the Romanov crest—the double-headed eagle—appears all around the room, carved into every surface, ceiling to table. There are two long, rectangular tables decorated with vases of fresh flowers and marble busts and various golden chairs and settees litter the room. I look up, and the domed canopy above me is painted with a lovely sky fresco, giving the illusion that the room is open to the heavens.
But what draws me in, what gives me a sense of calm, is the smell. That marvelous scent of paper and leather fills the room. I inhale deeply, letting the familiar smell carry me away. Crossing to the nearest shelf, I run my hand along the row of spines, enjoying the texture under my fingers. A noise above me startles me from my tactile reverie.
“You’d think you’ve never seen a library before.”
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My heart leaps into my throat. At the top of the stairs is Alexander. He’s still wearing his formal suit, his dark hair slightly disheveled as always. For a heartbeat, I’m too stunned to speak. It’s as if my deepest desires have been formed to flesh. If not for the rush of blood to my face, I might think I was dreaming.
When I finally regain my wits, I have to look away, swallowing heavily before I speak.
“Alexander, I did not expect to see you this evening.”
I hear his heavy boots bound down the steps.
“I understand. You must have thought my note was from Peter. I apologize for disappointing you.”
He crosses the room, standing close enough for me to feel the air around me stir with his presence.
“I admit I did think they were Peter’s words.” Though hoped is more accurate. I don’t tell him that it isn’t disappointment coursing through my veins, but joy. Sheer, terrible, frightening joy. I clear my throat, knowing I can never say such things to him. “I never suspected you would be so rude as to proposition me in such an inappropriate manner.”
Without looking at him, I turn, ready to run back to my room but also steeling myself against his absence. When had my own feelings become so muddled and complicated? Before I take a single step, he catches my arm, turning me to him.
“I apologize for the misunderstanding, but please know it was never my intention to proposition you in any way. I needed to speak to you privately. This seemed the best way.”
Without meaning to, I look up and catch his eye. His expression is solemn and sincere.
“Please,” he adds gently.
I nod my head just a fraction of an inch. I doubt I could deny him anything when he’s looking at me like that. I pull away, afraid he might hear my heart gain speed, racing at his simple touch.
Stepping forward, he slides a book from the shelf and hands it to me. I glance at the cover. It’s a book of poetry by Sir Walter Raleigh. I hand it back, determined to hide the emotions raging inside me.
“I prefer something less rigid, if you please.”
He smiles lopsidedly, a dimple appearing in the side of his cheek. It is all I have to remain stone-faced, to not grin myself.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
“My patience grows thin, Alexander. I’m sure you didn’t come here to spout poetry to me.”
He slides the book back onto the shelf.
“Do you remember how Peter reacted that first night you were here?”
I fold my arms across my bust. “You mean how he ignored me completely? Flirted with Elizavetta?”
He turns back to me, one eyebrow arched. “Did this evening remind you of anything?”
I open my mouth to say no, to say that he had been perfectly kind and attentive all evening. But then I stop.
He ignored Charlotte. He flirted and fawned over me, but ignored her almost completely.
My expression must give me away because Alexander sighs.
“I’m so sorry, but I wanted you to see that this evening was not the victory you hoped it was.”
I lick my lips slowly because my mouth has gone dry. “Peter’s
But what draws me in, what gives me a sense of calm, is the smell. That marvelous scent of paper and leather fills the room. I inhale deeply, letting the familiar smell carry me away. Crossing to the nearest shelf, I run my hand along the row of spines, enjoying the texture under my fingers. A noise above me startles me from my tactile reverie.
“You’d think you’ve never seen a library before.”
Click above for access to bonus video footage.
http://bit.ly/1qEh8ov
My heart leaps into my throat. At the top of the stairs is Alexander. He’s still wearing his formal suit, his dark hair slightly disheveled as always. For a heartbeat, I’m too stunned to speak. It’s as if my deepest desires have been formed to flesh. If not for the rush of blood to my face, I might think I was dreaming.
When I finally regain my wits, I have to look away, swallowing heavily before I speak.
“Alexander, I did not expect to see you this evening.”
I hear his heavy boots bound down the steps.
“I understand. You must have thought my note was from Peter. I apologize for disappointing you.”
He crosses the room, standing close enough for me to feel the air around me stir with his presence.
“I admit I did think they were Peter’s words.” Though hoped is more accurate. I don’t tell him that it isn’t disappointment coursing through my veins, but joy. Sheer, terrible, frightening joy. I clear my throat, knowing I can never say such things to him. “I never suspected you would be so rude as to proposition me in such an inappropriate manner.”
Without looking at him, I turn, ready to run back to my room but also steeling myself against his absence. When had my own feelings become so muddled and complicated? Before I take a single step, he catches my arm, turning me to him.
“I apologize for the misunderstanding, but please know it was never my intention to proposition you in any way. I needed to speak to you privately. This seemed the best way.”
Without meaning to, I look up and catch his eye. His expression is solemn and sincere.
“Please,” he adds gently.
I nod my head just a fraction of an inch. I doubt I could deny him anything when he’s looking at me like that. I pull away, afraid he might hear my heart gain speed, racing at his simple touch.
Stepping forward, he slides a book from the shelf and hands it to me. I glance at the cover. It’s a book of poetry by Sir Walter Raleigh. I hand it back, determined to hide the emotions raging inside me.
“I prefer something less rigid, if you please.”
He smiles lopsidedly, a dimple appearing in the side of his cheek. It is all I have to remain stone-faced, to not grin myself.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
“My patience grows thin, Alexander. I’m sure you didn’t come here to spout poetry to me.”
He slides the book back onto the shelf.
“Do you remember how Peter reacted that first night you were here?”
I fold my arms across my bust. “You mean how he ignored me completely? Flirted with Elizavetta?”
He turns back to me, one eyebrow arched. “Did this evening remind you of anything?”
I open my mouth to say no, to say that he had been perfectly kind and attentive all evening. But then I stop.
He ignored Charlotte. He flirted and fawned over me, but ignored her almost completely.
My expression must give me away because Alexander sighs.
“I’m so sorry, but I wanted you to see that this evening was not the victory you hoped it was.”
I lick my lips slowly because my mouth has gone dry. “Peter’s
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