The Ice Swan полностью

“Is that so?” Assessing and quick, his gaze cut over Svetlana like a jeweler’s would a gem. He bowed before angling the umbrella over her head. Tatya was forced to make do with her drooping wool hat. “Privyet, gentle lady. My name is Pyotr Argunov.”

“Zdrastvuytye,” Svetlana replied in the more formal greeting. A lifetime of unfortunate circumstances could be hidden beneath a well-tailored cuff, but speech was a revelation to one’s true breeding. One had it or one did not. For all his trimmed collars and buttons, Pyotr Argunov did not. All the better for her to remain guarded.

“May I ask your name?”

“You may ask if you are so inclined.”

Tatya snorted through a puff of smoke. “All class, this one.”

“So I see. Could do very well for us.” Pyotr pulled the cigarette from Tatya’s mouth and flicked it in the gutter. “Why don’t I take the two most beautiful women this side of the Neva River out for a drink? Catch up on old times with the tsar, determine the best place to find stroganoff, and pour a glass of vodka for the comrades we left behind.” His arm slipped around Svetlana with a light touch to the small of her back. Leading in a dance she had no desire to join.

Having reigned a lifetime in ballrooms armed with the noble art of avoidance, Svetlana sidestepped his nefarious intentions with ease.

“As I’ve told the duchess here, I have my own errands to see to.”

Tatya leaned forward, poking her head just under the protection of the umbrella. “That right. She looks place to stay. I show her Sheremetev place.”

Pyotr tilted the umbrella more over his own head and away from Tatya. “Ah, Sheremetev. The man who knows everyone and everything happening from Paris to Petrograd. Whatever you need, he has it or the ability to procure it.”

Whatever Svetlana needed. The promise of hope so near at hand crooked its beckoning finger at her, enticing her with deliverance from fear. Could it be so simple as knowing the right man’s name? Such information never came without a cost, but it was a fortune she would gladly pay to keep the Bolsheviks from finding them.

“Where might I find this Sheremetev?”

“A stroke of fortune in that I’m heading to the White Bear now to meet him. I’ll introduce you.” A smile slicked across Pyotr’s wide mouth as he no doubt imagined himself landing his prize.

But she was no game piece to claim in victory. He’d overplayed his hand from first introduction, and it was high time he learned a lesson in civilized defeat.

“I will produce my own means of introduction should I find myself in need of such services. Yours are not required.”

“No need to be cold, printsessa.”

The careless tossing out of her rightful title stung. She had a right to claim it and rebuke his insolence, but no longer were they at the imperial court. No longer did her title carry clout. It was a death warrant in the wrong hands, and if her instincts were correct, Pyotr’s hands were far from clean.

“If I were as cold as you claim, you would have been frozen to the spot long ago. As such, I’ll thank you to remove your hand and never dare touch a lady again.”

He stepped closer. Spiced wine fouled the air. “I’ve met tyolka like you before. Braying about, thinking you’re better than everyone.”

“I try not to presume such a claim, but in your case I’ll make an exception.”

“We’re not in Russia anymore. Your kind are toppling.”

“A shame if your kind were crushed in the rubble.”

“Move away from the lady.” Wynn’s voice cut through the building tension. He thrust himself into the space between Svetlana and Pyotr. Anger rolled off him in heated waves. “I said, move away.”

Tall as she was, Svetlana saw little beyond Wynn’s wide shoulders. They blocked everything from view. She peered around him.

“Who are you to interrupt so rudely a conversation that does not concern you, anglichanin?” Pyotr sneered, nearly knocking Wynn in the head with his umbrella.

Wynn didn’t flinch. “I’ll ask you once to move along.”

“Or what?”

“It’ll end with broken bones and they won’t be mine.”

Aiming a disgusting spit at Wynn’s feet, Pyotr grabbed Tatya’s arm and yanked her away. Tatya’s feet skipped to keep up. Passersby stared at the uncivilized behavior before shrugging it off as wont to do for a girl of her working station. She cast a pitiful look over her shoulder at Svetlana before she was hauled around a corner and out of sight.

Wynn turned on Svetlana, thick eyebrows crushed together. “Why is it I always tend to find you in verbal altercations on random footpaths? Is the church cellar so dull that you seek out entertainment elsewhere, never mind the notoriety of these little run-ins?”

She dismissed his indignation as the triviality it was. “It is none of your affair.”

“A lady being assaulted on the street is my affair.”