A Sister's Quest Read Free Page B

clothes matched the opulence of his coach. From his white leather gloves to the shine of his well-polished boots, he reeked of wealth. He brushed wrinkles from the black coat he wore over nankeen pantaloons.
    â€œGood morning, my lord,” Michelle said, her tongue almost tripping over the few words. She berated herself for being intimidated. She was not a schoolgirl.
    â€œAre you ready, Fraulein D’Orage?” he asked, his deep voice rumbling beneath the sound of the children’s.
    â€œYes, my lord.”
    â€œGood.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her trunk. “Is this what you are bringing with you?”
    â€œI can bring less if—”
    â€œLess?” He laughed. “You may bring all you wish. The boot has plenty of room.”
    â€œThis is enough.” She did not add that everything she owned was packed in this box. Two dresses and her underclothes were folded over her low boots and the few books she had slipped into the corners of the portmanteau.
    â€œEnough? I have met ladies who could not cross the street with so little.”
    â€œIt should be plenty for the length of time I shall be working for you, my lord.”
    He motioned to the coachman, who hurried to place her things in the back of the carriage. Pointing to the open door, he added, “If you please, Fraulein D’Orage.”
    His icy gaze followed her toward the carriage. Was he displeased with the discrepancy in their appearances? Her clothes reflected her station. She recoiled as a hand was thrust in front of her.
    â€œAllow me, Fraulein.” Count Vatutin’s polite smile did not match the challenge in his emerald eyes.
    She must not let him think he could overwhelm her with simple courtesy, even though he had. She put her fingers on his palm as he handed her into the carriage.
    â€œThank you,” she said.
    â€œIndeed, it was my pleasure.”
    She winced. His answer was too smooth.
    â€œRelax, Fraulein D’Orage,” he continued.
    Michelle started to reply, but paused when she saw a man sitting on the backward-facing seat. She glanced from him to the other blue velvet seat. Twisting the strings of her reticule, she wondered where she should sit. A lady should be allowed to ride facing forward, but she was serving Count Vatutin, and he might wish that seat for himself.
    She looked back at the man. His blue gaze drilled into her from an emotionless face. Wrinkles suggested he was older than Count Vatutin, and his hair was almost gray. Although his clothes were not as well made as Count Vatutin’s, they were sturdy and clean.
    Michelle said, “Good morning. Do you think I should—”
    â€œDo not waste your breath asking Rusak questions that he cannot answer,” came the count’s voice from the door.
    She looked at Count Vatutin. He took her hand and seated her on the forward-facing seat. Then he sat beside her, taking more than his share of the seat. Although she was tempted to edge away, she resisted. He would not appreciate her showing that she found it uncomfortable to be so close to his tightly restrained strength. Insulting him would not be a good beginning.
    â€œRusak?” she repeated, unsure if that was a name or a title.
    He gestured to the other man. “Feodor Rusak, my assistant.”
    â€œHe does not speak German? I can—”
    â€œI know what languages you speak.” Drawing off his gloves, he said, “Rusak does not speak any, Fraulein D’Orage. He met with misfortune during the French army’s ignoble retreat from Moscow.”
    Rusak opened his mouth. His tongue was gone.
    She pressed her hands to her chest and recoiled, bumping her head against the hard line of Count Vatutin’s arm. In shock, she realized it was resting behind her. She was trapped between these two men she did not know. She should tell the count she had changed her mind. She should … She rocked back against Count Vatutin’s arm