A Child Claimed By Gold
‘And it is my duty to ensure my family isn’t upset by your intrusion into our life, Miss Sanders.’ He spoke slowly, his dark eyes hard and glittering, a very clear warning laced into every word. How could she be intruding when the old lady had agreed to be interviewed?
‘I have no wish to upset anyone.’ She looked up at him, into those midnight-black eyes, and knew she couldn’t fight fire with fire. Her life with her mother, before she and Jess had been put into care, had taught her that. If she tried to match his strength and determination, she’d never get this assignment done. She lowered her gaze and looked down at her hands before looking back up from beneath her lashes. ‘I apologise. Can we start again?’
* * *
The request completely stunned Nikolai. Moments ago she’d been brimming with fire. Passionate indignation had burned in her eyes, making his fight not to give in to the temptation to kiss her almost impossible. Now within seconds she’d become soft and compliant. Such a drastic changed filled him with suspicion. She was playing games with him.
‘You want to go back into the cold and shake hands?’ He couldn’t resist teasing her and was rewarded with a light flush of pink to her cheeks.
‘No.’ She laughed softly and her smile made her eyes shine, as if the sun was breaking through the forest and bouncing off fresh, green, spring leaves. ‘I think we should start again with our conversation. Let’s have a hot drink and discuss how we can both help each other out.’
Now he really was surprised. She was up to something, trying to manipulate the situation round to what she wanted. It was what the woman he should have married had always done and he’d been fool enough to let her—until he’d ended the charade that had been their engagement. She’d only wanted him for what he could provide for her.
‘I don’t think there is anything you can offer that will help me, Miss Sanders, but we will have a drink, and I will tell you how the next few days are going to work.’
Before she could say anything else, he signalled to a member of staff and ordered tea—something he wouldn’t have requested in New York but, being back in Russia, his childhood memories were resurfacing in an unsettling way. Until he saw the flicker of interest in her eyes, he hadn’t registered he’d used the first language he’d spoken as a child before his world had been torn apart by the pain of his mother’s secret.
A secret that now haunted him. It was the same secret he suspected his grandmother wanted to unleash in the article and, just like her son, his cruel father, she was spiteful enough to manipulate him back to Russia to witness it all.
‘Please, call me Emma,’ she said, leaning back in the chair opposite him, her jeans, tight around long, shapely legs, snagging his attention, filling his mind with thoughts he had no right to be thinking. ‘And may I call you Nikolai?’
‘Nikolai, yes,’ he replied sharply. He had wanted to change his name to Nik when he’d left Russia as a young child—it had been his way of distancing himself from his father’s family—but his mother had begged him to keep Nikolai, telling him she’d chosen the name because it was a family name and that he should keep some of his Russian roots.
‘I get the distinct impression that you are not at all willing for me to talk to your grandmother, Nikolai—and yet it was her who approached World in Photographs, which makes me think there is something you don’t want told.’
‘How very shrewd.’ And he’d thought he was going to turn on the charm and make her bend to his will. It seemed he’d greatly underestimated this woman. Her act of innocent shyness was exactly that. An act. Just like his ex, she was able to be whatever was necessary to get what she wanted.
‘Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement, one that will give me enough information to complete my job and afford your family enough privacy.’ She sat back in her chair and looked at him, her dark brows raised in a silent show of triumph. If that was what she thought she’d achieved, he’d let her think that—for now.
‘On one condition.’ He picked up his tea, took a sip then met her gaze. He looked into her eyes and for the briefest of moments thought he’d seen anxiety. No, more than that—fear.
‘And what is that condition?’
‘That you tell me why this job is so important to you. Why come all the way from London to Vladimir for the ramblings of an old woman?’ He had no idea if his grandmother rambled; he hadn’t seen her for almost twenty-three years. It had been the day of his father’s funeral and as a bemused ten-year-old he’d had no idea what was going on. No idea why his grandmother had turned him and his mother out. It was only six years later he’d learnt the disturbing truth and had vowed to do all he could to protect his mother from any further pain. A vow he fully intended to keep now.
‘I took the job because it was a way of coming to Russia. It was as if fate was giving me the perfect opportunity. My sister, Jess, has a place at Perm Ballet School and once I’ve got what I need I’m going to spend a few days with her.’ Her lovely green eyes filled with genuine excitement and that familiar pang of injustice almost stifled him. She’d had a happy childhood, had formed bonds with her sister, but his had been far from that thanks to one brutal act by his father, a man he had no wish to acknowledge as such.
‘Your sister is here? In Russia?’ This was the last thing he’d expected to discover and certainly hadn’t turned up when he’d had Emma Sanders’s background checked out. She had debts and she was far from well-known in the field of photography. Other than that, he’d found nothing of any significance. Nothing he could manipulate to make this situation work for him.
‘Yes, ballet is her dream, and I intend to see that she can follow it.’ Her face lit up and pride filled her voice and he saw an entirely different woman from the one he’d met outside just a short while ago. ‘She’s only sixteen and taking this job means I will be able to see her sooner than we’d planned, even if it’s just a few days before I head back to London.’
At least now he could understand why she’d taken the job. Initially his suspicious mind had come to conclusions that weren’t even there. She simply hadn’t enough money to fly to Russia and see her sister so had taken the job. He did, however, still have doubts as to his grandmother’s motives for instigating it all. Just what was she hoping to achieve? But, worse than that, how far was Emma prepared to go in order to impress World in Photographs in an attempt to launch her career?
‘Then we can help one another, Emma. I can take you to places linked with my family’s past where you can take as many photographs as you desire.’ He paused, unsure why he’d used that word. Was it because of the way her body distracted him, making him want her? Colour heightened her cheeks again, making her appear shy and innocent, and he wondered if she understood the underlying sexual tension which was definitely building between them.
‘And can I meet your grandmother? Ask her a few questions?’ Her voice had become a little husky and she bit down on her lower lip, an action he wouldn’t read into. Not if he wanted to stay in control of this nonsense and thwart his grandmother’s attempt at stirring up trouble once more.
‘Yes, but first we’ll go to the places that are linked to my family. I have already made the arrangements for tomorrow.’
She looked happy, as if he’d just handed her a free pass. ‘In that case, I will look forward to spending a few days with you.’
The irritating thing was, he also found himself looking forward to being with her. The very woman he’d wanted to despise on sight and he was undeniably attracted to her.
CHAPTER TWO
THE NEXT MORNING Emma was full of excitement and it wasn’t just that, after a shaky start, this assignment, thanks to Nikolai’s plans, would be done quickly and she could head off to meet Jess. She was taken aback to realise she was also excited to see Nikolai Cunningham again. After yesterday afternoon in his company, she was convinced he couldn’t be as severe as he’d first appeared when she’d stepped off the train. Then he’d created such a formidable picture of power and command and she’d wished she’d been able to photograph him as he’d stood there, glaring at her.
It unnerved her to admit the excitement hadn’t dissipated after they’d met and he’d shown her to his car. If anything it had increased and she had no idea why. After wasting several years worshipping Richard from afar and not being noticed, she didn’t want to fall for the charms of another man—especially one as unattainable as Nikolai Cunningham.
‘Where are we going now?’ The large black car seemed to have glided silently through the white landscape and she’d wished many times she could stop and take photographs. Not for the magazine, but for herself. Her creative mind was working overtime and she saw images as if through the lens all over the place.
‘To the place I knew as home until I was ten years old. It’s just on the outskirts of Vladimir.’ He looked straight ahead as he drove, his profile set into firm, determined lines. She had the distinct impression it was the last place he wanted to go and wondered at his motives for taking her there. He didn’t strike her as a compliant man. Far from it.
‘And who lives there now? Your grandmother?’ she couldn’t help but ask. The brief for the assignment and the need to be professional, to get the job done and leave on time, pushed to the forefront of her mind. She had to get this right, had to put the spin on it the magazine wanted, but everything she’d seen or been told so far was in total contrast to what she was supposed to portray. This wasn’t a happy-ever-after story, unless you counted the global success of Nikolai’s banking business that he’d created to complement his stepfather’s exclusive real-estate business.
His silence deepened and she turned her attention to the road ahead. Moments later the car turned off onto a snow-covered lane that had no tracks on it at all, no hint that anyone had gone that way recently. Was the house empty?
Nikolai spoke harshly, in what she assumed was Russian, and most definitely sounded like a curse. She looked from him to the crumbling façade ahead of what must have once been a great house. It had rounded towers, some with turrets and others with pointed roofs, which reached into the grey sky above. The black holes, where once windows of assorted sizes had looked out over the flat landscape, seemed like watchful eyes.
Emma’s heart went out to Nikolai as she pieced together the small amount she knew about him. None of it made sense, but it was obvious he hadn’t expected this empty shell. She’d planned to take photographs of the place he’d grown up in, maybe even convince him to be in one, but now none of that felt right.
He got out of the car, seemingly unaware of her presence, and for a moment she sat and watched him. Then the photographer in her made that impossible for long. The image of his solitary figure, dressed in dark clothes, standing and looking at the neglected building, stark against the white landscape, was too much of a temptation. She had to take the photo.
Quietly, so as not to disturb him, she got out of the car, her camera in hand. The snow crunched under her boots as she moved a little closer. Seconds later she began taking photos. He remained oblivious to the clicks of the lens and as she looked back through the images she knew she wouldn’t be using them for the article. These told a story of pain and loss and they were for her alone.
‘This is where my family lived before my father died.’ He didn’t turn to speak to her, as if doing so would give away his emotions. Was he afraid of appearing weak? His tone had an icy edge to it, but she waited for him to continue. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen it since I was a ten-year-old boy. My mother and I left for a new life in New York after that.’
‘That must have been hard.’ She moved instinctively towards him, but the cold glare in his eyes as he finally turned to face her warned against it. She just wanted him to know that she understood what it felt like to be displaced in life, not to know who you really were. Just like her and Jess, he’d been pushed from one adult to another and had known great sadness.
‘Hard?’ Nikolai could barely control his anger—not just at this woman, who was bringing all he’d thought he’d forgotten about his childhood back out for inspection, but also at his grandmother for instigating it. ‘I don’t think you could possibly know.’
He thought she’d say something, defend herself, but instead she shrugged, walked back to the car and took out her camera bag. He watched as she set up her tripod and again started to take photos of the old house. The camera clicked and, each time he heard it, it was as if it was opening yet another memory.
‘Do you have any happy memories of this place?’ She looked at him. Against the white snow and grey sky she looked stunning and he allowed this to distract him from the past. He didn’t want to go there, not for anyone.
It was too late. A sense of terror crept over him as he saw himself, a young boy of eight, hiding beneath the antique table his father had been so proud to buy with his new-found wealth. He’d gone there seeing it as a place of safety, sure his father’s temper wouldn’t hurt his latest prized possession. He’d been wrong, very wrong. As his mother had begged and pleaded for his father to leave him alone, he’d been dragged out from beneath the table and lifted off his feet. He’d wriggled like mad, kicking and squealing, desperate to get away, yet knowing if he did his father would turn his attention to his mother. It was him or her and, in a bid to save her from at least one beating, he’d snarled words of hatred at his father. After that he couldn’t remember what had happened.
He didn’t want to.
He pushed the memories back. Analysing them wouldn’t help anyone now, least of all himself.
‘Not here, no,’ he replied sternly and walked over to Emma, who was looking over her shoulder as she viewed the images she’d taken. The house didn’t look so insidious on the screen of the camera, as if viewing it through the lens had defused the terrible memories of living there with his mother and father.
Emma’s scent drifted up through the crisp air to meet him and he closed his eyes as summer flowers triggered happier memories. ‘I was happiest in the summer, when we visited my mother’s family.’
Why had he said that? Inwardly he berated himself for giving her information she could act on. At the thought of the country home his mother’s parents had kept, he realised it was the perfect place to take her. He could hire a troika and sit back and watch as the romance of Russia unfolded. What woman wouldn’t resist such a romantic story? It would be just what he needed to charm her away from the dark secrets he had to keep hidden away.
‘Where was that? Close by?’ Her interest was caught and she looked up at him, smiling and looking happier than he’d seen her since she’d arrived on the train. Then she looked vulnerable—beautiful and vulnerable.
‘It is, yes.’ He could hardly answer her as the attraction wound itself round him, drawing him ever closer to her.
‘Can we go there?’ she asked tentatively, her genuine smile and soft blush doing untold things to him. Why, he didn’t know. He much preferred his women to be bold, dramatic and experienced at mutually beneficial affairs. Instinctively he knew Emma was not like that at all. She was the sort of woman who’d planned out a happy-ever-after, even as a small child. Definitely not for him.
‘We will go tomorrow,’ he said, stepping back from the temptation of this woman.
* * *
The next morning, as instructed by Nikolai, Emma waited, wearing her warmest clothes and even more excited than yesterday. Somehow they had drawn closer with each passing hour yesterday and, even though he didn’t talk to her about the past and let her into his thoughts, he had shown her many wonderful places and she already had lots of images.
She also realised she liked him—perhaps a little too much. If she was honest, she was attracted to him in a way she hadn’t known before, not even with Richard.
‘Ready?’ he said as he met her in the hotel reception.
Like a child about to be shown a Christmas tree, she couldn’t stem the excitement and smiled up at him. He was clean shaven this morning, and as wrapped up as she was, but that didn’t stop the pulse of attraction leaping between them. The only difference was this time his smile reached his eyes and they smouldered at her, making her pulse rate soar.
‘Yes; are we going to the house you told me about yesterday?’
‘We are, yes. The house I spent summers at with my mother and her parents.’
She wanted to ask if his father had gone there too, but didn’t dare risk spoiling the softer mood he was in. She sensed his father was the cause of the sudden change in his mood yesterday at his childhood home, but didn’t have the courage to ask. Instead she focused her attention on what was happening now. ‘Is it far?’
‘No, a short car ride, then something special,’ he said and to her surprise took her hand and led her into the street to the same big, black car he’d driven the previous day. Her heart fluttered as she fought to control the powerful surge of attraction rushing through her; she’d never felt anything like it before.
Then the something special Nikolai had teased her with turned out to be a ride across the snow in a sleigh, pulled by three proud horses, and Emma was totally blown away by the whole experience—and by the enforced close proximity of Nikolai as they sat snuggled under a heavy throw. ‘This is amazing. I can use it in the article.’
‘It’s called a troika; racing them is a tradition from over one hundred years ago that’s enjoying a resurgence.’ She could barely focus on what he was saying as his thigh pressed hard against hers and even through all their layers of clothes her skin felt scorched.
After a little while the troika driver slowed to a halt, the horses snorting into the cold air, and Emma looked at Nikolai. Again something fizzed between them, but this time he held her gaze, looking intently into her eyes just the way she would have envisaged a lover doing. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered softly, her breath hanging briefly in the air, mingling with his in the most intimate way, and making her blush.
‘The pleasure is all mine, Emma.’ The fact that he’d used her name didn’t go unnoticed and a shimmer of pleasure rushed over her, making her shudder, but it wasn’t from the cold. ‘Are you cold?’
‘No, not at all,’ she said, shyness creeping over her, and she lowered her gaze, concentrating on the throw which covered their legs, locking them into the small space together.
With a gloved hand, Nikolai lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him once more, and what she saw in the inky black depths of his eyes was as terrifying as it was exciting. ‘You are very beautiful, Emma.’
She swallowed hard, unable to move away from him, trapped with her legs all but welded to his beneath the cover. ‘You shouldn’t say things like that.’
Was that really her voice? She had no idea she could sound so husky and so trembling at the same time. Deep within her, silly, romantic notions she always shunned sprang to life. Did he really find her attractive? Would he want to kiss her and, if he did, what would it be like?
‘It’s the truth.’
Her heart was thumping in her chest and she was sure he must hear it. Her breathing had become more rapid, and so had his, if their white, misty breath was anything to go by. She searched his face for any hint of teasing, any sign that he was toying with her. She didn’t have any experience with men, but she knew well enough from friends how they could make a woman lose all sense of self, something Richard had never done to her.
There was nothing, not a single trace of him teasing her, and she knew she was in danger of slipping under the spell that the magic of the moment was weaving around them. If they had been in a hotel lounge, talking in front of an open fire as they had done the afternoon she arrived, would he be saying these things to her?
‘I didn’t come here to become mixed up with a man.’ Even as her body yearned for the unknown, her mind kept to the practical issue of keeping her feet firmly on the ground.
‘Do we have to get “mixed up”, as you so nicely put it?’ His voice was deep and laden with a hidden agenda.
She looked away, across the vast, white expanse of the snowy landscape, and asked herself the same question. If she took the kiss she was sure he wanted to give, would that change anything between them? No, because it couldn’t. She had a job to do and then it would be time to move on with her life.
She’d waited in the hope that Richard would move their friendship to something more intimate and now she wondered if that had been wrong. Or was it just Richard who was wrong?
‘No, I guess we don’t.’ She hoped she sounded as though she knew what she was doing, as if she’d been in this very situation many times before. The reality was very different. She’d never had a man look at her with such fierce desire in his eyes, never wanted to feel his lips claim hers.
He responded by moving closer and brushing his lips over hers very gently and suddenly she wasn’t cold any more as heat scorched through her. She moved her lips against his, a soft sigh of pleasure slipping from her, only to be caught by him. What was happening to her?
A jolt threw her away from him and she dragged in a long, cold breath as the restless horses shifted in their harnesses. The driver spoke to Nikolai and she blushed, burying her face deeper in her scarf to hide her embarrassment. What was happening to her?
‘The driver says snow is on the way and suggests we see what is necessary and head back.’ Nikolai hadn’t intended to kiss her like that; he’d just wanted to make her feel special, to give her the fairy-tale ride through the snow to a beautiful location. He’d wanted all that to distract her—at least, he had, until he’d tasted her lips, felt them welcoming him and encouraging him to take more.
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She sounded flustered as she took her camera out of its protective case. ‘I’ll just take a few frames and then you can tell me about it on the way back. I’d rather be in the warm when the snow arrives.’
He pushed back the image of that warmth being his bed and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He had to distract her from the truth of his family history by showing her the façade they had lived behind.
‘This,’ he said as he helped her from the troika, ‘Is where my mother and I spent each summer until we left Russia. In the summer, though, it was much greener and warmer than now.’
He hadn’t thought of those summer days for such a long time, consigning them to the past he wanted to forget, but now, as he began to talk to Emma, it wasn’t nearly as hard to look back on them as he’d always feared.
‘And this was your mother’s family home?’ she asked as she lined up the shot and took a photo of the one place he’d been happy as a child.
‘It was, but I never saw it like this, all covered in snow. It was always summer when we visited and I’d run with the dogs in the orchard, enjoying the freedom.’
It hadn’t been just the freedom of running free in the summer sun, it had been the freedom from the terror of his father: from not having to hide when his filthy temper struck; of not having to worry about his mother as his father’s voice rose to aggressive shouts. It had been freedom from pain—for both of them. He’d realised much later on that his mother’s parents must have known what was going on and it had been their way of offering sanctuary. He just couldn’t understand why his mother hadn’t taken it permanently.
‘And is your grandmother here to talk to us now?’ Hope was shining in her voice. She thought he meant the grandmother who had started this whole nonsense off.
‘No, they passed away before my father. Marya Petrushov is my father’s mother. The one who contacted World in Photographs. She lives in Vladimir.’