She traced a gloved finger over his muscular thigh. “What are the first two?”
“You and Stasia.”
“Delighted to hear that. I was half expecting an open heart to be among the ranks.”
His lips brushed her ear. “That’s my fourth.”
Turning her head on a giggle, she caught his lips. The world fell away into nothingness as she lost herself in him. His kiss, gentle and confident, yet possessive of every part of her, was something she could not live without as it stirred to life parts of her untouched beyond him. She was deeply, irrevocably, and hopelessly in love with her husband, and the surrender had never been sweeter.
“Ahem, Your Graces.”
Svetlana pulled slowly, reluctantly away like a shell from its pearl. Their chauffeur held open the auto’s door as light blazed from Thornhill’s entrance. Somehow they’d arrived home without the slightest notice. Svetlana merely looped her handbag over her wrist and climbed out. It wasn’t the first, nor likely the last, time he’d catch them in an embrace.
Stepping inside the entrance hall, Svetlana removed her hat and gloves and handed them along with her handbag to her waiting maid.
“I interviewed three more candidates for the ballet costume mistress position today. None suitable.” Turning the last unused
room at the old sugar mill into a ballet studio had been the perfect addition. It did not compare to the Bolshoi Theater,
but dancing before the tsar and tsarina could not match the excitement of watching her little ballerinas
Wynn handed over his hat and jacket to the waiting footman. Despite proper dressing etiquette, he complained the sleeves were too restrictive and he would not be restricted in his own home. More likely, he’d grown accustomed to the looseness of a surgeon’s smock. “That’s because your standards are ridiculously high. Not everyone trained at the Imperial Ballet.”
“They should have.”
“Aren’t our mothers sewing the costumes?”
Svetlana laughed. “They showed me yesterday what was intended to be a squirrel but resembled more of a lumpy sackcloth. There was not even a tail.”
Wynn rolled his eyes, unconcerned with the catastrophe brewing. “I’m sure your class doesn’t care if the squirrel has a tail or not. They’re much too thrilled with learning ballet from a real-life princess.”
Svetlana tapped a finger to her chin. “Perhaps I should put an advertisement in
“Have your assistant send the advertisement. That is why you hired her. Poor girl doesn’t know what to do with herself when you keep insisting on doing everything with your own hands.”
“Why should I not perform duties that I am perfectly capable of executing? Duchess is not a title equated to lady of leisure.”
“It should be. And I’ve a few ideas of leisurely activities starting now.” He scooped her into his arms against her squeal of protest and started for the stairs.
Glasby swooped in out of nowhere and blocked them. With his formal black tails and starched white tie, he resembled a formidable penguin.
“There is a visitor for you, Your Graces. I’ve shown him into the library.”
“Visiting hours are over. Tell him to come back tomorrow.” Wynn moved to step around him, but Glasby didn’t budge.
“I believe you will make an exception in this case. He has traveled a long way to see the Princess Svetlana.”
“Traveled from where?” A spark of fear kindled in Svetlana’s chest as Wynn set her on her feet. Months of calm had eased her anxiety, but more than once an unguarded moment had been seized by memories of horror. The past had found them again.
“The gentleman has requested to answer all questions himself.” Despite Glasby’s formality, the glimmer of a smile teased his lips.
Svetlana’s apprehension eased. Bolsheviks would never elicit a smile. Glasby hurried to fling open the library door, by this time grinning widely.
Svetlana stepped inside the room. Her mother and Marina sat on the settee by the fire where a tall, thin man with silvery blond hair blocked the dancing orange flames. He turned and the light flashed across an unfamiliar black eyepatch, but he was unmistakable.
“Nicky!” Svetlana raced across the room and launched herself into her brother’s arms. Her living, breathing brother. Tears coursed down her cheeks as they clung tightly to one another. “We thought you were dead.”