Dealing Her Final Card(55)

“Wrong,” Vladimir replied coldly, shoving him again. Moments before, in the middle of Bree’s innocent, tearful declaration, he’d seen Greg Hudson skulking near the buffet table. Vladimir had been overwhelmed by Bree’s three simple words. He hadn’t known how to react to them.

Seeing Greg Hudson, he’d known exactly what to do.

Fury had filled him at the sight of the man who’d insulted her, offering money to be on her list. He’d dragged him out of the ballroom, wanting to knock him to the ground and kick him repeatedly in his soft belly until he learned to respect women. Especially Vladimir’s woman. “You will leave this city and never come back.”

Hudson quivered like a rabbit. “Think you’re something big, do you, Mr. Hoity-Toity Prince? You have no idea how you’ve been played!”

Ignoring him, Vladimir lifted his fist. “Were you following her?”

The man flinched. “No! I swear! I just happened to be in town—” he looked up slyly “—to see your brother. The other prince.”

Vladimir slowly lowered his fist. “You know Kasimir?”

“He owes me money.”

“For what?”

The man looked smug.

Grabbing him with one hand, Vladimir lifted his other fist and thundered, “For what?”

“He offered me a lot of money to hire those Dalton girls. And a bonus if I could arrange for you to meet the older one. By accident.”

Vladimir’s body turned hot, then cold. His hand tightened on the man’s lapel.

“If you ever disrespect Miss Dalton again,” he said evenly, “if you so much as mention her name or look at her picture in the newspaper, you will regret it for the rest of your short life.” He gave him a hard stare. “Do we understand each other?”

“Y-yes,” the man stammered. “I never meant any harm.”

Vladimir let him go, and Hudson fell back into the snow. Leaping up again with a gasp, he fled into the night, slipping on ice in his haste, leaping over a snowdrift as he called wildly for his driver.

Relaxing his clenched fists, Vladimir exhaled.

Slowly, he turned back toward the palace. But he felt numb, as frozen as if he’d fallen asleep in the white snow. He looked out at the fields in the moonlight. So soft. So beautiful. So mysterious.

So treacherous.

Breanna’s beautiful face appeared in his mind. Was it possible...could it be that meeting her had been more than a coincidence? That it had been a plan cooked up by Bree and Kasimir, to finally get their revenge for his treatment of them ten years ago?

Was he a gullible fool falling for the same woman’s lies—twice?

If Kasimir hired Hudson, Vladimir told himself harshly, Bree didn’t know.

Or did she? Against his will, a gray shadow of suspicion filled his soul.

As he entered the ballroom and walked through the crowds, his feet dragged. He had no idea what to do. What to say to her.

“I love you,” Bree had said. His heart beat with the rhythm of her words. “And what I need to know is, can you ever love me?”

How could she love him? Bree was too smart for that. He’d warned her that he would never love her. Told her it was impossible. He wanted to make her happy, yes. He’d bought her clothes, spent time with her, gotten rid of the men who’d threatened her and Josie. But what had that cost him, really? Nothing.

No matter what she seemed to think, there was no shred of goodness in Vladimir’s soul. He would never risk or sacrifice anything that truly mattered.

All he had to offer was sex and money—and though Bree seemed to very much enjoy the sex, she didn’t care about money. So what could she possibly see to love in his black soul?

He’d kept her against her will. Stolen her freedom for his own selfish pleasure. She should hate him. Instead, she’d offered him everything. Not just her body, but her soul. Her warmth, her tenderness and adoration, her honest heart.

If it really was honest.

No. He wouldn’t think that. It was Kasimir who’d arranged their meeting, not Bree. But why? What could possibly be his goal?

Vladimir pushed through the crowd, his pulse throbbing in his throat. He had to find Breanna. He hungered to feel her in his arms, to know she was real. To look into her eyes and see that she wasn’t—couldn’t be—allied with his brother against him. Vladimir needed her. That was as good as love, wasn’t it?

She deserves a man who can love her back with a whole, trusting heart. The thought whispered unbidden in his mind. Not the careless, shallow affection you can give her, the shadowy half love of a scarred, selfish soul.

She’s mine, he told the voice angrily.

So you’ll keep her as your prisoner forever, taking her body every night without ever returning her love? Until you see the adoration in her eyes fade to anger, then bewildered hurt, and finally dull, numb despair?