Villain Excerpt from Love’s Enduring Flame by Ruth Axtell

Love’s Enduring Flame

by Ruth Axtell

Krysia Milos comes of age at the height of the Romantic era, when poets, musicians and writers influenced the course of nations. Krysia, raised in Poland by an influential uncle and his unorthodox sister, joins those struggling for independence under Russian rule. When she comes to Warsaw for her debut into society, she finds herself enmeshed in the plans for an uprising against the czar’s rule. Independent and willing to prove herself useful to the cause of Poland’s freedom, she determines to help her uncle by gathering information. She soon finds herself in over her head, pitted against the sinister but very powerful Russian Dmitri Orlovsky and the Polish officer, Casimir Zalenski, whose cynicism belies his uniform and whose past is murky at best.
As revolution threatens to destroy everything she has, Krysia must decide which man is worthy of her trust.
For those who love the larger-than-life historical panoramas of Russian history, the era of the French salon and its cultural influence to its Eastern neighbors, and the timeless love story of individuals caught in tumultuous eras, Love’s Enduring Flame is for you.

Excerpt          

Her newfound exhilaration was short-lived, when, several dances later, she turned from thanking her partner to find the slim silhouette of Count Orlovsky before her. She managed to curtsy slightly in acknowledgment, praying he wouldn’t detain her.

“What a delightful surprise.” His onyx eyes surveyed her in a leisurely fashion, from the crown of her head to the tips of her silver slippers. “You didn’t mention you would be here in the autumn,” he murmured.

“I had no knowledge of it at the time, Count.” She steeled herself to show no discomposure at his inspection.

“I suppose,” he continued as his gaze came to rest on hers, “it is that stage in a young woman’s life when she is presented to society and enjoys the adoration of us all. I salute you, mademoiselle.” With those words, he took her hand in his and brushed his lips against her gloved fingertips.

Krysia removed her hand from his as soon as she dared.

“You have grown even more beautiful than when last we met. I feel privileged to witness your coming out, and I congratulate you on your success.”

“What did you expect to find?” Krysia feigned boredom, her smile tight as her gaze roamed the ballroom.

“Nothing less. I knew you’d captivate Warsaw as you’ve captivated me.”

Her attention snapped back to him at his excessive praise.

“Try me and see how far your power extends,” he said, his dark eyebrows lifted in challenge. His smile altered his expression little. It was a mere stretching of his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I wouldn’t dream of challenging you, my lord.”

“What a pity. I was so hoping for a nice round with you, thrusting and parrying.”

“I am no swordswoman. And furthermore, I don’t believe in unequal matches.”

“Unequal? Come, come, I believe we would be perfectly paired.”

“I think not. The lion and the mouse would be a more apt comparison. What choice has the mouse unless she resorts to devious means?” She held his gaze a moment until he chuckled, easing the tension.

“I do believe we’re no longer referring to individuals but to peoples.”

“The struggle of a people is made up of individuals’ actions.”

“How true…as demonstrated in your most illustrious uncle.” His gaze wandered over the ballroom until he spotted Uncle Dominik, in the midst of a conversation with several guests.

“My uncle embodies the spirit of the Polish nation.”

Orlovsky’s attention turned back to her. “While he has been permitted to return from exile, the grand duke will not look kindly on any plots your uncle would be involved in to subvert Russian authority.”

Krysia quaked inwardly, remembering her uncle’s secret visitor. While her heart thudded in fear, she kept her eyes fixed on the count and lifted her chin a fraction. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

He smiled. “Your eyes gave me all the answers I needed.”

She remained silent, wondering what she’d given away. How much did the count know of her uncle’s activities? What was her uncle involved in? As the questions mounted, Krysia strove to remain outwardly unmoved.

Orlovsky regarded his gloved hands. “Information is an interesting thing. One can use it in so many different ways, don’t you agree?” When she said nothing, he continued. “For example, I find all of a sudden my greatest desire is to be counted among your suitors—your privileged suitors.” He paused, as if to allow his words to sink in. “Now if my suspicions—”

Krysia let out a slow breath, relieved that he had only suspicions. That meant he had no proof of anything. “You may conjecture all you like about my uncle.”

He shrugged. “If proof is what you need, there are always ways of obtaining that.” With each passing second, the count’s narrow smile was becoming more detestable to Krysia. “Anything for the cause of romance, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Fair means or foul? What if I refuse to dance to your tune?”

He eyed her appraisingly. “Why then, we would see what a good fencing opponent you’d make.”

“Is that a threat?” Krysia asked disdainfully.

“I enjoy a good challenge, and as I see it, there are different ways to go about furthering my suit with you. It’s merely up to you to open the match, by choosing the method.”

“The weapon, you mean? When you’ve dictated the rules? How little you must know of human nature if you suppose this the way to win my respect.”

“On the contrary. I know a great deal about human nature, and I much prefer a fighting tigress to a compliant kitten.” The count laughed deeply, seeming to enjoy the comparison.

“I wouldn’t laugh too soon. You might find yourself with neither.” Krysia made to step past him. He caught her wrist loosely.

“I think not, my dear. Before you depart to enjoy the attentions of your young swains, let me invite you to go riding with me tomorrow afternoon in the Łazienki Gardens, at three o’clock.”

Krysia kept her profile turned to him, refusing to acknowledge his invitation with even a glance.

At her continued silence, the count increased the pressure of his thumb and middle finger against her wrist. “Tut, tut. Don’t keep me waiting tomorrow. Remember our conversation. If you value your uncle’s safety, you will acquiesce to my requests.” He released her wrist. “I’ll expect to see you at the western gates of the gardens.”

About Ruth

Ruth Axtell knew she wanted to be a writer ever since she wrote her first story—a spy thriller—at the age of twelve. She studied comparative literature at Smith College, spending her junior year at the Sorbonne in Paris. After college, she taught English in the Canary Islands then worked in international development in Miami, Florida, before moving to the Netherlands, where for the next several years, she juggled both writing and raising her three children.
In 1994, her second manuscript was a finalist in Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart competition. In 2002, her sixth manuscript took second place in the Laurie Contest of RWA’s Smoky Mountain chapter. The final judge requested her full manuscript and this became her first published book, Winter Is Past, which was spotlighted in Christian Retailing magazine. Since then, Ruth has gone on to publish thirteen historical romances and one novella. Her books have been translated into Dutch, Italian, Polish and Afrikaans . Her second historical, Wild Rose, was chosen by Booklist as a “Top Ten Christian Fiction” selection in 2005.
Ruth lives on the coast of Maine where she enjoys gardening, walking, reading romances and gazing at the ocean plotting her next romance.

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