Rapunzelle: an Everland Ever After Tale Read online

  He knew that’s what she was doing, because she was holding her purple skirt up almost to her knees, the long column of her throat speckled in the dabbled shade when she threw her head back in pleasure. Dragging his gaze away from that beckoning skin, he watched her toes wiggling, heard her sigh again, and marveled at her joy.

  “Isn’t this just the best? Smell the flowers, Dmitri. The birds chirping, the sky is clear. The grass between your toes! Tell me this isn’t the most wonderful part of summer.”

  He had to smile, then. She really was intoxicating, this best part of summer. “I’ll have to take your word for that last part, though.”

  Chert. She dropped her dress, blocking his view of limber and intriguingly tanned calves. “You mean to tell me you’ve never frolicked barefoot in the grass?”

  Dmitri burst into laughter. “And I’ve never used ‘frolicked’ in a sentence, either.”

  He was still laughing when she grabbed his foot and swung it upward, throwing him off-balance. She was muttering when she tugged at his boot, her bottom lip between her teeth in an erotically adorable display of pique. But then he stopped laughing when she turned away from him—still holding the boot—and swung one leg over his until she straddled his shin. The position meant that he could see even more of her calves than he had a moment ago, with her skirt and petticoat all bunched up by his leg. And without one of those highly fashionable bustles every other lady in America seemed to favor, her skirt was pulled tight against her backside.

  At that moment, it really didn’t matter what she was doing to his foot. Not when her deliciously rounded backside was only inches from his face.

  “Push!” Her words dragged him out of his pleasurable inspection, to discover that she was still busy tugging on his boot.

  “What?”

  She blew out an exasperated breath and twisted so that she could see him over one shoulder. “I can’t get the darned thing off. Obviously it’s a two-person job, so I’ll pull on the boot while you push.”

  “Excuse me, you’re trying to take my shoe off?”

  “Well, of course. So you can have some fun too. Now push!”

  She must have learned that tone from her father, and Dmitri grinned at the arrogance in it, the surety of command. He’d better push, after all. Back home, he’d had a boot boy who would occasionally straddle his leg like this. Dmitri would put the other foot on the lad’s backside in an effort to help push the tight boot off. These boots weren’t nearly as tight—easy enough for him to remove himself—but there was no denying the lady when she used that tone…

  Bracing himself, he planted one hand on each of the round cheeks right in front of him, and grinned at the way she suddenly stiffened. Her backside was warm and soft under his touch, and he couldn’t resist flexing his fingers just slightly. When she sucked in a surprised—affronted?—breath, he glanced up, but she remained turned away. He waited for the screech, for the slap, for the indication that she was offended by the way he took liberties.

  But to his surprise, she just nodded. Her voice was strangled when she said, “Good. Now push.” So he pushed.

  Zelle stumbled forward, her boot in his hand, and then picked up his other foot and straddled his leg once more. He saw her worrying her bottom lip, and almost laughed when he placed his hands firmly on her rear end once more. Then both of his boots were beside hers on the grass, and she was reaching for his stockings. He held up a hand to stop her, the laughter not far from his voice. “I concede, Miss Carpenter. You’ve bested me, and I’ll join you in your frolicking,” as he rolled his own stockings off.

  And then she was laughing, and he was digging his toes into the grass beside hers, and he had to admit that it felt remarkably good. Remarkably freeing.

  She plopped down beside him, leaning back on her elbows, staring up at the canopy of leaves above them. “You’ve really never tried this?”

  “Not since I was a boy. It wasn’t proper.”

  One of her husky chuckles. “No, it probably isn’t. Not for me, so definitely not for a duke, right?”

  “Correct. But back home, with the horses…things were different.”

  She fell back on the ground, stacking one hand behind her head, her knees still bent so that she could touch the grass with her bare feet. “Tell me about it, please? About your home?”

  He looked down at her, so relaxed and at ease here among this perfect little secluded bower, and realized that he would tell her anything she asked. So he settled his weight on his hands, and began. “My grandfather was made Knez at a time when the Tsar was handing out titles just for passing him a handkerchief. In our defense, Dedushka was a brilliant horseman, and put that talent to good use, breeding and training the best animals for the Tsar and his court. My father followed him, and we had a large holding where we became famous for our horseflesh.”

  “Had? As in, you no longer have?”

  So he told her about the Tsar’s Emancipation of 1861, and how the serfs had been cut off from their ancestral lands. “The family business began to fail, with fewer and fewer serfs to work the land.”

  “President Lincoln freed the slaves here in America, around the same time.”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t the same.” A not-at-all-lady-like snort. “Well, not quite the same, anyway.” Another. “Fine. Perhaps they were. But they were…” He took a deep breath. “They were our way of life; we relied on them as they relied on us. When the Tsar cut them off—freed them or whatever—many moved to what used to be Poland. We had to begin to sell off the horses, and not for the profits we’d been used to.”

  She asked him more questions—insightful, probing questions—and he found himself telling her all about the changes his father had to make, and the way their horse program had been whittled down to a fraction it once was. About the way the sudden loss of power and prestige had weakened the nobility, just as the Tsar had planned, and changed Otets forever. About the simple days of his childhood, working with his father and the horses and Old Ivan, laughing at the idea that he’d one day be in charge of everything.

  “And your mother?”

  “Mama was English, but she moved to Rossiya when they married. Otets told me that it took a while for her to get used to the idea of serfs, since Britain had abolished serfdom centuries before, but that she came to enjoy the privileges and wealth. She died when I was eight, before the Emancipation.” But after she’d had the chance to become godmother to her childhood best friend’s baby daughter. Dmitri remembered that trip, the itchy collar he’d been forced to wear for the baptism, and the way his father had cooed over the tiny squalling infant. He remembered Otets crying again, when he’d received the sympathy letter from the baby’s mother after Mama’s death, and then again when he heard about the little girl’s disappearance. That guilt—the feeling that he’d failed his beloved wife’s memory by not being able to protect her goddaughter—had haunted Vasili Volkov until his death.

  “Is that why you speak English so well?” He’d been so caught up in his memories of Otets’ grief that it took him a moment to think about what had been said last. Ah, yes. Mama.

  “Partially. She was the second daughter of an Earl, a lady in her own right. Which is why she was matched so well with Otets, I suppose. When they were married, her only stipulation was that any sons be sent back to England for upper education. Since I was their only child, Otets sent me off after I was presented in St. Petersburg.”

  More questions, more reminiscing. He told her funny stories of his years in school, of trying to learn English as fast as possible. They laughed about the intricacies of the language, and he even taught her some Russian. That led to questions about Everland, and the people, and she told him all about her friends and her parents’ medical practices. If he hadn’t admired her family before, he did after he heard how “Doctor” Carpenter had never been to medical school, but his wife had, and they helped people from all over. They’d both come from back East—she didn’t know where, exactly, but knew tha
t her mother had been to Female Medical College of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, and had once heard her father speak about New York City as if he’d been there—but had moved to Everland when Zelle was a little girl, intent on practicing medicine.

  She showed him how to skip stones, standing ankle-deep in the cool lake, and he described—at her urging—what it felt like to control a powerful horse using only the muscles in his knees. She reminisced about climbing trees and picking berries with her best friend Briar, and he told her about the places in Russia where there was always snow on the grounds, and mountains so high that the tops were lost in clouds. They laughed and joked and if he hadn’t been half in love with her before, that afternoon guaranteed it.

  She was magnificent.

  The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky when Zelle’s stomach rumbled. Since he’d been feeling empty for the last half-hour or so, he had to laugh with her at the sound, knowing that they’d have to head home soon. He wasn’t ready for the afternoon to be over, but he was suddenly ravenous for a meal of steak and potatoes from Spratt’s Eatery.

  But not as ravenous as he was for something else.

  As nonchalantly as he could, Dmitri lowered himself to his elbows beside her. She was again lying on the grass, her knees bent and her arms stacked behind her head. She looked thoroughly at ease, and ready to be kissed. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

  But as he tried to come up with a way to bring up the topic again, she surprised him. Of course, he was coming to realize that he shouldn’t be surprised by anything she did anymore, but it still caught him off guard when she rolled up on one elbow, placed a hand in the center of his chest, and pushed his shoulders down against the grass.

  “Zelle…?”

  “Dmitri, something occurs to me.”

  He liked the mischievous look in her green eyes, and smiled up into them. “Please, enlighten me.”

  “Well, I kissed you that first time, without warning you. And you kissed me earlier this afternoon, without warning me. It occurs to me that we should try it, where neither of us is surprised, and we’re both in agreement.”

  “In agreement that we want to kiss?” She was leaning downward, and he slowly snaked his arm between the ground and her waist, happy to be able to hold her.

  “Yes.” The twinkle in her eyes belied her serious expression. “It’s only fair, after all.”

  “I agree,” he murmured.

  “You agree that we should agree, or you agree that we should kiss?”

  “That one.” And then he squeezed, and she fell against him, and his lips were on hers. It was a gloriously improper, wildly free, completely exuberant kiss, and Dmitri smiled against her lips. She made him even warmer than the Wyoming summer sun, made his heart beat faster than a ride on one of his prize geldings.

  There, on the ground beneath that tree, beside the incongruous lake, he realized that were it not for his horses, for his father’s dreams and his grandfather’s legacy, he would stay here in this increasingly appealing American town. He would court Zelle Carpenter, and enjoy watching her pleasure at each new experience. He would taste her lips every day, and thank God for the chance.

  He loved her. And in that moment, he knew that he loved her enough to stay. Loved her enough to find a way to stay.

  And after, when they stole kisses as they pulled their shoes back on, and walked hand-in-hand back towards the town; when he kissed her once more at the back door of the Van Winkle Inn; as he watched her wave and then twirl in an excited circle and hug herself before running towards her house, he was sure of it. All he had to do, now, was figure out how to court her, and he would. Zelle Carpenter was the most refreshing, most invigorating woman he’d ever met, and he wanted her in his life.

  He needed to speak to Max DeVille.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Fall in love.

  That’s what Helga had told her to do. Go fall in love. Have an adventure with Dmitri.

  And when she’d climbed out of that window, the strange lady holding the ladder and beaming down at her, that’s what she’d been planning on doing. She’d been off to have an adventure with Dmitri…she hadn’t thought about falling in love with him, but maybe another kiss…

  Was it possible for her entire life to change in the space of one afternoon? Yesterday at lunchtime she’d just been desperate to find a way out of the house, to be able to show Dmitri the Lake. She’d worried about her parents’ feelings, and wondered if it would be worth it.

  But then some woman claiming to be her Godmother had shown up and offered her the way, and Zelle had spent the afternoon in his arms, in his heart, and now… Now she didn’t know what she wanted any more.

  No, that wasn’t true. She wanted him. Wanted Dmitri. Forever. And gosh, wasn’t that interesting? Zelle hugged herself, and spun in place once, the stone walls of her garden blurring around her. Mother thought she was out here weeding, but this was the best place in the house to pace, to think, because no one could hear her floorboards creak, if she was stomping around barefoot in the garden.

  Yesterday afternoon, she’d fallen in love with a Russian duke. Prince. Whatever. Oh, there wasn’t any doubt about it; she’d followed Helga’s advice and gone and fallen in love with him. His charm, his grace, the way he saw the real her and seemed to like her. She’d fallen in love with the way he made her feel when he touched her, when he kissed her. She’d fallen in love with his gorgeous voice, and the way he could look so stiffly proper one minute, and so relaxed and unpretentious the next.

  She’d fallen in love with him.

  Oh dear. Zelle began to pace again, enjoying the freedom to kick her skirt out of the way as her feet slammed down against the cobblestone path. Six strides to the gate, six strides to the thyme, and back again. She chewed on her bottom lip and crossed her arms in front of her breasts. She’d fallen in love with him, and he was a duke for heaven’s sakes. Half of yesterday’s conversation had been telling her about his ancestral home, and how much it had meant to his family, and tradition and heritage and blah blah blah. He’d been to London, had gone stepping out with some of the decade’s more refined young ladies. Girls in Nowhere, Wyoming did not fall in love with Russian dukes and live Happily Ever After.

  No matter what crazy ladies masquerading as Godmothers had to say about things.

  “Uuugh!” It felt good to let out some of her frustration, so she stomped a foot for good measure, and tried to ignore the sting when her bare foot slapped against the stone. Stupid stone. Stupid self, for falling in love with a man she couldn’t have.

  “Is everything alright in here?” Briar poked her head around the gate, one brow lifted in curiosity.

  Sighing, Zelle gestured for her friend to come into the garden. “I’m fine. Just stupid.”

  “Ahh, nothing new, then.” Briar grinned cheekily as she slipped into the garden.

  Zelle stuck out her tongue and plopped down on the stone bench, the one big enough for two. The one that she’d probably never sit on with Dmitri.

  “Look what I brought you.” Briar was holding a little white box, tied up with a string. Zelle knew what that box contained, because she’d helped her friend convince Ian Crowne to order some for confectionaries. Briar’s sweets could drag anyone out of a mope.

  Eagerly, Zelle reached for the box, and scrabbled at the string. Sure enough, Briar had baked a batch of chocolate eclairs, Zelle’s favorite, and the blonde girl wasted no time in shoving one almost-whole into her mouth. Her eyes nearly closed in bliss at the way the flavors exploded on her tongue, and she made an involuntary little hum of approval. Goodness, they were delicious.

  Briar chuckled, and settled herself on the bench as well. “I thought you might like them. My parents left me alone for a few hours, so you know what that means.”

  Zelle sighed in pleasure. “Chocolate eclairs!”

  The Jorgensens didn’t exactly disapprove of their only daughter’s baking ability, but they thought that it should only
make an appearance for special holidays or church socials. Briar, on the other hand, dreamed of opening a confectionary shop one day, where everyone could enjoy her talents. Her parents thought that she should be focused on finding a husband to help on their large farm, and therefore disapproved of any skills that didn’t involve tending corn or keeping house. As a result, Briar only baked—or whipped, or mixed or chopped—when her parents weren’t around, and then promptly delivered the delicious fruits of her labors to her friends in town.

  One day, Zelle knew that people would line up to pay her best friend for these treats. But for now, she was glad to “taste-test” them—as Briar said—whenever necessary. She licked her fingers delicately, and then took a much more refined bite of the second éclair. “These are amazing, as always.”

  “Yep.” Briar had probably eaten half the batch herself. The two girls adored chocolate in equal amounts. “I made them for you.”

  “For me?”

  “I figured it was the only way I could sweeten you up enough for you to tell me what happened yesterday.” She nudged Zelle, who tried to hide her blush by popping the rest of the éclair into her mouth. “I know it was something important; you’re brighter than my strawberry filling. So spill.”

  “Mmmm-mmhmm-hm.”

  “That’s alright, I’ll wait until you’re done chewing.”

  Zelle snorted, trying not to laugh with a full mouth, but made short work of swallowing the treat. “I had a nice day.”

  “A nice day? That was it? Did you go see Dmitri?”

  “Fine. It was lovely.” After she’d returned home, and climbed up the ladder, Helga had taken one look at her and began to giggle. The rotund woman hadn’t said a word, but had continued giggling while she climbed out the window in her hoops, collected the ladder on her shoulder, and disappeared around the next building. Zelle couldn’t decide if “Happy” had been giggling at her, or for her. But either way, and despite its rather odd ending, the day had been lovely.