Dawn was but a promise on the horizon, yet Dimitri continued to watch the woman sleeping in his arms. She was beautiful, her long lashes fanning on her creamy cheeks, her lips swollen from his kisses.
She had been all he had wanted and more. Her passion rivaled his own and had led to a mating unlike anything in his experience. What they had shared had been more than lovemaking. It had been a bonding, a giving of more than bodies. For once in his life, he had felt treasured for himself and not his birthright.
It terrified him.
He couldn’t marry her. His future was laid out for him. Yet how could he let her go? This intriguing woman who fought him, defied him, had become important. Too damned important.
But by this time next year, he would be king. He would have a wife.
Dimitri closed his eyes briefly. The thought of sharing with Anya what he had experienced with Cynda was repulsive. But Anya was the one who would have to bear the heirs to the throne.
He ran his fingertips lightly over Cynda’s cheek. What if he left her with child from this night? A royal bastard. His father had many of those.
Grimacing, Dimitri drew his hand into a fist. The last thing he wanted was to be like his father.
Yet he could not imagine a future without this woman, and his father had the solution.
Dimitri would make her his mistress.
Dimitri jerked awake when Cynda stirred in his arms. Sunlight streamed through the heavy burgundy curtains to highlight the gold in her hair. He ran his hand over it, the silky tendrils as soft as the rest of her.
Cynda opened her eyes, blinked, shut them, then opened them again. “Are you really here?” she whispered.
With a chuckle, he bent forward to kiss her. “I’m here.” Instantly, he grew hard with need. In fact, he had been craving her all night.
As her lips softened beneath his, sweet and pliable, he slid the comforter down to her waist to reveal her rose-tipped breasts. The nipples peaked in the morning chill, and he reached to caress them, earning a quiet moan from Cynda.
He released her lips, but continued to trace circles around her tightening crests.
Her breathing grew more ragged. “I thought you were a dream.”
“A dream, eh?” Pushing her onto her back, he drew one breast into his mouth, teasing the rigid tip with his tongue, while he kept his hand busy caressing her other.
Cynda gasped and arched higher, deeper into his mouth, and he suckled more deeply, taking her into him as she would soon sheathe him. She was sweet, hot, passionate. He couldn’t resist her.
From the moment he had kissed her, he had known this moment would come, no matter how much he had tried to deny it. She gave him a sense of belonging he had never known. With her, he was a man, and that was all he needed to be.
He mouthed her other breast as he slid his hand lower beneath the comforter to find her wet and ready. When he gently rubbed her swollen nub, she cried out in a sound that was half pleasure and half pain.
“A dream?” he repeated.
He drew back and entered her with one swift movement, burying himself in her welcoming heat. His groan of ecstasy mixed with her gasp. Her muscles clenched around him, and he froze for a moment, afraid this wonderful sensation would end too soon.
Cynda slid her hands over his chest, then surprised him by wrapping her legs over his hips, allowing him to plunge even deeper. Heaven.
He found his rhythm and made her his. She was a part of him now. Nothing . . . no one . . . would equal this, and he would allow nothing to take her from him.
“Dimitri!” She cried out his name as she arched against the bed, and her muscles vibrated around him, bringing him to his release.
His breathing ragged, he pinned her beneath his body as he captured her lips again, claiming her. Her passion equaled his as she returned his kiss, running her hands over his back and lower to squeeze his buttocks.
He rocked against her, growing partially erect inside her. What was it about this woman? She lacked proper upbringing and opposed him constantly, yet he wanted her more each minute.
Placing kisses over her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, he smoothed back her tousled hair. “You are mine now,” he declared.
“Oh, am I?” She sounded amused, and Dimitri frowned. He was quite serious.
“You will be my mistress.” She tensed beneath him, and he hurried to reassure her. “I will find a place for you near the castle where we can be discreet. You will be well taken care of.”
She pushed hard at his shoulders. “I don’t think so.”
Her rejection stunned him, and he allowed her to slide out from beneath him. Grabbing a sheet, she wrapped it around herself, then faced him, her blue eyes sparking. “I have no intention of being your mistress,” she declared.
Dimitri stood slowly, his blood going cold. Here he had thought she was different from other women. “I will not marry you.”
Rolling her eyes, she released her breath in a huff. “I don’t expect you to marry me. I know that will never happen.”
He blinked. Again she surprised him. “Am I mistaken? I believe you shared my pleasure in our joining.”
Her expression softened. “Dimitri, it was wonderful. Beyond wonderful.”
Taking her shoulders, he pulled her into his arms, and she didn’t resist. Instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder with a sigh. “Then, you will be my mistress.” He had made up his mind. “For I intend to share many more nights like this with you.”
She looked up at him, sorrow in her gaze. “No, Dimitri. You’ve told me about your parents and their marriage. I don’t intend to let your children suffer what your parents have done to you.”
Guilt poured through him like hot oil. The last thing he wanted to do was harm his future children. Painful memories of listening to the arguments between his parents filled his mind. He had wanted to help, to stop the bitter words, yet hadn’t known how. He closed his eyes for a moment. How easily he could dismiss his principles for sexual gratification. She was right.
Yet after all they had shared, how could he let her go?
She withdrew from his embrace and walked to the window. “Besides, I’ll be leaving soon.”
“There is no urgency.” He spoke quickly, battling a sudden surge of panic.
“I’m afraid I have a time limit.” She pushed her hair back, hair he longed to run his fingers through, then faced him again. “I have something I have to tell you. I doubt you’ll believe me, but it’s urgent that you do.”
The seriousness of her tone sent a chill along his spine. “What is it?” Was she married?
Instead of responding, she padded into the main room and stared at his portrait. Dimitri tugged on his trousers and went to stand behind her.
“This portrait survives over a hundred years,” she said. “It even makes it through a fire.”
Dimitri wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against him. She wasn’t making any sense. “Cynda—”
“Dimitri, I restored this exact same portrait back to its original state.”
What? He didn’t understand. Was he missing something in her English?
She turned to face him, her face so solemn he ached. “I’m from the future, from the year two thousand and fourteen.” Her words tumbled out in a rush.
Dimitri stared at her. The future? Impossible. Had she hit her head? Had last night’s episode at the ball upset her more than he thought? “Cynda—”
“Don’t patronize me.”
The firm set of her jaw indicated she meant what she said. But how could she?
“There was a nameplate that went on this portrait. When I found it, I was thrown back in time to here, to you.” She bit her lip. “I think I’m here to save your life.”
That again. After last night, he might believe some danger existed, but that didn’t make her from the future. “And you did,” he said.
She shook her head. “According to an article I read in the Hope Springs Times, you were killed on December twelfth, here at The Chesterfield.”
Just over a month away. Dimitri shrugged off the cold fingers that scraped his neck. He couldn’t believe her.
Evidently, she read his dismissal of her words on his face, for she grabbed his arm. “Believe me, please. The nameplate had a dent in it, like from a bullet.”
“There is no nameplate.” In fact, the portrait was still only about half complete.
“You have to leave here before it’s too late.” The urgency of her voice created a lump in his throat. Obviously, she believed this foolishness. He drew her into his arms again. If only Drake Manton, the well-known mesmerist, was visiting the resort, Dimitri could take Cynda to visit him.
“I couldn’t leave Grandmère even if I wanted to.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be fine.”
She trembled, and he tightened his hold. Until this moment, he never would have believed she was subject to such fantasies. Somehow, he had to clear this idea from her mind.
“Come, get dressed and I’ll go change. We can work on the painting.”
“No.” She pulled free and advanced on the portrait. “I can’t finish it. I have to destroy it If it’s not here, then maybe you won’t be killed.”
She lifted her hand as if to smash the canvas, and Dimitri rushed to grab it. “You will not destroy this portrait.” He needed it to remind him of Cynda.
As if he would ever forget her.
“This portrait could get you killed.”
“Nonsense. This portrait has been commissioned, and you are obligated to finish it.”
When she shook her head again, he increased the pressure of his fingers around her wrist. “If you don’t finish the painting, then you no longer have need of a sponsor.”
Her stunned expression revealed that she understood. Without his patronage, she would have nowhere to go.
“You would do that?” she asked in disbelief.
He fixed his gaze on her. “I would.” But he trusted her common sense would not force him into such an action, for he doubted he could send her away.
Her surprise gave way to a momentary bleakness that made him yearn to hold her again. She tugged her wrist free, glaring at him. “Very well.” Her voice was cold. “Then, I’ll finish the damned thing.”
She entered her bedroom and slammed her door. Dimitri sighed. Couldn’t she see he was doing this for her own good? She needed an activity to keep her mind off these delusions, and he needed her . . . in his life, if not in his bed.
He stared at the portrait only to encounter his mocking gaze. How could she possibly be the one to paint it, then restore it a hundred years later? She might be an extraordinary woman, but she was not from the future.
Shaking his head, he headed for the suite door. Perhaps he could ask Drake Manton to make a special visit.
For now, he needed to figure out how to get into his room before Alexi or his grandmother saw him.
He wanted her to finish the portrait? She would finish the portrait all right, but not until after December 12.
Over a week later, Cynda was still working on the same small piece of the painting. Thrusting back memories of his delicious lovemaking, she glanced over to where Dimitri stood and returned to slowly detailing his regal jacket.
Very slowly.
But working at this pace gave her mind time to drift. The sash over his breast hid a well-muscled chest that she longed to caress again. The jacket’s tailored cut disguised taut thighs and the most wonderful piece of man she had ever experienced.
Her cheeks grew warm as she remembered that wonderful night. She didn’t regret it, but it made her want more. And she wouldn’t be his mistress, no matter how much she longed for him.
She had heard the anguish in his voice when he had mentioned his parents and his father’s mistresses. The agony of his parents’ marriage had hurt him. She couldn’t compound that hurt. He might want her now, but in time he would hate her for destroying his values.
Besides, she didn’t belong here. She came from a world with microwaves and cell phones and Jacuzzis.
Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back. It didn’t matter. Come the solstice, she was returning home.
“Are you all right?”
She jerked her head up to find Dimitri standing beside the easel, his gaze perceptive. “I’m fine.”
She looked away quickly before he could see her desire for him and stared at the portrait, but found no relief there. The same soft pewter eyes captured her heart.
“Is that all the progress you’ve made?” Dimitri moved behind her. “You’ve been working for over a week and are still on the jacket?”
“I want to ensure I have the braids correct.”
“Cynda . . .” His voice held a warning note.
She didn’t look around as she picked up her rag and wiped her hands. “I think we’re done for today. I need to go into town and get some more pigments.”
Dimitri remained silent for several moments. “Very well,” he said. “I will accompany you.”
“I prefer to go by myself.” The muscles in her neck ached as it was from the tension of being near him and not touching him.
“It is not proper. I will accompany you.”
He turned toward the door, and she sighed. He was in kingly mode. Arguing wouldn’t do much good. Funny how things were proper when it suited him.
Ever since she had made the mistake of telling him she was from the future, he had treated her like a child who had to be kept from running into the street. Except when their gazes met, then his passion struck Cynda with such force she could barely breathe.
He still wanted her.
And Lord knew she wanted him.
How was she ever going to survive the remaining six weeks until she could leave? And how would she ever regain the heart she would most surely leave behind?
Not many people roamed the streets of Hope Springs today. Cynda shivered within her cloak. She understood completely. The icy wind off the mountains pierced right through her clothing. Though they hadn’t seen snow since that one unusual day in October, she expected more at any time. Eyeing the dark clouds tumbling over the hills, she grimaced. Maybe even today.
She didn’t spend long at the Emporium. She hadn’t really needed many pigments, but had wanted to escape Dimitri’s presence. Glancing at him, tall and silent beside her, she sighed. Well, that hadn’t worked.
“Do you wish to stop at the Café of Dreams?” he asked.
“No, I’m not—” She stopped. If her suspicions were correct, Corrie Garrett might be from the future as well. Would she confirm Cynda’s story to Dimitri? Would she confirm anything at all?
Why would she, even if it was true? She was happily married with a wonderful husband, a successful business and a baby. Maybe if Cynda could talk to her alone . . . “Not today.”
“Very well.” Dimitri touched her elbow and turned her toward the stables where he had left the buggy.
They passed several small groups of men, most of them carrying rifles, and Cynda frowned. The sight of so many guns sent shivers of foreboding down her spine. “Why does everyone have a gun?”
“This is the time of year for hunting,” Dimitri replied dryly.
“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. Still, that fact would make it very easy for someone with a gun to approach Dimitri unnoticed.
Evidently, her expression gave her away, for Dimitri stopped and swung her to face him. “Cynda, I am not going to die.”
She met his gaze, her heart clenching. “I hope not.”
“Cynda—” His voice rose, but when a passing couple glanced at them, he broke off and tugged her into a nearby alley instead. Deep in the dark recesses, he held her shoulders, forcing her to look at him.
“You have to give up this foolishness,” he ordered. “You are as likely to be shot at as I am. Johnson is in jail. Chief Garrett has assured me he is not likely to be released any time soon.”
“But I’m telling you the truth.” She stomped her foot, then grimaced at the childish action. “I read the article with my own eyes. I mourned for you even before I knew you.”
His expression softened, and he lifted one hand to the curve of her cheek. “I worry about you, Cynda. There is a mesmerist in Richmond. He helps people with problems like yours. I could take you to see him.”
His touch only reminded her how much she wanted him and she found herself leaning into his palm. “I don’t need a shrink. What can I do to convince you I am from the future?”
“Show me some proof.”
Her hopes dropped. Her clothing had disappeared soon after her arrival, she’d tossed her watch when it quit working, and her purse remained in the dirt and ruin of the future Chesterfield. “I have nothing.”
Dimitri lowered his other hand to her waist and drew her closer to his warmth while he continued to caress her cheek. “Then, promise me you will mention this no more.”
He bent closer, his breath mingling with hers. “Promise me.”
With her heart lodged in her throat, Cynda could barely speak. She nodded. She wouldn’t mention it, but neither would she forget it. Somehow, she would save Dimitri’s life whether he believed her or not.
When his lips brushed hers, she sighed, as if she had received a special treat. How could she continue to deny him when she wanted him so badly?
He groaned and embraced her tightly, melding her body along his, leaving her in no doubt that his passion equaled her own. “Cynda.” He deepened the kiss, his lips as commanding as his personality.
Cynda clung to him, her limbs melting with desire, her senses reeling. She even heard bells.
Wait! Cynda broke free and looked toward the alley entrance. Those were bells.
“What—?”
She glanced toward Dimitri, but he was already rushing into the street to look toward the sound. Hiking her skirt, she ran to his side.
People rushed past them, faces grim.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Fire.” Grasping her hand, Dimitri pulled her with him, following the crowd.
Didn’t they have a fire department? A truck? Cynda searched her memory for a solution. How did people handle a fire in this time period?
Coming to a halt before a blazing building, she gasped. Flames devoured the structure as if they were a living being. It was the boardinghouse if she remembered correctly.
The solution to the fire-fighting problem became quickly apparent. Townspeople formed a line and hefted buckets of water from one to the other, but they didn’t appear to have much effect on the fire.
Dimitri handed Cynda his jacket, and she looked at him in surprise to find him rolling up his sleeves. “Stay here,” he ordered. Before she could reply, he entered the line near the well, adding his muscular strength to those dipping buckets in the water.
For a moment, she became so caught up in watching him work that she forgot about the fury behind her until part of the building crashed inside. The owner, Mrs. Zimmerman, wailed in her native German, and Cynda hurried over to her.
“It’ll be all right.” At a loss for words, she murmured the all-occasion platitude.
“All right?” The woman looked at Cynda as if she were crazy. “My home, my business gone. That is all right?”
Cynda cringed. “You can rebuild.”
“I haf no money, no husband, no sons. How I rebuild?” Mrs. Zimmerman buried her face in her hands, and Cynda hugged her shoulders, offering what small comfort she could.
The arrival of the pump wagon pulled by horses drew Cynda’s attention. The buckets now went to fill the wagon’s tanks as men pumped to fill the thick hose with water. Finally, something was working. With luck, the flames would soon be under control.
The surrounding buildings were mostly brick, thank goodness. The fire shouldn’t spread if they could contain it now.
Searching for Dimitri, Cynda discovered Alexi had joined his brother in the bucket brigade. The brothers worked together filling the pails and passing them on. Dimitri said something, and Alexi grinned in reply, neither pausing in their smooth movements.
Cynda’s stomach clenched. That was how they should be, not feuding with each other. If she hadn’t arrived at The Chesterfield, would they have shared this camaraderie or would the animosity still be there?
Watching them, she couldn’t believe Alexi would harm his brother. It had to be someone else.
But who?
Johnson was in jail. Still, he had mentioned others who hated foreigners as he did.
She whirled around abruptly to face the fire. Would they also burn the business of a German woman?
Moving one step at a time, she drew closer, searching for obvious clues until the heat forced her back. Any signs of deliberate arson would be destroyed in this.
Unease seeped through her veins. She would never be able to prove it, but she would be willing to bet Johnson’s friends had something to do with this.
And that they weren’t finished with Dimitri Karakov either.