His aunt lived with him, so her appearance was expected, but the younger woman Stefan recognized with a start. What was Nadejda doing two thousand miles from Saint Petersburg? He absorbed the shock with no visible change in his expression and bestowed casual greetings on the servants as he helped Lisaveta dismount. After introducing her to his majordomo, who greeted her with a proper bow and a friendly smile, Stefan escorted Lisaveta up the rank of white marble stairs to the broad balustraded landing where the two women waited.
Lisaveta assumed the small, trim, grey-haired woman was Stefan's aunt. He'd assured her Militza would be pleased to have her as a guest before she resumed her journey home to her estate near Rostov. But he hadn't mentioned anyone else. And while Stefan's aunt was smiling, the pretty blonde at her side was not. Was the scowling young lady a niece constrained from her own amusements to wait here and greet her uncle? Or simply some family friend, sulky by nature? She would soon find out since Stefan was about to introduce her.
With his hand lightly holding her elbow, Stefan moved with Lisaveta the short distance across the polished marble landing to where the two ladies stood. "Countess Lazaroff," he said, his voice touched with his usual nonchalance, "I'd like you to meet my Aunt Militza and my-" He hesitated the smallest instant.
"Fiancée," the fair-haired woman interjected firmly, her smile tight.
"Princess Nadejda Taneiev," he said, as though he hadn't spent the last eight days in bed with Lisaveta, "may I present the Countess Lisaveta Lazaroff."
"You wouldn't be Felix's daughter?" Militza asked, ignoring Nadejda's anger and Lisaveta's embarrassment, her casual inquiry similar in tone to her nephew's when introducing his newest paramour to his fiancée.
"Yes," Lisaveta and Stefan answered simultaneously, she in nervous response, he because he found himself strangely concerned his aunt like her.
"I knew your father years ago. He was a delightful dancer."
Lisaveta couldn't help but smile, even though her temper was beginning to rise at Stefan's deceit or omission or whatever word best described his failure to mention he was engaged. Not that she was some naive adolescent who expected an offer of marriage after their intimacy-after all she had wanted him as much, if not more. But she expected a certain degree of honesty. She didn't realize that showed her naïveté. Honesty was hardly an essential in matters of amour; play words were more useful, love words, pretty turns of phrase universally applied.
"I didn't know he danced well," she replied, admiring Stefan's aunt's warm smile. So her father's accomplishments weren't confined to scholarly pursuits; this new image was pleasant. "I never saw him dance," she added.
"He was a favorite of all the ladies before your mama decided she wanted him. Did you meet Stefan at Maribelle?" Lisaveta's mother had once owned an estate by that name near Aleksandropol.
"Actually, no. Maman sold it before she died. I met Stefan on the plain between Kars and Aleksandropol." Lisaveta paused, not knowing where or how to begin.
"She was abducted by the Bazhis," Stefan interjected. "We had given chase-"
"And you rescued her," Nadejda said in a malevolent tone.
At Nadejda's vitriolic sarcasm, Stefan's gaze swung from his aunt to his fiancée.
Despite her own fury at Stefan's oversight in informing her of his fiancée, Lisaveta was still deeply grateful to him. Whatever her reservations concerning his character, he had rescued her. "He saved my life," she said calmly.
"And you naturally rewarded him."
"Nadejda," Stefan said. The single word was an order to silence.
"Why don't we go up to the house for tea?" Militza interjected, shamelessly pleased Stefan had reprimanded his fiancée. She'd been forced to endure the girl's uncharitable company for Nadejda had unexpectedly arrived in Tiflis with her parents on a visit to the Viceroy.
Felix Lazaroff's daughter was very beautiful, Militza thought, although not to Stefan's usual taste in women, which gravitated toward glamorous blondes. This girl was refined and delicate, her features touched with the ingenue, although her height was a shade above the average. Stefan usually preferred small women. How interesting, she speculated. As interesting as his cryptic note mentioning he might bring home a guest. Haci had defined the word guest for her, but more interesting yet was the fact Stefan invited the Countess to his home. A staggering first.
Months ago she'd watched with constrained silence as Stefan coldly selected a fiancée, appalled at his final choice. Nadejda was absolutely without endearing qualities. She was certainly striking, if one favored cool, fair-haired beauties from wealthy, powerfully connected families. But Stefan could have had anyone. When she'd said as much to him rather wrath-fully when he'd come back to Tiflis engaged, he'd only shrugged and said, not in explanation but in simple statement, "I only had a week furlough."
Lisaveta was desperately trying to formulate a suitable reply to Militza's suggestion of tea, for she wanted nothing less than to have to socialize with Stefan's malicious fiancée, when Stefan interposed. "Perhaps we could wash up first," he said, stalling for time, thinking hell and damnation, what bloody bad luck. Nadejda should have been in Saint Petersburg, two thousand miles away. "The roads are awash with dust this time of year," he added.
Thank you, Lisaveta thought gratefully, but then Stefan was adroit at lying, wasn't he, she decided, his "surprise" fiancée glaring at her. All she wanted to do was get away from this uncomfortable situation, find a coach traveling north very soon and leave Stefan Bariatinsky to the mercy of his fiancée.
Since they had dallied on the outskirts of Tiflis the previous night, reluctant to bring their passionate holiday to an end, neither Stefan nor Lisaveta was in fact at all begrimed by travel. Stefan's white Chevalier Gardes uniform was pristine while Lisaveta's simple white pique summer gown was bandbox fresh.
Ignoring the graphic evidence before her eyes, Aunt Militza said with a practiced courtesy, "Of course, you must rinse off the dust of your journey. We'll see you on the terrace in half an hour." This latter statement was delivered in a tone very like Stefan's when issuing orders to his men, Lisaveta thought, having witnessed the departure of his troop from Aleksandropol.
And surprisingly Stefan deferred with a nod of acknowledgement. There was an authority higher than his, Lisaveta realized, or at least in some circumstances there was. Or at least for trivialities like teatime there was.
"Come, Nadejda," Militza declared firmly, "you can help me with tea."
Nadejda hesitated briefly, her eyes moving dismissively over Lisaveta to rest on Stefan. She was weighing the risks of refusing when her violet shaded eyes met forcibly with Stefan's dark gaze.
"We'll be along directly," he said, without modulation, and it was that precise lack of inflection perhaps, the utter quiet of his tone, that decided her. After all, Stefan Bariatinsky was the catch not only of this season but of ten seasons past, as well, and she had been raised to be a practical woman.
For a moment after the two women departed, the only sound was the whisper of the wind through the gigantic cypress trees lining the ornate staircase. Grafted from those planted by Catherine the Great during her triumphant tour through the Crimea nearly a century before, they dwarfed even the magnificent villa on the crest of the hill.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Lisaveta said, speaking first, her voice a low, intense, restrained resonance.
She was tanned, Stefan thought, gazing down at her. The crisp white pique must heighten the color of her sun-kissed skin. He hadn't noticed before. And the slight breeze was blowing tendrils of her chestnut hair across her bare shoulders. Silk on silk, he mused.