My Angel (31 page)

"Yes..." she whimpered.

He pushed her away, his lip curling hi haughty disdain. "Even if you carry my child?"

She felt the chill sweep between them. "You can't offer me what he can."

"I haven't proposed anything, nor will I. When you carry my child, you won't lie with anyone except me unless I say different."

It was an arrogant command--one he couldn't enforce. Anger as well as passion replaced the chill until she burned with unleashed fury.

"Bastard," she said silkily, shifting her hips so her breasts swayed, inviting his touch once more. She knew she was beautiful and irresistible. All her lovers had told her so. "No one, not even my father, tells me what to do. Especially not a lowly stable hand," she taunted, one hand on a hip, a pose she meant to entice him with.

"Bitch," he told her. "I will tell you what to do, and you'll do what I say, even if I have to tie you to my bed to enforce my demands."

He gave her a swat and pointed to the bed. She walked to the only chair in the room and sat down. She draped one leg casually over the arm of the chair.

She beckoned him with one finger, posturing. Ivan leaned against the door frame, watching her, his eyes roving with an appreciative gleam. Already he was under her spell.

"I told you to go to the bed, wench." His voice softened. "But if you mean to disobey..." The threat hung in the air, his smile wicked as his gaze traveled the length of her.

She shuddered at the implication. "Have you forgotten so soon? I do what I please. There isn't a man on earth who can command me, least of all you," she repeated, then moistened her lips, her top white teeth tucking her bottom lip beneath in a seductive gesture.

Ivan didn't move, yet his muscles coiled and he looked primed and ready to attack. She loved and hated him all at the same time. She knew she'd gone too far, taunting him the way she had. But he needed to understand that he was a hired hand and she was about to become the mistress of the estate. His job--his livelihood--depended on her approval.

One dark eyebrow quirked upward. "Is that so?" He still didn't move. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his
voice low. The smile she'd seen on his face earlier no longer curled his full lower lip.

"Yes." She tilted her chin upward, but her reply sounded weak. He would heel to her before this night was over, she vowed. The princess and her stable master, yes, she liked the sound of that.

Feodora put her hands under her breasts and pushed them up and out. Momentarily his gaze dropped to her breasts then back up. She ran her hands down her naked body, posing for him.

"Come to me," she purred.

"You must be cold," he told her. "When you're ready to climb into my bed, I'll pleasure you. Otherwise I'll take you when and if the whim hits."

Ivan turned his back to her and walked out the door into the stable.

"Ivan!" Her cry was hoarse, and she hated him at that moment more than she'd ever hated anyone. He'd just rejected her offer. How dared he. She wanted to strike out at him, wanted to leave and show him he couldn't get away with this uppity manner.

She heard the whisper of his footfalls, the soft sounds he made to the horses to calm them. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine his touch upon her. He'd smell like the stable when he returned--if he returned.

She shivered and looked to the bed, knowing what she wanted, yet unwilling to give him the upper hand. Her teeth gritted together hard; she was determined she would not back down in her quest to tame the stable hand. A cold draft suddenly spilled through the crudely made walls of his room. Once more she stared at his bed and the plush warm quilt that lay atop it, stared longingly. Goose bumps rose on her arms and legs, and her nipples became taut little buds.

Suddenly she felt vulnerable and at a great disadvantage. He'd done that on purpose. "Damn you, Ivan," she shrieked, and didn't care how witchy she sounded.

She rubbed her arms and her legs. Still determined to win this battle, she didn't move. Instead she looked for her clothes.

They were gone, vanished into the blackness of the stables. "Bastard," she grated out, knowing full well Ivan was responsible for their disappearance. He must have kicked them out of the way when he strode from the room, defying her. Petty revenge, she told herself. They would surely be just around the corner, just outside.

Feodora scrambled on hands and knees, searching through the straw and dirt of the stable for her clothes. He'd done something with them. In the suffocating darkness she found nothing.

"Well, what a tantalizing sight for my senses," Ivan said.

His laughter infuriated her.

At the same time he spoke, she felt his hands on her naked bottom, squeezing her gently, caressing her intimately. A whimper escaped her before she could push the sound back. She tried to stand, but one hand on the small of her back held her in place.

"You aren't going anywhere," he told her. "I suddenly feel like having you."

"Ivan, I can't find my clothes."

"For what I've planned, you don't need them."

He gently caressed the tips of her breasts. "Ivan..."

He was behind her. "That's what I like to hear. My name on your lips. Say it again, sweetheart, and perhaps I'll show a bit of mercy."

She stiffened, realizing how quickly she'd lost the upper hand. One long finger, then two, delved inside her, his thumb teasing her, seeking her pleasure. For a moment he withdrew from her and she almost cried out to him. Then behind her she felt the coarse wool of his trousers upon her back, the worn material of his shirt, and now she felt his arousal, hard and probing.

He thrust inside her, his hands hugging her breasts, his lips brushing light kisses down her spine. "You are mine until I tell you differently. Don't ever refuse an order.'' His whispered words warmed her neck; his kisses nipped across her shoulders. "You can't ever win."

"Ivan... please."

He prolonged the ultimate satisfaction, taunting her, playing with her. "By the time Alexi arrives home, you'll be huge with my child," he told her. Grabbing hold of her hips he thrust again and again, deeper each time until she could hold nothing back from him.

She cried out in pleasure.

He emptied himself deep inside her and held himself there. Minutes later he withdrew, and, sweeping her into his arms, he walked with her to his bed.

"You will get under the covers and you will stay there," he told her, his meaning clear.

She nodded and obeyed, unable to do anything else. Feodora wanted him again, and it shamed her that she could not control the man. He was only a lowly stable hand, nothing more, but he gave orders as if he'd had years of training, as if he'd been born to command.

She fell asleep in his bed without the warmth of him next to her. She awoke alone in his bed, the sun shining through the dirty, streaked window. Her clothes lay neatly folded on the chair. She dressed quickly and, sweeping her hair into a knot on top of her head, she dashed across the lawn to the narrow, dark stairway and headed for her room.

~ * ~

From a downstairs window Natasha and Ivan watched Feodora.

"You really think this will work?" Natasha's whole body trembled with fear for her grandson and worry for her friend who was ill. "I will not sit by and watch Alexi fall prey to that witch."

Ivan nodded thoughtfully. "This plan of ours will work. Don't worry about the trip you've planned. You have to go. You've waited far too long as it is. That friend of yours needs you at his side."

"I can't help but worry."

"Don't. There is nothing Feodora can do here. Misha and Alexi will be home in a few days time."

"But--"

Ivan held up his hands to stop Natasha. "No arguing. Feodora can do no harm. And in the meantime I will enjoy the satisfaction of sweet revenge."

Feodora had a lot to answer for where his family was concerned. Her father had waged war on his people, and had all but annihilated them. She sailed artlessly through life, never thinking of anyone but herself. She was a spoiled, greedy little brat.

Yes, Ivan had plans for her, and if Feodora refused to cooperate, she would find herself abducted and settled into a harem--from which she would never escape.

Chapter Eleven

The sun had just cast its first golden spires of light upon the ocean when Alexi stepped onto deck. Over a week ago he'd spent the better part of his days standing by while his men wenched and drank in the taverns along
London
's waterfront. Unable to keep his mind from thoughts of Angela's soft golden hair and her lithe young body, he'd returned to his cabin a few minutes after midnight.

When he'd looked in on Angela, she had been asleep in his bed, her hair in careless disarray across his pillows. Dressed in a soft white nightdress buttoned all the way to her neck, she had unknowingly invited him, beckoned for his touch. He'd given in to his baser urges, and without further thought had walked to her. He'd held a few silken strands in his fingers, touched her cheek and let his imagination play havoc with his heart.