“He kidnapped her,” Stefan gritted.
“Mon Dieu. Are all Englishmen such barbarians?”
He clenched his hands at his side. It was that or shaking some sense into her thick skull.
“When it comes to overly stubborn females.”
She instinctively backed away, as if sensing his violent mood. Wise woman. At the moment the scorching anger that raced through him made a mockery of his usual calm composure.
“I can only hope you are jesting,” she muttered.
“You have demanded I give you more,” he grated. “If it is not to become my wife then what the bloody hell do you want?”
“The fact you even have to ask proves you are incapable of giving me what I need.”
He shoved his fingers through his hair. The woman was destined to put him in an early grave.
Or more likely Bedlam.
“I have offered you everything I possess.”
“Yes, I suppose you have.” Her voice was low, resigned. “Goodbye, Stefan.”
In shocked disbelief, Stefan watched as she walked toward the house with a stiff dignity.
Christ. She was leaving.
Standing motionless for several long moments, Stefan ignored the crushing urge to follow in her wake. He had offered her his name and his pride on a platter, only to have it tossed back into his face.
He was done dancing to Miss Leonida Karkoff’s tune.
Spinning on his heel, Stefan stormed from the garden, collecting his carriage from the mews behind the house. If the wretched woman thought she could manipulate him with her ridiculous games then she was in for a rude awakening. His days of chasing after her like a hound in heat were done.
Despite the heavy traffic, Stefan returned to Vanya’s house with admirable speed. Of course, he had left behind several furious Russian pedestrians who had hurled curses when he had near run them down and a number of grooms who had been forced to swerve their vehicles out of his path or risk a collision.
Once at the townhouse, he tossed the reins to the waiting footman and charged up the steps. During the brief journey he had nurtured the smoldering sense of betrayal at Leonida’s rejection. He wanted to be in a blazing fury.
His anger was certainly preferable to acknowledging his aching sense of loss.
Ignoring the butler who pulled open the door at his approach, Stefan crossed the foyer, intending to head directly to his rooms. The sooner he was out of Russia the better.
Of course, it could not be so simple.
He had just reached the sweeping staircase when Vanya appeared from a side parlor.
“Stefan.” She came to an abrupt halt as she caught sight of his tousled appearance. “I assume from your expression that your business with Leonida did not go well?”
“The woman is…” He snapped his lips shut. Surely he had made enough of a fool of himself for one day? “It no longer matters. Has Boris returned?”
“Yes. He said he would wait for you in your chambers.”
He stepped toward the stairs. “Thank you.”
“Stefan.”
It was the thick concern in the older woman’s voice that halted his retreat. Turning, he regarded her with an impatient frown.
“I am in rather a hurry, Vanya.”