Free Flight to Verechenko by Margaret Pemberton Page B

that my attentions were not altogether unwelcome, despite your later protestations. I wonder if I was right?’ And before she could resist, he had pulled her firmly towards him, kissing her full on the mouth.
    She beat her hands frenziedly against his chest, fighting against every instinct that urged her to succumb, to wind her arms around his neck and knot her fingers in the tight, black curls.
    His lips seared hers, burning and bruising. Without the strong support of his arms she would have fallen. She could no longer breathe, her heart was beating so painfully, the blood pounding through her veins. There was a strange light in the dark eyes as he finally released her.
    â€˜You are … insolent!’ she gasped, blinking back a surge of hot, humiliating tears.
    â€˜You are bewitching,’ he said, and his eyes were bold and black and blatantly appraising.
    She gave a strangled sob and slapped him across the face with all the strength that remained to her, running blindly inside as he stood, one hand to his face, watching with a curious expression in his eyes as she disappeared into the chandelier-lit rooms.
    Catherine ran along the crimson-carpeted corridors to her room faced with a bitter truth. She did not hate Dominic Harland. Her feelings for him were far more turbulent. Far more disturbing. Was it possible she was in love with him? A man she had left England rather than marry? A man who had left England rather than marry her? She lay on her bed and stared into the darkness with anguished eyes.
    All through the night she tossed and turned restlessly. She was under no delusion that Dominic’s kiss had meant anything to him more than another chance to humiliate her. If only she had taken Caroline’s advice and stayed to meet him …
    But then, she thought savagely, pummelling the pillows, he wouldn’t have been there to meet. What if she had gone immediately to Geddings and confronted him before he had left? Would that have made any difference? Would he have reconsidered then?
    A fresh wave of misery swept over her. He wasn’t in love with her now, so why should he have fallen in love with her then? Only now it was worse. Now he thought her a woman of light virtue. She wasn’t at all sure that he believed her explanation for being alone in the London streets in the early hours of the morning. And seeing her dance with that great oaf Bestuzhev would have only reinforced his opinion.’
    She stared sleeplessly at the cherub-encrusted ceiling. As a governess he would never entertain any serious ideas about her no matter what she did. She wondered if Amelia Cunningham was pretty. Springing from the bed she lit the lamp and surveyed her hair in the mirror. Dominic had been right. The dye was fading, the copper-coloured glints showing clearly. With her hair its natural colour she would stand far more chance of attracting his admiration, but how to explain to the Countess that she had had it dyed?
    Despondently she climbed back into bed and tried to sleep, but even in her dreams he followed her: sensually aware, mockingly confident. Worst of all, indifferent. When she woke she felt as if she had not slept at all. Heavy-eyed and weary she took the children downstairs to the salon.
    Outside the salon doors Olga waited, fat arms folded across her bosom, black silk straining at the seams.
    â€˜It is my turn to take the children this morning,’ she said triumphantly as Catherine approached.
    Puzzled, Catherine halted, a child held by each hand.
    â€˜Every month I take the children to Cheka, my village.’
    â€˜Then I must see the Countess.’ Catherine said reasonably.
    Olga laughed, showing small, crooked teeth.
    â€˜Come to Olga,’ she said, bending down towards the children.
    Alexander pouted. ‘Don’t want. Want to stay with Eleanor.’
    â€˜Now come along, Barinushka,’ Olga coaxed, ‘You come with old Olga.’ Olga pulled him towards her.
    He