Tracy L. Ranson - [Unforgiven 02] - Nicholas.pdf

(314 KB) Pobierz
Microsoft Word - Nicholas.rtf
THE UNFORGIVEN: NICHOLAS Tracy L. Ranson
1
The Unforgiven:
NICHOLAS
By
Tracy L. Ranson
147705149.001.png
THE UNFORGIVEN: NICHOLAS Tracy L. Ranson
2
© copyright October 2006, Tracy L. Ranson
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright October 2006
ISBN 1-58608-962-5
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s
imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or
events is merely coincidence.
THE UNFORGIVEN: NICHOLAS Tracy L. Ranson
3
Dedication
To my husband John, whose bright personality and unfailing belief in me has
never wavered. I love you, my darling.
To Jean, who has worked with me tirelessly on this book and did a wonderful job
of editing it for me. You are fabulous, and I think you for all the hard work that went into
this book.
THE UNFORGIVEN: NICHOLAS Tracy L. Ranson
4
Chapter One
Russia 1762
Nicholas’ dark, hooded eyes surveyed the room as he listened to the inane
chatter floating around him. Their words meant nothing to him, his mind silently hunting
through his own aristocratic kind, their blood like music to his body. He could hear their
deepest, darkest secrets, nothing hidden from his vampiric mind.
“Russian appeals to my appetite,” Drake said mentally beside him as they
strode through the hall of Tsarskoe Selo Palace, the summer residence of Emperor Peter
and Empress Catherine.
“Aye, as it does mine,” he answered, his gaze traveling to the gold gilding
on the walls and especially the ceiling, where frescos had been delicately hand painted.
A smile curled his lips. For all the supposed brilliant “cunning,” these humans had no
idea predators hunted among them.
Sounds of music floated throughout the halls, filling the air with their
song. Nicholas listened, focusing his full attention on the music and enjoying the skill of
the musicians who played the waltzes. He had once tried to play the violin himself, a
hundred years before, but found he had no tone or talent for it. Since then, he had always
enjoyed the talent of others.
“Ah, my good Lord Wetherington,” Serge Novanovitch called from across
the room.
Nicholas turned sharply to see the fat man waddling toward him, the
buttons of his waistcoat straining. “Aye, ‘tis me.” He executed a mock bow with Drake
doing the same. “May I introduce you to my traveling companion, Drake Samuelsson?”
Serge’s lecherous gaze traveled up and down Drake’s form, encouraging a
myriad of vile, disgusting thoughts thrumming through the older Russian's head. “A
pleasure,” he sighed softly, almost like a woman would. “What brings you to our chilly
corner of the world?”
“Adventure.” Drake smiled back, returning the man’s sentiment.
Nicholas felt the hatred grow in Drake. The only reason he was acting as
though he might consider bedding down for the night with Serge was as a potential meal,
nothing more. “Much thanks for sending the invitation to the Empress’ birthday
celebration,” he said, breaking the awkward silence between them. “London is so boring
since the season is over, so this is a welcome diversion.”
“Good, good,” Serge said, gesturing toward the middle of the room where
a group of Russian aristocrats waited. “Come, there are several people you simply must
meet before the Empress arrives.”
Nicholas had thought of joining him with the others, but he let Drake lead
the way, staring at the sea of powdered heads. He had kept his hair its normal jet color,
THE UNFORGIVEN: NICHOLAS Tracy L. Ranson
5
* * * *
Tatiana admired her reflection in the mirror, touching the angled planes of
her face. Her porcelain skin and luminous eyes, she had inherited from her deceased
mother, as well as the pale, silvery-blond hair. Sometimes she wished she could have
been more like her mother, meek and mild, willing to do a man’s bidding. Instead, she’d
received the stubbornness of her father, ready to take on any challenge without remorse,
catching her into a net of intrigue that should involve no woman.
“Come help me put my necklace on, Tatiana,” ordered Empress Catherine
from behind the curtain. She jumped. The Empress’ voice was so commanding and
strong, a trait she wished she could display. In her current guise as a simpleton, she could
not.
Quickly, she left the small dressing table and hurried behind the screen
where several ladies-in-waiting tied Catherine’s lacings and fastenings. “Would you not
like to wait, Your Majesty? Perhaps after the ladies are finished?”
“Perhaps,” Catherine sighed, waiting for the last thread to be tied. “You
know, Tatiana, that you are a very intelligent woman.”
“ Nyet , Your Majesty. I am the simple daughter of one of your generals,
nothing more.” She hung her head, mostly for show for the ladies-in-waiting. “I am
yours completely to command.”
The Empress waved her hand, and the ladies bowed, their jobs finished.
“Be gone. I wish to address this girl in private.”
“Aye, Your Majesty,” they cried in unison, leaving the chamber amid the
swish of the finest silk and satin.
Once the door closed, the Empress gestured for her to come closer. She
obeyed and dropped to her knees at the Empress’ feet, discarding the simpleton guise,
keeping close to the Empress’ ear so that if anyone was listening, they would hear
nothing. “I have your letter from General Federov.” Tatiana reached into the pocket of
her gown and produced the letter. “He asked me to tell you that he is eagerly awaiting
your response.”
The Empress ripped it from her hands and tore open the letter, the bits of
wax flying everywhere. Tatiana knelt patiently as the Empress’ eyes swept back and
forth across the page, the expression on her face lightening.
Tatiana folded her hands in her lap, strengthening her patriotic resolve.
She knew that this was important and that the Emperor needed to be dethroned. He was
nothing more than a childish man, a puppet, preferring to play with toys than tending to
the needs of the government. She had witnessed his many shows of childishness,
knowing that he was not entirely right in the head. Catherine, on the other hand, was the
true ruler of Russia, the only one with the country’s best interests at heart. Time seemed
to have erased her past as Princess Sophie Auguste Frederike von Anhalt-Zerbst, of the
forgotten little duchy of Stettin. Gone were her Lutheran ideas, replaced by the Russian
Orthodox faith. She knew the Russian people better than they knew themselves, sparing
refusing to give in to the style of the day. Mortals seemed to always hang onto one silly
custom or another as long it was “fashionable.” He smirked. If they only knew what he
was.

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika:

Zgłoś jeśli naruszono regulamin