birds fresh bread while the peasants are near starvation?”
* * *
The man blinked, his expression unreservedly abashed. This woman had interrupted his daily ritual of wandering out into the wilderness to feed his geese. Hearing a human voice in the cold, abandoned outdoors was unexpected...though not completely unwanted. Her voice was sweet, even in anger, and it was a welcome contrast to the harshness he’d just left behind. He’d wandered out into the countryside to escape the sweat, dust and shouting, and the cold, fresh air and natural beauty usually invigorated him. But now...he only had eyes for the firecracker burning him with her stare.
The woman before him was petite, her slight form dwarfed in her overly large wool overcoat. Her bright blue eyes were unparalleled jewels that burned with passion. His artist’s eye immediately traced the pale contours of her exquisite face; from the elegant arch of her thin eyebrows, to the perfect bow in her dainty lips. With midnight black hair and a radiant complexion, she stood out in stark relief to the barren land around them. He hadn’t seen her before at court, and he was sure he would have noticed her if she had ever made an appearance.
But despite her slim frame and petite figure, she was now a burning bundle of seething rage. He took a step back. But the woman pressed forward and reached up to jab a finger into his shoulder.
“Well?” she questioned, her voice like a sharp whip.
She reached out to poke him again, but he caught her hand in an easy grip.
“Young lady,” he began, his voice a slow, smooth velvet tone. “I don’t know who you are, but I don’t see how it is any business of yours what I do with my bread. But for your information, these are my geese. I found them with broken wings, and now I have to feed them.”
Colour bloomed beautifully on her porcelain cheeks, and her ocean-blue eyes widened. Her pink lips parted in surprise, and she quickly snatched her hand back, cradling it against her chest as if she had been burned. The man watched this transformation with ever-increasing interest, his desire to sketch her expressive face matched only by the primal urge to mould his hands to her hips and pull her close.
For her part, Ekaterina felt the anger drain from her body. His touch had been like fire, setting her nerves alight with an inexplicable longing. Awareness washed over her in a tingling wave as she took in the rugged slant of his thick brows, the intensity in his green eyes, the curve of his sensual lips and the hard line of his jaw.
Not a statue of a Greek god, she thought to herself, but a living, breathing Adonis!
He raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and reality slammed back into her with the force of a tidal wave. He was a stranger in her aunt’s palace, and he could be anyone...and anyone could bring malicious whispers to her aunt’s itching ears.
Her face closed as her guard went up. The man’s other brow lifted, his expression mildly surprised at the sudden change.
“I mean you no harm,” he said in the same steady tone. “I am merely an employee here at the palace.”
“You work in the palace?” she asked, her facial features softening slightly.
“Yes,” he said and nodded. “My name is Andrey.”
She studied his face, distrust in her eyes. Andrey met her glare with an open expression, suddenly afraid that the beautiful creature before him would take flight and leave him alone in the cold. She was so refreshingly different from the women he’d met in the palace.
“Where do you work?” she asked, suspicion tingeing her tone.
“In the workshop,” he replied.
It was only a slight lie, he told himself. There was no need to expound upon the unnecessarily complicated nature of his true employment at the palace. He simply did not want to lose the chance to spend more time with her.
“The workshop?” Ekaterina almost sighed in relief. No one in the workshop would ever brush shoulders with the nobles. It was far too dusty and dingy for the likes of the Russian aristocracy. She shook off the lingering feelings of dread, banishing all thoughts of her horrible aunt. Instead, she looked upon Andrey with clear eyes. As her gaze dropped to his hands, she imagined them at work. He had long, tapered fingers and calloused palms. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and she could see the muscles in his taut forearms. She visualised the careful attention he would give to carving, the bulge of his upper arms as he worked the machinery, and the sweat glistening on his perfect brow.
Ekaterina felt a tingle in her thighs that spread like fire through her lower belly. It ached deliciously. It twisted her stomach in knots. It made her shift from foot to foot.
“Now if you have finished with your interrogation,” Andrey said, cutting into her thoughts in a wry tone. “Who might you be?”
Ekaterina started, looking up. Her cheeks warmed as she felt the full force of his lusty gaze. He was watching her knowingly, his intense eyes hooded. She took a moment to slowly savour the sight of him. She would have loved to bask in the heat of his gaze, but she knew it was dangerous—oh, so dangerous—to dally for too long. So, lifting her chin defiantly, she turned on her heel and cast one last look over her shoulder.
“No one of interest,” she quipped.
She made as if to walk away briskly, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. She turned to level the stranger with a half-hearted glare, only to be met with his smouldering eyes. She swallowed, suddenly feeling light at the feeling of his fingers.
“You don’t know what I’m interested in,” Andrey returned, his voice even. “Maybe I want to have a chat with a mysterious woman in the middle of nowhere.”
Ekaterina pulled out of his grip and spun around, a frown turning down her pink lips. She inclined her head slightly, studying his chiselled face. Her mind screamed at her to leave, to turn and escape back into the palace before it was too late. But her heart and body tugged in the opposite direction; she longed to run her fingers through that thick hair, to feel the sweep of his stubbled jaw under her smooth palms, to push away his shirt and explore the mysterious expanse of muscle hidden beneath.
He was just too gorgeous.
Surely a few more minutes couldn’t hurt, she told herself. After all, he was a lowly peasant and she was a hidden princess. They would probably never meet again, and no one would be the wiser about this strange encounter.
* * *
Andrey could plainly see the war in her eyes; she wanted to stay and yet felt she had to go.
I don’t want her to go.
The yearning was an insistent tug, pounding like the blood in his veins. He wanted to hear her voice, feel the curve of her body against his and paint the canvas of her flesh with his lips. But she looked ready to flee, and he did not want to lose his chance. Her sweet face and honest sincerity were a balm to his frazzled nerves. He hated palace life. When it wasn’t stuffy and pretentious, it was dirty and dusty. Even worse were the palace girls; their faces false with makeup, and their voices forcibly high-pitched. So, while the wilderness was his usual escape, he longed to spend even a few more moments with this woman.
And so before she could make up her mind, he took her by the arms and pulled her into his chest.
* * *
Ekaterina’s senses were suddenly overcome by the feeling of Andrey’s hard chest against hers and the musky scent beneath his chin. She inhaled sharply, but couldn’t find the resolve to pull away immediately.
“Don’t go,” Andrey murmured softly.
She could barely hear him over the wild pounding of her heart. She craned her head back to look up at him, and was instantly arrested by his sultry gaze. He had her pinned in place with his arms around her slim shoulders and his green eyes locked with hers. He could feel her heart beat against his chest; it was like the mad fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. One of his arms slipped down to wind about her thin waist while his fingers trailed along her cheek. His fingertips were hot against her cool skin, and Ekaterina instinctively leaned into his warmth.
There was something between them; a magnetism that drew them closer and set their skin aflame with hunger. Neither could explain it, but it was warm and pulsing and perfect—as real as their breathing, which caused miniature clouds to fan across their cheeks in moist puffs of warm air. Every sense was heightened, and the hyperawareness was a pleasurable pain.
Ekaterina shivered suddenly, and Andrey pulled her closer. He was so tall, she thought breathlessly, and his hands felt unusually large on her hips. Her knees went weak as he drew her closer, leaning in slowly as if pulled forward by an invisible force. He gathered her tightly in his strong arms, his muscles bunching under his linen shirt. He held her gaze until their noses were nearly touching...and then his lips were on hers, searching gently. Her eyes drifted closed as the sensation of his warm mouth on hers overwhelmed her completely.
* * *
Andrey kissed her slowly, tenderly moving his lips over hers. Then he grew bolder, suckling at her bottom lip and sweeping his tongue past her lips. She obliged with innocent fervour, a small moan escaping her as he explored her mouth with his tongue. His fingers fisted in the material of her overcoat and he dragged her closer still, driven by the instinct to crush her body to his, to feel every inch of her body against his.
Not enough, his blood sang as his kisses grew in intensity.
With an impatient grunt, Andrey grabbed at the ends of her coat and pulled it open, his palms searching within the rough material. His hands met the thin cotton of a light shift, and he paused. He pulled away from their fevered kiss to glance down at what he had just unveiled. The sight made the slow rolling of desire in his stomach pitch into a full boil, spiking down his legs and up his chest. He briefly wondered why she was allowing such familiarity, but he was not about to lose his advantage. He pressed forward.
Ekaterina stood stunned in his arms, her blue eyes wide and glazed over in passion and her lips swollen and pouting from their kiss. Her long, creamy neck led to a delicate collarbone. And her cotton dress swept over the rest of her body in a slightly see-through column of fabric. Had the girl no sense whatsoever? The coat had hidden her well, he mused, but the dress revealed almost all. His impassioned eyes took in the pert swell of her unbound breasts, and the dark peaks of her stiff nipples were beads that stood out in sharp relief beneath the thin material. He could just make out the silhouette of her hourglass figure; the arc of her waist, the rise of her bottom and the sweet curves of her impossibly long legs.
He grew as hard as rock, the straining uncomfortable against the scratchy material of his trousers. In awe at her beauty, his fingers traced invisible paint strokes over her body. She shuddered, and he snapped.
He was on fire, and she was his only salve.
In two long strides, he walked her back to the trunk of a tree, his hands cupping the backs of her thighs and his mouth ravaging hers. Her breathing hitched as he nipped at her lips with his teeth, and she twisted her fingers in his hair. He pushed his hands down her body, and she twined her slim wrists at the nape of his neck. His fingers grabbed at the hem of her dress, and he slid his palms up her bare legs with a groan. He pulled at her thighs and lifted her off the ground, hooking her knees over his hips and pushing her back into the tree trunk. She arched backward, a gasp of delight on her lips as he ground his groin to hers. He pushed her dress even higher, aching for more contact, and pressed open-mouthed kisses to her neck, his fingers plucking at the tips of her breasts. Revelling in her soft mewls of pleasure, he continued to stroke her body into such flames of pleasure that she writhed against him, her body bucking insistently against his. He claimed her mouth once again, and one of his hands dipped low to catch the inside of her thighs. She whimpered and dug her nails into his biceps, clutching at him as his fingers played a symphony against her core.
* * *
For her part, Ekaterina could hardly understand what was happening between them. One minute she’d been admiring the gorgeous stranger, and the next she was being covered in his kisses! It was scandalous, terrifying and...absolutely wonderful. She knew she shouldn’t be letting herself get carried away so completely, but she’d never felt desire so fiercely before. So she threw caution to the wind and let him sweep her away in sensation.
So lost were they in the heat of each other’s touch that the cold lost its bite, and all they knew was each other; each panted breath, each finger stroke, each clenched jaw.
Ekaterina could not stop trembling, her nearly naked body pressed up against this man’s steely muscles. Dimly, she wondered what had got into her. How had this man so completely captivated her and overtaken her steely self-control? How had he penetrated all her defences?
And then he twisted his fingers just so, and she lost all coherent thought completely.
* * *
Andrey could not believe what was happening. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen was warm putty in his artist’s hands, her body bending and shuddering under his careful direction. Her plaintive cries were beautifully sweet—each a reward that added to his own pleasure.
Still, in a distant corner of his fogged mind, he wondered...just who was she? He truly believed that no man could not be so drawn to her, but how had they so instantly fallen into such a passionate embrace? How was it that he was already so intimately physical with her?
I don’t care.
His questions dissolved into desire as he plied her with more and more kisses. Her dress was now over her bust, the offending material pushed away as he cupped one of her breasts with one hand and smoothed his palm up her stomach with his other. As she tightened her legs around his waist, he imagined what he would do next.
He longed to rip away his own clothing and take her, right then and there in the forest with no one but the geese to see. He wanted to push her into the tree and thrust himself deep while he watched her flushing face. He wanted to dig his fingers into her hips as he watched her head loll backward with every rocking motion. Then he would spin her around and let her clutch blindly at the tree while he drove into her from behind, watching her arch and scream as they climaxed together.
Yes, he thought wildly. Yes!
He dropped his arms, reaching to fumble for the buttons on his trousers. She slid down his body, her feet dropping back to the snow-covered ground. But just as he managed to pull the top button loose, he felt her dainty hands on his. He pulled back to look her in the face. She was flushed pink, but her eyes were apologetic.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”
Andrey took two heaving breaths and sighed, leaning forward to plant a heavy hand on the trunk behind her.
“Why?” he groaned, closing his eyes.
Ekaterina awkwardly pulled down her dress and wrapped her coat tightly closed. She pursed her lips and looked away. Opposite emotions duelled within her. One part of her was thrilled and amazed with the sizzle of his lips still warm on her skin. But the rational part of her was shocked and horrified. She was a noblewoman who prided herself on being different from the rest of the fickle courtiers—and yet here she was, throwing herself at a stranger.
“I don’t understand this. And I don’t know you,” she whispered, her feelings finding words.
He was silent and grim. It was true. The fire between them had been unexpected and inexplicable. On top of that, they didn’t know one another. He didn’t even know her name.
“Yet,” she said.
Her voice was small, but crystal clear. Andrey lifted his eyes to meet hers. Her expression was open. Earnest. Honest.
“No,” he agreed. “Not yet.”
* * *
Ekaterina smiled then, and the lifting of her lips brightened her face. She cupped his cheek in her small hand, and he covered her fingers with his. The magnetism between them was undeniable. The echoes of their passion still pulsed under her skin. But she couldn’t risk everything on a stranger, no matter how magnetic.
At least, not yet.
She wanted to find some measure of happiness in the stifling court atmosphere, and perhaps he was her chance. There was obviously something that had drawn them together, be it destiny or chance. This man wasn’t one of her aunt’s tools, nor was he a candidate for a political marriage. So surely, surely he might enjoy her company and her body without ulterior motives. She desperately wanted to know him deeper, in soul and in body.
“Will you meet me again?” she asked, unable to keep the hopeful tone from her voice.
“Yes.” A million times, yes, he added to himself.
She was a strange woman, he thought. But one worth pursuing. He didn’t want to scare her away, so he didn’t volunteer any more information about himself. Let her find out in due time, he decided.
She leaned into his willing embrace and pressed her ear to his chest. For a moment, she listened to the steady beat of his heart.
He was an enigma, she thought. But he was as interesting as he was seductive. She didn’t want him to abandon her, so she said nothing about her true identity. Let him believe she was a peasant girl on equal footing, she decided. She frowned. Let him wonder—except for one detail.
“My name,” she said, “is Ekaterina.”
