They sat quietly staring at the dance of moonlight off the pond’s still surface.
“Do you feel safe now?” He kept his voice low and even, careful not to rattle her. An effective bedside method.
She reached for his hand. “Yes.”
Wynn didn’t move lest he disturb the fragile touch. Her hand was cold in his, as if her long fingers were carved of ice. “Where is the Blue Palace?”
“My family’s home in Petrograd. So called for the way the winter light turns the walls to pale blue. We had the most dazzling blooms in all the city, and I could sit there for hours in the quiet.”
The musty scent of dry leaves clinging to dead branches and scraggly plants left unattended in the years of war were a far cry from palace roses, but the area was peaceful as the earth slowly reclaimed man’s version of nature. In all the years his family had holidayed in Paris, they’d never visited this park, preferring the Jardin des Tuileries and Jardin du Luxembourg or Mother’s favorite stretching from that Eiffel Tower tangle of metal. Bit of a marvel he was only stepping foot here now, but the occasion was gratifying. It was a place where he held a memory of no other but of her and him.
“Why did you run out of the club?”
Her hand slipped from his and she tugged up the collar of his coat. He didn’t take it as a rejection, merely a move to settle into a defensive position like a soldier adjusting his armor.
“Sheremetev offered to cancel my family’s debt and provide security by offer of marriage.”
“No.” His harsh answer tore out in a contorted growl of disbelief and anger. He didn’t care how fat the man’s neck was, Wynn would strangle him if he ever laid eyes on the dog again. To blazes with his oath to do no harm.
“He spins a compassionate tale of rescuing the maiden in distress, but it’s the title and money he’s after. A princess of the proud Dalsky line would provide prestige that his own name, powerful as it is, cannot acquire. As his wife I would be forced to continue dancing to bring in waves of rich patrons. He has taken the thing I love and turned it against me.” Her voice was flat. Emotional detachment. A common response to shock and one she handled with practiced skill. “Tonight I watched him sanction the beating of a man begging for his life by thugs wearing red armbands. Do you know what red represents in Russia?”
Wynn clenched his hands as rage poured into his veins, hot and vindictive. “I can guess.”
“Then you know what I failed to see before. They were there all the time. They are here. No matter how far I ran or what I’ve done, they have found me.”
“I won’t let them hurt you. Do you understand? I will keep you safe.”
“Safe?” She laughed bitterly and swiped at an errant tear. “No one is safe from a man like Sheremetev. He may not be political enough for a Bolshevik, but I believe he’s part of the criminal sect Black Claw. Importing and exporting opioids, weapons, prostitution rings, laundering of money, and other illegal activities. His connections are like poisonous vines crawling beneath the surface on which we walk. At his will the vines shoot through the dirt and twist at our ankles, dragging us into his lair. No one can stop him.”
Jerking off the bench, Wynn paced as he fought to keep a string of curses silent. Every blood vessel throbbed with anger.
“You cannot marry that monster.”
“Do you know what he offered me? A ruby ring red as blood. It may as well have been as it was pried from the dead tsarina’s finger after she was executed along with her family in a filthy basement by a group of Red soldiers. Men of whose ilk he allows to plot in his club.” She pulled down the corner of his coat collar to reveal bruises on her jaw in a distinctive handprint. “He has fed on my fears and closed the circle around me.”
“You cannot marry him.”
“He will feed me to the Bolsheviks if I do not comply. It seems I have no other option.”
He squatted before her. “There’s one. Marry me.”
Chapter 15
“You cannot marry him.”
“Mama, I have no choice.” Svetlana flipped the veil over her face as the church’s organ swelled to a bridal march, jangling her nerves. “Besides, it is too late to turn back now.”
She had been engaged to Dr. Edwynn MacCallan, Marquis of Tarltan, for a grand total of three days. That night in the garden she had been shocked into silence at his sudden proposal, but as her questions rose like a frantic tide she could keep silent no longer. For nearly an hour she had questioned his sanity, his reasoning, and his intentions. He had answered each one with calm logic.