Page 14 of You Belong to Me
When Constantin had rehearsed this conversation in his mind, he had decided the word “beg” was brilliant, designed to let her know that he had been completely on her side in this before she became unreasonable in her refusal to marry. But her expression said she couldn’t have cared less.
“So when did he write to you?” she demanded.
He had been dreading that question, had hoped she wouldn’t have thought of it. Now all her rage would come squarely down on his head, because he couldn’t lie about this when she was likely to get the truth from Count Petroff. “He didn’t.”
“Youdid?!”
“You have given me no choice,” he said defensively. “You’re twenty-five years old and still without a husband. If you had made the slightest effort to change that fact—”
“I don’tneeda husband!”
“Every woman needs a husband!”
“Who says so?”
“God in His wisdom—”
“You mean Constantin Rubliov in his!”
They were down to arguments they’d had before, ground he found much more familiar. “You need a husband to give you children.”
“I don’t want children!”
The lie was so blatantly obvious, he had to say so, though his voice gentled to a near whisper. “You know that isn’t true, Alex.”
Alexandra was close to tears in her fury—at least she told herself that her anger was responsible for her upset emotions andnotthe fact that she was childless and so far beyond a marriageable age that it was laughable. At times like this, she actually hated the man she’d sworn to wait for. Although Christopher still wrote to her frequently since he’d left Russia three years ago, not one of his lettershad contained the marriage proposal she longed for.
She had nearly reached the point of finally giving up on Christopher, though she hadn’t told her father so. Obviously she should have. Perversely, what her father had done had just changed her mind. But even if she weren’t in love with someone else, she wouldn’t accept a complete stranger for a husband. Betrothals were archaic. That her father had arranged one for her wasn’t merely intolerable, it was outrageous.
She tried to moderate her tone and was only slightly successful. “When that man arrives, do the begging you would have done and get rid of him. You can give him Sultan’s Pride for his trouble in coming here.”
She’d managed to shock him. “You wouldgiveaway your prize stud?”
“Do you begin to see that I don’t want a stranger for a husband?” she countered, though the words were almost sticking in her throat. She’d raised Sultan’s Pride from a colt and loved him passionately.
“He won’tbea stranger once you meet him. For God’s sake, Alexandra, Simeon’s son is first cousin to King Stefan of Cardinia. Do you realize what a prime catch he is?”
“Is that supposed to matter to me?”
He came to his feet, facing her angrily across the desk. “Yes, and it most certainly matters to me. Besides, you are deliberately ignoring the fact that a betrothal is as binding as a marriage. This one was arranged in goodfaith, with the best of intentions, and duly sworn to by Simeon and me. And, my girl, after all these years, Vasili Petroff is still unwed.Youare still unwed. So we can no longer in good conscience delay the nuptials.”
“You could at least ask him to tear up that damn contract!” she cried.
“You could at least give the man a chance. He is coming here to marry you, thereby honoring his father’s word. How can you do any less?”
“Honor,” she choked. “You would make this a matter of honor?”
Constantin hesitated. He’d known she would be angry, but now she looked as if she were about to cry, and he couldn’t stand to see her cry. It was that damn Englishman, he thought furiously. She was still hopeful that he would marry her. Such misplaced loyalty. But it was a father’s duty to protect his daughter from her own foolishness. However, he would end the betrothal, even if he had to confess the truth to do it, if there was no chance that Petroff could make her happy. But he wasn’t going to end it before that could be ascertained.
“It already is a matter of honor. I gave my word when I signed the betrothal contract.”
Her fingers curled into fists, and she slammed both against his desk before she turned her back on him. For good measure, she kicked the chair she had vacated, toppling it over.
“There’s no call to wreck my study,” her father said stiffly.
“You’re wrecking my life,” she replied bitterly.
“What life? All you care about is the horses. You spend nearly your every waking moment in the stables. Half the time I think that you forget you’re a woman.”
