The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,68
“I suppose that’s true. Galina, you look at everything with such a clear eye, while my vision is always clouded by passion.”
“True. But without you, I have a tendency to withdraw too deeply into my own mind. We really do bring out the best in each other.”
His eyes glistened with tears as he smiled at her. Then he suddenly stepped forward, closing the short distance between them, and pressed his feverish lips to hers. Galina was not used to being taken by surprise. Nor was she accustomed to the sudden flood of heat that swept through her. Her lips parted slightly and a thick desire welled up within her, reaching all the way down to her heels. For just a moment, she lost all sense of balance, and when she stumbled, his arms encircled her. Should she tense up? Push away? But no, this was her sweet Sebastian, who treated her with a tenderness and consideration she had rarely known. In his arms, she felt safe. Even when at last the kiss ended, she did not pull away, but instead rested her cheek on his shoulder.
“Galina, you have made me so happy,” he whispered into her hair.
She allowed herself another moment to luxuriate in the tender warmth of his embrace. Then she took a slow, deep breath and at last disengaged. “And now, my darling, there is a great deal of work to be done. Go and speak with your mother, and I will speak with my father.”
“Yes, of course.” His eyes still glistened wetly as he gave her one last bright smile, then hurried away.
She watched him go, allowing her own aroused body to slowly cool off, and her pulse to return to normal. It was just as the poet Boris Rodionov had described. “What animals we are, what slaves to passion, when our heart bursts free for the first time.” Was it love? She could not say. It was, at the very least, a potent combination of fondness and lust, and successful marriages had been built on less.
She smoothed her hair and skirts, then went in search of her father. If there was any impediment to this engagement, it would be him. But she was ready to counter any argument he might have.
It was not difficult to find Lord Sergey Bolotov Prozorova. For months after one of his “folk story hunts,” in which he traveled from town to town, recording the local legends in terse shorthand as people recounted their stories to him, he would sequester himself in his study, expanding those notes into lucid and engaging prose.
She knocked gently on his closed study door.
“Ah, Galina, my love,” his voice came through the door. “Come in.”
She smiled as she opened the door. He’d always been able to recognize her knock somehow.
“Papa, how is your work progressing?”
Sergey was a slight man, short and thin like Galina, with the same large, melancholy eyes. Two stacks of paper lay on the desk in front of him, one blank, one filled with his cramped, jagged handwriting. He pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then stretched his arms over his head.
“Well enough, I suppose. Quite a few dark tales this time, Galechka.”
“Intriguing,” she said. “Perhaps I might assist you with transcribing as I did last time?”
He swiveled his chair around and smiled. “Only if you promise not to be frightened by what you read.”
“I can’t promise that until I’ve read them, Papa, by which point it would obviously be too late.”
“Fair enough. I was only teasing, of course. Naturally I always welcome the assistance of the brightest young scholar in Gogoleth. Now, since you’ve sufficiently endeared yourself to me, was there something you needed?”
“I do apologize for interrupting you in your work, Papa, only there’s something important we need to discuss.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“Sebastian Turgenev plans to ask you for my hand in marriage.”
“Is that so?”
“Don’t pretend ignorance, Papa. I’m hardly a little girl.”
“My apologies.”
“Besides, I already know what you will say.”
He smiled at her. “Do you?”
“Certainly. It’s unlikely you’ll object on financial grounds. Between the yield of the remaining Turgenev estates and Sebastian’s new promotion to captain, I am confident he will be able to provide me with the lifestyle to which I am accustomed. And while it’s true the Turgenevs no longer have a great deal of influence among the nobility, they more than make up for that by having the nearly undivided attention of Commander Franko Vittorio, arguably the most powerful man in Izmoroz.”