Love Me Again (5 page)

With the honed instincts of a trained killer, Sergei reached down and ripped the lethal blade out of Varek's hold. Varek gave no reaction to this turnabout; in fact, his lack of reaction was almost insulting. With a frustrated curse, Sergei flipped the knife in his hand and jammed it back into the hidden sheath in Varek's boot.

Looking once more at the man standing stiffly impassive before him, Sergei murmured with a disgusted shake of his head, “Go back from where you came, Vare. You are too late.”

Varek gave a grim chuckle as he watched Christina. “I've come from the bowels of hell, Massallon.” Slowly, his coldly pale eyes slid sideways to study him. “And I assure you, when I return, I shall not be alone.”

Sergei's blood ran cold, for he was not sure to whom Varek's threat alluded. Deliberate and cold, Sergei stepped closer, his own blade suddenly in his hand and pressed against the archduke's gut, the move hidden between their bodies. Leaning close, he met Varek's impassive eyes without a flinch. “When you go back, and you will, I will gladly accompany you, your highness. However, if you harm a hair on her head, you will not have the chance to draw your next breath. You of all people should know not to take this pledge lightly, for my teacher was the best, you.”

Varek's eyes narrowed a bare fraction, the only sign belying his otherwise dispassionate manner. Then amazingly he smiled. Sergei blinked in confusion as he stepped back, pocketing the knife with an economy of motion that was proof of his familiarity with the weapon.

Warily, the two men stared at each other. Finally, Varek turned away to again watch his wife. Clearing his throat, he offered, “It seems I have as much to thank you for as I do to hate you. I don't know what was or is between you. I don't think I ever want to know, but you have kept her safe. For that alone I owe you my life. You have nothing to fear from me, Massallon. But neither can I ever call you friend again.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Varek's pale blue gaze met Sergei's. “Even after you had fled with her, I continued to trust you.” His voice lowered to a hoarse whisper, his accusation as cutting as the blade he had threatened him with. “Despite everything, fool that I was, I waited, believing I could trust you to bring her back safely to me after she had a chance to calmly reconsider the situation. When you didn't come back I knew Christina was going to be stubborn, and still I waited, expecting word from you to tell me she was safe and of her whereabouts. But it never came.” Varek paused as he watched Christina flash by.

“Instead, I had to face the fact that the man I loved like a brother had covered his tracks so well that he knew I wouldn't stand a chance in hell of ever finding her. All these years of pain and loss would never have been but for you, Massallon. If it wasn't for your interference, Christina would again be my wife.” Turning, Varek's sardonic eyes mocked him, the hatred he now felt for this man he had loved like a brother all too obvious to see. “For you see, the woman that I was forced to take in place of Christina had thankfully died in childbirth after giving Austenburg its heir. Two years had not even passed when I was miraculously free to marry Christina again. But lo and behold, she was nowhere to be found, thanks to you.”

His breath suspended, Sergei stared in dazed disbelief at the archduke. “I did what I thought best at the time. She was so distraught, so...”

“That is right, Massallon, at the time she was distraught, hurt and in need of a friend. I was thankful she had you. I trusted you to watch out for her. I trusted that with time and distance you could have made her understand the situation more clearly. What you did was unforgivable. If not for you, Christina would have been back in my arms the moment it was safe for her. These past years of hell need never have been ...
but ... for ... you."
The last words were forced out through the building rage in Varek's voice. His breathing deep and erratic, Varek stood poised for violence before Sergei, glaring at him with burning accusation. Then shaking his head in disgust, he turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

Sergei stared after him in horror, a deep trembling spreading through him until he thought he would bellow his rage to the world. His mind flashed on the haunting memory of Varek and Christina as children, vowing their eternal love, swearing to each other that never would they part, no matter what came between them, not even death itself.

But death had parted them. The deaths of six little souls.

It had been his responsibility to guide her back home. Instead, he had allowed her to lead them further adrift. He alone could have prevented what had followed, but he had been weak. But why? he agonized. Why? What had he been hoping for? And as always, every time he dared to ask himself this particular question, his mind went blank and guilt smote him.

“My God,” he agonized as his gaze swept the crowd in search of Christina, “what have I done to you?”

Varek paused on the outskirts of the dancing, watching his wife with a hunger that bit sharply into his heart.

His wife!

He still thought of her as such; he had never stopped. When she laughed again at something her partner said, his eyes slid closed. Above all the noise and bustle of the congested room he could hear only her. He knew how she looked when she laughed like that, how her head tilted back, her long lashes sweeping her flushed cheeks as she flirted with him, tantalizing him, knowing he couldn't do a damn thing about it. Tilting at the dragon she had always teased, knowing how his retribution would come later, his sweet retribution that she had always so longed for. How she had loved to tease him, how he had loved her light-hearted bantering.

At that moment he felt so brittle that he feared if he moved a step he would shatter into a million pieces.
My God, married! Christina, how could you?

Opening his eyes, a brilliant hardness shone through the deceiving moisture in the arctic blue, making them appear cold and predacious. He hated the fact that she was still as beautiful as ever, as if the last hellish years had made no impact on her whatsoever. Had she ever truly loved him? he now wondered as the rage sucked him deeper into the swirling abyss of suffocating memories. Her figure was still slender, yet her curves seemed richer, lusher. He felt feverish as he watched how her breasts pressed against the chest of the bastard holding her too closely.

Stiffening his already tensed shoulders, Varek moved forward, intent on only one thing.

The greetings tossed his way were ignored as his long legs made short work of the distance. Years of pain and betrayal were crossed in a matter of mere seconds and in those few short moments his whole life seemed to shift and then settle into a brilliant sharpness. Afraid to take his eyes off his wife for fear that with the mere blink of his eyes she would disappear again, he navigated through the press of people toward her. He felt like a floundering ship struggling to reach the safety of her distant beacon, shimmering bright and luminous in a sea grown suddenly dull to an obscure gray. His nostrils flared as if he had caught her own special scent in the overheated room.

At long last, he had found her and soon he would finally be at rest.

Robert laughed as Christina stumbled and stepped on
his
foot! He looked down meaning to tease her when he felt a frisson of fear. Her face was a stark white mask, her eyes wide and filled with horror.

Their steps faltered together. “Christina, what is it?”

Her bloodless lips barely moved as she murmured, “Please, Robert, I need some air.”

Her gaze was locked on something over his shoulder. As he escorted her quickly from the floor, Robert glanced in the direction where her attention had been fixed and saw a strange man bearing down on them, an almost feral determination in the ice-blue eyes that were trained directly on Christina. The man was overwhelming in his size, his military upright posture tensed and lethal. This stranger meant danger; he could feel it in his bones.

Possessively, Robert wrapped Christina's cold hand about his arm. He could feel her body shaking. “Who is that man?”

“Please, let's hurry,” Christina pressed, casting a hounded look over her shoulder.

Robert bit down on his curiosity and as swiftly as the crowd would allow, he led her toward one of the entrances.

“Christina!” The man's deep voice reached them, causing her to pull up short, her nails digging into Robert's sleeve.

Taking a deep breath, she spun around and stared up at Varek, not knowing what to say. Even though she had steeled herself for this moment, she felt the ground beneath her feet shift, and the beating of her heart deafened her. It had been so many years since she had last seen him. Six very long hard years of trying to forget him and what they had shared together. And now, just when she had finally contented herself with what fate had tossed her, he walked back into her life with the force of a volcanic eruption. She hated him more at that moment than she had over all their lost years. And, God help her, she still loved him as if those same years had never been.

Desperately, she stepped closer to Robert and pasted a smile on her stiff lips. “Your highness, how are you? It's been a long time.”

Varek's glacial stare flicked rudely over Robert before dismissing him with insulting precision. Christina flinched when he turned that freezing glare back upon her.

“I wish to speak with you, Christina. Now. Alone.” His low, clipped voice was strange to her ears. In all the years they had shared, never had she heard Varek speak to her in such a cold, commanding manner.

Robert took a menacing step forward, but Christina held him back. Swallowing, she said quickly, “Your highness, allow me to introduce you to my husband, Viscount Basingstoke, Robert St. Pole.” She turned slightly toward Robert; however, every nerve was still centered on the golden giant looming over them.

“My dear,” she began then faltered when Varek's gaze, still pinned unmercifully on her, flared into an inferno of enraged emotions at the endearment directed at another man. She had to swallow past the obstruction of fear tightening her throat. “His Royal Highness, the Archduke Varek von Vischering of Austenburg.”

Varek ignored Robert's stilted bow and demanded again, “Now, Christina.”

It was clear to Christina that he was in a foul enough humor to cause a scene if he found it necessary in order to get his way. Glancing over his shoulder, she saw Sergei approaching them through the press of revelers, and it was then that she noticed the inquisitive glances directed their way. Even Viscount Castlereagh had paused in his conversation to gaze curiously at them, a look of disapproval darkening his usually courteous expression.

“Very well, your highness.” Cornered and nervous, she had no choice but to agree. Varek, with his usual ruthless authority, was making certain of her compliance. This time as she turned to Robert she met his confused and angry gaze and gave him a weak smile of reassurance.

His voice was low as he inquired of her, “It's him, isn't it?”

Avoiding Robert's scrutiny, she nodded reluctantly. Her hand reached for his, and briefly their fingers entwined, clinging, before he stepped back to let her pass. Then he was joined by Sergei who came to stand beside him. For the first time in their strange acquaintance, the two men stood together in silent accord as they faced Varek, both tensed and ready for any problem.

Varek sketched them a mocking bow before he held out his arm to Christina. There was a moment of strained indecision before she finally placed her fingers on his sleeve. She barely had the chance to steady herself after this first initial contact with him before he swept her into his arms and the room spun about her in a giddy kaleidoscope of confusing colors and sounds. With the speed of a bullet to the heart, Christina's past flashed before her, and she melted for the merest second into Varek's familiar embrace. If the world had come to a stop at that very moment, Christina would have died happy.

As Varek pulled her gently closer, effortlessly guiding her through the swaying steps, the scent of him was the antidote that her life had been missing all these years and she breathed him in as if she would never get enough of its soothing strength. It was as if they had never been apart. Glancing up, she was drawn to his gaze like the lodestone he had always been. His eyes, so cold and distant minutes ago, now were warm and searching, his stern lips full and sensuous, softening in response to the feel of her pressed against him. He was as affected by this moment as she, both more than willing to offer their hearts generously with never a mention of the hell they had both wandered through in their search for each other.

Then reality flashed by her in the form of her husband, standing on the edge of the dance floor, frowning at her. With a gasp, she jerked herself upright. With her next breath, she deliberately replaced the distance of six years between them.
God help me, what am I doing?
Frantically, she looked about her, searching for an escape, not so much from the man holding her as from herself.

Christina gasped as the arm about her waist tightened till she was forced indecently close against his hard, muscular frame. Her heart pounded, her breath caught, almost strangling her, as she felt her breasts rub with erotic familiarity against him. She was tall for a woman, looking down on many men, unintentionally intimidating them; however, she had always fit like a glove against Varek's impressive height. The room tilted alarmingly as she remembered how Varek used to love her, his sweat-sheened body glistening in the moonlight as he rose above her, their souls as closely mated as their bodies. Feeling as if she were drowning, and fighting desperately for her life, she made the mistake of turning her gaze up to Varek for help. A stranger faced her again, his gaze the glittering, piercing eyes of a predator about to move in on his hypnotized prey, arrogant in his knowledge that he would not fail.

God, how she wanted to pull away from him, slap him; wanted to punish him for what he had done to her. The fact that he had had no choice did not matter to her anymore. It had become such a simplistic point of fact in her life: he had hurt her and now she wanted to hurt him in return. Past anger sizzled to life in her bruised heart.