As he gazed at the tranquil scene and vast sparkling sky, his mood seemed to alter. He was less restless now, perhaps the liquor was taking effect, and the chaos of his feelings was sorted out… a decision made. The Golden Countess was about to be taken off the market-whether she liked it or not.
He hadn't been at the Yacht Club long because the brandy bottle was only half-empty when Nikki walked into the lamp-lit room. He stood for a moment just inside the doorway, surveying the large area punctuated with leather chairs and sofas, writing tables, newspaper and magazine racks and silk-shaded chandeliers. His tawny eyes narrowed momentarily when he caught sight of Stefan lounging in his chair near the window, and with purposeful stride he walked over to him.
"I've been looking for you," he said, not bothering with social amenities. He'd been to Stefan's palace on the Fontanka first, and then to several cafes Stefan favored, before thinking of the Yacht Club, and he was irritated and badly out of temper.
"So you found me," Stefan idly replied, not inclined to be chastised by anyone. He knew why Nikki was here, and glowering like some wrathful deity, but the woman was available to the entire city. Surely he needn't bear the brunt of Nikki's censure.
"What did you do to Lisaveta?" Each word was a ground-out challenge.
While cognizant of Nikki's temper, Stefan matched him in his own terse resentment. "Only what, from the sound of it, every other man in Saint Petersburg's doing," he drawled casually, his sardonic expression masking his indignation at her popularity.
"If we hadn't been friends so long, I'd kill you for that remark." Nikki's golden eyes were hostile. "I'll say instead, you're dead wrong."
"Not from what I hear." Stefan hadn't moved from his comfortable pose, the glass of brandy in his hand resting on the chair arm, his eyes only half-open, as if their conversation were of negligible interest to him.
"Your informants are mistaken," Nikki retorted, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper, his stance vengeful, his Saint George medal and ribbon the only splash of color in the severity of the evening dress. "You could have hurt her."
One dark brow lifted in the studied calm of Stefan's expression. "She didn't appear to be in pain. To the contrary-"
"She's pregnant."
It looked for a moment as though Stefan had stopped breathing, but he quickly recovered and carelessly said, "So?"
Nikki's golden eyes flared like brilliant flame, his features took on the menace many men had seen across the dueling field. "So," Nikki murmured softly, "I understand you're the father, she's my cousin, and I'd like to know what you're going to do about it."
"Can you prove it?"
"I can kill you," Nikki breathed, his voice between a growl and a whisper, "and then it won't matter."
"Perhaps not a satisfactory solution for the lady, though," Stefan replied in an equally soft tone. "Do I understand she wishes to marry me?" His inquiry was insolent.
"She claims not to. She also claims she's not pregnant."
Stefan's brows rose. "And yet you're hounding me."
"She's apparently an innocent, although-" and it was Nikki's turn to raise one dark brow "-I'm sure you're more aware of that than we."
Stefan had the grace to acknowledge his responsibility there but took issue with the timing. "If she's not sure," he went on, no longer lounging, his glass put aside, his dark eyes intent on Nikki, "why couldn't it be someone else's. She's been here nearly a month."
"The girl is chaste as country air."
"Remember to whom you speak." Stefan's drawl was remonstrance.
"Present company excepted," Nikki said, his well-considered gaze taking in the altered posture and attitude of his friend.
"Then why is it," Stefan said, his voice intense with jealousy, "I've heard such contrary rumor?"
Nikki smiled for the first time. "Rumor only. She's flirtatious. Everyone wants her. It doesn't necessarily follow they were successful. And they weren't. Don't tell me," he went on, his mouth quirked in irony, "you deserted your cavalry corps for Lise and her gallants."
"The munitions and artillery are bogged down," Stefan muttered. "We're weeks off schedule. How do I know," he demanded, his tone different now, his dark glance keen, "it's untrue about the other men?" He wanted verification. He wanted assurances. He wanted absolutes, this man who'd lived his own life so differently.
"Because she came home with us every night in our coach and Alisa tucked her in and said good-night. Is my word sufficient against your jealousy?"
"Every night?" Stefan wouldn't so easily relinquish the maddening gossip concerning the Golden Countess.
Nikki gazed at Stefan from under his dark brows, the golden Kuzan eyes almost translucent in the lamp glow, his voice when he spoke significant in its utter lack of emphasis. "Every night," he said.
"She's exactly the same," Stefan said very quietly, trying to sort out the confusion and disarray of his thoughts. "I don't know if I believe you." How could she respond as she had with him and not fuel the rumors and gossip for the exact same reason?
Nikki shrugged. "That's your problem, Stefan. I can't obliterate your jealousy." Stefan's gaze widened.
"You might as well face it," Nikki said with a grin. "That's a hell of a long trip you just made."
"Don't remind me," Stefan grumbled.
Pulling over a chair facing Stefan, Nikki sank into it and smiled benignly. "She'll be flattered to know you relinquished duty for her."
"You misunderstand," Stefan protested.
"How long have we known each other, Stefan? Since we were fifteen? Tell me honestly that you're here for other reasons." He waited, feeling vastly better than he had when he'd first confronted Stefan.
"I could be here to visit my fiancée."
"Appalling thought," Nikki replied, his smile sunny. "Were you sober when you proposed to Nadejda?" he asked with masculine bias.
"No."
"I didn't think so."
"It wouldn't have changed things, had I been."
"Because the House of Bariatinsky-Orbeliani needed an heir."
Stefan sighed. "Yes, because of that."
"But, good God, Nadejda." Nikki's own sigh was weighty with rebuke.
"It didn't matter who it was." Stefan swirled the liquor in his glass and then gazed across at Nikki from under his heavy brows. "I was tired of looking," he slowly said. "Masha had been nagging me for nearly two years," he added with a negligent shrug. "And I only had a week in town."
"Also, Vladimir has court influence sewed up."
"Which overshadowed points one through three," Stefan sarcastically murmured.
Nikki wasn't unrealistic. Vladimir was powerful. "So Vladimir was the deciding factor."
"With my family background," Stefan concluded, images of their years of wandering in Europe and his father's painful decline vividly recalled. "Or was," he added, all his carefully considered plans for a conventional engagement, marriage and family in jeopardy. Nikki would be adamant about marriage, he knew, if Lise was pregnant, and even he was beginning to question the merits of an arrangement he'd deemed extraordinarily suitable only months ago. All because of a beautiful Countess he'd just been brutish to because he was jealous of every man who looked her way. "Merde and bloody hell," he swore, realizing he was indeed jealous, "now what?"
"Exactly why I'm here," Nikki cheerfully replied to the gloomy man sunk into the brown leather chair. "First ask her to marry you."
He was offered a slow and searching look. "And what of Nadejda?"
"Engagements are made to be broken." A bland smile accompanied the platitude.