The Countess

THE COUNTESS Valentina Luellen

A plea for help from her sister Natasha brings Countess Alexandreya Romanova to St Petersburg - a city soon to be at the mercy of the new Czar, Peter the Mad. She finds Natasha trapped in a miserable marriage, and so notorious for her love affairs that Alexandreya's own reputation becomes suspect. Dmitri Varanov, leader of Catherine II's Cossack troops, is arrogantly determined to have Alexandreya, and their passionate battle is as fierce as the war between mad Peter and ruthless Catherine. For Dmitri despises all women as deeply as Alexandreya mistrusts all men ...

CHAPTER ONE NOVEMBER, in the year of 1761, was one of the coldest months the Russian countryside had ever experienced. Villages and towns had been cut off for months by unusually heavy drifts of snow; the fleet was icebound at the port of Kronstadt, much to the annoyance of the Czar Peter, for it forced him to remain indoors in the Winter Palace and amuse himself instead with his toy soldiers, while in the streets outside, people dropped dead from the intense cold. Nevertheless, there was great activity in the city now the court had arrived to spend the winter months there. The enthusiasm of the Empress Elizabeth for entertaining on a vast scale had doubled itself over the past year as if to prove to the ever-watchful eyes about her that rumours of ill-health were unfounded. She was alive and well and not yet ready to hand the throne over to her half-witted nephew.

Although it was well past midday, it was still bitterly ,cold and a chilling wind from Siberia swept across the glistening white countryside, pounding mercilessly against the column of soldiers riding stiffly, half-frozen to their saddles. They were returning to St. Petersburg after a long and tedious patrol which had lasted over a week. At a signal from the officer in charge, the column headed down a steep incline towards the main road, guiding their horses over the treacherous ground with an unerring skill that made them pride of the Empress’s army. These men were Cossacks, the most formidable fighting force in Russia; proud, fierce and utterly ruthless. They were feared and in many instances, hated by the rich boyars and nobles who were only too aware of the power the Cossack Hetmen wielded over the common people. The snow on the road was thick, but hard, unlike that covering the countryside over which they had traversed so far, and it meant the horses were able to break into a swift canter. A mile further along the road they caught up with a carriage progressing at a far slower pace.

The Cossack officer frowned and muttered something under his breath about fools who ventured out in such weather, and gave his men the signal to overtake. At the sound of drumming hooves, the face of a young girl appeared at the window of the carriage, registered displeasure at what she saw and promptly disappeared again. “They are trying to pass us, my lady,” she said, turning to the richlydressed young woman in the far corner. Her mistress, the Countess Alexandreya Nadine Romanova, leaned forward to glance out of the window, and her green eyes sparked with sudden anger at the sight of the approaching riders. “You are right. That officer is waving them on, can’t he see the road is too narrow? He will force us off the road.” The column galloped by, showering the coach and its occupants with flying snow from beneath the horses' hooves. Alexandreya had a glimpse of a hard brown face bearing a contemptuous expression as the officer turned his head to look at her, then he and his men were gone, leaving the coachman fighting to keep the carriage wheels out of a huge snowdrift. “Cossacks,” Anya the maid said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Did you see the way they looked at us? Ignorant pigs.” Alexandreya brushed the last of the snow from her clothes and sat back in her seat, too tired to even feel annoyed over the incident. “They are the first signs of life we have seen since yesterday morning,” she said. “Let us hope it means we are near a village or inn. I must sleep in a bed tonight.” “But, my lady, you cannot think of such a thing,” Anya protested. “Two women travelling alone will be considered easy prey for the scum who inhabit these roadside places. Did you know these inns keep women to amuse the male guests? Without an escort I shudder to think what we would be taken for.”

“Don’t fuss so.” Alexandreya smiled across into the girl’s anxious features. “Perhaps we shall find an inn not of ill repute, they cannot all be dens of iniquity. Besides, the horses will drop if we try to reach St. Petersburg without a rest. I prefer to spend a few hours in a house of doubtful repute than to find myself stranded in a strange part of the country with dead horses.” Anya sat in a disturbed silence, watching her mistress drift into an exhausted sleep. Not once in all the four years since she had been rescued from a Cossack raid and taken into service by the Romanova family, had she known the Countess to venture more than twenty miles from home, let alone some two hundred and fifty. Her mistress was paler than usual and she had refused to let Anya dress her magnificent long red hair that morning, despite the fact that it had not been combed for nearly a whole day, saying that she was tired and her head ached. It was little wonder, considering the distance they had come, Anya thought. She knew the journey was in response to a letter her mistress had received from her sister in St. Petersburg. Her name was Natasha and she was the wife of one of Czar Peter’s officers. Although only eighteen years old, Anya knew more of the world and how to take care of herself than her beloved mistress, barely three years her senior, and she feared for the safety of them both. They were travelling with only a driver and a manservant, hardly a sufficient show of force to repel bandits - or to demand courtesy from such ruffians as the Cossacks who had almost ridden their carriage off the road. Towards late afternoon, they came in sight of an inn. Alexandreya stared out of the window, hardly able to conceal her apprehension at the sight of the sombre, desolate road-house set back beneath some trees. “I am sure we will be able to find accommodation for one night,” she said, managing to hide her misgivings as she turned to her maid. “Tell Michael to accompany us.” “This is foolishness, my lady. We will have our throats cut.”

“Do as I say, you foolish girl.” Tiredness made Alexandreya’s tone sharp. “Or stay here and sleep in the coach.” Muttering under her breath, Anya, crossed herself quickly and climbed down from the coach. The sound of coarse laughter reached their ears as they approached the door. Anya hesitated and hung back as Alexandreya stepped inside. The air was heavy with a smoke haze that stung her eyes as she glanced quickly around the dimly-lighted room. It was full of soldiers, their uniforms instantly recognisable as belonging to the Cossacks who had passed them earlier. She began to cross the room and at once the hubbub of voices ceased and all eyes were directed on the slim, elegantly robed woman, with the unmistakable bearing of a high-born lady. Someone close by made a remark which evoked sniggers and whispers from his companion. Anya glared at them balefully and moved closer to her mistress. A short, stocky man came forward to meet them, wiping his hands on a piece of dirty cloth wound about his middle. A Cossack caught his arm and looked significantly at the two women. ‘New girls, Boris?" “Drunken fool - can’t you tell a lady when you see one?” He bowed low before Alexandreya. “I am the landlord, madam - welcome to my humble establishment. We keep the best wines and food outside St. Petersburg.” “I will sample both in a short while,” Alexandreya answered, “but first I need to refresh myself after a long journey. I require a room for myself and my maid. You seem to be very full, but no doubt you can find quarters for my other two servants in the stables.” “Rooms?” The landlord looked aghast. “But that is impossible. The inn is full. I have three or four men sharing one room, even the stables are crowded.” “With Cossack pigs,” Anya muttered.

“Colonel Varanov always stays here on his return from a patrol - his men would slit my throat if I put you in one of their rooms, besides they are not to be trusted. Believe me, madam, it is best if you go on to St. Petersburg.” “The lady looks exceedingly tired, Boris, and she did say she had had along journey,” a quiet voice intervened. A man in a dark grey uniform, with gold epaulettes on the shoulders, stood on the staircase behind the landlord. Alexandreya found herself under the bold surveillance of dark, piercing eyes that were oddly disconcerting. Although they scrutinised her from head to toe, there was not a flicker of interest in them. He was very broad, and tall; so tall, in fact, that he was forced to duck his head beneath the beams strung across the staircase as he continued on his way downstairs. A man of ordinary height could have passed beneath them with ease. Alexandreya realised the quick glimpse she had had of his face through the carriage window had been deceptive. He was a full-blooded Cossack Herman and his arrogant stance proclaimed that he was not ashamed that his forefathers had been freebooters and pirates. She saw a hint of ruthlessness in the square-cut jaw, determination in the firm mouth. He inclined his head slightly towards her. It was a polite acknowledgement of her presence, nothing more. “Colonel Dmitri Varanov. May I be of assistance?” “You are most kind.” Alexandreya forced a smile to her stiff lips, choosing her words with care. “I am told the inn is full.” “It is, but the problem of a room is easily solved. You shall have mine. See to it, Boris, I will share with Sergei. Have the lady’s trunks taken up immediately. Well?” An impatient note crept into his voice as Boris stood silent, apparently overwhelmed with surprise. “At once, Colonel.” Colonel Varanov laughed as he scurried away and cast a glance behind him.

“There is an empty table. Would you care for some wine while the room is being prepared?” “My mistress is the Countess Alexandreya Romanova, she does not drink with common soldiers,” Anya said coldly. “Indeed.” There was a flicker of recognition at the impressive name. “Not even as a matter of common courtesy?” Alexandreya flushed acutely and silenced Anya with a fierce frown. “Go and help the landlord with our things,” she ordered. “But, my lady!” “Do as you are told. Your rudeness is unforgivable. If it was not for Colonel Varanov we would be spending another awful night in the carriage.” She stretched out her hand to the officer. “I am exceedingly grateful.” For along moment her gesture was ignored, then slowly Dmitri Varanov raised her fingers to his lips. “I am at your service, Countess.”

Alexandreya went to her room as soon as it was ready. She had sat with Colonel Varanov for nearly twenty minutes, and taken a glass of excellent wine, with hardly a word passing between them. Aware of the questioning stares from his men as he escorted her upstairs, she thanked him and closed the door firmly behind her. It was a relief to climb out of her travel-stained clothes and relax in a tub of moderately hot water that Anya had miraculously conjured from out of nowhere. Afterwards she fell into bed and slept blissfully for several hours, totally unaware of the hardness of the bed or the coarseness of the sheets.

“I dread to think what food they will put before you,” Anya said as she hooked her mistress into a gown of burgundy-coloured velvet. “Full of bugs, I expect, like the beds.” “I found the bed quite clean, Anya. Please, don’t fuss so." “Only because that Colonel made the landlord change the bedding. He threatened to give him a flogging if you had a single complaint in the morning.” “Did he, now. It would appear my doubts about the Colonel are groundless.” Alexandreya clipped a pair of emerald earrings into her ears, her eyes thoughtful. “He would be insulted if I offered him money, I am certain, but I must repay his kindness somehow. I know, I shall invite him to dine with me! Anya, find the landlord and tell him I require a table and two chairs here. Then find Colonel Varanov and ask him if he will dine with me.” “My lady, it is not seemly for you to entertain a soldier unchaperoned,” Anya said stubbornly. “If the Count, your father, was alive--” “He would understand and respect my wish to repay this man,” her mistress replied. “I know you are concerned for me, little Anya, because of the way you were treated by Cossack soldiers, but they cannot all be vicious murderers as were those who killed your parents. Go now and do my bidding.” “Yes, my lady.”

Colonel Dmitri Mikhailovich Varanov knocked on the door of Alexandreya’s room promptly at nine o’clock. Anya admitted him, letting him know by a sour look that she, at least, did not welcome him. “You may go, Anya.” She hesitated, but her mistress’s tone forbade argument and she curtsied and left them.

“I am glad you decided to accept my invitation, Colonel.” Alexandreya motioned to the chair beside her. “Please be seated. Boris has provided a fine dinner. Fish soup, hams, caviar and a bottle of Italian wine. I suspect you had a hand in this.” “Boris knows my tastes--I pay him well to provide good food for myself and my men whenever we are here." Dmitri seated himself and reached for they bottle of wine. “And such beautiful glasses too.” Alexandreya leaned forward to examine one of the exquisitely carved goblets. “Wine can never be truly appreciated in those atrocities Boris calls glasses. I brought these with me today.” Alexandreya tasted her wine and smiled approval. “This is excellent. One does not usually find such good taste in a soldier.” A spark of anger flashed through her companion’s eyes. “Why, because I was born a peasant?” he asked coldly. “I am not ashamed of it.” “You mistake my meaning. A soldier is a man of action--violence. He has little time to spend--” Alexandreya’s voice trailed on as she became aware she was about to say the wrong thing again. “Improving himself, I think you meant to say.” Dmitri Varanov did not allow her to retire gracefully. The berry-brown face opposite her grew hard. “I fully realise I am being honoured by this invitation, Countess Romanova, but if my peasant presence is so distasteful to you, I can retire. You are under no obligation to me.” His dark eyes met hers and challenged her to dismiss him, and further earn his contempt. Alexandreya swallowed nervously and lowered her gaze. She had never had this trouble entertaining at home. But then none of her guests had been as arrogant and egotistical as this Cossack, with his obvious dislike of the nobility.

“I did not invite you here to argue. I am a stranger in this part of the country, as you have probably guessed, and I am most anxious to hear of St. Petersburg and the Empress’s court. Please stay and talk with me.” Dmitri’s gaze rested for so long on her face that she felt the colour begin to mount in her cheeks and quickly looked away, wishing she was not 'prone to these attacks of blushing. It was not becoming and it completely wrecked her composure. His mouth curved into a crooked smile. “As the Countess wishes.” They dined in an atmosphere of conflicting feelings. Whereas Alexandreya was completely relaxed and talking freely, her companion seemed to withdraw further from the conversation as the evening progressed. He was not a lady’s man, Alexandreya decided. His manners were impeccable, which surprised her, and he answered her many questions with politeness and great patience, but he conveyed the impression of preferring to be elsewhere--or in other company. “Was the ham to your liking, Countess?” he asked when the dinner was over. “It was indeed. I must congratulate Boris before I leave.” Dmitri leaned across the table and refilled their glasses, his eyes appraising the attractive face before him. For the first time that evening he found himself studying her. She was by far the most beautiful woman he had encountered in a long time - and beautiful in a way quite new to him. He was used to the experienced women of the court. His present mistress was apt to change her lovers as often as her dresses. This girl seemed different. Her gown was expensive and the emeralds hanging from her ears were probably priceless; outwardly her appearance differed very little from the other women he knew, but she lacked boldness, or was it maturity? She was almost shy in his presence and he hated her for it, because this made him withdraw into silence, instead of lashing her with the sarcastic tongue he reserved for women of her station.

She turned and smiled at him. The firelight flickered over the alabaster whiteness of her bare shoulders and Dmitri found himself forced to resist a strong impulse to take her in his arms and kiss her until the calm pose shattered and the woman beneath was revealed. “Did you realise your men almost rode my carriage off the road this afternoon, Colonel?” “I did not. I apologise.” “I neither asked for an apology, nor indicated one was necessary,” Alexandreya returned haughtily. “I was merely pointing out a fact which apparently had escaped your notice.” “My men and I were tired. We were caught in a bad storm earlier, and were anxious to get some hot food inside us.” “I, too, was in the storm, Colonel; if it had not delayed us, I should be with my sister in St. Petersburg now, instead of depriving you of your room.” “You intend to stay in the city then,” Dmitri said. “For a short while, then I return home and I hope to be taking my sister with me. Is St. Petersburg as lovely as everyone tells me, and as large? My sister’s husband is in the army, his name is Krylenko, Major Vladimir Krylenko, Czar Peter’s aide-de-camp.” Alexandreya brightened considerably. “Is it possible you know him?” “I know Major Krylenko very well.” Dmitri’s face had darkened and she realised he did not like the other man. He stared at her intently, then allowed his eyes to wander slowly down over her body in a scrutinising inspection that was so unexpected and seemingly out of character, Alexandreya found herself lost for words. She felt naked beneath his gaze and was inexplicably afraid. “Oh, yes, I am acquainted with the Major--your sister Natasha also,” he continued at length. “We have spent many enjoyable evenings together.”

Rising to his feet, he refilled their glasses again, draining the last of the wine from the bottle. “I’ll see if Boris can produce another one, or perhaps two,” he murmured with a smile. Alexandreya rose also, sensing a change in his attitude that she did not like. “It is late, Colonel Varanov, and I want to make an early start in the morning. If your men allow me to get to sleep,” she added as a gust of tumultuous laughter sounded from below. The soldiers had been comparatively quiet at first, but as the lateness of the evening increased, so had their celebrating. “All my men were born of poor peasant stock, Countess, myself included. We work hard and it has taught us to take our pleasures where we find them and as often as possible. But you would not understand that.” Before she could guess his intentions, he had caught her hands in his and turned them palm upwards. His mouth twisted into a bitter smile at the sight of the soft, delicate hands trembling in his. “They do not know what work is. They are only fit to be adorned with rings and kissed by fools who think you are better than they are.” "Colonel Varanov, you forget yourself! Let me go immediately.” Alexandreya’s voice shook with anger. “You are insulting.” Dmitri dropped her hands with a short laugh. Reaching for the two glasses of wine, he held one out to her. “Drink up, Countess, the night is young yet.” “I demand that you leave my room at once,” Alexandreya ordered. “Do you indeed?” His tone told her he had no intention of complying with her wishes. When she made no attempt to take the glass, he drank the wine himself and dropped the glasses on to the table. She felt a chill of fear run through her

as his eyes raked over her again, from the fiery tresses wound high on her head in a gleaming coil; past the quivering lips to the low, square neckline of her gown, where they stopped. “I am of the opinion I have not shown you enough attention this evening. If I had known who you were earlier--” Alexandreya stepped back in alarm. Had he taken leave of his senses - or was there some other, more significant reason for this horrifying change in him? “I don’t understand you.” “Come now, Countess, please dispense with the pose of innocence. I admit you fooled me for a while, although I fail to see why it was necessary. If you are Natasha Krylenko’s sister, then you did not invite me here merely to dine. I have been wasting valuable time when we could be better employed.” He caught her wrist and pulled her against him, his eyes glittering dangerously; angry at what he thought to be a deliberate deception to amuse a woman’s vanity. “I shall keep you waiting no longer.” The scream of terror which rose in Alexandreya’s throat never materialised. His lips smashed down on hers in a savage kiss full of primitive passion, leaving her in no doubt as to his intentions. Her resistance only served to increase the wildness she had somehow unwittingly unleashed in him, until with reeling senses she was forced to surrender to his embrace. It could not have been more than a minute or two, yet it seemed an eternity before he lifted his mouth from hers and gazed down into her ashen face. “You do not have your sister’s talent for accommodating lonely soldiers, Countess, perhaps she will give you the benefit of her experience when you reach St. Petersburg.” Somehow Alexandreya found her voice.

“If you do not release me, I shall call my maid to fetch the landlord,” she threatened. “She will not hear you,” Dmitri mocked. “She is in the tender care of one of my men.” Alexandreya’s eyes widened with alarm. Anya--and a Cossack! Anger surged through her body, restoring her failing strength. Her eyes blazed as she looked up into the triumphant features of her captor. “Five years ago a band of Cossacks raided Anya’s village. She saw her father and brother cut down in front of her--she was forced to watch the rape of her mother before they turned on her. If she is harmed again, I swear you will pay for it with your life.” Her tiny clenched fists thudded with unexpected viciousness into the smiling face above her and momentarily the hold on her slackened. A violent push sent him reeling back against the table, and by the time he had recovered his balance, Alexandreya was standing beside the door, a small pistol in her hand. She had brought it with her to satisfy Anya’s fears, never believing she would have any cause to use it. “Get out,” she ordered. “I underestimated you,” Dmitri said, no longer smiling. “You may lack experience, but you have far more spirit than Natasha. You are an unusual combination of fire and ice which interests me.” “You are disgusting,” Alexandreya flung back. Her finger tightened around the trigger as he stepped towards her. “I warn you, I am an excellent shot.” She had never handled a pistol before in her life, but desperation made her sound convincing. “Why should I bother myself with you anyway?” he said with a careless shrug. “There are plenty downstairs far more willing.” “One more thing, Colonel.” He halted in the doorway at Alexandreya’s ice-cold tones. “Instruct your man to release my maid and have her sent to

me, or I promise that the Empress will hear of this outrage when I reach the city.” Dmitri’s face was an expressionless mask as he stared back at her. “You are giving the orders now, Countess Romanova, but it will be different in St. Petersburg, as you will discover to your cost.” With an inarticulate cry of relief, Alexandreya sank down on to the bed as the door closed behind him. She heard loud voices and recognised Anya’s, shrill with temper. The next instant, the girl had rushed into the room, screaming that she would murder the Colonel if he had harmed her mistress. “My lady, did that dog hurt you? You should have him whipped. Oh, why did you invite him here? I tried to warn you. These Cossack scum are all alike.” Tears carne into her eyes at the sight of the bruises already beginning to show on Alexandreya’s wrists and shoulders. “Have him whipped; teach him a lesson.” “I am all right, Anya. It’s you - he said one of his men was taking care of you.” “That’s what he thought. One of them grabbed hold of me as I left here and tried to drag me into his room, but I bit him so hard he let go. I barricaded myself in my room. I tried to come out again to make sure you were all right, but there was a giant outside my door. Oh, my lady, he frightened me half to death! He said he’d cut my heart out and feed it to the dogs if I gave him any trouble. Forgive me - I wanted to come, but--” “Hush, I was not harmed, truly, just frightened. We both were, and I shall find out why tomorrow when we reach St. Petersburg.” “Why! These Cossacks need no reason for the things they do.” Alexandreya discovered she was still holding the pistol. She dropped it on to the bed with a shudder of disgust.

“You are wrong, there was a very special reason for Colonel Varanov’s attitude. I dread to think what it was. I have the feeling I should have come to Natasha sooner.”

Despite the unpleasantness of the evening, Alexandreya slept deeply until morning. Refusing to leave her, Anya spent the night in a chair by the fire and was busily repacking when her mistress awoke. It was still early, but Alexandreya insisted they breakfasted immediately and left directly afterwards. She had no wish to encounter Dmitri Varanov or any of his soldiers, but she was not spared the embarrassment of seeing him again. He came out of the stables as she was crossing to the coach, leading the superb white stallion she had seen him riding the previous day. With immense dignity, Alexandreya drew her ermine cloak more tightly around her and passed him without a word. The Colonel watched the coach move off and a smile touched the lean mouth. “Until we meet again, Countess Alexandreya Romanova.”

The house of Major Vladimir Krylenko, aide-de-camp to His Imperial Highness, Czar Peter, Duke of Holstein, was situated not fifty yards away from the main entrance to the palace. It was set back from the road, reached by access through a narrow archway and across a wide courtyard. It was a large, unattractive house, but one of the few that could boast of interior decorating and this fact alone made Natasha Krylenko one of the most envied women in St. Petersburg. She was also one of the most talkedabout. Her apparent lack of regard for her marital status was a topic of conversation which never ceased to interest the local gossip community. It was said by some that ,her number of lovers was surpassed only by that of the Grand Duchess Catherine herself.

At the age of twenty-two, after four years of marriage to a man she had soon discovered to be a liar and a bully, and the pain and disappointment of two miscarriages, Natasha was no longer the innocent, romantic girl who had first come to St. Petersburg seeking excitement. Within a few days of being introduced into the society, she had fallen in love, an occurrence which took place at least once a week until Vladimir Krylenko appeared on the scene four months later, and swept her off her feet. He was neither handsome nor particularly intelligent, but contrary to other men she had known, he was dominating and an experienced man of the world. She revelled in this novelty, long enough at least to embark upon a secret marriage. At length she took him to the family home at Bratz to meet her parents, and was pleased when she received her parents’ blessing on what they thought would be a satisfactory match. A year later, after a particularly brutal beating delivered by her husband in a fit of drunken temper, Natasha was left with no illusions as to her future outlook. In less than a week she had taken her first lover. The fierce pride of the Romanovs forbade her to leave Vladimir and return home. She did attempt it once, when her sister wrote to tell her of their mother’s death, but before the carriage had reached the town limits, it had been overtaken by a party of soldiers under orders from her husband to return her to the house. The beating which followed served as a stiff deterrent against a second attempt. Oblivious to the years of misery her sister had endured, Alexandreya leaned out of the window as the carriage turned into the courtyard, peering eagerly through the swiftly gathering dusk for the first glimpse of her after so long. The double doors _opened and a footman stepped down to help her alight, and behind him came a woman Alexandreya found hard to recognise as her younger sister. The country-girl complexion, if it still remained, was hidden beneath thick powder and rouge, the long brown hair had been cut short and small curls now framed a round face, the plumpness of which was matched by the well-rounded figure inside a vivid yellow dress.

Alexandreya hugged her for a long moment, then stood back, her expression betraying her surprise. “You’ve changed, ’Tasha. You are so - so elegant.” It was the only word she could think of at that moment. Natasha took her arm with a soft laugh and led her into the house. “Coming from my elder sister, that is indeed a compliment and if I have grown more elegant, Alexa dear, you are far more beautiful. Admirers will be hammering on the door before the end of the week.” She laughed again. “Heavens, haven’t you learned to control that blush yet--your cheeks are crimson. The men will love it. I notice you don’t put colouring on your cheeks still, well, perhaps under the circumstances, you don’t need it. Me, I like a little colour. Leave your cloak on this chair, the servants will take it upstairs with your baggage. Come into the drawing room. I had some hot punch brought in the minute I heard the carriage. You can thaw out while your maid is unpacking.” An hour later, the last traces of cold disappeared from A1exandreya’s body. She stretched her legs out towards the fire and looked across to where her sister sat. “You are very lucky to have such a lovely house. This room is quite beautiful.” Natasha glanced at the thick velvet drapes at the windows, the many statuettes and marble figurines and the silver plate in the place of honour along the intricately carved sideboard. “Yes, it is. Vladimir collects beautiful things.” There was an odd note in her voice that aroused Alexandreya’s curiosity. She leant forward in her chair. “Are you unhappy? Is that why you begged me to come in your letter? What can I do to help?” Natasha did not answer. She had been watching her sister curled up in the high-backed chair, envying the flawless complexion and wishing that she still had her crowning glory. At last she said:

“Unhappy, me? Whatever put that idea into your head?” “Why, you did, of course. Your letter sounded almost desperate. Why else would I be here? You said it was impossible for you to remain in St. Petersburg any longer.” Natasha rose to her feet avoiding her sister’s eyes. “I must admit when I wrote to you, I was upset. There was father’s death and then Vladimir had been away for several weeks. He is away often, you know, and I grow lonely. It was foolish of me to give way in a weak moment and I regretted it as soon as the letter had been despatched. I was going to write again, then I had your letter to say you were on your way. Am I forgiven, Alexa?” Natasha knelt beside the chair with an apologetic smile. “I am an idiot, you always said so. Don’t be angry with me.” “Angry - now you are being silly! It is wonderful to be here with you and I am relieved that nothing is wrong. I was worried. Now I am here, you must show me St. Petersburg, it will give me something to remember when I am alone at Bratz.” “You could always stay here, there is no need for you ever to go back to that lonely old mausoleum. We could find a house for you, engage servants,” Natasha protested. “You’ve wasted years of your life away looking after mother and then father, instead of caring for a husband and children. Your head is crammed full of knowledge from father’s books in the Great Library, which will make you far superior to anyone at court and you’ve paid dearly for it. Look what happened with the very first man who came along--” “That is quite enough, Natasha.” Alexandreya’s tone was suddenly sharp with anger. “My past mistakes are my own affair, have no fear such a thing will ever occur again. Please be good enough to refrain from mentioning it again.” Natasha kissed her contritely on the cheek. “I'm sorry. I had no idea the memory still upset you. Would you like to see your rooms now? They are next to mine so that I can plague you to fasten

my gown or finish my hair as I did when we were children. It will be like old times. I swear no maid has ever been as competent as you were.” It would indeed be like old times, Alexandreya thought as she followed Natasha upstairs. Not for one moment did she suspect that anything was wrong and she was very happy at the thought of the weeks ahead. Anya was busy unpacking when Natasha and Alexandreya entered the bedroom. Furniture was sparse, there was only the four-poster bed, a dressing-table and a closet, but it was tastefully decorated in blue and gold and looked as comfortable as Alexandreya’s own room at home. “There are rooms in this house that have never been used,” Natasha explained, “I have had this furniture brought down from the attic. You could do with a chair or two. I’ll have one of the servants see to it first thing in the morning. This house is far too big for us really, but we stay here because it is close to the palace.” She waved a hand towards the curtained windows. “You can see most of it from up here and there is a door in the courtyard below which connects directly with the barrack square. It’s terribly convenient - for Vladimir to use when he is late,” she added hastily as if afraid her sister might suspect otherwise. The sight of the bed with its pure white sheets and the thick mattress made Alexandreya realise how tired she was. Their progress after leaving the inn had been irritatingly slow and impeded by snowdrifts blocking the road. There was so much she wanted to say to Natasha, but the combination of the fire and the hot punch had made her pleasantly drowsy. “ ’Tasha, will you think me very rude if I go straight to bed?" She did not notice the look of relief on Natasha’s face, but Anya did, and wondered why her mistress’s wish to retire should be expressed in terms of relief instead of disappointment. “My dear, of course not, you must be exhausted after that awful journey. Why did you let me prattle on so? I’ll have a supper tray sent up to you at once. Have you everything you need?” She pointed across the room. “That door leads into a small bathroom. This is the only house to have one in the whole street. Would a warm bath help?”

“Bless you, no. I think I would fall asleep in it. Please apologise to your husband for me.” “Vladimir - oh, did I forget to tell you? he’s been away for the 'past week on one of his trips to Kronstadt. I don’t expect him back until tomorrow. Goodnight, Alexa - sleep well,” Natasha said lightly and was closing the door behind her before Alexandreya had recovered from her surprise. Quickly pulling off her dust-streaked clothes, she slipped into the fresh nightgown Anya held out to her, and got into bed. “Do you' have a nice room, Anya?” “Oh, yes, my lady, it overlooks the square. Do you think I will see the Grand Duke drilling his soldiers?" “Why not, I believe he takes great pride in them.” “Perhaps I will see - him.” “Who do you mean? The Czar?” “No, the other one, that Colonel.” A wicked smile crossed Anya’s face. “Perhaps if I do, I might accidentally drop something on his head. It would serve him right for what he did to you.” “He did nothing to me,” Alexandreya said firmly. “And I forbid you to discuss what happened with anyone in this house. Should you see Colonel Varanov again, you will ignore him. Is that clear?" The maid curtsied and said it was. “Shall I draw back the curtains before I go, my lady?” “Yes, please.” Anya blew out the candles and pulled the drapes back from the windows, filling the room with moonlight. An indefinable sound below arrested her

attention and she glanced down in time to see a shadowy figure cross the courtyard and slip into the house. It was indeed convenient, she mused, and not only for Major Krylenko. “Go to bed, Anya, you must be tired too.” “Yes, my lady.” Alexandreya lay back amid the pillows with a contented sigh. In her mind she was satisfied that Colonel Dmitri Varanov had merely been an unpleasant moment in her life and could now be forgotten. It was not likely they would meet again. She had never been so mistaken in all her young life.

CHAPTER TWO IT was almost noon when Alexandreya awoke the next day, feeling her old self once more. Ordering Anya to lay out one of her best dresses, she lazed in the rose-coloured marble tub, filled to the brim with hot scented water, for over an hour, contemplating how her time in St. Petersburg was to be spent. There was so much to see - the ballet, and the opera, and the Academy of Fine Arts. She was tempted to do as her sister had suggested and rent a house for several months. What had been intended as a rescue mission now seemed to be turning into a pleasant and unexpected holiday, her first away from Bratz in seven years. Anya was putting the finishing touches to her mistress’ hair when Natasha came into the room, clutching an envelope in one hand. She looked flushed and excited. “Alexa, you have made a conquest already.” She handed it to her sister, her eyes bright with amusement. “A messenger brought it not ten minutes ago. He came from the palace.” “The palace? But I know no one there.” Puzzledly, Alexandreya extracted a small white card from the envelope. Natasha leaned forward, trying to read the writing on one side. “Who is it from? Alexa, tell me, don’t tease.” Alexandreya turned pale. Her eyes had darted first to the signature and she was astounded - indeed horrified - to see it was signed by the last person she wanted to encounter. “Dmitri Varanov.” In a bold hand he had written: “In repayment for your generous hospitality at the inn, please dine with me this evening.” Somehow it sounded more like an order than a request. “How dare he?” She thrust the card out for her sister to read and saw Natasha’s mouth gape. “Dmitri - where did you meet him?”

“So you know him?” “Why, yes, I have met him once or twice.” Natasha laughed and clapped her hands excitedly. “Alexa, what a conquest you have made! He is an important man in the palace, the Empress herself dotes on him.” “I detest him.” Alexandreya tore the card into tiny pieces and dropped them on to the floor. “You are joking, surely - he is the most eligible man at court, despite his reputation.” Natasha peered down into her sister’s colourless cheeks. “I believe you are serious. The very mention of his name has frightened you. Alexa, this inn - you met him there?” “Yes, the night before last. It was full and he gave up his room for me. We dined together.” “And that is the hospitality he mentions on the card?" “You may go, Anya.” Alexandreya had forgotten, her maid’s presence and quickly dismissed her. As the door closed she turned to Natasha. “He repaid me by trying to make love to me. Because I am your sister, he seemed to think I would not object to his advances.” “Oh, no.” A look of horror crossed Natasha’s face. “He spoke to you of me?” “No - only that he knew you and Vladimir. What could he tell me? Does he know you that well?” Natasha sank down on to the bed, her face in her hands. All the pretence had been for nothing. “It is time you knew the truth,” she said quietly. “It was foolish of me to hide it.” She did not look at Alexandreya as she spoke of her disastrous marriage, of the beatings and the humiliation she had endured and of the lovers she had

taken to try and compensate for the long, dull days and lonely nights - she was afraid of the contempt she might see there. “ "Tasha, oh, my poor darling, why didn’t you tell me all this before, years ago when it first began? You could have come home.” “No, I couldn’t. Even if I had possessed the courage to face father, Vladimir would have sent men to bring me back, as he did before.” “But not this time. Come back with me to Bratz, start a new life. It will not be as exciting in the country, but you will be safe.” “That was my intention when I first wrote to you, but things are different now. I have met someone.” Slowly Natasha raised her head. “I am in love, Alexa, really and truly in love. No, don’t reprove me, I know I said that four years ago when I married. This is different. This is love, not infatuation.” “And the man is Colonel Varanov?” “Dmitri? Good heavens, no. His name is André Bruckner. He is a lieutenant in the Czar’s Holstein Guards, one of Vladimir’s junior officers, in fact. You will like him, he is kind and gentle. When I am with him I feel a woman, not an unwanted ornament.” “And the Colonel?” “I was never his mistress, Alexa, although everyone thinks I was. I entertained a great deal last year and Dmitri came several times with the Grand Duchess. He is attractive and I was bored and lonely. It was a flirtation, nothing more. With Dmitri, it is not wise to commit oneself completely. It appears you have taken his fancy - be careful, he is dangerous, both as a man and a lover.” “I have no interest in either,” Alexandreya answered quickly. So quickly, in fact, that she found Natasha staring at her intently. “Perhaps not at the moment, but he will not give up easily. He has ways of getting what he wants. He is a man of many moods, and I doubt if any

woman will ever really know him. He loathes the aristocracy, as you have probably realised by now. There is a rumour that he was once in love with a very rich widow who played him false. His revenge has been to amuse himself at the expense of any poor woman fool enough to look at him twice. Are you going to refuse the invitation?” “Of course. I shall write an answer at once, making it quite clear that I wish to have nothing more to do with him.” “Very well, I'll despatch a messenger with it as soon as it is ready, but remember you will be making an enemy of a very powerful man. Would it not be better to invite him here to dine with us? It will give you both a chance to sort out this misunderstanding?" “No,” Alexandreya said, coldly. “It would not.” Half an hour later, when the letter was written, Natasha rang for a servant and handed him the sealed message. “You are to deliver this to the palace, into the hands of Count Dmitri Varanov and no other,” she instructed. “Yes, Madame.” Natasha crossed to where Alexandreya stood by the french windows, and smiled at the surprise on her sister’s face. “I see he did not tell you.” “He made a point of telling me he was born of poor peasant stock, and that he took his pleasures where he found them.” “I have no doubt of that. His father was Ataman Varanov, a brave soldier. When he was killed, Dmitri assumed control of the Cossacks and came up through the ranks, much to everyone’s disappointment at court; the men’s, that is. The Empress Elizabeth took him under her wing and allowed private tutors to educate him. The rough diamond is now smoothly polished, and he revels in the fact his position at court as the Grand Duchess’ personal guard commander forces everyone to accept him,

regardless of his birth. The Empress bestowed the title on him after he had uncovered a plot on her life and killed two of the men responsible himself. He hardly ever uses it. She also gave him one of the hunting-lodges belonging to the palace at Peterhof. He spends a great deal of time there.” “Entertaining?” Alexandreya asked dryly. “People love to gossip, Alexa. Perhaps he is what they say, an unscrupulous womaniser, but I have my doubts. I know most of the things they say about me are untrue. But that is enough about Dmitri if you have made up your mind! Let me show you over the house before we have lunch. This afternoon I shall introduce you to my dressmaker.”

Major Vladimir Krylenko returned home the following day. Alexandreya saw him from her bedroom window and her lip curled in disgust at the cruel way he boxed the ears of the stable-boy for not being on hand the moment he arrived. He was a stockily built man, with a thick bull neck and greying hair cut unusually short against his square head. Later in the study, when Natasha introduced them, Alexandreya was barely able to suppress a shudder at the small, snake-like eyes which darted over her. “Alexandreya, of course. You are far more beautiful than at our last meeting.” “You are too kind, Major,” Alexandreya said, and quickly withdrew her hand from his tight clasp. “And you are too formal, my dear, you must call me Vladimir. I hope Natasha has been looking after you. You both must have a lot to talk over after so long.” His eyes were intent on her face, questioning, probing. Somehow Alexandreya managed to smile. “Unfortunately we have had no time so far. I must confess I was so tired after the journey that I have not stirred from my room since I arrived.” `

“That must be rectified immediately. Tonight we will all dine together and you will eat the finest food in St. Petersburg. It will give Natasha a chance to show you her capabilities as a hostess.” He threw a quick glance at his wife. “Will it not, my dear?” “Yes, Vladimir.” “I think we will make an occasion of it - I will invite some fellow officers and their wives. Make arrangements for a dozen in all.” “Very well.” “It is settled then, good. I must return to the palace now, I have an audience with the Czar at eleven o’clock, but I will look forward to this evening. Alexandreya -” He pressed her fingers to his lips, nodded briefly in the direction of his wife and left them. “He wants to show you to his friends,” Natasha said, pulling on the bellrope. “The master will not be at home for lunch,” she told the servant. “The Countess and I will dine as soon as possible and we will be requiring the carriage at two o’clock. Instruct the cook there will be guests tonight. I will discuss the menu later with him. And now Alexa, you must have your maid lay out your finest gown and your most magnificent jewels - tonight you are going to be the most fascinating woman at the table.” Alexandreya laughed. “I shall never make the grade as a ‘femme fatale’, ’Tasha.” A sudden thought struck her and she stared suspiciously at her sister. “Surely Vladimir would not invite Colonel Varanov? I was under the impression they did not like each other.” “There is as much love between them as between Peter and Catherine. I would not dare put them in the same room alone together, let alone at the same table. It is the women I want you to stun as well as the men. I want the bitches to be jealous of you.” The dinner party at the house that evening was the first of many. During the following weeks Vladimir Krylenko entertained often, introducing

Alexandreya to the cream of society. She cared little for the over-dressed women, weighed down with jewels, or for the men, most of whom gave her the impression they considered their companions to be empty-headed coquettes, fit only to look attractive and to be seduced. Her strict upbringing forbade her to admit this to anyone except her sister. Natasha was beginning to look like the girl Alexandreya had known at Bratz. She used considerably less colouring on her cheeks and took more care in the choosing of new clothes, turning, as in the old days to her elder sister for advice. Before entertaining guests, or venturing out in the evening, she would present herself before Alexandreya for a last-minute inspection. “You have made me a new woman,” Natasha whispered to her as they were entering the house one night. They had been to the opera and then to a supper party at the house of another Holstein officer which had lasted into the early hours. She was wearing a new gown in a beautiful shade of blue and around her neck sparkled a sapphire pendant, one of the many pieces from their mother’s collection that Alexandreya had given her. She had never looked so radiant - a fact which did not escape the notice of her husband, and when the house was all in darkness, he paid an unexpected and unwelcomed visit to his wife’s bedroom. It had been several months since she had last attracted him enough to warrant such an honour. In her own room Alexandreya awoke with a start and sat up, listening intently. Was it a scream she had heard or had she been dreaming? The silence was broken by the chiming of a distant clock - that was all. Too much champagne and caviar, Alexandreya thought ruefully. Turning on her side, she went back to sleep, unaware of the humiliation her sister was being forced to endure in the room beyond.

Natasha feigned ignorance the next morning at breakfast when Alexandreya questioned her about the strange noise which had disturbed her sleep. Luckily she was sable to turn the conversation to another subject quite easily, for upon opening the post she discovered an invitation to an unusual kind of bal masqué to be given at the palace by the Empress, and

immediately she plunged into a lengthy discussion on what she should wear. “The whole court will be there - the Empress, the Grand Duchess, perhaps the Czar, everyone of importance. You will enjoy it, Alexa. just imagine, masks must be worn all evening.” “Only until midnight, surely,” Alexandreya said. a Natasha smiled, thinking how pleasant it would be to dance with André, unrecognised by the gossip-mongers. “This is a bal masqué with a difference, only the women are to be masked, and look, it is printed on the bottom of the invitation card. Masks must be worn for the duration of the evening. It is undoubtedly the Grand Duchess’ idea. I have often heard her say it is a pity to spoil an interesting flirtation by revealing one’s identity.” “You are thinking of Lieutenant Bruckner,” Alexandreya teased, and was surprised to see her sister look embarrassed. So he did mean something special to her after all, she thought, and silently vowed to do everything in her power to ensure that Natasha’s bid for happiness was successful. “Oh, I almost forgot in all the excitement, there is another letter for you.” She handed Alexandreya an envelope from beneath her plate with a knowing look. “Dare I guess who it is from?” “There is no need to guess,” Alexandreya retorted with heightening colour. Again there, was just a single white card and on it were written the words. 'Supper at 10 p.m. this evening. ` “The impertinence of the man!” Alexandreya almost choked with rage. “I refuse to be hounded in this way. My letter made it quite clear that I wish never to see him again, and that I resent these invitations.”

“I warned you he does not give up easily. For goodness’ sake dine with him and put me out of my misery,” Natasha said, between mouthfuls of buttered toast. “I will not - nor will I answer this - this command. He can think what he likes about me,” Alexandreya declared resolutely, “I don’t care.” During the next few days, she threw herself wholeheartedly into preparations for the forthcoming celebrations, in an attempt to push Dmitri Varanov out of her mind. But he invaded her thoughts constantly and the memory of his contempt for her haunted her dreams at night.

The Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, a huge quadrilateral building containing many magnificent state rooms and banquet halls of enormous size, was the centre of court life. In an immense semi-circle behind it stood the tall, grey-stoned buildings of the General Staff, the Ministries of Finance and Foreign Affairs and the offices of the Governing Senate and the Holy Synod. From her bedroom window, Alexandreya surveyed the awe-inspiring scene with excited eyes. Tonight, the night of the bal masqué, although snow was falling heavily and it was bitterly cold, coaches had been pulling into the courtyard for the past hour. She had ,watched hundreds of guests, among them ministers of state, high-ranking officers from the army and navy and their womenfolk, hurry into the main entrance. Beside her Anya’s nose puckered into a tiny frown of annoyance as her mistress moved for at least the third time in as many minutes while she was trying to make a lastminute alteration to the ball-gown. “My lady, please be still.” “Don’t scold me, Anya, I am too excited to be still,” Alexandreya laughed. "How do I look? Even from this distance some of the dresses look quite breathtaking. Natasha did the right thing in having a new gown made - I wish I had done so now.”

Anya stood back to allow Alexandreya a final look in the mirror. Apart from the emerald earrings dangling from her ears, she wore no other jewellery. She needed none to show off the alabaster whiteness of her skin. The jade-green satin gown, embroidered with an uncountable number of pearls, curved over a modest bosom and shapely hips. “My lady, no one will be able to hold a candle to you tonight,” Anya said proudly, and her enthusiasm was shared by Natasha when she came into the room a few moments later. “Alexa, you look positively stunning. Masked or not, you will be one of the most attractive women there tonight.” She pirouetted for her sister to inspect her own appearance. “Will I do?” “André will be overwhelmed. Blue suits your colouring, and I prefer your hair slightly higher too. Are we ready?” “Yes, Vladimir is having the carriage brought to the front door. Bring your cloak and mask and we can wait downstairs - if you can drag yourself away from the window.” With a laugh, Alexandreya picked up the black velvet mask which was to hide her identity for the evening, and drew it over her eyes. Even the wonderful balls her parents had given were nothing compared to the splendour she was about to witness. She took the warm cloak, luxuriously lined with fur, that Anya was holding out to her and followed Natasha downstairs.

Her Imperial Highness, The Grand Duchess Catherine, stared the full length of the Banquet Hall, an impressive one hundred and twenty feet, watching the guests milling through the door at the far end of the room like a horde of angry bees. “I believe they have starved themselves for a week,” she declared to the elegantly dressed officer beside her.

Dmitri smiled. He could not have agreed more. The evening had hardly begun, yet already it had been necessary to bring a fresh supply of champagne from the cellars. “The Empress has excelled herself, this promises to be one of the most entertaining bals masqués we have had for a long while,” he answered in his usual quiet tones. Catherine’s blue eyes sparkled with amusement through her mask. “Especially if your mysterious Countess appears,” she murmured. Dmitri flushed. He did not discuss his private affairs with anyone, and Catherine’s insatiable curiosity was at times both embarrassing and' annoying. She knew every- thing that went on in her household, including which lady-in-waiting had slipped out of the army barracks in the early hours of the morning, thus avoiding discovery by a hair’s-breadth - and every other choice titbit of gossip that was bandied from kitchen to state room. “I was not aware I had indulged in a new alliance,” he challenged. “My source of information is most reliable. I am told she is beautiful, but cold, perhaps that is why she has so far eluded your bed.” Catherine laughed softly at his obvious reluctance to reply, and her attention was caught by the flash of a vivid scarlet dress passing a few feet away from them. Her gaze dwelt for a moment on the voluptuous figure of the woman inside it. She hated that colour - it was brazen and unnecessarily attracting. With her own fair skin and light hair, Catherine knew that she would appear hideous in red, and that was the root of her dislike. The woman turned briefly to smile at Dmitri and immediately she knew who it was. “I see Madame de Veaux is here, as vulgarly sensational as ever. You are acquainted with her, I believe.”

"As Your Highness is aware, Madeleine de Veaux has been my mistress for the past year.” Dmitri did not mind admitting a well-known fact. “She is a woman of considerable talents - you chose well.” Dmitri smiled as he remembered their first meeting. All his instincts had warned him it had been planned, and the months to come had proved him right. “It was not my choice, she chose me. The lady is paid, and very handsomely too, by Major Krylenko to extract what information she can from me whenever we are together.” Catherine grew pale beneath her rouge. “And you succumbed to her charms, Colonel?” Her voice was flat. “Of course. Over the past year many men have been executed on the titbits I have let slip to the lady. Some day, if the Major ever decides to check his list of agents, he will find the numbers greatly reduced. It is one way of eliminating the opposition,” he added sardonically. “I did not realise,” Catherine answered. “Why did you not tell me? I should have had her removed from court.” “And the Major would plant another spy somewhere else - one we might not know of until it was too late. It is of no consequence, believe me. As you say, she has considerable talents.” Catherine’s estimation of her officer doubled itself in that moment. “I have often wondered why I trust you with my life, Dmitri Varanov.” He smiled, amused by her words. “Your Highness has to trust someone. Is it so hard to believe that I want only to serve you?” “When you take a wife, you may find you have a conflict of duties.”

“You know my views on marriage. Women amuse me - help to pass the hours when they grow lonely, as indeed they do at times. After all, I am only flesh and blood like any other man. But marriage? No, I shall never marry.” “Nor dine with me?” Catherine murmured.” An invitation to dine in private was a sure sign that a man was in favour with her: There were frequent invitations to Gregory Orloff, her present lover; there had been many others. Few had dared to refuse, but one of them had been Dmitri Varanov. At odd times Catherine did dine with him in the privacy of her chamber, but because she liked his company and for no other reason, although no one at court believed it. They drank together, discussed trivialities and important affairs of state - he had become indispensable to her. “Your Highness must be aware by now I do not place her in the same category as other women,” Dmitri returned, a touch of ice in his voice. “I would not presume to violate the trust you have in me.” Catherine laughed and laid a jewelled hand on his arm. “You can turn a pretty phrase when you choose. I wish all my officers were so trustworthy,” she said. Meanwhile in the adjoining room, the Great Hall, the two sisters were watching the dancing. The walls of the long room were lined with heavy tapestries and the light from a hundred or more candles glowed and flickered over the priceless array of jewels, the silks and satins of the ladies’ gowns. It was like a scene from a fairy-tale. Alexandreya wondered how many faces she would recognise if the masks were removed. “I have never seen so many people.” She turned to her sister with an amazed smile. “Does the Empress entertain on this scale often?" “Of course, why do you think everyone looks forward to the arrival of the court here? Have you seen Vladimir?”

“No, we lost him as we came in. It is so crowded.” “Excuse me, ladies.” A man in the dashing red and black uniform of the Grand Duke’s Holstein Guard came out of the crowd and bowed before them. At his sudden appearance Natasha’s hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes swiftly scanned the sea of faces around them. “André, are you mad? My husband will join us at any moment.” “He is in the Banquet Hall with Madame de Veaux, we are safe for the present,” the man answered. “Alexa, may I present you to Lieutenant André Bruckner. This is my sister, André, the Countess Alexandreya Romanova,” Natasha’s voice was very low, as if afraid her words would carry to a passer-by and reveal her dreaded secret. Pale grey eyes dwelt admiringly on the girl in green as André Bruckner raised her hand to his lips. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Countess. Natasha has told me so much about you. I hope we shall be friends.” ` “That remains to be seen.” Alexandreya tried to keep her voice impersonal. Until she was sure of this man’s affection for her sister, she did not intend to be too gracious. “Alexa, that is not nice,” Natasha protested. “Your sister has every right to be suspicious of me, dushka, don’t be angry with her, she -” He broke off stiffening. “Your husband joins us at an inopportune moment, I must leave you.” Alexandreya turned and to her dismay found Vladimir was almost upon them. “Dance with me, Lieutenant,” she said with a smile.

“It will be my pleasure.” André escorted her into the midst of the dancers in a perfectly timed exit which left Natasha relating to her husband how quickly Alexandreya had found an admirer. “Have you known my sister long, Lieutenant Bruckner?" Alexandreya asked, staring hard at the boyish face before. Her gaze was held steadily. “A little over three months, we met at a banquet, not unlike this one. I was fascinated by your sister from the first moment I saw her.” “It is only fascination, then?" “It is not, Countess.” His smile reproved her in a friendly way. “I love Natasha, for me there will never be another woman.” Alexandreya heard a ring of truth in his voice and could not help remembering that those words had once been said to her, only then it had been a hollow promise for which she had paid dearly. “You do not believe me,” the Lieutenant said with a frown. “Why? Have you never been in love?” Alexandreya flushed acutely. “You are very personal, Lieutenant, but I forgive you because I feel you are speaking the truth.” “Please accept my apology, I am cursed with a runaway tongue at times.” The young officer’s embarrassment was so real that Alexandreya’s suspicions began to dissolve. If only Vladimir’s ugly shadow did not loom over the two lovers, how different it would be! “My sister’s happiness means everything to me," she said quietly. “There is nothing I will not do to ensure it. I cannot say this has my approval, but under the circumstances, neither of you are to be blamed for taking your

happiness where you find it. Major Krylenko is not aware of your identity, I take it?” “No, we have always met in secret. He may suspect she has a lover, but he can prove nothing.” “I doubt if there are any secrets left inside these walls,” Alexandreya answered. “You must continue to be careful, and I will help you in any way I can.” André Bruckner was clearly overwhelmed by this sudden alliance. He pressed her fingers to his lips in an unexpected sign of gratitude. “I am for ever in your debt, Countess.” At the entrance to the Great Hall, Catherine had also come to inspect the dancing. She gazed languidly at the faces milling around her. This ball was only one of many held by the Empress to refute the rumours of her impending death. Each time new life surged through the court, and as usual Elizabeth was the centre of attraction. Catherine had left her in the Banquet Hall surrounded by members of the court fawning attention on her. “Each day Elizabeth grows more like a mother hen,” she said coldly. “Or is it a vixen?” “Your Highness is free of her now,” Dmitri said, pressing a full goblet of champagne into her hand. He too was tired of the adoring fops around the Empress, and had been glad to leave the room. Besides, there had been no woman there bearing even a slight resemblance to Alexandreya Romanova. “Since I became a dutiful wife and produced a son - an heir to the Imperial throne of Russia! A son I have not had access to since his birth.” Catherine’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “There is much I could tell you, my Commander, that would shock you.” Dmitri smiled. He had often suspected that Peter was not the father, but he kept his thoughts to himself. What did it matter if it was true? Elizabeth Petrovna could die in peace - Catherine was free of all the restrictions imposed on her since her arrival in Russia, and there was a son to step into

Peter’s shoes. Even if he was not wholly of royal blood, at least he would be sane. “Some things are best left untold,” he said. Catherine darted a swift searching look in his direction, but his face was impassive. “It would be interesting to break you on the rack and learn what secrets are hidden deep in that black heart,” she answered. “Take care never to earn my displeasure, Dmitri.” “I think you know full well I would take all my secrets with me to the grave.” ' Dmitri was perfectly serious and she knew it. It gave her a strange thrill to know that here was one man who had risked her anger by refusing to become her lover, yet still he was prepared to die for her. He had been appointed her Guard Commander by the Empress. Catherine suspected it was only to relay information and make sure she did not cause too much scandal, and when the Empress had first fallen ill, he had come to her and confessed as much. The time had come, he said, to decide once and for all where, his loyalty was to rest when the throne changed hands. With Peter, half-crazed and unpredictable, or with his consort. He had chosen Catherine, pledging himself to her service until death. His quiet sincerity had often disturbed her since that day, but he had proved himself without a doubt to be true. Although she had begun to gather around her a close circle of followers, many from the army, she trusted few. Dmitri, however, was an exception. His Cossacks, loyal to the last man, guarded her night and day and accompanied her wherever she went, and he was never far from her side. He was a man of exceptional courage, as brave a man as his father had been before him. In Elizabeth’s service he had excelled himself time and time again, and had been rewarded with a title and lands. Catherine admired the way he had risen to power and the ruthlessness with which he

handled his wild Cossacks, but the man himself - of him she was not so sure. His arrogance annoyed her frequently, and his cool contempt for the court nobles around him, had earned him many enemies, most of them in the Czar’s household. He was a dangerous adversary and too complex for her to ever fully understand. Her ladies came to her with stories of his unpredictable moods, changing with frightening swiftness 'from love to hate in a matter of seconds - from cruelty to gentleness. No woman knew where she stood with him. He was generous with presents such as jewels or rich furs to any woman who took his fancy, but it was not a weakness. It was rumoured he had once loved a beautiful widow and had his love thrown back in his face, after which he had satisfied his anger by numerous short-lived affairs that only helped to deepen his bitterness. As she watched his gaze roving over the people around them, Catherine felt inclined to pity any woman who attempted to toy with his affections. ` She had considered all these things when he first came to her with his pledge of loyalty, and had eventually decided a man who could remain unemotionally involved with a woman was of great value - a clear head was always an asset to anyone. He had never given her cause to regret the decision. Since the birth of her son, Catherine had taken full advantage of her newly acquired freedom. She knew exactly how everyone at court expected her to react, and she did not disappoint them. She took countless lovers from among the commissioned officers of the army and bent each one successfully to her will, until they were willing to obey her slightest order without question. Only her husband’s Holstein Guards remained out of reach and she deliberately avoided any contact with them, or any of his household. Peter’s mad mind might concoct treasonous reasons for so many military paramours - and for once he would be nearer the truth than he realised. She had not harboured any specific plans at first, but she knew that once the Empress was dead, she would be in deadly danger. Already Peter had smuggled his mistress back into the palace. It was clear he intended to rid himself of an unwelcome wife and place another woman in her place once he came to power. He was supposed to be present at the ball, but at the last moment he had decided not to attend and had locked himself in his

bedroom with his mistress and his toy soldiers. Catherine smiled to herself, wondering which gave him the greatest pleasure. “I feel like dancing, Dmitri,” she said lightly. “I am at your command.” She laughed as he swept her into the middle of the dance floor, conscious of the many feminine eyes following their every move. “I wish you were - you are too handsome, my Colonel, and far too proud. Do you realise almost every woman in this room is wishing she was in my place?” All, but one, Dmitri thought. Aloud he said, with a cynical smile on his face: “When Your Highness has found another partner they may have their wish.” “Heaven help them!” They toured the floor until Catherine said she was exhausted and desired some refreshment to restore her strength. Dmitri left her seated on one of the long padded seats lining each side of the room, and went to fetch some champagne. It was as he returned that he caught sight of Alexandreya and Lieutenant Bruckner. She was laughing at something he had said, her head thrown back and her lips parted. For some reason the low, amused laugh angered him. He had no doubt it was she. The red hair, the same emerald earrings as she had worn at the inn - and confirmation came as she turned to look about her. Her green eyes encountered his and instantly glanced away as recognition dawned. He passed them without a word and returned to Catherine’s side. “If Your Highness will excuse me for a moment, I think I have seen someone If know.”

“Your Countess -” Catherine looked about her curiously. “Bring her here. I must see this paragon of virtue for myself. I insist,” she added as he hesitated. “Very well.” Dmitri threaded his way through the crowd and paused beside Alexandreya, aware of a sudden tremor which ran through her body as his arm accidentally brushed hers. “Good evening, Countess Romanova, I hope you are being well looked after.” He glanced at André and before she could reply, said: “You must excuse us, Lieutenant Bruckner, the Grand Duchess is waiting to meet the lady.” Alexandreya’s lips tightened at his brusque manner, but she was determined, not to be intimidated. She thanked André warmly for partnering her and said that she would be pleased to dance with him again later on in the evening. “Well, Colonel?” she said as André turned away. “Well, Countess?” His mocking gaze infuriated her and she felt the colour begin to mount in her cheeks. “I am waiting for some explanation as to why you thought it necessary to send me repeated invitations to dine with you after my first refusal.” “Women are fickle jades when it comes to making up their minds,” Dmitri replied casually. He saw Catherine looking in their direction and showing signs of impatience. “We are keeping Her Imperial Highness waiting.” Alexandreya’s eyes widened. “It was not a ruse to speak to me -” she stammered. “I have never needed the use of trickery to speak with a woman yet,” came the dry retort. “Come, we can talk later.”

Lost for words, Alexandreya allowed him to escort her to where the Grand Duchess sat. She dropped a deep curtsey before the regal figure, magnificent in white satin and lace ,and prayed desperately that her cheeks would not betray her confusion. “Countess Romanova, Your Imperial Highness, Dmitri said. Now there was another person present, he was more formal in addressing Catherine. “From where, Dmitri?” ' “From Bratz, Your Imperial Highness.” Alexandreya was momentarily puzzled as to how he knew, and then realised Natasha had probably told him about their home during her “mild flirtation” with him. As she looked at him, beside Catherine, she found it hard to believe a flirtation would prove satisfying to a man of his temperament. “Bratz, ah, yes, a lovely part of the country, but so isolated! Have you come to St. Petersburg for excitement, Countess - Romanova, to find a husband perhaps; there can be few suitable men in Bratz to choose from.” Catherine’s expression was amused. “I am here on holiday with my sister, Mrs. Krylenko.” “The wife of my husband’s aide-de-camp? You do not look at all like your sister, I should never have known you were related.” Alexandreya knew by the sudden dryness of tone that Catherine was aware of Natasha’s reputation, and she was filled with shame. Quick to notice her distress, Catherine relented. This one was reputed to be ice-cold. It would be as well, if she had attracted the attention of Dmitri. “St. Petersburg is a beautiful city,” she said and smiled. “You will find the time passes quickly. Do you ride?” "Yes, Your Imperial Highness, every morning at home.”

“Good, you will ride with me one morning soon, and tomorrow afternoon you will come and talk to me again, there will be more time then.: I shall expect you at four o’clock.” “I am honoured.” Alexandreya could hardly believe her ears. She could not wait to tell her sister. Catherine looked up at Dmitri. “No doubt you are eager to have the Countess to yourself for a while, I will detain you no longer.” “Thank you.” Dmitri bowed turned to Alexandreya offering his arm. There was nothing she could do but accept it. “I thought you meant to refuse,” he murmured as soon as they were out of earshot. “It was wise not to. We are still being watched,” he added as she attempted to remove her hand from his arm. “You are no gentleman, Colonel Varanov,” Alexandreya said coldly. A smile curved around the corners of his mouth as he gazed down into her angry eyes. “You should not expect perfect manners from a man of my breeding,” he mocked. “Nor of your reputation,” Alexandreya flung back. “Natasha has been talking, but it is not important. You and I are well matched - and you know it.” Alexandreya choked back the angry words which rose to her lips. He was baiting her deliberately in an attempt to make her lose control of herself, she thought. Well, it had not succeeded at the inn nor would it here, although with this second encounter, she found it extremely hard not only to control her temper, but also a strange weakness in her limbs. Was it anger - or fear of this man, which made her legs feel as if they were about to give way? “You have not yet answered my question, Colonel.”

She chose to use his military rank in the hope that the insult might bring him to heel. “About my invitations?" Dmitri said. He had not expected her to accept either one, and had sent them merely as a reminder of his presence. “I sent them to annoy you, why else? It is naturally unthinkable for someone of your station to dine with a common soldier - unless as a reward for services rendered. I believe you said that was why you and I dined together at the inn, was it not?” “It was. I felt sure it would have been an insult to offer you money and it was the only way I could show my gratitude.” Alexandreya’s, composure was slowly returning and she looked up at him haughtily. “You have no right to act the way you did, nor to speak so disgracefully about my sister, and indeed, my motives for seeking your company. An apology would not be out of hand.” “Your short stay in St. Petersburg has made you bolder, Countess, as I thought it would. You say I am mistaken about you, yet I find you dancing with your sister’s lover and apparently enjoying his arms about you as much as she does. Is it your intention to share the young man?” “You go too far.” Alexandreya was appalled by the callousness of his insinuation, but she did not deny she knew André Bruckner was Natasha’s lover; she was too astounded that he was aware of their liaison, Her silence condemned her in his eyes and she saw his face harden. His suspicion confirmed, Dmitri felt his previous anger return with renewed intensity. She looked like an angel, but as he had discovered so often before, ugliness and treachery lurked beneath the thin covering of innocence. “A few weeks more and you will grow bored with this pose of virginal modesty,” he answered bleakly. “I can wait.” His merciless gaze swept her stricken face. “Would you care for some champagne and a little food? You are looking pale; this heat is too much for you.” “Yes, please.” Alexandreya’s words were hardly audible.

With a tight smile he slipped an arm solicitously beneath her elbow and escorted her through the crowd towards the Banquet Hall. Alexandreya searched desperately for her sister, but she was nowhere to be seen and she was forced to remain in Dmitri’s company for over an hour before Vladimir appeared, with Natasha hanging heavily to his arm. “Alexa dear, forgive this interruption.” If her sister was surprised at Dmitri’s presence, she gave no sign. She passed a hand across her forehead. “I am plagued with the most terrible headache and Vladimir is taking me home. Will you come too, or shall we send the carriage back for you?” Alexandreya heaved a silent sigh of relief. “I will accompany you - if the Colonel does not mind. It has been a very pleasant evening, but I am exhausted.” “The remainder of the evening will be dull without your company.” Dmitri bowed low over her hand. “I will look forward to our next meeting as a consolation. Please allow me to escort you to the carriage.” “Thank you.” Alexandreya forced a smile to her lips. She had spoken the truth, she was tired - tired of continually fencing with him and not retaliating to the hidden barbs behind his words. Dmitri handed her into the carriage and watched it drive off, regardless of the thick snow flakes swirling about him. A laughing soldier ran past him, an arm about his masked companion, and he suddenly lost all desire to return to the hot, overcrowded rooms. There was no reason compelling him to stay now. Turning on his heel, he made his way across to where his horse was stabled.

CHAPTER THREE ALEXANDREYA had not exaggerated when she told Catherine that she rode every morning at Bratz. It had become a habit over the years. A long ride, no matter what the weather was like, and then back to the house and breakfast with her father. She had maintained the ritual after his death. The servants and villagers from the small hamlet nestled at the foot of the hill on which the house stood, would have considered it a very rare occurrence if she was not to be seen galloping across country in the early hours of the morning. It was her one release from a lonely existence which offered no escape - except, perhaps marriage. The first weeks after the death of her father, Count Nikolai Stefan Romanov, had been worse than after her mother had died, although she had loved them both dearly. There was no one to greet her when she returned for breakfast and the empty table, with only one place laid and one chair, filled her with melancholia. To combat this overwhelming feeling of being alone, she began to fill the house with old friends, once the mourning period was over. There were balls and dinner parties as if nothing had changed. But it had, and, as the months passed, she realised not one of the people she entertained had any real understanding of her problem. She offered them hospitality the like of which was unknown in that desolate part of the country, but they gave nothing in return. She found the conversation limited to new clothes, the latest gossip and the laziness of the respective servants. One night she astounded all present by saying she was not interested in either of the first two subjects, and as for servants, she proclaimed those at Bratz to be the best in Russia. She did not entertain again after that, and forced herself to accept the fact she would be alone for a long, long time. And then Jean-Paul had stolen into her life and given her hope - and bitter disillusionment. “My, you are dreaming. I’ve been talking to you for the past hour and you haven’t heard a word!” Natasha’s laughing voice in her ear scattered Alexandreya’s deep thoughts.

“I’m sorry. What were you saying?” “Oh, nothing of importance. Was he nice, the man you were dreaming of?” “No, he was not. I was thinking of those months after father’s death.” “You mean Jean-Paul de Sévigné - that wretch!” Natasha’s eyes grew sympathetic. Infatuation happened to every woman once in her lifetime; her own foolishness had resulted in marriage to a man she know hated. It was consoling to know Alexandreya had been saved the same fate. She knew little of the man her sister had intended to marry, except that he was well educated and a complete pauper. Alexandreya had often joked over it in her letters, and how wonderful it would be when she was his wife, her wealth would be his and they would be equals. Two months after the wedding dates had been announced, with invitations despatched and presents already arriving at Bratz, Alexandreya had cancelled the wedding, and her intended husband had departed from the house in all speed, never to be heard of again. The gifts were returned with a brief note of apology but no explanation, and Alexandreya retired into near-seclusion. Event Natasha had never been told what had happened and she had not had the heart to intrude into her sister’s painful memories. “We are nearly there. A few more minutes and we shall have a fire to warm us.” Alexandreya looked at her in surprise. For someone who had retired to bed professing to have a violent headache, Natasha had come into her room at an early hour and asked her to go riding. “Where exactly are we going?” “To meet André, of course. We use the hunting-lodge of a friend. It’s the only place we can be sure no one will discover us.” She urged her horse into a canter as if to avoid further questions, and Alexandreya followed.

The trees thinned out abruptly. Ahead of them in a large man-made clearing, the hunting-lodge sprawled, apparently deserted. “We must be early, André isn’t here yet,” Natasha said as they drew rein before the steps. “We’ll go in and light the fire. I’m hungry too - it’s this fresh air.” “What has it done for your headache?” Natasha laughed, her eyes brimming over with amusement. “You know that was only an excuse to leave the ball early.” The interior of the hunting-lodge was in some disorder. The massive wooden table dominating the room in which they stood still contained several empty bottles of wine, a half-eaten chicken and some black bread. “That’s strange,” Natasha murmured. Alexandreya stepped past her to warm her hands in front of the glowing embers of the fire in the hearth. “André must be here after all. Why don’t you go and find him, he may not have heard us ride up.” She motioned to a far door. “Where does that lead to?” “To my bedroom, Countess,” a familiar, sardonic voice drawled nearby. “I assure you there is no one there.” Dmitri stepped out of the passageway which led to the kitchen and stared at the two women with a heavy frown. It was obvious from his appearance - he wore only a pair of hide breeches and a shirt - that he had not long been awake. “Natasha, what is the meaning of this?” Alexandreya wheeled on her sister angrily.

“Yes, Natasha, perhaps you had better explain,” Dmitri said. Moving to the fireplace, he raked the embers with a thick stick and then threw two heavy logs on to the fire, smiling as Alexandreya quickly moved away from him. “I had no idea you would be here,” Natasha protested. “You usually stay at the palace after a ball like last night’s.” “I am at liberty to come and go as I please - this place does belong to me. I should prefer a warning before you descend on me again.” His gaze rested mockingly on Alexandreya. “You never know who I may be entertaining. “We had better leave.” Alexandreya started towards the door. “But André will be here soon. Alexa, please stay.” “You had no right to bring your sister here without explaining the full circumstances.” Dmitri’s tone suppressed hidden anger at being disturbed. “You are surely aware of the mutual dislike we have for each other.” Natasha sat down at the table and slowly began to remove her gloves. “I’m sorry, but I am staying - even if you go, Alexa.” “I will leave you to argue it out between you,” Dmitri said, turning on his heel. With a brief glance at Alexandreya, he left them. “Natasha, how could you?" Alexandreya reproved, as the bedroom door closed behind him. “If I had told you this lodge belonged to Dmitri, you would not have come. I didn’t expect him to be here, truly.” She looked up at her sister pleadingly. “Give me a little while with André, please?” In her place and in love, she might well have acted the same way, Alexandreya thought, and immediately relented. For her sister’s sake she would stand Dmitri Varanov, however unpleasant he made himself. Natasha and Alexandreya did not have long to wait. Soon the sound of an approaching horse drew Natasha to the window.

“It’s André, thank goodness! I was beginning to think he would not come.” Dmitri came out of the bedroom, more suitably attired in a fresh white shirt, black breeches and highly polished knee-length riding boots. Alexandreya was forced to admit that he was disturbingly handsome. He stood watching Natasha clasped in André Bruckner’s arms, a cynical smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, then as if the scene suddenly disturbed him, he said roughly, “Breakfast is being cooked in the kitchen if anyone is interested.” “I am,” André said, raising his head and looking across at him with a smile. “Major Krylenko had an uneasy feeling before he left the palace last night, and doubled the guards outside the Czar’s apartments. I’ve been up all night, that’s why I’m late. If I didn’t know better I’d suspect the dear Major of deliberately giving me extra duty.” “If Krylenko had any idea of what you are up to with his wife, you’d be in the fortress at this moment, being broken slowly and painfully on the rack,” came the callous answer from Dmitri. “Dmitri, don’t,” Natasha cried out, horrified. “He’s right, my love,” André murmured. “We both run the risk of the fortress.” “But it’s different now, Alexa is on our side, she’ll help us.” Natasha was confident that, aided by her sister, all problems could be overcome. “The Countess has already confided in me,” André replied. “Dmitri - we would like to be alone for a while-” “You can use my room, if you wish.” Dmitri’s eyes met Alexandreya’s as the young lovers disappeared into the adjoining bedroom. “So you have condoned her affairs? When I came upon you last night, you must have been telling Bruckner he has your full approval to continue seeing her,” he said contemptuously.

“I believe André Bruckner to love my sister as deeply as she loves him.” Alexandreya did not rise to the taunt. “Love - what a farce that is! A woman has only to say she loves a man and she expects him to grovel at her feet . for the rest of his life. She takes everything from him - money, self-respect - conscience - sometimes even pride, e and then casts him off when another fool has the misfortune to attract her attention. Love and tears are the weapons of a woman when all others fail.” “But you are immune to them,” Alexandreya said. If it was his intention to arouse her with his words, he had succeeded. She felt both pity and fear at the memory which forced him to speak so harshly. “My past mistakes taught me well, Countess. I have learned to use people, particularly women, as one once; used me, solely for my own pleasure, without being emotionally involved. I intend to remain my own master.” “Everyone must have someone to love, and Natasha deserves some happiness. Vladimir Krylenko is not the right man for her.” “She married him,” Dmitri retorted. “Do you share her latent regard for the marriage vows?” “She was very young.” Alexandreya leapt quickly to the defence of her sister. “It was infatuation she felt, not love. It is hard to tell the difference the first time -”`§he broke off, aware of the interested gleam in Dmitri’s eyes. He was the last person she wanted to know of the foolish mistake she had almost made. She turned away, pretending to inspect the books lining the Shelves along one side of the room. It was a surprise to find him interested in such dull things as books. Her surprise grew steadily as she recognised many titles from her own library at Bratz. “Are you admiring my collection?” Dmitri asked, a touch of pride in his voice. He moved to her side. “These are my weakness - my only weakness. You will find many first editions.” He pointed to a number of volumes beautifully bound in dark leather and embossed with gold. “These were a

present from the Grand Duchess - unfortunately they are in French, and my knowledge of the language is limited.” Alexandreya took one down and opened it. “Why, this is some of the work of one of France’s greatest novelists. The Grand Duchess must hold you in high esteem to give you such a present.” “You obviously appreciate them more than I do.” Dmitri watched her scan the book, sometimes pausing to read a passage from one of the pages. “There can be little else to do at Bratz. I expect you grow bored sometimes.” “There is a great deal to occupy my mind,” Alexandreya said, determined he should not know how lonely it was for her. “The library there is a fascinating place. With your taste in books, you would no doubt find it interesting. My father was a great scholar; he thirsted after knowledge with the same enthusiasm that most men keep for breeding horses or chasing women.” It was her turn for a scornful remark, and she saw Dmitri smile at the comparison, aware the jibe was directed at him. “Through him I learned to appreciate a love of good books, art and many other things. He taught me everything I know.” “He apparently forgot one thing,” Dmitri said quietly. She threw him a curious look. “What was that?” “How to be a woman.” Alexandreya gasped out loud. The colour fled from her cheeks with such startling rapidity that he thought she might faint, and started towards her. Since their first meeting his object had been to shatter the virginal pose she flaunted before his eyes with insulting remarks and behaviour. Each time he thought he had succeeded, she managed to compose herself in time. Yet with five little words spoken more in amusement than anything else, he had reached her with surprising results.

“Some man has obviously told you so before.” He shot home a final, cruel taunt. Alexandreya raised her eyes to his. The stricken look in them awakened an unexpected twinge of conscience in him. He did not know that his' words had been contained in the last, searing reproaches from Jean-Paul to his intended bride, a few minutes after he had been discovered making love to a servant girl. “And why not?” he had demanded when Alexandreya stood before him, white and trembling, unable to believe what she had seen. “Do you think you could ever give me satisfaction? You have wit and charm, my dear, but there the attraction ceases. If it was not for your money I would not have lingered this long. Marriage! Did you really believe I intended to wed you? Mon dieu! I want warm flesh in my arms, not a block of ice. You have no idea how to be a woman.” His laugher echoed now, like a drum-roll through Alexandreya’s brain. Dmitri’s hand closed over her arm, steadying her as she swayed perilously. “My father did not forget, Colonel Varanov.” Her tone was bitter, reproachful. “If, in your eyes, to be a woman is to act like an addle-brained coquette and offer myself open to the kind of contempt you show me, from every man I meet, then I am glad I do not possess such qualities.” “Your sister apparently does not agree with you.” Alexandreya could find no answer. Dmitri stared at her thoughtfully. Whatever his opinion, he knew that this man had meant something special to her and he was only too aware how memories of the past could intrude into everyday life and brutally reopen old wounds. He suffered them often enough himself. Ignoring her feeble attempts to free herself from his grasp, he seated her in the nearest chair and fetched a glass of wine. “Drink this - without argument.”

He put the glass to her lips and waited patiently while she took a few sips. It was hard not to feel sorry for her. “I had no right to say what I did. I have upset you terribly.” “That has been your intention since the day we first met, Colonel. Why should you care, now you have succeeded?" “I don’t know; but I am still troubled. Are you feeling better?” His concern was an opportunity to have her revenge on him for all the indignities he had heaped on her head, but she found herself unable to do so and merely nodded. “Good. Would you care to take the air? I have many thoroughbred horses in the stables which may interest you.” “Thank you, Colonel,” Alexandreya said. She was grateful that he did not press the subject. There was a familiar gleam in his eyes as he helped her to her feet. “I have not changed my mind about you, Countess. For a moment we shared past injuries, that is all.” Alexandreya looked up at him curiously as they strolled towards the stables. “If you believe love to be such a farce, why do you allow André and Natasha to meet here?” “I am not attempting to further the course of true love, if that’s what you mean,” Dmitri answered dryly. “I’ve told you, I use people.” “My sister?" A savage expletive broke from his lips that sent the colour surging into her cheeks.

“Give me credit for some decent feelings. I have a few left,” he snapped. “Bruckner and I have an arrangement; call it part of the war game, if you wish.” “I don’t understand.” Alexandreya had no knowledge of politics or of the deadly, secret war waged within the Empress’s court. “No, of course, you would not. Bratz must be heaven compared to St. Petersburg.” Dmitri halted in the stable doorway and folded his arms. “What do you think of my horses?” Alexandreya found herself admiring some of the most magnificent animals she had ever seen. Proud, stalwart Stallions, mostly of Arabian stock, among them Dmitri’s own white mount arid several mares, who turned to stare at her as she approached nearer. “I have never seen the like of them,” she confessed. “Are they all thoroughbreds?” “Every one.” She paused beside a mare, slightly smaller than the others, whose gleaming coat was almost the colour of her own fiery hair. “She is my favourite, apart from my own,” Dmitri nodded towards the white stallion. “I’ve been training her since she was a year old.” Leaning over into the stall, he caressed the red coat. He loved these animals, Alexandreya thought, and books, and a place to retire to away from the rest of the world - at least he seemed to. Which was the real man? This one, unexpectedly gentle and vulnerable, or the tough, self-made cynic who took pleasure in making enemies? “How do you make use of André, Colonel Varanov?” Alexandreya could not forget his words, which seemed to have a threatening air about them. “I allow him to use the hunting-lodge for his meetings with you sister, and in return he gives me information.”

“He is a spy, then?” “You could call him that; Major Krylenko would most certainly call him a traitor. However, I prefer to think of him as a friend in the enemy camp.” “You make it sound as if there is war going on,” Alexandreya answered with a shudder. “There is, although no one outside or inside the palace dares to admit it. Catherine is at war with Peter, and so it is only natural the two households are for ever at each other’s throats.” “And at the head of them, you and Vladimir Krylenko wage your own personal battles,” Alexandreya said. “It’s horrible.” “It could be when the Empress dies and the Czar controls the whole country. He hates his wife and all connected with her. He would be overjoyed to find some reason to have my head on a spike.” He smiled for an instant as if the thought amused him, then was serious again. Daily the situation at court grew more dangerous, it was not a matter for jest. “Once the Czar is in power, he will rid himself of Catherine, of that I am sure. There will be bloodshed such as this country has not known for hundreds of years. The streets will be red with the blood of innocent men, women and children. He is as mad as some of his forefathers.” “You speak treason, Colonel.” The vehemence in his voice frightened Alexandreya. “It is the truth and everyone knows it. Even the Empress’s Secret Chancellory cannot keep track of his wild schemes.” The Chancellory was an intricate spy network spread throughout the countryside, mainly responsible for the hundreds of deportations to Siberia. It was known to few people, but those who knew of its devious I work went in constant fear in case they came under scrutiny. “You would be wise to return to Bratz, Countess, where you will be safe.” “I cannot leave my sister.”

"Take her with you. Young Bruckner's life won't be worth a prayer if the Major finds out he is in my pay. He would place you all in danger.” Alexandreya nodded. There was wisdom in his words worth heeding. “It is my intention to return home as soon as possible. Thank you for the warning.” “Your name is enough to earn Peter’s hatred,” Dmitri returned quietly. “I have no wish to see either of us in his torture chamber.” He was standing very close to her - so close in fact, that as she turned to leave she brushed against him and immediately stepped back as if his shoulder had been red-hot. His smouldering gaze was intent on her. “Why are you afraid of me?" he asked, almost gently. His arm went out in front of her, barring the way. “I am not afraid.” “Then it must be dislike. Why then have you endured my company for so long this morning?” “Natasha will be wondering where we are,” Alexandreya said, in a voice that did not sound at all like her own. She made no attempt to move his arm, suspecting that he wanted her to make that very mistake. “I doubt if she cares at this particular moment.” Dmitri caught her chin in firm fingers and jerked her face up to his. “I dislike talking to the top of your head, although it is a very pretty head. I prefer to see your eyes, Countess, because you talk with them. Did you know that? They tell me everything I want to know.” His nearness was having the strangest effect on Alexandreya. She was actually wanting him to take her in his arms as he had done that night at the inn; she could almost feel the fierce pressure of his lips on hers again. What was it he had said about her eyes? Too late she averted her face from

his piercing gaze and turned to flee, only to find that her retreat was also barred, by the stall of the red mare. “They tell me everything,” Dmitri said meaningly, and took her purposefully in his arms. Alexandreya’s body grew rigid with fear. He was revenging himself on her to ease the pain of another woman’s scorn. The insult stabbed deeper with the realisation that only a minute before she had been prepared to submit willingly to his embrace. Dmitri lowered his lips to hers, unperturbed at their refusal to yield, fully confident that in a short while he would quell all resistance. He was his own master and hers too, when he chose to be; she would learn to accept that in time. When he drew back from her, his eyes blazed with triumph. “You seem to enjoy the kisses of a peasant, my mala koska. Do you prefer them to those of your fancy man at Bratz?" His reference to her as “his little cat” was surpassed by the insulting inference that she kept a lover at Bratz, He was openly admitting she meant no more to him than any of his other conquests, and she had almost given him victory with her traitorous lips. She threw' back her head and stared up at him. In the struggle her hair had fallen free of its coil to tumble like tongues of fire each side of her ashen cheeks. “My God, but you’re lovely,” Dmitri said hoarsely before he could stop himself. “If you do not let me go, Colonel Varanov, the Grand Duchess will hear of this outrage when I have my audience with her this afternoon.” Her voice startled him. It did not tremble as he expected, but was quiet and perfectly calm. Alexandreya knew she had to get away from him and to do so, she would have to become the kind of woman he detested. “The kisses of a peasant are not to my liking, nor do I enjoy being held like a sack of oatmeal. I suggest you try your talents on someone more likely to reciprocate.”

A mask came down over Dmitri’s face; his hands fell away, clenching’ into tight fists at his sides. He appeared indecisive whether or not to strike the proud face before him. Alexandreya did not move; her heart was pounding with such violence that she could hardly breathe, and so loudly she was sure he must hear it and realise she had spoken out of desperation. “By all means tell Catherine you were troubled by the unwanted advances of this peasant. It will amuse her and gain you nothing, except perhaps her contempt.” His tone cut her like a whiplash. “And when you have unburdened yourself - you will still have me to reckon with.” He left her standing by the stall and strode back into the hunting-lodge.

“But you must have said something to make him ride off without a word,” Natasha ,said curiously. For the sixth time since leaving the lodge she attempted to find out why Dmitri had suddenly taken it into his head to return to the palace. “Please, ’Tasha, I don’t want to discuss it. We went out to the stables to inspect his horses, that’s all. We talked for a while and then he had to return on some errand.” Ignoring the plague of questions showered on her while she bathed and dressed ready for her audience with Catherine, Alexandreya refused to discuss Dmitri Varanov any more. By the time she was ready to leave the house, Alexandreya had come to a decision. “I am going back to Bratz, Natasha.” “But only yesterday we were talking of finding a house here in St. Petersburg.” Her sister blanched at the unexpected news. Life without Alexandreya would be unbearable after the past happy weeks. “Stay until spring, at least.” Alexandreya shook her head. At Bratz she would be free of Dmitri Varanov and the attraction, she felt sure, would soon fade. `

“Come with me, Natasha - without Vladimir’s knowledge.” As her sister hesitated, she added softly, “Bring André - or arrange for him to follow us when it is safe.” “You would allow him to live in your home?" Natasha breathed. “Alexa, I do not deserve this. I have brought shame on our family. Think how people will talk.” “Then we will shut them out,” Alexandreya declared. “You are all I have now. I want you to come home.”

A few minutes before three o'clock, the carriage deposited Alexandreya at the side entrance to the palace, where a servant was waiting to escort her to the apartments of the Grand Duchess. She passed through long, thickly carpeted corridors where the walls were lined with portraits of past rulers of Russia; up numerous marble staircases with gold handrails and was completely lost by the time the servant halted before a massive door, into which were carved the delicate faces of a dozen or more cherubs. It swung back noiselessly to admit her into Catherine’s presence. “Countess Romanova, how prompt you are! We shall be friends, I think.” Catherine astounded the ladies-in-waiting around her by briskly dismissing them and actually rising to greet the new arrival. “Your Imperial Highness.” Alexandreya curtsied respectfully. She had chosen to wear a gown of rich blue velvet, instead of the pink silk Anya had pressed for her. Now she was glad, for she saw the Grand Duchess was attired in that colour. It made her look younger and did not distract too much attention from her crowning glory - the beautifully dressed hair adorned with pearls. “Come and sit beside me, Alexandreya Nikolevna.” Catherine sat down again and patted the empty place beside her. “We must have along talk.

How do you like my St. Petersburg?” She had a natural way of putting people at their ease when she wished and Alexandreya’s nervousness disappeared. “I am greatly impressed,” she answered truthfully. “Some of the streets are quite beautiful. It is like living in the country when one can look out of the windows and see rows of trees instead of more houses.” “At last, someone who has an appreciation of the country,” Catherine said with enthusiasm. “I am sick of having gossiping wretches about me, most of whom are too frightened to venture out of doors lest they are stricken with some ailment or other. You went riding this morning, did you not?” “Why, yes. With my sister.” “I saw you while I, too, was enjoying the air. You handle a horse well. I like to see that. Where did you go?” “My sister was showing me the countryside.” “Not far from my palace at Peterhof, perhaps?" Catherine had put two and two together after a brief encounter with her personal guard commander, who was not in the best of tempers. “Did you by any chance meet Colonel Varanov?” Alexandreya knew it was useless to deny it; Catherine was watching her intently. “We did encounter each other - unexpectedly.” “Then it is you I must upbraid for causing his foul mood. I have the impression you are a thorn in the side of my poor Dmitri. He has not been the same since your arrival.” “Colonel Varanov and I barely know each other,” Alexandreya protested. “This was only the third time we had met and it was purely by accident.”

“Of course it was.” Catherine smiled, not believing a word. Dmitri was a man of purpose. With him, nothing was accidental. She rang the tiny gold bell at her fingertips and tea was brought in and laid on the table in front of them. The tea was poured into wafer-thin cups of pure gold, from a small teapot of fine bone china. It came from a village in the Ural mountains, Catherine told her when Alexandreya voiced her admiration and the men who made it were among the finest craftsmen in the world. Later, she said, they would go on a tour of the library and the art gallery which she felt would interest her guest. Alexandreya found herself wondering if Dmitri had divulged their conversation at the hunting-lodge. They were destined never to finish their tea. An urgent knocking on the door, followed by Dmitri’s tall figure striding across the room towards them, made Catherine leap to her feet in surprise and anger. “Colonel Varanov, have you taken leave of your senses? How dare you enter this room without my leave?” “Your Imperial Highness, forgive me.” Dmitri ignored Alexandreya’s presence, if he even noticed it. He had eyes only for Catherine. “There is no time for formalities.” Something in his expression stopped another outburst from Catherine. She stiffened, searching his face with anxious eyes as if frightened she already knew the cause for his unbidden entry. "Speak. Quickly.” “I have just left the apartments of the Empress. She collapsed a few minutes ago.” He paused, his face hardening. “The news is bad - the worst I could ever bring you. Her Imperial Majesty is dead.” A cry was torn from Catherine’s lips. Her eyes glazed as if she might faint, but she recovered and crossed herself with two fingers as was the Russian custom.

“God help Russia,” she whispered. “It has come sooner than we expected. You have not said, the Empress is dead, long live the Czar, Colonel,” she added in an odd tone of voice. “Would you have me make a mockery of this terrible hour?” Dmitri asked flatly. “No, my friend, the mockery will come soon enough now Peter has the throne. God help Russia,” she repeated and then in a harsh whisper, “God help us, Dmitri.”

CHAPTER FOUR HER IMPERIAL MAJESTY, Elizabeth Petrovna, Empress of all the Russias and daughter of Peter the Great, was buried beside her father in the family vault after lying in state for three days in the private chapel she had used daily. During the twenty-one years on the throne, Elizabeth had always been vain and extravagant. At the time of her death, her wardrobe was found to contain fifteen thousand dresses, paid for by extra taxes and burdens imposed on the unfortunate peasants. She had inherited her father’s temper and was well-known for her sudden rages and extreme punishments. But if Elizabeth had been cruel, there were some people at court who considered her reign to have been mild compared to the one to come, when Peter, her nephew, assumed the full powers of the throne. Throughout the long funeral service, the new ruler of Russia talked incessantly to courtiers about him, made jokes on the weather and how there were people who would rue the day they had bowed to Elizabeth’s wishes, and generally made known his boredom at the show of pomp, with complete disregard to the fact that the church was packed to full capacity. There was a feeling of relief that Catherine at least had gone into mourning - a gesture appreciated even by members of the Czar’s household. Alexandreya was present at the church for the funeral and later, she attended the cathedral when Peter III, Duke of Holstein, was officially anointed as Czar and Autocrat of all the Russias, showing the same bad taste in manners at each ceremony. There had been no contact with Dmitri since her visit to the palace had ended so abruptly. Catherine had dismissed her at once, voicing a natural desire to be alone, and had given instructions that her guest was to be escorted home. Alexandreya had followed Dmitri down the marble staircase and along the corridors, feeling as if she had intruded into another world. 'He strode in front of her giving no indication that he wished her to speak. She desperately wanted to do so, to apologise for her behaviour that morning, but his attitude deterred her. He saw her to the waiting carriage, closed the

door firmly behind her, and was already on his way back upstairs before it moved off. No word had passed between them, neither of anger nor apology. They were as strangers. The brief glimpses she had of him, as Catherine’s escort during the next few days, were of a man carved out of stone. If he was ever aware of her presence he gave no sign and when she happened to be leaving the house one day and he rode by at the head of his druzhinia of guards, he stared straight through her as if she had not been there. Alexandreya began to make plans to return to Bratz, but the weeks slipped by and still she remained. Her sister hesitated to leave St. Petersburg, giving as an excuse André’s confinement to the barracks, which was only one of the restrictions the new ruler imposed on the army. Until she saw him again and they were able to discuss Alexandreya’s offer in detail, Natasha refused to budge. It was almost two months before she was able to meet him again for any length of time. Natasha had spent three hours with her lover that afternoon, but Alexandreya had been forced to hold back her questions until dinner was over and Vladimir had left the house to play cards with some fellow officers. “Well, when can we leave?" “Not yet, Alexa.” Natasha had been dreading this moment. “André thinks it would be too dangerous. He says the Czar suspects everyone of plotting against him. Soldiers, his servants, even his own wife. His spies are everywhere and hundreds of people have already been arrested.” Alexandreya’s heart grew cold. “The Secret Chancellory,” she whispered, and was filled with apprehension that the young lieutenant might come under their scrutiny. “What is that?"

“Oh, nothing, it was just something Colonel Varanov said to me once.” Alexandreya sighed and took up her needlework again. Natasha would not leave without him and that was that. Alexandreya curbed her impatience for another two weeks, then three. She rarely ventured from the house alone for fear of encountering Dmitri Varanov or, worse still, the bands of nobles and courtiers who daily roamed the streets, hunting. down any animals they could find, even passers-by who were unfortunate enough to get in their way. Czar Peter’s decree permitting nobles to hunt in the streets was at first taken as a joke by the people. However, one sight of the wild-eyed Peter galloping past their windows and screaming with delight as he bore down on his unlucky victim, was more than enough to make them hurry indoors at the first sound of hoofbeats. They became convinced that they were under the rule of a madman. Only someone with a deranged mind could order the arrest of hundreds of men, women and even children, and sit calmly in his state rooms playing with toy soldiers while his followers tortured them to death. Desperate appeals were sent to Catherine by wives who had seen their husbands cut down before their eyes; mothers, whose sons had been torn from their arms, but she was helpless to intervene lest Peter’s unstableness caused him to turn on her. So far she had escaped unscathed from his attempts to humiliate her. Forced to live beneath the same roof as his mistress and the treacherous Count Munnich, deported to Siberia by Elizabeth for treason and promptly returned to power by Peter upon his ascent to the throne, Catherine gathered as close circle of important officers about her. Among them was Count Alexei Orloff, an Admiral in the navy and his brother, General Count Gregory Orloff, who was also her present paramour, and of course the man in whose hands; her life rested day and night, her faithful Dmitri. With; these men and half-a-dozen more of lesser ranks, she knew control of the army was almost hers. A worthwhile deterrent against any future plans her husband might have to get rid of her.

The frightened whispers of the people became an angry murmur of discontent rumbling up and down the country when it was discovered that the Czar had made a pact with Frederick of Prussia agreeing not only to send twenty-five thousand men into Silesia to aid the one-time enemy of Russia, but to accept a commission in the Prussian army. Soon Colonel Peter was proudly strutting through the palace in his new uniform and promptly earned himself the enmity of every officer in his army by adopting it for the troops, instead of the easy-going Russian style which no one disliked. From Natasha’s bedroom window, where there was a clearer view of the square, the two sister often sat for hours watching the soldiers drilling. There was little else to do. Vladimir Krylenko spent a great deal of time away from the house. Natasha said she thought he had been promoted and was glad because it meant she saw less of him. It also meant however, that there was no man to escort them. to the opera or the ballet, and to undertake such a venture, alone, as they had attempted once, invariably meant they would be accosted by the roving groups of Holsteiners who roamed the city at night, drinking incessantly and making a general nuisance of themselves. These soldiers now made up the Czar’s Personal Guard. He had dismissed good Russian fighting men to put them in such an honourable position, thus proving to everyone how deeply he hated Russia and loved Holstein. The month of May brought forth some of the first flowers in the garden of the Krylenko house. The beautiful hue of colours, red, yellow, white and pink made Alexandreya think more and more of Bratz. The flowers would be out there too, in their thousands and she was not there to wander through the grounds and pick them in handfuls to decorate her room. The old, gnarled tree outside her bedroom window would be covered in pale pink blossoms and she was not there to sit beneath its shade. How much longer before Natasha made up her mind? Alexandreya knew she was taking advantage of Vladimir’s prolonged absences to meet her lover again and had warned her of the possibility of being discovered. With apparently no thought to gossip, Natasha had begun visiting André Bruckner at the house of a friend, not two streets away from her own home, often remaining out until the early hours of the morning. On frequent occasions, Alexandreya was forced to lie blatantly to

Vladimir by pretending her sister had retired to bed early. To allay his suspicions, she often found it necessary to have supper with him or a glass of wine before she went to her own room. Her position became increasingly more difficult, for he showed little or no concern over the wife supposedly ill in bed, and began to seek the company of his sister-in-law with disturbing regularity. Natasha entered her sister’s room one night, scarcely a few minutes after the front door had closed behind Vladimir. She was dressed to go out. “Alexa, I must speak with you before I go.” Alexandreya put aside the book she was reading and looked up, somewhat surprised to find her sister’s earlier good humour had vanished. She looked quite pale and worried. “What is it?” “About returning to Bratz with you. I shall be able to tell you tonight when we can leave.” “Lieutenant Bruckner is to come with us?” “I think so. He isn’t sure.” Natasha bit her lip. “He thinks Vladimir knows about us.” Alexandreya tensed in her chair. Oh, no, she thought, anything but that. “Why, what has happened?" “Nothing definite, it’s just his attitude,” Natasha answered, her eyes clouding. “André is sure Vladimir has planted spies in the barracks, because two of his friends; were arrested the other day. He feels he is under constant observation and is afraid to trust anyone. Vladimir keeps giving him extra duties and talks about sending him to the garrison at Molinsk at the end of next month to keep the peasants in order. What if it is a trick? Alexa, Vladimir could have him killed or worse, sent to Siberia. No one would ever know.”

“I am sure he would not do such a thing,” Alexandreya protested. “After all, André is not the first rival he has had. That is not meant unkindly, ’Tasha, but he didn’t kill any of the others, did he?” “It was different then and he knows it,” Natasha answered. “Besides, he cares little how many men I have as long as I stay here. It would be another matter if I left him and came home with you. Once it was obvious André had followed me, he would be the laughing stock of St. Peterburg. To prevent it, I know he would kill André - and me too.” Alexandreya felt an icy hand of fear clutch at her heart; If it was true, Vladimir might be making plans at that very moment. “Don’t go out tonight,” she appealed to her sister. “Send Anya with a note. Arrange to meet again soon at the hunting-lodge, then we can go together to avoid suspicion.” “Dmitri has asked us not to use it while he is away. He has to be careful now, too. His friendship with André has been questioned.” “By whom?" “The Czar Peter, I believe. I heard him talking to André about it before he left for Moscow. The Grand Duchess was sending him out of harm’s way for a few weeks. Didn’t you know he had gone?” “No, no, I did not.” Alexandreya rose quickly to her feet, not wanting to get involved in a discussion of her personal affairs. “Is there somewhere else you could meet André? A safer place perhaps?” “It will be better if I make this our last meeting for a while. He will understand, but if I don’t go, he will worry.” Natasha smiled and kissed her sister affectionately. “Bless you for being such a dear, I don’t know how I would manage without you. Don’t wait up for me. André has the whole evening off, and so I shall stay with him until quite late.” After she had gone, Alexandreya returned to her book, but found it impossible to concentrate. The thought of Vladimir knowing the truth frightened her considerably, but overshadowing this was an even greater

fear - that the Czar had at last found a reason to have Dmitri’s head on a spike. He had joked over it, believing it could not happen, yet Catherine had thought it advisable to send him away from St. Petersburg as a safety measure. For how long, she wondered - a week - a month? She might well be on her way back to Bratz before he returned and perhaps it would be as well. Despite his attitude, particularly the forceful half of his nature which greatly alarmed her, she had become dangerously attracted to him. She retired to bed early and lay worrying in the four-poster bed for many hours before sleep claimed her. The sound of doors being slammed noisily rudely awakened her. She sat up in bed, reaching for her wrap and listening .for the sound of herd' sister entering the adjoining room. Instead she heard Vladimir’s voice' raised in anger, and Natasha’s, shrill with pain, followed by the unmistakable crashing of furniture. Alexandreya slid out of bed and flung herself at the communicating door, knowing instantly the worst had; happened. A terrible scene met her eyes. Her sister lay sobbing on the floor, her loose. hair scattered around her face in wild disorder. One sleeve of her dress had been torn completely away and on her shoulder, red weals were already beginning to show where her husband had struck her. Vladimir swayed drunkenly over her prostrate form clutching a ridingwhip. “Stop it.” Alexandreya screamed as he raised it to hit Natasha again. “Stop it!” “This is between husband and wife,” Vladimir shouted, and gave Alexandreya a violent push as she caught at his arm, sending her reeling back against the door. “Alex, don’t, he’s mad drunk!” Natasha was struggling; to pull herself upright. There was blood at the corners of her mouth. “No one can stop him.” “Shut your mouth, you treacherous bitch.” Vladimir lashed out at her with the whip, almost losing his balance; in the process.

“I’ll go for help.” Alexandreya ran to the bell-rope and tugged at it frantically. Vladimir barred her escape through the door. “The servants have orders not interfere. They will not leave their quarters,” he sneered. “They know better than to come between a husband and his erring wife.” He thrust his face close to Alexandreya’s and the vile smell of liquor on his breath made her feel sick. “Do you know what this sweetfaced little sister of yours has done, do you?” he demanded. “Whatever it is you have no right to beat her like an animal,” she retorted. "Get out of this room, or I swear I’ll fling wide the windows and scream for help.” Vladimir’s small brown eyes darted over the angry face defying him, and even in his drunken state he knew she was not afraid of him. He wanted her to be afraid; to go down on her knees and crawl on the floor, begging for mercy as her sister had done. “I am waiting for you to leave, Major Krylenko,” Alexandreya said in a more authoritative tone of voice. A look of intense hatred flashed across Vladimir’s eyes as he looked from one woman to the other. “Your sister and I have a slight matter to settle, Countess. I prefer we do so without an audience.”, Natasha screamed as she saw her sister seized by the shoulders and propelled forcibly into her own room. Vladimir came out again, locking the door behind him and retrieved his fallen whip from the floor. “Now, my dear wife, where were we?”

When Anya brought hot milk for her mistress the following morning, she found the door locked from the outside. Muttering, she. turned the key and went in, to find Alexandreya not in bed, but fast asleep against the communicating door. She put down the milk, spilling some on the carpet in her hurry to be rid of it, and stretched out a tentative hand to touch her mistress’s shoulder.

“My lady, are you all right?” Alexandreya opened heavy-lidded eyes. She had not been dozing long and was still exhausted from the all-night vigil. Memory flooded back. She started up, clutching at Anya’s outstretched hand to gain her feet. “What time is it?”‘ “Eight o’clock, my lady.” “Has Major Krylenko left for the palace yet?” “Yes, Some while ago. He left instructions that there would only be two for lunch. Mrs. Krylenko will be having all her meals in her room today.” “Of that I am sure.” Alexandreya tried the door. It was still locked; there was no answer to her insistent knocking. “I heard shouting in the night,” Anya said, “and I wanted to come and see if you were all right, but the others would not let me leave my room. They said the Major was in a drunken temper and no one was to go near him.” She was tempted to ask why all the doors seemed to be locked, but tactfully declined. Her mistress looked tired and worried. “Come with me,” Alexandreya said. She went out into the corridor and tried the outside door to Natasha’s room; it yielded to her touch. She said a silent prayer as she turned the handle and entered. The room was a shambles. Chairs overturned, torn clothes strewn over the floor, drawers half open, their contents littered everywhere. “The curtains quickly. Let us have some light in here,” Alexandreya ordered. Carefully she picked her way across to the bed. A sudden shaft of light burst into the room and cut across the motionless figure on the coverlet. “Heaven protect us,” Anya muttered and crossed herself.

“Send someone for a doctor; Anya, and then bring hot water and ointment. The brute - the cruel despicable brute-” Sobbing incoherently, Alexandreya cradled her sister’s head in her lap and stroked the matted hair away from her face. Natasha’s cheeks were ashen and her hands ice-cold. She lay as if one dead. Between them, Alexandreya and Anya undressed the unconscious Natasha, washed and smoothed sweet-smelling herbal ointments into her skin and then tucked her up between fresh sheets. By the time they had finished and order had been restored to the room, Alexandreya had great difficulty in restraining an urge to call her carriage and take her sister back to Bratz that very morning. Whatever excuses were offered in the future, she made up her mind to return home before the end of the month. Many things had shocked her since her arrival in St. Petersburg, but none so deeply, or so vehemently, as the inhuman treatment Natasha had received. Her sister’s disastrous marriage was so different from the idyllic existence her parents had led. Alexandreya left her sister’s side only once that morning, to bathe and dress ready to face Vladimir when he came back to the house for lunch. Returning to Natasha’s room she found her slowly coming out of the shocked stupor that had kept her semi-conscious for most of the time. Instantly she sent down to the kitchen for some chicken broth and would not allow any talk until it had been almost finished. “I'm sorry, I can’t.” Natasha pushed away the porcelain bowl containing the broth and lay back amid the pillows. Her fingers strayed to the darkening bruise on one temple and tears sprang to her eyes. “I wish I was a man. I would kill him." “Don’t, my dear. He won’t touch you again, I’ll see to that.” “You won’t be able to stop him. No one can when he drinks. He’s had a man watching me this past week, spying on me as if I were a criminal. He was waiting for me when I came in last night.” Tears spilled down over Natasha’s cheeks at the painful recollection. “He sprang out at me as I crossed the hall and knocked me to the ground. He said terrible things,

Alexa, I didn’t deserve them and then he dragged me up here-” She broke off, her shoulders heaving and it was several minutes before Alexandreya managed to calm her. “We must settle matters once and for all,” she said gently. “We are leaving for Bratz before the end of the month. I will not listen to any arguments,” she added as Natasha opened her mouth to protest. “I will not have you subjected to this kind of treatment any longer. I will see Lieutenant Bruckner myself and tell him of my plans. It’s up to him after that.” Natasha nodded agreement; she had no will left to fight anyone. André had sworn on the Holy Bible that he loved her. When the right moment came for him to join her, he would do so, she was sure. They would begin a new life together and somehow repay Alexandreya for all her. kindness and understanding. “Whatever you think best,” she answered quietly. Alexandreya left her to rest and went downstairs to supervise the preparation of her sister’s luncheon tray. Contrary to expectations, Vladimir did not return and she ate alone-in the huge dining-room. Towards early evening, after resting for a few hours herself, she summoned her maid and gave her explicit instructions, then she went in to her sister. The face which smiled at her faintly from the mound of pillows bore the slight traces of returning colour, and Alexandreya breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Are you going out? Alexa, don’t leave me alone.” Natasha stared wideeyed at the sight of her sister attired in cloak and gloves. “You promised.” “It will only be for a short while,” Alexandreya assured her. “I am going to see Lieutenant Bruckner and tell him you are leaving.” She also wanted to make sure that Vladimir had taken no disciplinary action against his junior officer - or that of a more personal nature. “I have sent Anya to him with a message to meet me at the West Gate. She is the only one I dare trust on such an errand.”` “You will not tell him what Vladimir has done to me?”

“Of course not. The sooner you are well, the earlier we can leave, but we must be very careful. Vladimir must not suspect for one moment that either of us has any thought of leaving,” Alexandreya bent and kissed her. “When Anya returns she will come and sit with you for as long as you wish. Try to sleep, my dear.” To Alexandreya’s dismay, as she was descending the stairs Vladimir Krylenko appeared from the direction of the rear entrance of the house. She attempted to pass him by without speaking, determined to show her displeasure at the treatment her sister had received, but he stepped in front of her, deliberately blocking the way. “Alexandreya, surely you are not going out alone? It is almost dusk and the streets are hardly the place for a lone woman,” he said with a smile. If he noticed the loathing and contempt in her eyes, he gave no sign. He was acting as if nothing had happened, Alexandreya thought, horrified. Had he no qualms over the awful thing he had done? In a silky smooth tone he asked, “Can I not escort you wherever you are going?” “Thank you, Major, but I prefer to go alone. Now please allow me to pass.” “Gently - gently, Alexandreya. ” His smile mocked her. “I have not had the pleasure of your company all day. You must hurry back and dine with me.” Alexandreya looked disgusted. “I have no intention of remaining in your company for two minutes, let alone a whole evening,” she said icily. “There are no words to describe how I feel about you, Major. You are beneath contempt.” Vladimir laughed, unperturbed by her coldness. He had been thinking of her all morning, comparing her to his wife. If only he had married this one; she had everything, including a fiery spirit which he would have enjoyed breaking.

“Am I to be held to scorn for chastising an unfaithful wife? I answer to no one, Alexandreya and you would do well to remember you are a guest in my house. Do not question my actions again, dear sister-in-law.” “Natasha is my sister-” “And my wife, although she chooses to forget it with annoying regularity. You would have been a much more satisfactory wife, Alexandreya. I could be a very proud man with you by my side.” The caress in his tone - the sudden passionate light which sprang to his eyes- made Alexandreya step back in alarm. “You are quite mad to speak to me in this fashion.” Vladimir stiffened. Silently he cursed the unwanted woman upstairs who stood in the way of him having this lovely creature, and wished her dead, as he had done many times since the day Alexandreya had come beneath his roof. He stepped to one side. “Keep your appointment, my dear. We will have supper together when you return.” Alexandreya swept past him out into the courtyard, her head held high. Not until she reached the street did she stop trembling. The West Gate was a small, narrow archway barred by a wrought iron gate. It adjoined the barracks and officers’ quarters. Alexandreya was relieved to see Anya waiting there and beside her, the figure of the Holstein lieutenant. “Good evening, Lieutenant Bruckner, thank you for coming,” she said gratefully. She turned to her maid. “Go back to the house now and stay close to Mrs. Krylenko. I will not be long.” “I came at once, Countess. Is anything wrong?" André’s pale eyes searched her face in the half-light. “Nothing that cannot be rectified provided we are careful,” Alexandreya answered. “Is there somewhere less open where we can talk?”

“The palace is the safest place. The guards have just been changed and my men are on duty here. No one should question us, but if we are stopped I shall say you are one of Her Imperial Majesty’s new ladies-in-waiting. She has at least three new ones every week.” André opened the gate and ushered her quickly through. They passed a patrolling sentry who gave them no more than a cursory glance and entered the palace. In a deserted corridor on the first floor, André halted and motioned to the chaise-longue against the wall. “Please be seated, Countess. It is safe for us to talk here.” Alexandreya sat down. She knew she had to take extreme care with her words. If he guessed the truth, he might foolishly challenge the Major to a duel and wreck her plans. “Natasha has been followed for several days,” she said quietly. “Major Krylenko is now aware of the affair between you. Let me finish!” She held up a hand as André turned pale and began to speak. “I am afraid for my sister’s safety, Lieutenant Bruckner, and that is why we are leaving for my home at Bratz as soon as possible. You are welcome to come too, if you wish. Is it possible for you to leave St. Petersburg?” “Major Krylenko will never allow me to be transferred now,” André said bitterly. “You are right to take Natasha away, he is a dangerous' man and we have made him look a fool. He will not forgive either of us. If I stay here, I will end up in Siberia, he will see to that. I have no choice but to come with you.” Alexandreya was annoyed that he made it sound so terrible a decision. Surely anything was better than Siberia, even desertion. “I have many loyal men at Bratz who will hide you should the need arise, and swear you have never been near the place.” André nodded, his mind made up.

“I have never loved any woman as I love your sister. I will do anything to be with her, even this, God forgive me. Have you decided when to leave?” “Not yet, although it will be soon. We must choose the time carefully to avoid suspicion,” Alexandreya said. “My maid will come to you again when the final arrangements are to be discussed.” “Countess Romanova.” André laid a hand on her arm as she was about to rise. “A moment, please. There must be some way I can repay you for helping Natasha and me in this, manner.” Alexandreya smiled. “Continue to love my sister, that is all you can do for me, Lieutenant Bruckner.” “I will- I swear it. If I ever fail her, may I be struck dead,” he answered fervently. ' Seizing both her hands in his, he pressed them to his lips. Alexandreya grew perturbed lest someone should come upon them unexpectedly and mistake them for a pair of lovers. And that was how Dmitri Varanov found them as he turned into the corridor en route to his apartments.

For nearly four weeks, Dmitri had been kicking his heels in Moscow, under orders from the Czarina Catherine not to return until she personally sent word to him. He did not like Moscow and spent most of the first two weeks bored and dispirited in the barracks. He had even been deprived of the company of his faithful Sergei - a giant of a man nearer seven feet than six, who was body- guard, friend and servant all rolled into one. He had been left in St. Petersburg with instructions to watch and listen. The third week, restlessness set in. Dmitri found two trends of thought occupied his mind. Concern over Catherine during his absence, and the memory of Alexandreya standing before him in the stables.

Her scornful words returned at night to haunt his dreams. She had taken precedence over everything else in his mind and the days of his exile dragged with interminable slowness. No one else managed to reopen old wounds and revive past resentment as successfully as she did. At first he had felt anger towards her, but in going out of his way to make himself unpleasant, he had found he was inexplicably attracted to her. He deniediit vehemently, of course. She was just another woman and given half a chance, she would spit on him. He had no intention of giving her that chance; he would give her nothing, but he would take. It had been so easy to think that way in the beginning. Now, lying outstretched on his rough bed in the barracks, an empty jug of braga beside him, he was forced to admit that such methods were out of place with this one. Somehow she had infiltrated his defences and pushed herself into his thoughts. “Damn the bitch,” he swore and hurled the jug against the opposite wall with unconcealed rancour. For the remainder of his stay, he sought solace in the many taverns in the town, remaining partially drunk for the best part of three days. A messenger from Catherine roused him from a stupor early one morning. Within an hour of reading the letter ordering him home, he was riding swiftly towards St. Petersburg, leaving boredom, misery and many empty braga jugs behind him. He made only one stop on the journey, at the bardak owned by Boris, where he ate a large meal with relish and washed it down with wine. To the inn-keeper’s surprise, he refused the offer of a girl for the night and continued on his way as soon as his horse had been fed and watered. At the Winter Palace he had a brief audience with Catherine. She had welcomed him back with genuine feeling which touched him; an unusual victory for anyone to achieve. She refused to discuss anything that had happened during his absence however, saying that it could wait until he had rested. He was to ride with her the following morning, she said, and then they would talk.

Countess Alexandreya Romanova had not intruded on his thoughts during the long ride, but he was thinking about her as he strode towards his quarters. He was tempted also to spend the night at the hunting-lodge, but this was abruptly forgotten as he rounded a corner and came upon a man and a woman seated close together on one of the chaise-longues in the corridor. The man looked up and saw Dmitri first. He was mildly surprised to discover it was André Bruckner and he chuckled silently, wondering what Natasha would say to this titbit of information. He received an unexpected jolt as the man’s companion quickly snatched her hand from his and sprang to her feet, so hastily that the hood covering her face fell away. Red hair glinted in the light of the torches suspended on the walls. Dmitri halted a few feet from them, his face bleak. “Good evening Countess. Bruckner.” He inclined his head slightly in the other’s direction, his eyes intent on the crimson cheeks before him. Was it possible he had interrupted a lovers’ meeting? They had been holding hands. The thought angered and disgusted him. “Colonel Varanov, I thought you were in Moscow.” Alexandreya forced herself to be calm. His appearance had momentarily shattered her composure and it was not easy to regain it under such bold surveillance. The expression on his face told her he thought the worst. “I was.” He did not bother to enlighten her. “Colonel, it is good to see you back,” André said. His smile was polite, his attitude formal. The palace was no place to acknowledge. this Cossack as his friend. “Did you have a pleasant stay in Moscow?” “I did not. Are you on duty tonight?” “Yes, I am.”

“I thought so. Major Krylenko stormed past me just now looking for you,” Dmitri said. “I suggest you find him, before he finds you. I will take care of the Countess,” he added with a tight smile. “You had better go,” Alexandreya said as the lieutenant hesitated. “If he found us together, it could ruin everything.” “Yes, it would. Goodnight, Countess.” He bowed smartly. “Thank you. Goodnight, Colonel.” Alexandreya had no intention of being alone with Dmitri. As Lieutenant Bruckner hurried away, she turned and began to walk back the way they had come. In two long strides, Dmitri caught up with her and laid a heavy hand on her arm. “Not so fast, my mala koska. You rush away as if you are not pleased to see me. Or are you angry because I interrupted a touching scene?” “I was delivering a message from my sister,” Alexandreya retorted bristling. “How dare you think you saw anything else?” “Did you deliver it by hand?” Dmitri mocked. She tried to pull herself free, but he held her fast, his eyes glinting dangerously. “I am in no mood to be provoked, Countess, you must humour me. If I was wrong, I apologise. Come and dine with me to prove you hold no grudge.” A1exandreya’s eyes widened. He had reminded her that she was to have supper with Vladimir Krylenko when she returned to the house. It was an impossible situation. A man she loathed on one hand - a man she feared on the other. “Please, Colonel Varanov.” She raised a hand to her forehead feeling suddenly drained of all strength. Lack of sleep and constant worry were at last beginning to tell. “I am in no mood to be provoked either. I am no match for you tonight.”

“Then I will take you home.” “No - I mean-” She looked up into his puzzled features. “If I return home now I must dine with Major Krylenko.” “I see. As he has offered first, then you must go, of course.” “He has ordered me to dine with him. I have no choice. He reminded me earlier this evening that I am nothing more than a guest in his house.” Dmitri felt a tremor run through her body and he frowned. “Your eyes tell me that something has happened while I was away.” “Yes, it has.” “We cannot talk here, he may come along at any moment,” Dmitri interrupted. “Whether you like it or not, you are going to have my company for a while. We will discuss it in my quarters over some brandy.” Alexandreya walked beside him in silence to his quarters, which as it turned out were at the far end of that very corridor. He opened a door and ushered her into a large room, strangely luxuriant for the needs of a soldier. Dmitri smiled, but said nothing as he watched her gaze wander over the massive four-poster bed, hung with dark silk drapes against one wall, the tapestry-covered couch before the hearth with its burgundy coloured tassels and sumptuous cushions. Rich tapestries hung from the walls and a huge candelabra hung over the oak table in the centre of the room. Neither the furniture or the decorations were of his choosing - they were Catherine’s. She was generous to a fault with anyone she liked; He had grown used to the comfort in time, and there was always the hunting-lodge, furnished to his own taste, when he tired of these surroundings. The figure of a man loomed up in the doorway behind them, blocking it with his enormous frame. It was Sergei - the Tartar. “Colonel, it is good you are home,” he said enthusiastically. His voice boomed from behind a lengthy _growth of white whiskers, curling down

from his chin almost to the wide, metal-studded belt around his stout waist. Dark eyes, not unlike Dmitri’s, focused on the woman. “You have company, forgive me.” “Nonsense, my friend.” Dmitri embraced him warmly. “Thank you for the fire and the table - I see you are expecting me to be hungry.” ‘It was a long ride.” “I stopped over at Boris’. There is some excellent brandy in my saddlebags, bring it up, will you, and lay another place? The Countess is dining with me. Oh, one more thing, Sergei,” he added as the Tartar was withdrawing. “If anyone other than Her Imperial Majesty asks for me, I have gone to bed. As for the lady here, you have not seen her. That will ensure we are not disturbed,” he said, turning to Alexandreya. She remained motionless, making no attempt to remove her cloak. It seemed that fate had decreed she should at last dine with him. “I will tell you the truth, Colonel, although it is no compliment. If I remain, it is because I consider you to be the lesser of two evils.” “Coming from you that is quite an admission,” Dmitri returned quietly. “Come.” He unfastened her cloak before she could protest. “Sit down before the fire while I wash off some of this dirt I’ve brought with me. Sergei will be here with the brandy soon.” Wondering if she were in a dream world, Alexandreya sank back into the depths of the couch and allowed her head to fall back on to a cushion. What a blessed relief it was to relax. Unconsciously a sigh escaped her. From the doorway of the small antechamber adjoining the main room, Dmitri stared at her uneasily. There was trouble in the air; he saw it in those expressive green eyes and heard it in her voice. A nagging voice within him warned against growing involved in someone else’s trouble, especially if that someone was a beautiful, proud woman to whom he was already attracted against his will. Quietly, so as not to disturb her, he closed the door, but he could not shut out the voice.

CHAPTER FIVE WHEN she had gone to the palace with a message for André Bruckner, Alexandreya had never dreamed she would at last accept an invitation to dine with Dmitri Varanov. They ate a simple meal in his apartments. Sergei apologised, explaining he had no previous knowledge that there was to be a lady present and had provided only soldiers’ fare. Nevertheless Alexandreya enjoyed it, and said so. Afterwards Dmitri opened one of the bottles he had brought back with him. “I think you are worried,” Alexandreya declared, looking at him over the rim of her goblet. He was staring at his own vessel and frowning heavily. Neither had spoken for a long while. “That I cannot deny; I fear daily for Catherine’s life. The Czar is mad enough to resort to murder. Sergei tells me even the Church is divided over him.” “Kill his own wife?" She was appalled. “Surely he would not dare?” Dmitri smiled at her surprise. “And who would speak out against him? He could pay some rogue to kill her and then silence him to ensure his tongue was still. Whatever anyone thought, they dare not voice an opinion. If only Catherine was Empress. If she held the power-” He broke off, his eyes narrowing sharply. “This is for your ears alone, do you understand me? Never repeat a word of what I have said, unless,” and he leaned back in his chair mockingly, “unless you have a mind to see me arrested and broken on the wheel as revenge for my past conduct.” Alexandreya could not suppress a violent shudder. She had noticed before how easily he talked of death and torture, while the mere thought of it turned her stomach.

“I bear you no grudge, Colonel Varanov. I have tried and failed; it is not in me.” ' “You surprise me, mala koska,” he said and his tone was confirmation of this. “Most women can be vindictive when they try, especially if they have the man they dislike at a disadvantage.” “Do you want me to try?" Alexandreya challenged. “Is that why I am here?" “No, it is not. Believe me, I did not ask you here to argue. I am in need of company tonight - the company of a woman who does not expect me to sleep with her,” he added as if sensing she was about to question his reason for choosing her. “Let me refill your draka. This is good brandy, is it not? I had the feeling you would appreciate it. I intended to send you another dinner invitation, would you have accepted this time?” ' “No.” “You are exceedingly honest tonight, another quality I admire in women and find so lacking. Are you always so truthful, Countess? No, don’t answer,” he said quickly. “I withdraw the question, it was unnecessarily provoking. Now, what is this trouble you are having with Major Krylenko?” “He knows of Natasha’s affair with the Lieutenant. Last night he got drunk and beat her. I am taking her away as soon as possible.” “Back to Bratz? Will she be safe there?" Dmitri rose to his feet and removed the bottle of brandy to a table beside the fire, showing a concern which both puzzled and pleased her. She shrugged her slim shoulders. “At Bratz I give the orders. What can he do?” “The Major is not a man to stand by and do nothing,” he warned. “Come and sit here on the couch. I am beginning to relax for the first time in weeks.” His expression grew amused as she stood up, but did not join him. “I am enjoying your company, Countess. I would prefer not to, but I am

forced to admit that it is not often I can talk to someone who is both beautiful and intelligent. Can we not be friends for a few more hours?" Alexandreya wanted to stay. The temptation to remain almost proved too great, but in time she remembered Natasha alone and waiting for her. “You have been very kind, Colonel Varanov. I did not deserve such hospitality after my behaviour the other day. I only wish it was possible to stay, but I have been away from my sister far too long as it is. Please understand.” “Another time then; before you go home?” “Yes, Colonel, before I go,” Alexandreya answered softly. Dmitri fastened her cloak about her shoulders. His fingers lingered for a moment at the slender line of her throat, his eyes dark with thought. “I will escort you in case the Major is still about,” he said at length. “We can take the short cut across the square.” Except for the patrolling sentries, they encountered no one as they left the palace and began to walk across the wide quadrangle. Dmitri’s hand rested lightly beneath her elbow and Alexandreya was thrilled by this unexpected change of character. At the gate leading to the courtyard behind the house, they stopped. “I will come no further. Should the Major be inside, it is best we do not meet.” He bowed low over her hand. “Thank you once again for the company.” “You are in a complimentary mood, Colonel,” Alexandreya returned lightly. “Quite unlike yourself. Or is this the real you?” “I don’t understand what you mean,” Dmitri said quietly. Her head barely came up to his shoulder. She really was a delicate little creature. A pity the evening had ended so quickly.

“I believe you maintain a front to offend people, especially women, yet tonight you have proved you are not beyond salvation.” “I am too far gone for that, believe me,” Dmitri laughed. “No, I do not believe you are. One day I am sure you will find your salvation in a woman, despite your hatred of us and your fear.” “Fear! That is a strange word to use. What am I afraid of?" “The heartache of falling in love again, perhaps. Of giving your heart to a woman and not knowing if she will betray you for a second time.” Dmitri uttered a soft expletive. “You could be my salvation, mala koska,” he said and his voice was strained. His mouth claimed hers possessively, drawing every ounce of resistance from her with a ruthlessness that made her tremble. She fought with him and herself - for a moment, before surrendering utterly and completely to the joy of his kisses. A chuckle rose deep in his throat as he raised his head and stared down into her flushed cheeks. “So at last you have grown tired of the pose. No matter, whatever you are, I still want you.” Alexandreya’s eyes flew open in horror. He had tricked her deliberately and cruelly to make her drop her guard. With a distressed cry she tore herself from his grasp, ran through the gateway and slammed it shut behind her, pushing home the bolt so that he could not follow. She did not stop her headlong flight until she reached the sanctuary of her room and there the uncontrollable flood of tears broke loose. She loved him - it was useless to deny it any longer. She had given her heart to a bitter, disillusioned man who considered her a cheap little tramp. He would not believe her capable of any genuine feelings, even if she had the courage to tell him. Some words of Natasha’s came back to her. “He has a way of getting what he wants.” He wanted her, he had said so. How long could she refuse him now that her love had revealed itself?

From the window of her room, she watched the solitary figure crossing the square, and her heart ached.

Sergei was waiting for Dmitri when he returned to his quarters. “The lady has gone, Colonel?" “Does it look as if she is still here?" Dmitri snapped. He splashed some brandy into a glass and gulped it back. “I came near to forgetting tonight, Sergei. I held a woman in my arms and actually believed her to be the innocent child she pretends. Am I mad?" “She is very beautiful.” “So was Elena.” Dmitri said the name with a black scowl. It was the first time he had mentioned the woman he had loved in over two years. “I still bear the marks of her treachery. It was you who brought me back to life, my faithful friend. What do you think of the Countess? I cannot trust her, nor can I use her. Why?” “That is a question you must answer for yourself, Colonel, but if I was in your place, I would forget her, and quickly. There are other women in St. Petersburg.” “My God, I wish I could.” Dmitri’s tone was bitter. “It is not so easy.” “I am sure Madame de Veaux would be more than obliging. While you were in Moscow she sent several messages wanting to know when you would return.” “So that she could make a report to the Major, no doubt.” “One of her servants was here less than an hour ago. I told him you had retired. Somehow she has learned you are back.” “Has she now?” Dmitri had been about to pull off his jacket, now he refastened the buttons thoughtfully, “Madeleine knows more gossip than

anyone in St. Petersburg, perhaps she also knows a few secrets I do not.” He looked into Sergei’s expressionless features with a faint smile, knowing full well he did not approve of the liaison. “You are going to see her now?” “There is no reason why I should not.” “Shall I wait for you to return?” Dmitri shook his head. “No, old friend. One way or the other I intend to forget the lady who was here tonight. Madeleine and her excellent wine cellar may be the combination I need.”

The house of Madeleine de Veaux was in the prosperous French quarter of the city. She had moved there after the death of her army officer husband during the war with Prussia. Everyone supposed she had been left well off; few people knew of her association with Vladimir Krylenko, or that she was in fact one of the most able spies he had ever recruited and had been rewarded with magnanimous sums of money from the Czar himself. The information she supplied led almost inevitably to the arrest and execution of double agents, or those merely loyal to a sympathetic consort instead of a sadistic ruler. She cared *little whose name she passed on and it was not unknown, when military or official ranks were involved, for the victim to be arrested after spending a pleasant evening dining with her. Soldiers were an easy target and their tongues easily loosened with good wines and the company of a compassionate woman. ` It had been through the carelessness of one of these men that the two friends of André Bruckner had been arrested and the relationship with the wife of his superior officer subsequently revealed. For this damning piece of work she had been given an expensive ruby necklace from Vladimir Krylenko as a bonus above the normal payment.

There was a single light in one of the upstairs rooms as Dmitri knocked on the door. He was admitted by a servant who knew him and shown into the comfortable drawing room, while Madeleine was informed of his arrival. When she entered the room after deliberately lingering for some ten minutes or so, he showed no signs of impatience as she expected, but was lounging in a chair sampling her best cognac. A rustle of material behind him made Dmitri rise and turn towards the door. He inspected the black satin robe she wore with admiring eyes. Her raven hair was loose, falling over the fur-trimmed neckline, cut low across her breasts. She was an attractive woman, with striking clear- cut features; very long-limbed and slender. Dmitri had often gained great satisfaction from their association, but never pleasure and not once had he forgotten she was a spy. “Madeleine, you look as charming as ever.” “No older, mon cher?” His eyebrows rose quizzingly. “It hasn’t been that long. A month or two.” Actually he had not spent a night with her since Christmas. Madeleine opened her mouth to tell him exactly how long it had been, then decided otherwise as she saw a familiar mocking gleam creep into his eyes. Damn the man’s arrogance! She moved towards the couch. Dmitri caught her around the waist and kissed her full on the lips. “There, is that what you have missed?” Madeleine broke free of him, the colour mounting beneath the thick powder on her cheeks. “How dare you think I can be palmed off with a paltry kiss after so long! I am not your little Countess,” she said furiously. Dmitri stiffened and for a moment she caught sight of something lurking in the shadowy depths of his eyes that frightened her. She stepped back,

unsure of herself. His expression suddenly relaxed and an odd smile flitted across his face. “No, you are not,” he answered coolly, “but by God you are beginning to act like her.” He filled his empty glass. “Can I get you a drink?” “My usual, please.” He poured her some wine from the vineyards at Dominsk, a small wineproducing area not far from the city, renowned for the good quality of their produce. “Dmitri, I’m sorry.” Madeleine took the drink from him with an apologetic smile. Long, beautifully-tapered fingers caressed his hand. “I’ve missed you terribly. I was beginning to think you had deserted me, you know how jealous I am.” “I am told you are seeing a good deal of Borowowski.” “Him! He’s the dullest and oldest of the Czar’s cabinet ministers. Dmitri, how could you.” Madeleine laughed. “You are quite right, of course, I have been seeing him a lot lately. I was lonely and he is very rich and rather sweet. He wants me to marry him.” “Why don’t you?" Dmitri asked. Borowowski was past seventy and not expected to live much longer. Such a marriage would benefit only one partner. Madeleine looked at him with a slow smile. “You know I love you.” “Dushka, you are not capable of the emotion,” he returned dryly. “I would give my life for you,” Madeleine said dramatically and was annoyed when he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “That would be a stupid thing to do and such a foolish waste of life. You are not a fool.” Dmitri glanced down into the large hazel eyes, watching him intently. “You are not the kind of person to waste your life in selfsacrifice, you have too many plans, too many schemes for power."

“You make me sound like Messalina. I leave that to Catherine,” Madeleine said meaningly. She was searching, probing for some word, a look to tell her why Dmitri had been sent to Moscow. “You are the coldest man I have ever met,” she declared, angry sparks glinting in her eyes. He was different tonight - somehow withdrawn. Perhaps the rumours were right and he had taken this Countess Romanova as his mistress. “Not all the time, surely.” Dmitri relaxed back on to the couch, toying with the ermine trimmings at her breasts. “Have you been with her these past weeks?” “Am I supposed to know who you mean?” “Your Countess, of course.” Madeleine could scarcely conceal the venom in her voice. One of her first assignments had been to become Dmitri’s mistress. It was one of the hardest tasks she had ever been called upon to perform. She had been forced to endure sarcasm, insults and fits of temper, followed by moments of unexpected tenderness and it had taken her some considerable time to grow accustomed to his ways. He was the only man she had never enslaved. He came and went from her house at will and she never refused him. She had done so once in a fit of pique and he had walked out of the room. It was she who had humbled herself and sent a message of apology. They did not speak of the incident, and she was careful not to lose control of her temper again. As a lover Dmitri had no equal. As a source of information he could prove invaluable, especially if, at the right time, pressure was brought to bear from others. Madeleine consoled herself with the fact that the Czarina Catherine would not take kindly to a man who associated with a spy. It was beyond her imagination that he not only knew of the deception, but was using it to an obvious advantage.

“Everyone at court knows I have been to Moscow,” Dmitri said at length. “I assure you I was alone. One of the Major’s men was unfortunate enough to start a quarrel with me - he lost it.” “And you took a short leave until the commotion passed over. How wise of you, and I am pleased you were alone. I do not think I like this Countess. Do I have a rival?" “No.” “The whole court is sure she is your mistress.” Madeleine was still uncertain. ' “Let them think what they damned well like, she isn’t now, nor will she be in the future. She’s leaving St. Petersburg soon anyway, so stop worrying your head about something which will never happen." It could make no difference if Madeleine knew that, he thought and it might help to put their relationship back on its old footing. She smiled, reassured and moved closer to him. Softened and warmed by a large amount of vodka, Dmitri slowly allowed himself to relax, ignoring the fierce tongues of flame in the hearth which reminded him of red hair. It was not his little cat who lay in his arms, but it was a woman and with her he would forget for a few hours. The coldness of his deceit did not prick his conscience one iota; the was using Madeleine as she had intended using him. He gave her no chance to question him further. When he left her sleeping in the grey light of dawn and returned to the palace, he discovered although he had made love to Madeleine de Veaux, never for a moment had his thoughts strayed from the one woman who had remained, so far at least, out of reach.

The morning after Dmitri’s visit to Madeleine, Major Krylenko received a message that sent him riding from the palace in all haste. At the Franklin Bridge, he reined his horse in beside a stationary coach and climbed inside.

“Well?” He turned impatiently to the hooded figure in the far comer. Had he encountered Alexandreya at breakfast she would have received the brunt of his temper, as it was, she had taken breakfast in her room. Her nonappearance at dinner had sent him into an uncontrollable rage and it had not been diminished with sleep. Servants and soldiers alike had been on the wrong end of his vile tongue. “Good morning, Major.” Madeleine drew back her hood slightly and smiled at him, ignoring the black looks directed at her. “Did you see him?" “Of course. He came to the house about nine o'clock last night. I believe he was in Moscow merely to avoid any unpleasantness over the death of Colonel Drakman.” “He fears the Czar’s anger. Good,” Vladimir muttered. “Non, non, Dmitri fears no man, but perhaps there is someone else who was afraid. Her Imperial Majesty perhaps. He is one of her favourites, remember, but to give him her protection against the Czar’s wishes, would have forced her into a showdown and so she sent him away for a few weeks. It was self-defence, after all. Drakman was a fool. He was no match with a sword against Dmitri. By the way,” Madeleine’s eyes gleamed with triumph, “it seems the rumours are unfounded. The Countess Romanova is not his mistress. You were right.” Vladimir’s face hardened. The gossip had irked him for weeks. Alexandreya belonged to a great and distinguished family. He had never believed she would lower herself to sleep with a murdering peasant Cossack. He was also insatiably jealous at the slightest thought of her in someone else’s arms. The more he compared her with his wife, the greater was his desire to have her. “The court is seething with rumours and intrigue. Where would I be if I believed everyone?” he replied dryly. “You are satisfied you have a hold on him again?”

“Perfectly. He spent the whole night with me. Even if this other woman has attracted him, I will make him forget her. Once she has left he will not give her another thought.” “Left!” Vladimir’s left hand snaked out and caught her arm in a grip that made her wince. “What talk is this? She has made no mention of it to me.” “Perhaps you are not in her confidence,” Madeleine mocked. “Dmitri said she is soon to leave St. Petersburg.” Vladimir was astounded. He was a vain man and could not accept that he had not made some impression on Alexandreya. Had she not dined with him almost every night for a week, and then there were the conversations they had shared over a night-cap. He had actually begun to believe she liked him. “She has no reason to go, besides there is her sister, my wife. They are very close.” He was recalling Alexandreya’s attempted intervention the time he had soundly thrashed Natasha. “She would not leave - unless -” He released Madeleine’s wrist with an oath. “Is it possible that my dear wife has persuaded her it would be best for them both to return to Bratz, as revenge against me for parting her from her lover?" “I had no idea you cared for your wife so deeply,” Madeleine said with heavy sarcasm. “I wish she was dead.” She leaned back in her seat with narrowed eyes. "Then take advantage of the situation. There is one, is there not? Bruckner and your wife are - or were lovers. They have met more than once in Dmitri’s hunting-lodge.” She had learned this from the same source as the news of the affair. “Does it not strike you as odd that a member of Catherine’s household, her personal guard commander in fact, should allow one of your men to use the lodge for his clandestine meetings? It could have the gravest consequences for him. Unless, of course, the Lieutenant gave him something in return.” '

“Information! Varanov bribed him. Madame, you have excelled yourself. You have given me a way to be rid of that young upstart Bruckner for good. He will be arrested and taken to the fortress. There, his tongue will be loosened.” “Why not kill two birds at once,” Madeleine asked softly, “and be rid of your wife as well? Could it not be possible she was passing information on to Lieutenant Bruckner? You entertain often, officers and ministers of state. She must have overheard many things.” “She is too addle-brained to understand a word,” Vladimir answered scornfully. “Who knows that, but us?” He stared at her, his eyes blazing. Bruckner and his wife disposed of without questions arising. How simple it sounded, and Alexandreya would never know. He would be the sympathetic brother-in-law, consoling her in her moment of sorrow, holding back his attentions until a suitable mourning period had been observed. He smiled across at Madeleine and leaned forward to pat her hand. “Madame - what would I do without you?”

The plan to arrest Natasha and André Bruckner on a joint charge of treason was begun in Madeleine de Veaux’s carriage and finalised over dinner one evening a week later at her house. It was fool-proof and deadly. In a brilliant blue gown, shimmering with diamonds, Madeleine did not have the appearance of a woman who had cold-bloodedly contrived the deaths of two innocent people. She sat at one end of the richly laid table facing Vladimir, her jewelled fingers toying with the necklace of flashing stones at her throat. Payment had been higher than usual. Vladimir Krylenko was pleased with her and his gratitude in terms of money and jewels was bounteous.

“The dinner was excellent, as always, Madame.” He leaned back in his chair selecting a cigar from the box at his elbow. “May I smoke?” "Please do,” Madeleine said. “When do you you leave for Kronstadt?” "Tomorrow morning. The Czar has taken it into his head to inspect the navy before joining the Grand Duchess at Peterhof. I am leaving Captain Shvorin behind with six men. Tell me once more what is to be done, I want no mistakes.” “Do not worry, you will not be involved. Shvorin and his men will arrest Bruckner and take him directly to the fortress. The letters incriminating him will be found when his room is searched and you wife’s name will be mentioned in several of them. She, too, will be arrested. By the time she reaches the fortress, the Lieutenant should have been sufficiently questioned, with the aid of the little devices in the torture room, to be ready to confess to anything. If he needs more persuasion, the sight of her on the next rack should do it. They are to be killed as soon as Shvorin has a confession.” A smile touched Madeleine’s mouth. “When it is over, Shvorin will ride to bring you the distressing news at Peterhof.” “And the proof of their guilt,” Vladimir added. “I am thinking it will be better if my wife never reaches the fortress - alive. Her decision to leave has been a great asset, we can assume she is fleeing because she has discovered that her lover and accomplice has been arrested.” “But that will mean the Countess Romanova will be with her servants. Shvorin can’t kill them all.” “Only two servants, he can dispose of them if necessary. I will leave you to settle the details with him. Make it look like an accident. Alexandreya must be brought back here to St. Petersburg to await my return. She should be very pleased to see me.” “And if she is not?” Madeleine looked down the length of the table at him in amusement. “What if all this is for nothing and she refuses you?” Vladimir inhaled deeply on his cigar. He, too, had contemplated that thought, but it had given him only a moment’s apprehension.

“Rest assured, my dear Madeleine, I can be most persuasive when I choose.”

Catherine Alexeevyna, Grand Duchess of all the Russias, went riding every day, regardless of rain, snow or bitter cold. There was little else to do and this was the only diversion from an intensely boring existence that had so far failed to prove as irksome as the rest of her daily routine. She rode and hunted with the skill and vigour of a man; indeed on these occasions she even dressed like one, in white breeches and long black leather boots and a high-necked jacket with silver trimmings. Always she was surrounded by a host of admiring followers - officers from the army, some of them ex-lovers and always, men from her personal guard. It was unusual for her to be seen without Dmitri at her side. Since his return from Moscow she had found him less communicative than ever and any jesting remarks concerning the Countess Romanova made his face grow as black as night. He had begun to see a great deal of Madeleine de Veaux- again, so Catherine was not surprised when she joined their hunting party one morning. They hunted in the Tzolsty Forest, not far from the lodge, and then stopped there for refreshments before starting back for the city. Madeleine was riding out in front, claiming the undivided attention of at least four officers. It was the first time she had left Dmitri’s side that day. “You are taking your work seriously, my Colonel,” Catherine said with a soft laugh. “Or is it pleasure this time?” The look Dmitri gave her revealed nothing. “I do what I have to do. It may help to keep us both alive a little longer.” “Last night I received a message from the Archbishop of Novgorod. He is very distressed. A druizhinia of the Czar’s soldiers took over the monastery in his province and forcibly de-bearded every man of the church they could

find. Two protested so violently that they were killed.” Her eyes burned with anger. “He has gone too far this time, the Holy Fathers have given me to understand they will tolerate the situation no longer.” Since changing her religion, Catherine had become a devout church-goer and was held in high esteem by the Elders of the Church, despite the regularity with which she committed adultery. Prayers were said for her in churches throughout the country as thanks for her gifts to the poor and needy. She had been known to stop her carriage and take a ring from her own finger to give to a beggar sitting by the roadside. Whatever her faults, Catherine had the admiration and sympathy of the common people. The time had now come to make use of it, she decided. In a low voice she said, "The Archbishop has asked for my help. He has made it known in no uncertain terms that the Church is my ally against Peter and anyone else' who opposes me. Do you know what that means? They have renounced him as ruler of Russia. Are you prepared to aid me, Dmitri?” “To do what, Highness?” “To commit treason.” “I would call it more of a duty to your people,” Dmitri answered, tightlipped. Her words had not shocked him. He had been waiting for something like this for many months. There had been countless incidents at the palace subjecting Catherine to scorn and ridicule, and he had watched her ignore them, assuming a cold front of indifference, knowing that within her, there was a seething cauldron of hatred coming to the boil. “Well spoken.” Catherine’se eyes appraised him. “I knew you would not fail me. At Peterhof we will talk of this again. Now - race me to that clump of trees ahead.” She dug stirrups to her horse and galloped away from him. ' They came upon Alexandreya, Natasha and André Bruckner as they flashed neck-and-neck through the trees. By the time Dmitri had reined to a halt, he was not more than ten yards from them.

“Another chance meeting?” Catherine murmured in his ear. A flicker of distaste crossed her face on seeing that the man wore a Holstein uniform. “Mrs. Krylenko’s taste does not improve,” she said. “Is it true the Major gave her a sound whipping for sleeping with the fellow?” "So I believe.” Dmitri’s gaze was centred on the slim woman in the green riding habit who had barely glanced in his direction. He was ill-at-ease, disturbed by the longing the sight of her evoked within him. This time he would be more careful. His guard had dropped on the last evening they spent together and he had actually enjoyed her company and been compelled by some force, against which he could not fight, to take her in his arms. He was so used to the feel of her body Stiffening beneath his hands that her willingness caught him completely be surprise, and for a moment he had enjoyed the softness of her lips, the sweet perfume of her hair in his nostrils and the fierce hunger in his breast which told him that this woman was not like the others. It had been a supreme effort to steel himself against the temptation to follow her into the house and commit the final act of folly by confessing that in one brief moment she. had awakened in him something he considered he had killed long ago. He followed Catherine, who had joined the trio and singled out Alexandreya to engage in conversation. “The Countess tells me she is returning to Bratz tomorrow,” Catherine said. She looked at Dmitri as if personally holding him responsible for the decision. “Can you not convince her how pleased I would be if she joined us at Peterhof?” The tiny muscles at the comers of Dmitri’s mouth tightened. Tomorrow so soon! He knew he should have welcomed her departure, but he didn’t. “The Countess believes the country air may benefit her sister, do you not, Countess?” he said quietly.

Alexandreya saw the challenge in his eyes. He was daring her to stay, no doubt believing her willingness to endure his kisses had been proof he had succeeded in yet another conquest. _ “I regret to say Colonel Varanov is correct,” she replied in level tones. “I am sure Your Imperial Highness will understand the concern for my sister’s health. She has not been well for some considerable time.” About three years, to be exact, Catherine mused, ever since Vladimir Krylenko had first discovered her unfaithfulness. She was too shrewd openly to dispute the lie, and admired Alexandreya’s devotion to such a wayward creature. “Perhaps I will visit Bratz,” she said. “Yes, next spring - you have my word on it.” “I shall look forward to it,” Alexandreya assured her. “You may not feel that way afterwards,” Catherine murmured with a laugh. “I shall ride your best horses into the ground and flirt with all the men.” ` “The horses I have, but I regret there are no men worthy of Your Imperial Majesty's attention.” “Then I shall bring my own.” Catherine glanced at the Cossack beside her as if to signify that he would definitely be one of the party. She had naturally heard the rumours linking him with Alexandreya. Had she been his mistress, Catherine would have known instinctively. One quick glance at them both was sufficient to refute the rumours as mere supposition. “You must have a great deal to do, I will detain you no longer. Dmitri will escort you back to the city. I can spare him for that small errand, as you are leaving tomorrow.” Her horse was growing impatient and beginning to prance. “I want to be at Peterhof before dark,” she reminded Dmitri, and swung her horse about. As Madeleine de Veaux and the remainder of the hunting party appeared, she called to them g to follow and galloped off.

Alexandreya was aware of a pair of eyes burning into her face with unconcealed annoyance as the cavalcade passed. She knew who the woman was, Natasha had pointed her out at the coronation. Slowly she lifted her eyes to encounter Dmitri’s face. With such a beautiful mistress, why did he bother with her? “I have no need of an escort, Colonel Varanov. Please do not leave your friends on my account.” “I cannot disobey my orders, Countess. Besides, Madame de Veaux is being well taken care of.” Alexandreya flushed. She had not intended to make herself so obvious. In an uncomfortable silence, she rejoined André Bruckner and her sister. ` “Colonel Varanov is to escort us back to St. Petersburg,” she said. “I thought you were going to Kronstadt with the Czar?” Dmitri asked, looking enquiringly at the other man. “I was, but at the last moment my orders were changed. I am to remain in the city.” André smiled. “I don’t mind in the least. It will simplify matters a great deal.” “The Colonel is not interested in our plans,” Alexandreya interrupted hastily, too late to prevent Dmitri’s interest from being aroused. “But I am. Do you intend to accompany the ladies to Bratz, my foolish friend?” he asked. “Desertion carries the death penalty even for Holsteiners.” “Would you have me stay here and die anyway?” André flung back. He had learned that morning of the beating Natasha had received, and knew that undoubtedly a man capable of such violence on a helpless woman, would have no qualms over killing a man. “I’m a soldier. I have no stomach for the intrigue and murder going on around me. I am willing to fight - and die, for a good cause, but not for a crazy creature who is neither child nor man.”

“Krylenko will follow you,” Dmitri told him gravely. This man had betrayed his Czar, and was now intending to add desertion to the rest of his crimes - all for the love of a woman. Nothing good could come of it for any of them, including Alexandreya. In abetting him, she was placing her own life in danger. “Hadn’t you better consider your position and Natasha’s - and that of the Countess? For all your sakes, do not underestimate the opposition.” Alexandreya shot him a disturbed look. How sincere he sounded; almost worried. “We will be safe at Bratz,” she assured him. “You will have to get there first.” ` “Dmitri, you are spoiling a pleasant morning,” Natasha protested. The last of her fears had disappeared with Vladimir that morning. With him safely at Kronstadt, nothing could go wrong. “Ride ahead with me, Countess, we must talk,” Dmitri said coldly. Alexandreya was on the point of refusing, annoyed by the authority in his voice, when her sister laughed and caught André’s arm. “Don’t worry, Dmitri, you shall have her to yourself. We will go on, Alexa.” “You were leaving without telling me,” Dmitri accused as soon as they were alone. “I was not aware that my movements were of interest to you, Colonel,” Alexandreya replied. She kept her horse to a steady trot, hoping Natasha did not ride too far ahead. “We had a dinner engagement.” "Surely you did not expect me to keep it after what happened,” Alexandreya retorted. Was this an attempt to make her believe he cared she was leaving? “Your time since we last met has been well occupied, has it

not?” She could have bitten off her tongue the moment the jealous words were out. Quickly she added, “I have no wish to discuss the matter further.” “Did the Major make arrangements for you and your sister to join him at Peterhof?" “No. Why?" “It is unusual, He will be there for several months. Natasha has always accompanied him in the past,” Dmitri said. “He has deliberately left Lieutenant Bruckner behind too - almost as if he is trying to throw the two of them together. I don’t like it.” “You are mistaken, it is mere coincidence. Besides, what can happen? We leave tomorrow morning, and by the end of the week, we shall be home. Our absence will not be conspicuous, as everyone will think we have gone to join the Major after all.” Dmitri frowned. It sounded simple enough - too simple. “How many servants will you take? It is along journey." “Really, Colonel, we shall be quite safe. I came with two servants and my maid and I shall return with the same amount.” Alexandreya’s voice was faintly tinged with sarcasm. “Your concern is touching, but unnecessary.” “I am escorting the Grand Duchess to Peterhof this afternoon, as you know. I could return with my men and ride with you part of the way.” Dmitri met the challenging look in Alexandreya’s eyes without flinching. He did not care if she suspected an ulterior motive behind the suggestion as long as she agreed. Major Krylenko’s actions were both puzzling and worrying. Alexandreya brutally squashed the impulse to accept. In her present emotional state she was far too vulnerable.

“I regret I must refuse your offer, Colonel Varanov,” she said flatly. “For such a service you would no doubt require high payment - far higher than I am willing to pay.” She spurred her horse ahead so that he would not see the tears in her eyes, and rode the rest of the way home beside her sister.

CHAPTER SIX To avoid being seen in Natasha’s company, thus provoking unnecessary gossip, André Bruckner left them on the outskirts of St. Petersburg and made his own way back to the barracks. Outside the Krylenko house, Natasha paused to thank Dmitri for his company, but Alexandreya went directly inside. “What have you said to upset her?” she demanded. “I was not aware she was upset,” Dmitri returned dryly. “Your sister has remarkable powers of restraint.” "Like you, she has learned not to reveal what is in her heart. Did you think you were the only one love had ever hurt? Alexa had suffered too - in many ways, and now she is burdening herself with my troubles. There was no one to help her when she needed it.” Natasha stared at the handsome face before her. “I am glad she is leaving here, you are not the right man for her. You will only bring her heartache, like the other one.” “What was he like - this other lover?” “To a lonely girl he was everything she had ever dreamed of. They were to be married, but he was never her lover. No man has ever known my sister, Dmitri.” She suddenly jerked her horse about and rode off. As he sat in a broody silence, Madeleine eased her horse out from the narrow alleyway between two houses where she had been waiting and watching. One look at Dmitri’s face was enough to tell her she was not welcome. “I thought you had gone home,” he said harshly. “I was interested to see you and your little Countess at close quarters.” Madeleine’s face blazed with jealousy. “She is your mistress, any fool can see that by the way you look at her.”

“Be quiet! You don’t know what you are saying.” “You lied to me. Were you thinking of her in your arms when you made love to me? Mon dieu, to think I believed she had really refused you. As if you would let any woman do that.” Madeleine was beside herself with rage and past caring what she said. “You always did act like a spoilt child when you didn’t have it all your own way,” Dmitri said in a voice of tempered steel. “I suggest you take another ride until you have regained control of yourself. I am in no mood to bandy words.” Madeleine went white. She stared into his angry face, her lips trembling. His usefulness as a pawn was momentarily forgotten. He preferred this pink-checked girl to her and the insult was unforgivable. He would pay dearly for it. With a supreme effort she bit back a volley of malicious words which rose in her throat. He was too dangerous an adversary for her to tackle in a hasty moment, but the Countess Alexandreya Romanova was a different proposition. “Will you be coming back to St. Petersburg tonight?” She tried to make it sound like an invitation. “No, I shall stay overnight at Peterhof. Perhaps in a day or two--” “And I will make you forget she ever existed,” Madeleine promised. With luck, by that time the life's flame of that accursed woman would have been extinguished. That afternoon Dmitri rode out of the palace at the head of the Cossack Imperial Guard escorting the gold carriage carrying Catherine on her journey to Peterhof. He looked in vain for a sign of Alexandreya as he passed the house and felt oddly deflated she had chosen to ignore his departure. At least she could have watched him go, even if it was only as a last defiant gesture to prove how safe she felt now they were never to see each other again.

The cavalcade passed down the main street and turned a corner out of sight. Alexandreya moved back from the window, dried her eyes and went to finish her packing.

At seven-thirty that evening, Captain Shvorin and two soldiers entered the room of Lieutenant André Bruckner in the palace barracks. Two more Holstein guards watched the door, another couple remained with the horses at the rear entrance. Despite fierce protests, the unfortunate scapegoat was stripped and subjected 'to search. When nothing incriminating was found on his person, the contents of the room came under rigid inspection. The letters Vladimir Krylenko had planted were found in a notebook. One of them contained Natasha’s name. In the struggle which ensued, André was rendered unconscious, dragged outside and tied on to a horse. Under cover of darkness the long ride was made to the ill-famed prison fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul, on the island bearing that name some twenty miles outside the city. There he was given into the tender mercies of the Czar’s chief inquisitor. Early next morning Madeleine de Veaux received Captain Shvorin in her private sitting-room and listened with growing satisfaction to his report. “You have done well, Major Krylenko will be pleased,” she said. “How soon before the man breaks?" “He is strong, but he will not last out the day.” “Good. Repeat the rest of your instructions.” “I am to post men on the road to Minsk to wait for the coach containing the woman Natasha Krylenko. They will have orders to kill her out of sight of her companion and make it look like an accident. The other woman is to be brought back here to St. Petersburg. I shall return to the fortress and obtain a confession from the traitor Bruckner and then ride to Peterhof to the Major.”

“Excellent.” Madeleine rose from her chair, studying the face of the slightly-built man before her. She had been told he obeyed orders without question; now she would find out if this was true. “There is a minor change in our original plan, Captain. I have since discovered the Countess Romanova is far more dangerous than the Major realised. It was she who first suggested her sister should spy on her own husband. However, to have her arrested and tortured--” she shrugged her shoulders meaningly. “She bears an honoured name and there are those who would make unnecessary trouble over it. But should she also have an unfortunate accident- Do you understand me?” “You wish me to have this woman killed too?" Captain Shvorin asked slowly. He was in Major Krylenko’s confidence to a certain extent and he knew of Madame de Veaux’s activities. A job well done for her could mean a word of praise in the right ear and the chance of promotion, perhaps. He was a married man with eight children - who was he to have a conscience? “An unfortunate accident,” Madeleine repeated. “Dress a couple of your men as peasants and have them lie in wait for the coach. The road runs through the forest and they will be able to choose a desolate spot. Soldiers in uniform are too conspicuous and we want no questions asked, do we? No one must remain alive. Strip the bodies of all valuables so that it will appear they were murdered, by robbers. That way two enemies of our Czar will have been eliminated without the finger of suspicion ever falling on us. Do I make myself clear?" “Perfectly, Madame.” Madeleine gave him her hand with a smile. “Do this to my satisfaction and I shall speak highly of you to the Major.” “I shall not fail you, Madame.”

“You will pay for any mistakes with your life,” Madeleine answered softly and dismissed him. She spent the following hour in her bedroom searching methodically through the closets for a dress to wear when Dmitri visited her. It would, after all, be an occasion for celebrating, and she wanted to look her best.

Natasha stared out of the carriage window at the road winding behind them, her face drawn and anxious. They had left St. Petersburg over two hours ago, yet there was still no sign of André Bruckner. “Something is wrong, I can feel it,” she said. “Give him a little more time, dear. Remember he has to leave unnoticed and he must ride hard to catch up with us.” Alexandreya did her best to sound reassuring, although she herself was growing worried by his absence. “Could we not stop for a while?" Natasha looked at her pleadingly, but she shook her head. “Not here, we are still too close to the city. In another hour, perhaps.” Alexandreya turned to look out of the window at the trees flashing by. They were on the forest road and she realised they must be close to the hunting-lodge. How she wished Dmitri would come riding out to bid her farewell. Soon the carriage would leave the main track and head across country, away from the lodge and the man she loved. Natasha grew more agitated as the minutes slipped by. After only a short silence she spun round on Anya, dozing in a corner, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Anya didn’t deliver the message. She lied, otherwise André would be here by now. He knows how I worry about him.”

“Natasha, for goodness’ sake be sensible. He’ll come, but your continual worrying won’t give his feet wings. Anya has never lied to me and I don’t believe she would start now. He has the message and we must just be patient.” Alexandreya’s sharp tones quietened her sister momentarily. The sound of a shot rang out, followed by a muffled cry. Anya screamed as a dark shape fell past the window. “My God,” Alexandreya cried. “Who is shooting at us?” Anya was kneeling up at the window, a horrified expression on her face. ' “They look like robbers, my lady. Heaven preserve us, we shall all be killed.” The carriage lurched and rolled, throwing them all to the floor. There came a terrible rending noise and the whole world seemed to spin before Alexandreya’s eyes. The sound of screaming echoed and re-echoed through her brain as she hurtled down into a black, bottomless pit. The murmur of voices reached Alexandreya’s dulled brain, then coarse laughter and the agony of a woman’s screams again. She tried to move, but her limbs were too weak. She at last managed to raise her head and found that she was no longer in the coach, but lying on muddy ground a few feet away from it. Of the driver and the manservant Michael there was no sign, and she knew instinctively that they were dead. All the baggage had been taken. down and opened. Dresses were strewn for yards around. There was no sign of Natasha. Her eyes came to rest on the two men bending over something on the ground. They were dressed like peasants, rough-shaven and unkempt. She shuddered and tried again to rise. Anya - where was her maid? They had to escape from these men before they slit their throats. One of them straightened and wiped the blood-streaked knife he held against the leg of his breeches with a laugh. Alexandreya, who had managed to sit up, gave a dreadful cry which sent them wheeling around in her direction. Before her on the ground lay Natasha, her face and hair covered in blood, and beyond, little Anya. Both were undoubtedly dead.

She dragged her gaze from the pathetic huddle that had once been a pretty, cheerful girl and stared into the leering faces confronting her. “Murderers! Swine!" she cried. “So one of the fine ladies is still alive,” one of the men chuckled. “What do you want? Money, jewels? I have both. Take them, but for pity’s sake, leave me alone. Haven’t you enough on your conscience with the death of that innocent girl - and my servants?" “We have your money, lady, and the jewels.” ' “Not quite all.” The second man, with a thin face and cruel mouth, leaned over her as she cowered back and tore the necklace from her throat and then the rings from her fingers. He ripped the diamond brooch from her gown with such violence that he tore it completely from the shoulder. “Let me go,” Alexandreya pleaded. “I will pay you well. I have a great deal of money.” The two men exchanged smiles and she knew they had no intention of allowing her to live. Her fingers closed around a jagged stone behind her; stealthily she gripped it tight. She saw in the leering expressions that she was not to be spared any humiliation. As the thin-faced man bent over her again, his hand fastening in the front of her bodice, she lashed out at his head with the stone, using the last of her strength. He gave a groan and toppled to the ground, blood Welling down over his face. She was not allowed to use her weapon a second time. The other murderer threw himself upon her, wrenched it from her grasp and flung it aside. His hands clawed frantically at her dress, ripping it open. She felt his foul breath on her cheek, her bare breast. She wanted to scream, but his mouth was on hers and he was laughing, enjoying her pathetic attempts to free herself. He had no scruples about killing servants - or a fine lady - he was

obeying orders after all, and if he managed to get a few minutes’ pleasure from his unfortunate female victims, it was his good fortune. It made no difference to them in the end. It was a pity that the other one had had her head split open when the coach overturned. He was too engrossed with Alexandreya to notice the horseman who reined in behind him, watching the scene with contemptuous feelings. He first knew of his presence when a whip cut across his back and the voice of his commanding officer ordered, “Release her at once, you dog! None of you can be trusted to carry out orders. I knew I should have to take care of this myself.” “Captain!” The man sprang to his feet, silently cursing. "It was only a little fun. What does it matter?” “Nothing, to you. Your orders were to attack and kill, not rape and kill.” The whip cut across the solder’s face. "Get back to the others. I'll finish her off. What about Dubinsky? Where is he?” “Here. The bitch hit him with a stone.” Captain Shvorin dismounted and knelt to examine the fallen man. “He’s dead. You’ll wish it was you before I’m through. We’ll leave him here, it will make the whole thing look lore convincing. Rejoin the others.” “Yes, Captain.” Captain Shvorin watched him ride away, his face dark with anger. Slowly he took out his revolver. Alexandreya lay unconscious at his feet, her dirtstreaked face half covered by the mass of loose red hair. If she recovered from this ordeal, she could wander for days without being found. The forest was full of wild animals; alone and unprotected, she would not survive a single night. He knew he should kill her as Madeleine de Vaux had ordered, but he could not, for Captain Shvorin not only had a conscience, but a heart. She looked no older than his eldest daughter. If she lived despite everything, it was God’s will - not his.

He fired two quick shots into the air, remounted his horse and rode off.

The forest was unusually quiet. Nothing stirred in the leafy branches of the trees, or by the wrecked coach. Alexandreya had covered the bodies with a cloak before stumbling off into the forest. She had no sense of direction, and for a long while after the painfully slow return to consciousness, had been out of her mind with the shock and terror of what had happened. Clutching the front of her bodice together with one land, she pushed her way through the bushes, calling for help until her throat grew sore. No one answered, no help came. She tried to find a path which would lead her back to the road, but only managed to get herself completely lost. The trees seemed to close in around her, the tall branches over her head entwining to shut out the light. Thought of Natasha spurred her on when her strength failed, but soon her legs gave way beneath her and she sank to the ground, exhausted and crying. Something scurried through the undergrowth at her side. She glimpsed a dark, furry shape and cried out, not knowing if it were a harmless animal or perhaps a wolf. As she tried to gain her feet, panic-stricken, a tall figure loomed up before her and her wrist was caught in a grip of steel. Immediately she thought that one of the robbers had tracked her down to finish what he had started; She almost fainted when a familiar voice demanded, “By all that’s holy, what are you doing out here?” Dmitri’s face grew pale as he moved closer and saw the state of her clothing. “My God, have you been attacked? Was it you I heard calling for help?” ' “Let me go!” Alexandreya kicked and struggled against his powerful grip. The last thread had snapped and in her terror-stricken mind she was unable to recognise him as a friend.

“Be still, you little fool, I won’t hurt you.” An hysterical scream broke from her lips. She fought like a tigress until Dmitri struck her across the face. The blow almost rendered her senseless, and it certainly knocked the last resistance from her weakened body. She began to cry incoherently as he lifted her up in his arms and carried her towards the lodge, calling urgently for Sergei. Dmitri laid Alexandreya down on the long, low couch before a blazing log fire, where not long before he had been reclining, enjoying a peaceful rest after his ride from the palace. He had stayed overnight at Peterhof, drinking with Catherine and the Orloff brothers well into the early hours of the morning. His eyes, blazing with anger, raked the girl from head to toe. The bodice of her gown had been ripped open from neck to waist and the shift beneath almost completely torn away to expose her breasts. Already dark bruises were beginning to show on her wrists and the upper parts of her arms. There was blood on her hands and around the long, narrow scratches on her shoulders. “What devilry had happened here?” he muttered. As he took the blanket Sergei brought him and tucked it around her, Alexandreya’s eyes flickered open. He was never to forget the stark fear in her eyes as she recognised her surroundings and the man who bent over her, demanding, “Who did this to you?” “The coach was stopped by robbers. Dear heaven, they killed Natasha and Anya - murdered them.” Her voice was hardly audible. Dmitri uttered a savage expletive. He had feared reprisals from Vladimir Krylenko, and this seemed to prove him right. No robber bands had been operating in the forest area for over five years. His Cossacks had made sure of that.

“Alexandreya.” He knelt at her side, cupping her face between his hands. “Don’t faint, little one. I must know where this happened to you.” The urgency in his voice dragged Alexandreya back from the threatening realms of unconsciousness. “We were on our way to Bratz - robbers stopped the coach, shot my driver . . _ the coach overturned.” Slowly, falteringly, often breaking off for long intervals, she related what had happened. When she came to the attempted rape, her eyes filled with tears and she could not look at Dmitri. "I hit one of them with a stone. I think I killed him.” The awful thought chilled her. “What if I have? What will happen to me?” “Nothing, child, I swear it, but I wish you had left him for me. No matter, there are others I can bring to account for this day’s work. I shall gain satisfaction from killing the swine who have inflicted this torture on you.” Drawing her up into the crook of his arm, he made her swallow a little vodka. Alexandreya was silent for some time, then with a stifled sob she turned her face into his shoulder and wept. It was the release of a multitude of emotions which had gathered inside her since she had recovered consciousness; now she was too weak and wretched to control them. When she was calmer, Dmitri laid her back on the couch, pressing her hand reassuringly as her eyes opened in alarm. “Lie still and rest. I will leave you for a moment only.” “Where are you going?” In Alexandreya’s confused mind, she no longer trusted even him. “You are in no danger here. I will send Sergei to find the man you knocked out and identify him if possible. I am anxious to know who gave him his orders.” He smiled, as if understanding her suspicions. “Rest, mala koska.” He found Sergei outside the stables, a horse saddled and waiting.

“You heard what the Countess told me?" The Tartar nodded. “Then go find this man, he cannot be far from here. She may have killed him, but perhaps, in her fear; she only thinks she did. If he is in the woods, dead or alive, bring him to me.” ' “And if he was only stunned? Shall I follow his tracks?" “To Moscow and back, if necessary.” Dmitri’s face was like granite. “I want to know who is responsible for this outrage. Someone is going to pay. Go - quickly.” He turned abruptly and went back into the lodge. At the sound of his footsteps on the stone floor, Alexandreya started up, clutching the blanket nervously against her. “I heard a horse . . .” she began. ` “Sergei.” Dmitri halted by the couch, his expression thoughtful. She was still afraid and he could not blame her for that, but it angered him to know that her fear was mainly because of him. “Believe me, you have nothing to be afraid of. Come, you must sleep.” Instinctively she shrank back from him, but he ignored the movement. Lifting her up, he carried her into his bedroom and had laid her on the massive bed before realising she had fainted. For the next hour, Dmitri remained within calling distance, but Alexandreya did not stir. When the sound of hoofbeats heralded Sergei’s return, he hurried outside. His eyes were drawn immediately to the lifeless body tied over the second horse. The blood-streaked features meant nothing to him, but as the Tamar pointed out, was it not odd for a robber peasant to be wearing new issue army boots? “Krylenko!” Dmitri ejaculated. “I was right after all. Was he dead when you found him?" “Yes.” Dmitri’s mouth tightened.

“Bury him some place away from her, he must never be found; but keep the boots. I intend to ram those down the Major's throat.” He listened in a cold silence as Sergei described the scene he had just left. He had stayed only long enough to dig graves for the dead and to push some clothes into his saddlebags for Alexandreya. “Send a man back to St. Petersburg,” Dmitri ordered. “I want to know why young Bruckner failed to catch up with the coach. If I am right in my suspicions, you will probably find he is missing from the barracks. If so, contact our man in the fortress and find out if there have been any new arrivals these past few days.” “Do you think the Major intended to have his own wife murdered?" Sergei asked. “Yes, but I am puzzled as to why it was necessary to include the Countess he is usually more subtle.” Sergei’s eyes narrowed sharply as an unpleasant thought struck him. It would do no harm to keep an eye on Madame de Veaux for a while. “I will go myself. Will you wait for me here?” Dmitri looked back at the hunting lodge with a curt nod. “God knows what condition she will be in when she wakes. I’ll wait here and then we’ll go on to Peterhof. I’m going to place her under Catherine’s protection. Be quick, my friend.” “Yes, Colonel. I will.”

An agonising scream echoed again and again through Alexandreya’s tortured mind, dragging her into wakefulness. She started up, covering her ears in an attempt to shut out the raucous sound before realising it had

come from her own lips. From the makeshift bed of skins before the fire where he had been dozing, Dmitri leapt to her side' and began to calm her. “Don’t be afraid, little one, it was only a dream. There, there.” He drew her face against his shoulder, stroking her hair with a gentleness which amazed her when she recalled it to mind the following day. “Hush now, go back to sleep.” He smoothed the hair away from her face. The pallor of her tear-streaked face alarmed him, and only with a great effort did he stop himself kissing her. Her eyes closed, veiling the terror mirrored there. Dmitri settled her back in the bed, arranging the pillows and tucking the homespun sheets around her shoulders. Reluctantly he moved from her side, his bare feet making no sound on the stone floor. Sleep was beyond him now, he would sit by the fire and await Sergei’s return. Dmitri had sent a man to the palace at Peterhof, conveying a message for the ears of Catherine alone. He wanted no one yet to know Alexandreya was not dead as planned, not until he was sure of complete protection for her. The firelight flickered over his half-stripped body as he reached for his shirt. The firm, muscular chest bore many scars from past fighting, but none so distinct or dreadful as those which seared his back, white and angry in the brilliance of the flames. A startled gasp from behind sent him wheeling about, tensing. Alexandreya's eyes were open again and intent on him. “What is it, little one?" “Those marks. Those awful marks, what happened to you?” Dmitri pulled on his shirt with a tight smile, wishing with all his heart she had not seen them. “They were a present - a parting present from a lady,” he replied. “Go back to sleep.” `

Alexandreya was not sure she had heard correctly. It was so difficult to keep awake. “A lady,” she echoed. “No woman in her right mind could ever do such a thing.” Dmitri had no intention of filling in the unpleasant details, the bitter memory would only arouse old grudges. He wanted nothing more to come between them. “Go to sleep, dushka.” It was easy to be gentle with her now, to call her darling, knowing full well that in the morning she would not remember. A soft sigh escaped her and she was asleep again.

Alexandreya did not awake until well after midday. She felt drained of all strength still and inconsolably miserable. For a long while she lay unmoving in the great bed, her tears soaking the rough pillow beneath her cheek. Natasha was dead. She repeated the words over and over in her mind, but was unable to-accept it was really true. Perhaps it was a dreamHer eyes flew to the hearth, to the pile of furs and skins thrown in one corner. No, it was reality. Dmitri had slept there last night, to be on hand if she needed him, and he had held her in his arms and comforted her. Her trust had not been misplaced. With him she was safe and he had proved he was her friend, despite his behaviour in St. Petersburg. ` Alexandreya sat up and found, to her surprise, she was not alone. A petite, rosy-cheeked woman was standing at the foot of the bed, holding a tray. ‘ “Who are you?” “Irina, my lady.” The woman dropped a curtsey and came to her side. “l have brought your dinner.” “Is it that late?” Alexandreya did not realise that she had been asleep for eleven hours.

“It is three o'clock. I had orders not to awaken you before this.” Someone had taken great care in the preparation of the food. Alexandreya ate deliciously tender pheasant cooked in wine, but refused the assorted fruit on the silver tray and instead drank a glass of cool goat’s milk. Afterwards she felt infinitely better. “Would you care for a bath, my lady?” Irina asked when she collected the tray. The village woman was only too willing to be of some service, and Alexandreya’s heart ached as she thought of Anya. “Yes, I would.” Irina went away, to return dragging behind her a large metal tub. It was the most primitive thing Alexandreya had ever seen, but in her present frame of mind she cared little for the appearance as long as it served a useful purpose. She nursed her aching limbs in plain hot water. There were no perfumes to scent it or to rub into her body when she emerged. Her skin was dried by a homespun towel that made the bruises stand out with startling clarity. The woman helped her into a sombre-coloured dress, probably one of her own, Alexandreya realised, and, remembering the torn condition of her own clothing, she said nothing. Irina was unable to dress the long, fiery tresses with Anya’s skill, and eventually Alexandreya had her tie it back with a ribbon. Her appearance was not important; this was a time of mourning. She spent the remainder of the afternoon curled up on the couch reading. Dmitri sought her out only long enough to tell her he was leaving the lodge for several hours and on no account was she to venture outside. His manner was gentle but firm, and she agreed, too weary to argue. He gave her no indication why it was necessary for him to leave, realising that any reference to her dead sister could have disastrous results. Alexandreya followed him to the door and seeing Sergei waiting, she looked enquiringly at Dmitri, but something in his face forbade questions. In silence she turned back into the lodge.

Two miles from the hunting-lodge, well hidden among the trees, Dmitri watched the evening shadows lengthen across the forest trail below him. He sat astride his horse in silence, staring grimly along the route Madeleine de Veaux was sure to use. He had not gone to dine with her, but instead had sent a message requesting she should join him at his forest retreat. It was an invitation he knew she would find hard to refuse, and he was gambling on her curiosity being aroused sufficiently to accept. It had been a shock to learn that she was behind the attempt on Alexandreya’s life, forcing Dmitri to admit he had underestimated the enemy. His hatred knew no bounds as he considered how near Alexandreya had been to death. She had suffered unmercifully during the past few days, and for that, someone was going to pay with equal discomfort. Vladimir Krylenko was out of his reach, but not so Madeleine. The time had come to call her to account for her crimes. Her life was a small pittance compared to all the men she had betrayed, but it was a beginning. When Catherine came to the throne, he would have the pleasurable opportunity of dispatching his arch enemy to join his female Judas. “Someone is coming.” Beside Dmitri, Sergei was listening intently. “Two horses, no more.” They remained where they were, watching the trail. Two riders came into view, cantering along at a leisurely pace. One of them was clearly a woman, and Dmitri’s mouth tightened. “Come up behind them and dispose of the servant,” he ordered the Tartar. “I want no one running to the Major with news of this night’s work.” “It would be as quick to slit her throat too and be done with it,” Sergei said. “Why soil your hands on her, Colonel? I will deal with them both.” “This I must attend to myself,” he said, shaking his head.

“Will you go back to the Countess with blood on your hands?” Sergei asked with a fierce frown. He was beginning to wish he had killed her after Captain Shvorin had left the house. Crouched outside a window, the Tartar had heard an account of the whole ghastly business, including the death of André Bruckner. Under the most hideous tortures, he had broken down and confessed to treason, implicating Natasha beyond a shadow of doubt. “If I must. It is for her sake I am here.” Dmitri spurred his horse down the slope to avoid further comment. Madeleine’s death sooner or later was an accepted fact in his mind, he was merely hastening the inevitable. She was a beautiful, evil traitress who used her looks and body to further her ambitions, regardless of the lives lost in the process. It was not for the sake of his dead friends, however, that Dmitri rode out to kill her, but for the innocent, grief-stricken girl resting in his hunting-lodge. There appeared to be no light when Dmitri reined in his horse before the lodge several hours later. He hurried up the steps, his hand on his sword, and pushed open the door. The fire was built high in the hearth, illuminating the room with its glow. The table was laid for dinner. Curled up in his armchair, Alexandreya slept soundly. She still wore the dark peasant dress, her hair loose about her shoulders, partly shadowing the pale, serene face. Softly he stole past her and went into the bedroom. Alexandreya awoke to find the room bright with candlelight. Irina was setting out food on the table. “Has Colonel Varanov returned?” She sprang to her feet, smoothing the creases from her skirt. “Nearly an hour ago, my lady. Will you eat now?" The question was directed, not at Alexandreya, but at Dmitri, who at that moment stepped out of his room. He wore dark grey breeches and matching shirt, open at the neck. A brilliant white silk cravat was tied at his throat, which accentuated -the swarthiness of his skin. He looked strangely formal, and Alexandreya felt her heart miss a beat.

“Yes, Irina, if the Countess is ready.” He looked across to where she stood. ' She nodded and quickly seated herself in the chair he pulled out for her. “You should not have allowed me to sleep,” Alexandreya protested. “It was terribly rude of me.” “You were tired,” Dmitri answered sitting opposite her. “It has done you good, there is some colour in your cheeks now and your eyes are brighter too.” Alexandreya ate her food, conscious of a sudden intimacy between them. It made her feel uneasy and she found herself withdrawing from the conversation, afraid of a sarcastic remark to ruin the pleasantness of the evening. “Sergei brought some of your clothes from the wreck, but they were muddy and Irina had to wash them. They will be dry soon.” Dmitri leaned back in his chair when the meal was over and smiled across at her. “I prefer you in something simple. Women place too high a value on such unimportant things, and often they look like . _ .” “Overdressed coquettes?"’ Alexandreya interrupted. His face flushed with colour. It was the first time she had ever seen him embarrassed. “Will you never forgive me?” “The words I can forget, Colonel, it is the rest.” “I was wrong and I apologise. How else can I make amends? Tell me?” Alexandreya was quiet, not sure if he was merely being kind to her. An apology was completely out of character. “You wished for an apology and I have given it,” Dmitri said amusedly. “What do you suspect me of now?" “It - I - I am surprised,” she stammered.

“Life is full of surprises, learn to accept them without questions, it is the only way.” He rose and came around to where she sat; “The last time we dined together, you left me at an unforgivably early hour and with a full bottle of brandy. Will you join me by the fire now and finish this bottle?” Alexandreya rose, placing her hand in his. “Yes, Colonel, I will.”

CHAPTER SEVEN THEY sat on opposite sides of the fireplace, Alexandreya on the couch and Dmitri seated in the armchair, his long legs stretched out before him. He filled their glasses and sat back, studying her as she stared into the flames. What a magnificent picture she made with her red hair streaming past her shoulders. He found himself thinking of his home, and the sister who had died of a fever at the tender age of eighteen. Alexandreya reminded him of her, and of the way they used to sit together as children. There was nothing left of the old house now, no members of his family alive to carry on his name and serve the Empress when he was dead. It was an empty feeling. He refilled his glass for the second time and leaned towards Alexandreya. “Let me pour you more brandy.” Alexandreya’s fingers closed over the top of her glass. Her eyes met his and the mockery in them made her quickly look away, knowing that he had read her mind. “You are quite safe with me tonight,” Dmitri said quietly. Ashamedly she looked up into his face and slowly held out her glass. Whatever else he had done, he had never lied to her. “Drink up, the bottle is still half full. Try and forget what has happened, for a few hours at least,” he added. “I have tried,” Alexandreya confessed, “but it is not easy. Be honest with me, Colonel Varanov. Do you think you will ever find those terrible men?" “Yes. I swear I shall deal with them personally.” Dmitri was on the verge of telling her the truth, then he hesitated. It was too soon and he wanted to allay her fears, not further them. She had to feel safe at Peterhof, which she would not if he told her about Madeleine and the part Vladimir Krylenko had played.

“Thank God,” Alexandreya said, with a deep sigh. “You must think me very rude, Colonel, I have not yet thanked you for your help. I am in your debt.” Dmitri tossed a gnarled log on to the fire and watched the flames lick around it hungrily. At length he looked up, smiling as if her words amused him, yet his eyes were quite serious. “What value do you place on your life, Countess?” “I have no idea. I did not even realise how important it was to me until that man wanted to take it from me. You know I am wealthy. Whatever price you ask, I shall pay it.” Dmitri’s expression darkened, and immediately she knew to have suggested payment was as big an insult as if she had thrown his peasant background in his face. “What if money is not enough?” He watched her stiffen and saw her lips tremble. With great restraint he quelled the urge to reach out and take her in his arms. “Allow me to put your mind at rest,” he murmured. “I want nothing from you unless it is freely given, and somehow I do not consider I stand a chance in that direction. For a mad moment I wanted to hurt you as I have all the others. It is hard for me to accept you are not like them--in time I will. You must be patient with me. I respect you more than any other woman I have ever known, but I have no intention of making the same mistake twice, mala koska. If you believe I respect you, then we can be friends.” Alexandreya was silent, thrilled by his words, although she dared not admit it. The sincerity in his voice, his expression, was unquestionable. “I do, Colonel,” she said. Respect was not love, but it was a beginning. She held out her glass and it was replenished. She was feeling the effects of the brandy. The warmth of it stealing through her body relaxed her

limbs, and was slowly blotting out the horrors present in her mind. For the first time she forgot Vladimir Krylenko and even her sister. Dmitri continued to drink steadily. He was a hardened drinker and it had little effect on him. When the brandy was almost gone, he went down to the cellar and fetched another bottle. Alexandreya raised her head and looked' at him as he sat down again. “Tell me about the woman you loved,” she said quietly. She had been gathering her courage to broach the subject all evening. To her surprise he made no attempt to evade the subject. “Her name was Elena and she lived in Moscow.” Dmitri’s tone was suddenly bitter. It would be many more years before he could speak of her without being possessed by an intense feeling of hatred. “I met her five years ago, although sometimes it seems like an eternity.” Looking into the lovely face of the girl before him, he regretted past affairs and the multitude of women who had passed through his life. None of them had come to mean so much as this one at his side. He had taken nothing from her - she had given nothing, yet he wanted her. Was it love? He asked himself the question many times since the encounter with Madeleine. If it was not, why had he made no attempt to make love to her. He wanted to touch her, to hold her body close against his and smell the perfume of her hair as he had done once before. She had surrendered then, she might this evening, then he could put all thought of love out of his mind and enjoy her for the moment. “You are still in love with her.” Alexandreya lay watching him from the couch, her head resting on several cushions. Mistakenly she believed him to be thinking of his past love. "The woman I loved did not exist.” Dmitri shook his head. “No, I feel no worthwhile emotion for her now, not even regret. There had been only one other before her, a girl from my village. I will not pretend love entered into that relationship, but when I met Elena, ah, that was different. I was a newly promoted lieutenant, bored and lonely in a society which barred its doors to me whenever Elizabeth turned her back. Elena accepted me as a

man, or so I thought at the time. It was not until I asked her to marry me that I realised I had only been a source of amusement. Her friends called me her tame Cossack because I was too blind with love to see what I had become. After five short months she grew tired of me, and when I asked her to be my wife, she had her servants thrash me insensible for such impertinence and throw me out into the street.” Alexandreya watched the brown features harden with the memory, and her heart brimmed over with anguish. Compared to this woman Jean-Paul was an amateur. She had escaped with a broken heart, newly mended with a deeper, truer love. Dmitri would bear the marks of his fruitless love until the day he died. “Does she still live in Moscow?” she asked, wondering if he had perhaps seen or visited her during his stay there. “She died in a fire at her house some while ago.” “I’m sorry,” she said simply and it was enough. “Thank you, but then you realise a little of what I felt, don’t you? I mean someone once hurt you, did they not? Natasha said you were to be married -” He broke off as her face clouded with the mention of her sister’s name. “Forgive me, I promised myself I would cause you no pain tonight.” “Natasha is dead and I must learn to accept it,” Alexandreya returned bravely. “Why did she tell you?” “I asked her. I could not understand why a woman of your intelligence and station has never married.” “Most men prefer their wives to have looks, but no brains. If they have money, then even beauty is not important. As a young girl, my life at Bratz was very sheltered, Colonel, my mother and father were my sole world. With them both dead and Natasha married, I was terribly lonely and foolishly romantic enough to believe when a man said he loved me, he meant it.” “Was it your money?” Dmitri asked gently.

“Only that. I was twenty and he was the first man ever to kiss me.” She blushed as she looked at Dmitri and recalled how possessive his kisses had been. They had made her into another woman. “You may laugh if you wish, Colonel, I often do when I think back on my stupidity. I soon learned he had much in common with all other men - that is why I have never married.” Dmitri stared at her over the rim of his glass, a familiar mocking glint in his eyes. “If you gave all your riches to the poor and came to me in rags, I would still want you, mala koska,” he murmured. Alexandreya caught her breath, her gaze transfixed on his face. Without warning he was out of his chair and at her side. His arms closed around her like a steel band; his weight bore her back on to the couch and his mouth took command of hers. She did not know if it was the brandy or her own emotions which caused her head to spin suddenly. She made no attempt to push him away, those times were past, her love too strong. Until this moment, she had not realised how much she craved the comfort of his arms. “Dmitri.” His name broke from her lips for the first time. It halted the wild onslaught of kisses. Slowly, unsteadily Dmitri drew back staring almost unbelievingly into her flushed cheeks. The last doubts had gone and he knew he loved her, yet caution made him remain silent. Given time he felt sure she would come to love him too, and he could wait until that day came. He bent and kissed her briefly on one cheek. “I am reverting to the bête noire you hate so much. You may slap my face if you wish.” “Don’t mock me, please,” Alexandreya pleaded. She tried to turn her face away, ashamed at her lack of control, but he caught her chin and forced her to look up at him. “Nothing has changed, I still Want you, but not this way. I told you, I respect you; no woman has ever heard that from me. You are in need of

sympathy and gentleness, someone to care for you and share your grief. If I took advantage of the situation now it would be the most dishonourable thing I have ever done in my life and in the morning you would hate me as surely as I would loathe myself. I want your friendship, little one and your trust.” He looked down into her quivering features and gently raised her into a sitting position, holding her hands tightly against his chest. “Come to Peterhof with me; stay with Catherine, she will care for you like a mother. God knows I’ve given you no reason to make my company in the least desirable and I won’t blame you if you refuse-” “The villagers at Bratz have a saying, ‘The journey of a thousand miles often starts with a single step’. I fear that first step, yet I know I must take it. I will come with you." Alexandreya’s voice was hardly audible. She was deeply shaken emotionally and drained of all strength physically. She became aware he had released her and was holding out the remains of her brandy. “Drink it,” he ordered quietly, “and go to bed. We will make an early start in the morning.” Calling for Irina to come and attend her mistress, he escorted Alexandreya to the bedroom door and closed it firmly behind her without touching her again.

Alexandreya slept throughout the night untroubled by dreams, and awoke to the sound of voices in the adjoining room. Someone outside was calling loudly for Sergei.- Dmitri's voice was instantly recognisable, and memory of the previous evening flooded back. Her arms still felt tender from his fierce grip, her mouth bruised from his kisses. For so long she had fought off his advances, yet when she surrendered, he had refused to take her. She experienced a moment of shame, then it was gone and in its place came a feeling of exaltation sweeping away all unhappiness. She would go to Peterhof with him and

pray for the time when he came to care for her just a little. To confess her love now could be disastrous. He might feel an obligation after her recent bereavement, and stay with her out of kindness. She did not want that. Her own silk blouse and the riding skirt lay across the end of the bed, washed and pressed. She did not call Irina, but washed and dressed herself and managed to arrange her hair into a fairly presentable coil. Dmitri was standing by the window in the other room, so obsessed with this thoughts he did not hear her until she was at his side. “Good morning.” He turned to examine the pale face before him with a slow smile that sent her heart racing. “I hope you slept well?” “The brandy was a wonderful nightcap, although I must admit to drinking a little too much.” “Nonsense, we spent a most enjoyable evening together. Come and have breakfast. Irina has kept some food hot for you.” “Have you eaten?” Alexandreya asked when he did not sit down with her. “Some while ago. You were sleeping so soundly I did not have the heart to awaken you.” He left her to eat alone while he went to supervise preparations for the journey. It was only a three hours’ ride, a mere trifle to someone like him, but he still did not consider Alexandreya to be in any condition to travel even that short while. The day was bright and sunny, but there was a cold wind, which penetrated the thick overcoat he wore. Instead of being forced to endure the journey on horseback he arranged for her to travel in a covered sleigh, drawn by the red-coated mare. He had come to accept this as Alexandreya’s possession, and so it was fitting to take it with them. She could use it when they rode together on future occasions. He settled her in the sleigh, tucking numerous furs around her. He rode close beside her throughout the journey to Peterhof and twice stopped the sleigh to enquire if she was warm enough, or to offer her vodka from the silver flask he carried.

Alexandreya’s eyes glowed with pleasure as she walked beside him into Catherine’s presence, her arm tucked beneath his. “Come here, child and let me look at you.” Catherine studied her for a long moment before embracing her. “Dmitri has told me everything. Rest assured that those responsible for the death of your sister will pay with their heads.” “Your Imperial Majesty is too kind,” Alexandreya said with a curtsey. Catherine’s probing eyes encountered Dmitri’s, and she suspected he had not told Alexandreya who was behind the incident. He was being unusually considerate. “Take off your cloak and sit down,” Catherine ordered. “I have had apartments prepared for you, near mine. You may go to them in a moment.” Dmitri stepped forward to to fasten A1exandreya’s cloak. As it fell away, Catherine saw dark bruises on the girl’s neck, and the faint mark still visible on her right cheek where he had struck her. She had been informed only of the incidents at the fortress, and knew nothing of Alexandreya’s ordeal before Dmitri found her. Her first thoughts were that he had taken the girl as payment for his services. “In God’s' name, what have you done? You have seduced her!” It was framed as a statement rather than a question. A flush stole over Dmitri’s neck and face, but he stood his ground unflinchingly before his Czarina’s anger. “You are mistaken. The Countess came to the hunting-lodge in hysterics, I was forced to strike her in order to calm her.” “And when she was calmer, no doubt you carried out the satisfactory task of making love to a girl too weak to resit you.” Alexandreya started to her feet, but Catherine waved aside her stuttered,

“But-but, he - did not, it - isn’t true.” “I am fully aware he has been attempting to make you his mistress since the day you set foot in St. Petersburg.” Catherine’s attention centred again on her Guard Commander. “I warn you, if she tells me you have harmed her in any way, you will end up in Siberia - or worse, under the executioner’s axe.” “I admit I did consider her an easy conquest in the beginning.” Dmitri almost choked over the words. He stood straight and still, clutching the fur cloak, his gaze not on Catherine, but on the face of the girl who had intruded into his safe little world and made it impossible for it ever to be the same again. “It did not take long for me to discover that she is young not only in years, but in the ways of the world. It has been a long time since I have come upon such innocence. I am not afraid of anything she might say to you, she has nothing to fear from me and she knows that now.” He looked squarely at Catherine. “Your Imperial Majesty must make up her own mind, but I swear I speak the truth.” Catherine was silent, surprised by his frankness. She believed him, yet there were questions still unanswered. “The Countess has had a tiring journey,” she said, forcing a smile to her stiff lips. “Perhaps it will be advisable for her to retire.” “May I suggest it becomes known the Countess Romanova has been taken into your service? The Czar knows by now of Natasha Krylenko’s death and may begin to wonder about the Countess, if he is prompted enough. With her here, at court, he might come to believe she has accepted what happened and was in no way involved. It will be less dangerous for her to remain in your care and we can look after her.” Catherine was swift to notice his choice of words. “We?” “I meant Your Imperial Majesty, of course,” came the dry retort.

Catherine threw him a suspicious glance. As usual, he had everything worked out to the last detail. “Call one of my ladies-of-the-bedchamber, Tanya, I think. Dismiss everyone else waiting outside.” She waited until he was out of earshot before returning to Alexandreya. “I will send for you tomorrow when you have rested and you will tell me truthfully how Dmitri has behaved towards you. By that I mean exactly what payment he extracted from you for his help.” “Your Imperial Majesty misjudges him.” Alexandreya was appalled by Catherine’s suspicions. It did not occur to her that once she had held the same views. “He has taken nothing from me. At all times he treated me with far more courtesy and gentleness than I deserved. I owe him a great deal -” She broke off in confusion as Dmitri appeared from the shadows, the figure of a woman behind him. “Tanya is here,” he said. If he had overheard any of the conversation, he did not show it, either in his expression or tone of voice. Alexandreya gave a quiet sigh. The memory of the lodge would never leave her. She could still feel the strength of his arms about her, see the lingering desire in his eyes and hear the softness of his voice dispelling her fears. “You are to stay with the Countess Romanova at all times,” Catherine instructed the woman, Tanya. “If the Czar or any of his household tries to contact her, I am to be informed at once, is that clear?" Tanya curtsied and said it was quite clear. “Good, then be gone, both of you.” Alexandreya halted before Dmitri and stretched out her hand. “Goodnight, Colonel Varanov.”

Dmitri caught her fingers and touched them to his lips. His eyes searched her face for a moment before he released her, without speaking a word. “It would appear I owe you an apology,” Catherine said, frowning, as the door closed behind the departing figures. She hated admitting she was wrong, but had made it a strict rule always to do so when she knew she had made a mistake. “Your Highness is too kind,” Dmitri answered. As usual, he was less formal whenever they were alone together. The tone of voice brought her wheeling around. to face him. “You, sir, are an insolent dog. You forget yourself too often these days. You may profess to be my lost loyal subject, but you are not the most respectful,” she snapped. Then instantly her mood changed and the anger dissolved. He had earned her favour for proving her suspicions of him unfounded. “Come here, my Colonel.” She took a ruby ring from her finger and held it out to him. “Well, take it, or is it not enough? Is she worth more than a mere bauble? Two rings, perhaps a necklace?” “I am honoured, but I can accept nothing. I already have my reward.” “So you lied and she condoned it,” Catherine hissed. “You have had her.” “I have had two things from the Countess. Her friendship and her trust,” Dmitri returned flatly. Catherine stared at him in astonishment. Had he not sounded so sincere she would have laughed outright at the thought of him playing the role of a gentleman of honour. Where women were concerned, she knew he cared little for it, his or theirs. He was growing soft-hearted, or else he was in love! “The bruises you saw on her were not my doing,” Dmitri said. “My messenger did not tell you everything. I wanted to speak of this to you myself.”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed sharply. So there was something else? She sat down. “Go on.” “You know already of the plot to murder Natasha Krylenko, but not what passed before the Countess reached me at the lodge. The coach was waylaid, supposedly by robbers. Natasha Krylenko was fortunately killed when it overturned. The Countess’ poor maid was not so lucky. She was raped and then had her throat cut. The Countess herself was assaulted by one of the men. Not surprisingly, she fainted.” Dmitri hesitated and then decided to keep Alexandreya’s secret. “When she recovered she was alone. By the time she had wandered through the forest to reach me, she was in an appalling condition.” “You said the coach was supposedly stopped by robbers.” Catherine’s controlled tones masked a tumult of fury within her. The incident had Peter’s twisted touch about it. He knew she had taken a liking to the girl. Was this a scheme to bring her out into the open; to rouse her enough to provoke a quarrel and thereby give him a reason to have her removed from the scene? “Why do you suspect otherwise?” “Sergei found one of the men who had been wounded when the coach was ambushed,” Dmitri lied. “He had dragged himself into the bushes and died. He was wearing new issue army boots. I am sure you would recognise them if I brought them to you.” “The Czar’s men playing bandits?” “Major Krylenko’s men, to be exact; under orders, not from the Major, however, to kill the Countess and her retinue.” “You say someone else is involved?" Catherine’s fears of a plot against her life grew. “Do you know who was behind it?” “Yes, I do.” Dmitri did not care to elaborate on his answer, adding simply, “I have dealt with her.”

Catherine heard and understood at once. He had settled a personal score and also removed one of her husband’s most devious agents. It was a job well done. “I shall not ask for details,” she murmured. “I trust to your good judgement to have made sure I am not involved. Is there no reward I can offer you? I am well pleased, Dmitri, make no mistake about that. You are a rogue, but I cannot do without you.” “Grant me one request.” “Name it.” “Allow me to place two of my men to guard the Countess.” Catherine smiled and saw his mouth tighten as he waited for her to make some remark. “Answer me a question first. Do you lay claim to the Countess?" “I do." “Does she. know it?” “Not yet.” It was Dmitri’s turn to smile. “Experience has made me overcautious perhaps. She will realise it in time.” Catherine rose and gave him her hand. “Place as many guards as you wish. I give her into your charge.” Dmitri bowed and kissed the jewelled fingers. Within a few minutes of him leaving the Czarina’s apartments, two of his most trusted men were on sentry duty outside Alexandreya’s apartments, with orders to allow no one to enter without first confirming it with him.

The last-days of May came and slipped away into June. Alexandreya had been at court for three weeks and although she had no particular duties, she had been accepted as part of Catherine’s household. She had asked to remain in mourning for Natasha and was allowed to do so. It gave her a chance to accept more fully the awful thing that had happened, and to prepare herself for the onslaught of gossip she knew she would have to face once she emerged from the sanctuary of her rooms. Dmitri came daily to see her and relate the latest news. She heard how Vladimir Krylenko had returned to Peterhof the day after their arrival, apparently in a state of deep shock over his wife’s death, and of the sympathy everyone afforded him. Alexandreya had received his condolences not long afterwards, and a message which said he hoped she would soon feel well enough to see him. She had thanked him for his kind wishes, but pleaded illness as an excuse not to see him. The lie confined her to the apartments for three consecutive days. Dmitri’s constant visits and his attentiveness ,to a woman he had previously denied to be his mistress, sparked off fresh rumours in court circles. Eventually they reached him, as all gossip did in time, but he neither admitted nor denied them. In fact it amused him to be credited with such a worthy mistress - even if it was not true. The rumour did not amuse Major Krylenko. He had disposed successfully of his wife and her lover so that nothing stood in the way of him having Alexandreya, yet it had been almost two weeks since he had even glimpsed her passing by in the courtyard below his barracks. She belonged to him, after all; he had killed for her. Heaven help her if, once in his hands, he discovered she had been the mistress of that peasant cur, Varanov. Early one morning he presented himself before the Czar, determined to bring matters to a head. Peter III was thirty-five, a fully-grown man possessing the mentality of a child of ten. He looked up at the officer from the large canopied bed where he reclined amid silken cushions, a slight, sallow-faced individual with pale eyes and a narrow petulant mouth. He was not pleased to be

interrupted in the middle of a campaign. Already his soldiers were lined up ready to go into battle - it needed only his signal to attack. Major Krylenko cast a contemptuous glance at the hundreds of toy soldiers covering the floor at his feet. “Forgive this intrusion, Sire, but the matter is of the utmost importance.” “Well, speak up, or I’ll have you shot down by my first line of defence. Do you see them there, Major? Is that not a good place for them to be, drawn up behind that hill? What a surprise for the enemy, eh? A pity my illustrious predecessor did not have my ingenuity.” “Your strategy is beyond reproach.” ` Vladimir encountered the gaze of the dark-haired woman sprawled across the bed beside him. Peter’s mistress, smuggled into the palace to minister to him despite Catherine’s attempts to have her secretly disposed of. Women and toys, Peter showed little interest in anything else, thus making him an excellent dupe for the power- hungry nobles about him. Those who hated Catherine knew that the fate of Russia would be in their hands once they were rid of her. “Your problem, Major. What is it?” Peter snapped irritably. “The Countess Alexandreya Romanova. You may remember she recently lost her sister?” “Yes, yes, what of it?” Peter had no recollection of the incident. He had been told of the deaths of two more spies, at which he had clapped his hands and cackled with laughter, a sound that had made the blood of his courtiers run cold. He never asked for names, only details, and the more ghoulish they proved to be, the richer was the reward he gave his informant. “I desire the permission of your Imperial Majesty to take this woman as my wife.” Peter’s mistress turned and whispered in his ear. A large grin split the Czar’s face from ear to ear.

“If my memory serves me correctly, you had the other sister as well.” “The woman was a spy. Had she not been brought to account for her deeds, I should have killed her myself.” “To have the elder sister,” the woman interposed softly. Vladimir’s face registered no emotion. “The Countess Romanova has suffered a great loss; she was extremely .close to her sister. I feel it my duty to protect her as best I can,” he returned stiffly. “There is gossip at court linking her with Colonel Varanov, and also with her sister’s treasonous acts. She is innocent of both these charges - as marriage to me would prove.” Peter chuckled. The mention of Dmitri’s name had been enough to earn his consent. Leaning over the edge of the bed, he completely demolished the enemy with a well-aimed cushion. “Draw up my soldiers again,” he giggled, “and you have my permission.”

Unaware of the thunderbolt about to strike her, Alexandreya was returning to her apartments from a tour of the palace grounds. The huge palace, built during the reign of Peter the Great, was designed like a roman villa. Six cascading fountains lined the front lawns, while the rest of the buildings were surrounded by the most magnificent gardens she had ever seen. For a fleeting moment she thought of Bratz. There, she would be alone - at Peterhof there was Dmitri. She was consoled and continued on her way, her peace of mind undisturbed. The guards Dmitri had assigned to look after her followed at a discreet distance whenever she ventured from the apartments. Alexandreya had not had a sleepless night since arriving at Peterhof. Closing the door of the bedroom behind her, she removed her cloak and dropped it into a chair. A maid appeared to whisk it up and bring her a cup

of hot chocolate. She was far happier here than she had thought possible. Catherine had given her servants befitting her rank and treated her as a guest instead of a companion. She spent at least an hour in her company each day. No reference was made to returning to Bratz and Alexandreya had put it out of her mind. There was so much more for her at Peterhof. She was reading in her private sitting-room when a maid came in, later the same morning, to announce a gentleman caller. Alexandreya closed her book with a smile. She was expecting Dmitri, and did not think to ask for a name. “Show him in, and then I am not to be disturbed.” It was not Dmitri who appeared, however, and came forward to take her hand in his and raise it to his lips. “My dear Alexandreya,” Vladimir Krylenko said. “You look radiant.” She was too stunned to move, or to release her hand from his imprisoning grasp. “Major Krylenko -I am surprised. I mean, I did not expect you.” “I was not aware you were receiving other visitors yet. Are you not still in mourning for your poor, unfortunate sister?” His fingers began to explore the back of her hand and she jerked herself free with a shudder of distaste at the clumsy caress. “For at least another week,” she said coldly. How dare he sound sorry for Natasha- she had been nothing more than an unwelcome burden to him. “I was expecting to be summoned to lunch with the Czarina. Please say briefly what you have to and go.” Vladimir cleared his throat. He had rehearsed a speech, but now he was standing before her, the words went out of his mind. Soon this lovely creature would be his. He would take great pains to train her thoroughly to his way of thinking. Natasha had been a hopeless case, no amount of beating would have changed the gutter-snipe that she was. But with

Alexandreya it would be different. She had brains, and would quickly realise it was better to submit willingly than to endure unnecessary pain. “I am waiting, Major.” Alexandreya forced herself to remain calm. The way he looked at her made her skin crawl. Why had he sought her out? Had the rumours linking her with Dmitri not deterred him, and halted the advances begun while his wife lay ill in bed from his thrashing? Vladimir's eyes examined the slim body beneath the sombre-coloured gown, a smile on his face. “I shall take pleasure in escorting you when the mourning period is over,” he murmured. “There is no question of that, Major Krylenko,” Alexandreya answered. “Colonel Varanov offered his services some days ago and I agreed. Thank you for your concern, but I must decline.” "You will tell him you have changed your mind.” “I will do no such thing! How dare you?” Alexandreya moved towards the bell-rope to summon a servant. “Please leave before I have the guards throw you out. Once before I found it necessary to tell you that your attentions are not welcome. Apparently I did not make myself clear and therefore I repeat, I wish to be left alone.” Vladimir’s smile grew. He had played cat and mouse with her long enough, now it was time to show his hand. “You are alone in the world, my dear Alexandreya,” he said casually, but in a tone of voice considerably harder than any he had previously used. “I have taken it upon myself to ensure that you are cared for by a capable person who will provide for your needs and make certain your head is not turned by some handsome womanising soldier.” The unmistakable reference to Dmitri Varanov caused Alexandreya to pale considerably.

“The Czarina has given me her protection,” she began. “And the Czar has taken you out of it and given you into mine.” Vladimir moved close to her, smiling down into her horrified eyes. Her retreat was barred by a chair, forcing her to remain where she was. She felt stifled, realising that she was about to hear something utterly distasteful. “He agrees with me a young woman of your background should be protected, and has given. his permission for the marriage to take place as soon as possible.” “Marriage,” Alexandreya echoed. She swayed back from him, her eyes dilating. “Are you mad? I will never marry you.” “No, my dear, you may be certain I am not mad. I shall allow you two weeks after the mourning period is over in which to prepare yourself. You must agree that is a generous amount of time, considering my impatience to have you as my wife.”

CHAPTER EIGHT VLADIMIR KRYLENKO’S wife! The words stuck in Alexandreya’s throat. She stared at him with a feeling of panic rising inside her such as she had never known before. He made a sudden move as if to grab her, and she fell back into the chair behind her with a cry. “Don’t touch me!” Vladimir straightened, gaining great satisfaction from the fear on her face. “No, I will not touch you now,” he said. “There will be time enough when we are married. If you have any idea of enlisting aid from Catherine, my dear, I advise you to forget it. The Czar has given his approval and he is all powerful, not even the Czarina dare defy him. As for your impetuous Cossack - he has played straight into my hands with a very stupid mistake. I shall give you his head for a wedding present.” Alexandreya fought hard to control her reeling senses. He was horribly confident, and her previous anger was replaced by fear. What had happened to give him the power at last to destroy the man he hated for so many years? “What do you mean?” “Your concern is touching, but a little out of place for a man you profess to be only a friend, don’t you think.” “He is my friend, and he will not stand by and watch me forced into a marriage against my will.” “He may not be around to make his objections known,” Vladimir said, and smiled down into her alarmed features. “I possess enough evidence to have him executed as a common murderer whenever I choose.” “You are lying, he is no murderer.” Alexandreya leapt immediately to the defence of her lover.

“Three weeks ago he killed one of my agents, Madeleine de Veaux. I expect you have heard of her?” “But - but she was -” Alexandreya broke off in confusion and Vladimir nodded. “His mistress, yes, that’s true. On my instructions that liaison took place. He obviously discovered that the lady was working for me and killed her. He has been known to be Catherine’s personal executioner before. Madeleine was using him to gain information for me, and therefore she was too dangerous to be allowed to live. It is a pity, she was an excellent agent. No matter, her death has put Colonel Varanov’s head beneath the axe.” Alexandreya closed, her eyes, faint with nausea. To think of Dmitri killing Madeleine and countless others was bad enough, but the danger in which he had placed himself far more terrible. Vladimir Krylenko would show him no mercy. “Madeleine was found just outside the city limits. Her neck was broken, apparently by a fall from her horse,” Vladimir continued' relentlessly. “Then how can you speak of murder?” Alexandreya started up, momentarily brightening. “She did not fall. There were bruises on her wrists and arms as if she had fought against someone, Varanov perhaps, or the giant Sergei. Now there is a man capable of snapping a neck without the slightest trouble. He was seen riding through the forest some miles from the hunting-lodge leading a horse with the body of a woman across the saddle. My informant followed him to the place where Madeleine de Veaux was found and actually watched him leave her there. I think it is time I notified the Czar of these facts.” “Three weeks ago,” Alexandreya whispered. She had been at the lodge then with Dmitri and he had not left her side for a moment. Her heart suddenly stood still. For a few hours he had been absent, and she remembered falling asleep by the fire whilst waiting for him to return. It

was true, he had killed Madeleine de Veaux, or ordered her death and his own life was now forfeit. She could not let it happen if it was in her to prevent it. Slowly she rose to her feet and faced Vladimir. ‘ “I will make a bargain with you, Major.” “Are you in a position to bargain?” “This marriage may have the approval of the Czar, but not mine,” Alexandreya said coldly. She was in full control of herself again, determined that Dmitri should not die. The apprehensive, tearful girl who had faced Vladimir earlier was replaced by a woman desperately in love and willing to sacrifice her own future happiness for the life of the man she loved. He saw the change and knew that this was the woman he had admired for the past months, with the same scorn in her eyes. “What do you have in mind?” he asked quietly. There was no harm in listening to her. He held the upper hand and could only gain further advantages from any bargain she might make. “I will be honest with you, Major Krylenko, it is better we understand each other. I am in love with Dmitri Varanov and I shall never love any other man.” “But you are going to marry me. You have no choice, and if you are difficult I shall take great pleasure in training you to my ways.” As you did Natasha, Alexandreya thought bitterly. Aloud she said: “Which would give you the greater pleasure? To beat me into submission, or for me to accept the marriage -and you, of my own free will?" Vladimir took a step towards her, his eyes gleaming. “You would do this - in return for his life?” “Yes.”

His lips were thick and clumsy on hers, determined to discover whether or not she had spoken the truth. Alexandreya closed her eyes and endured the tortuous moment without resisting. “I can afford to be generous,” Vladimir said, releasing her. “I need not remind you of the consequences should you change your mind after we are married.” He meant to hold it over her head as a constant threat, Alexandreya realised, yet it did not matter; Dmitri was safe. “Believe me, I shall do nothing to endanger his life,” she said. “And how will you explain this sudden affection for me, my dear?” “Colonel Varanov has no reason to believe I have any affection for him, we have never spoken of my feelings. I shall persuade him that the marriage is in my best interests.” Alexandreya sank down into a chair with a heavy sigh. “Please leave me now.” “Of course, we both have much to do. I must inform the Czarina of our plans. No doubt she will curb the Colonel if he becomes too troublesome.” Vladimir cast a triumphant look at her down bent head before he left, silently congratulating himself on a major victory.

“Where did you get this?” Catherine’s voice was shrill 'with anger. She sat behind the desk in her study, clutching a poster in her hands. Dmitri was no stranger to hatred, but even he was shaken by the naked savagery blazing in her eyes. “They are hanging in every square in St. Petersburg, the people believe you are ill. The Czar has instructed them to pray for you as the end is near.” “I am well able to read it for myself,” Catherine snapped. The paper slowly crumpled between her fingers. “So I am expected to die, am I? We will see

about that. Peter has gone too far this time. Do you know of the room adjoining this one, Colonel?" She looked towards the huge tapestry hanging across the wall beside him. Behind it Dmitri knew there to be a small antechamber where Catherine entertained her lovers in complete privacy. He nodded. “Good - from tonight either you or one of your most trusted men will sleep there. I have no wish for one of my husband’s servants to slit my throat while I sleep. Double the guards, also.” “Yes, Highness. And the posters?" “Tear them down, but if you are seen, I shall deny the order.” A tight smile tugged at Dmitri’s mouth. “Perhaps we should substitute some of our own.” “I intend to use stronger methods.” Catherine’s rage subsided and she motioned him to be seated, after he had poured her a glass of vodka from the silver decanter on the desk. She leaned forward resting her chin in her hands. “The time has come to seek out those who are loyal to us. It seems I must act before Peter if I am to remain alive. Did you speak with Gregory Orloff as I ordered?” “I did, and he can account for the whole of his regiment and at least half of the others. Within a week, one way or the other, you will have full support of the army.” “And the Church is already with us.” Catherine smiled amusedly. “It must be the first time the Holy Fathers have ever approached anyone to suggest treason.” “They have as much reason to fear the Czar as we do.” “Do you fear him?” Catherine asked quietly. It was not like Dmitri to be worried over his own safety. “Life has become important to me.”

“Ah, yes, the Countess. You shall have her, I promise, but not yet. I do not want your head muddled with thoughts of a woman when the time comes to act. It will be soon, Dmitri, very soon, and I must be certain of everyone. Do I make myself absolutely clear?” Dmitri nodded. There was nothing to make him suppose that any unexpected problems would beset him where Alexandreya was concerned. He saw her whenever he was free from his duties. They walked together in the garden, regardless of the gossip-mongers or played cards in her apartments. He went less and less to the lodge of an evening, preferring either to dine with her, or to remain in his quarters and contemplate what a miracle she had wrought on him. Always she seemed pleased to see him. He did not consider it unduly worrying when Major Krylenko was shown into the room half an hour later, suspecting he had come to complain over the conduct of the Cossacks again. The atmosphere between the two households had steadily worsened. Taunts and sneers were flung about openly, except in the presence of Peter and Catherine, then everyone sat back and listened to the ruler of Russia insulting his wife at every turn. Some were amused, others like Dmitri and the Orloffs who were extremely close to Catherine, silently noted each sneer and vowed it would be forced back down the throat of the speaker. “What is it now, Major Krylenko?” Catherine pushed the telltale poster into a drawer and stared up at the new arrival with unconcealed dislike and made no move to proffer her hand. “It is a delicate matter, Your Imperial Majesty.” “Then I will retire.” Dmitri rose from his chair, but Catherine waved him to be seated again. “Stay here, Colonel. No doubt the Major is only here to complain about my guards.” “Indeed, no, Madame. I have come to respectfully beg your attendance at an occasion of some importance - at least to me.”

Respectfully, Catherine mused. Given the chance, he would be one of the first to volunteer to cut her throat. “I have just left the Countess Romanova,” Vladimir continued. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dmitri stiffen and he could hardly suppress a smile. He looked displeased now; just wait until he heard the rest of it. “I wanted to put her mind at rest as soon as possible.” Catherine’s fingers began to beat an impatient tattoo on the top of the desk, but for once Major Krylenko was not intimidated. “Is there a point to all this?" she demanded. “Why should you concern yourself with the Countess?” “She is the sister of my poor, unfortunate wife. I am obliged to look after her,” Vladimir said in fan injured tone. “The Czar has graciously given his blessing to our marriage.” Dmitri leapt from his chair like an angry mountain lion. In two strides he had covered the space between them and his hands were about the other man’s throat before Catherine’s voice penetrated his shocked mind enough to stay the action. “Save your brawling for the barrack room, Colonel Varanov. Release him and sit down, or leave the room,” she commanded. Vladimir knocked away Dmitri’s hands. Far from being angered, he found pleasure in his enemy’s attitude. Another false step like that one and Alexandreya would be well on the way to receiving his head as a wedding present despite their bargain. The fool was fond of her and she did not know it. Love - tenderness - gentleness, these were qualities beyond Vladimir’s comprehension. He had never experienced love, and the others he considered signs of weakness in a man. “Am I to understand that my husband has agreed to this match?” Catherine chose her words with care, her nimble brain already calculating the risks ahead should she keep Alexandreya under her protection. This was a trap, with a very clever bait.

“Yes, Madame, this morning.” “And you have informed the Countess, of course. What was her reaction?" “She was surprised naturally, but she has accepted it. Shall I tell the Czar the marriage has your approval also?” Catherine wanted to strike out at the smug face before her. God, Dmitri looked as if he was about to explode. Slowly she stood up, her face impassive, and remained for a few minutes contemplating the matter. There was only one answer and both men knew it. “The Countess will make a fine wife,” she said. She dared not look at the bleak-faced Cossack beside her, lest the contempt in his eyes made her hesitate. “When do you intend the wedding to take place?” “Before the end of the month, with Your Imperial Majesty's most gracious permission. Does this mean you might attend the ceremony? I am sure it would please the Countess, she is most anxious to have your blessing.” “I shall be there.” Catherine gave him her hand and dismissed him. As the door closed behind him, Dmitri began to follow, his fingers tightly clutching the hilt of his sword. “Not yet, Colonel, we have to talk. Come back, do you hear?” Catherine’s voice, like a whiplash halted him half way across the room. “Are you blind? This is Peter’s work. He wants you to rush off to rescue her, or for me to intervene.” “Your Highness will not be involved. I shall challenge him outside the palace for an entirely different reason - and kill him.” “You will not.” Dmitri turned pale. He stepped towards her disbelievingly. “You are not suggesting I leave him alone - to marry the woman I love?” He did not care who knew it now that this crisis had arisen. The reason for

Natasha’s removal had become all too clear, and Madeleine de Veaux had known it. “One woman against an empire - are you in any doubt which to choose?” Catherine challenged. She had never imagined that he would act this way. “I have no choice,” Dmitri said bitterly. “Krylenko will not have her. I do not believe she has agreed, she hates him.” Catherine scowled at him and stamped her foot. It was an infantile gesture she had not left behind in childhood. “No one, not even you will ruin my plans. Krylenko will marry the Countess and you will be at the wedding feast to drink their health, or else you will be in the fortress. I mean it - you are not to interfere. The time will come when you can settle with the Major for this and other past insults, and it will not be long in coming now, believe me and then you can take her back.” “In God’s name don’t ask me to do nothing,” Dmitri cried hoarsely. “Hasn’t she endured enough?” Catherine drew herself up stiffly. “Come here and give me your sword. Now kneel.” She thrust the curved Cossack blade out before his face. “Swear, as God is your witness, you will obey me in this.” Dmitri did not speak. For once in his life he could find no words, not even those Catherine tried to put into his mouth. “Swear it, or by heaven, I’ll kill you on your knees.” Catherine’s fingers tightened over the weapon. Although not a lover, he was her favourite at court, yet she was prepared to plunge the blade into his heart. “I swear.” Dmitri’s voice was hardly audible. His lips touched the cold steel and he drew back with a shudder as if touched by the hand of death.

“Thank you, my Colonel.” Catherine returned the sword and watched him fighting to control an outbreak of emotion. He would continue to serve her as before, perhaps even better, for she had now taken away his main reason for living, and for that she knew he would never forgive her; although his manner would never betray him. “The Countess will have need of you,” she said quietly. “Go to her, but be careful what you say. Do we understand each other, Dmitri?” “Perfectly.” Dmitri strode from Catherine’s presence in a black rage and almost struck the maid who tried to refuse him admittance to Alexandreya’s apartments, with the excuse that she was indisposed. He fully expected to see a tearful face - or at least some sign of distress - but the woman who rose to greet him was perfectly composed. He had no idea of the supreme effort Alexandreya had made to force herself to appear so calm. “I came the moment I heard,” Dmitri said quietly. “I did not expect Major Krylenko to speak to the Czarina so soon.” Alexandreya moved away from him, panic-stricken. He knew already; it would not be long before the whole palace was buzzing with the news. “I was with her when the Major had his audience. Don’t worry, I’ll stop him somehow. Catherine made me swear not to intervene, but even so I’ll not allow him to lay his filthy hands on you.” When Alexandreya did not answer he turned on her curiously. At first he had thought her to be in a state of shock, now he was not too sure. There was no sign of tears, nothing to indicate that she was unduly worried at the plans being made to marry her to a man she hated. “Have you nothing to say?” He bent his head, peering into her face. “He said you had agreed to the match, but I know that to be a lie.”

“You misunderstand the situation, Colonel Varanov. Major Krylenko has made me realise that he has my welfare at heart, and he has done me a great honour by asking me to be his wife.” “Honour,” Dmitri sneered. “That man has no conception of the word.” “I have agreed to be his wife and there is an end to it.” “You were upset, you could not have realised what you were saying,” Dmitri replied and his voice had grown harsh. For a moment she had sounded and even looked like Elena. “I will come back when you are more composed and we can think out some plan.” “That will not be wise under the circumstances,” Alexandreya said. “We have caused too much gossip in the past. Thank you for your concern, Colonel, but now you can see it was unnecessary.” Dmitri’s face darkened and his brows drew together over eyes which blazed with fury. “By heaven, you try my patience too far! You have had your joke, now tell me you are not going to marry him.” Alexandreya’s courage almost failed her. How easy it would be to confess the hold Vladimir had over her - and just as easily she would be sending him to his death. “I do not make jokes, you know me better than that.” “Do I know you at all?” Dmitri questioned. “You have helped me over a very difficult time, and we are friends because of it. I hope that will never change.” Alexandreya’s composure was beginning to crack. Why didn’t he go and leave her to cry in peace? She watched a familiar sardonic smile curve around his mouth. "You led me to believe you wanted more than friendship,” he scathed. She stepped back in alarm. “I did not.”

“Not in so many words, perhaps, but you will recall you had no objections to me holding you in my arms of late. Was it amusing to know I wanted you more each day?" Alexandreya paled at the contempt in his voice, yet at the same time she welcomed it, knowing that she might weaken and confess everything if he was kind or tried to persuade her against the marriage. His anger was her only weapon. If he provoked her she would retaliate, as in the old days before she grew to love him. It was too late to turn back, she saw that in his eyes, and forced cruel, heartless words to her lips. “Are you annoyed because I played you at your own game, Colonel?” She even managed to sound amused. “Please go before you make it necessary to call the guards.” Something near hatred flashed across Dmitri’s face. “Not before you and I come to an understanding,” he growled. “You couldn’t have changed so much in the space of a few hours, and I’ll prove it.” Alarm seized Alexandreya. The slightest touch would be enough to demolish her deceptive front. His fingers closed around her arm. She jerked herself free, simultaneously striking out. Her palm caught him a stinging blow across the face. “Get out! I hate you, do you hear?” “Yes, I hear you.” Dmitri stepped away from her, a murderous look in his eyes that made her knees grow weak. “I should be grateful to the Major for taking you off my hands. I was a fool to think you were any different. A pity you do not have a household of servants you could call to come and throw me out.” “If I had them to call, I would.” Alexandreya spoke the words she knew would break the last link between them. Wordlessly Dmitri turned on his heel and left her.

For the last days of the mourning period Alexandreya did not venture out of her apartments, and received no visitors. Dmitri did not come to see her again, and final proof of her convincing performance was supplied when his guards were replaced by soldiers from Vladimir Krylenko’s regiment. She knew her future, husband had placed them there not to protect her, but to ensure that she made no attempt to stray from her bargain. At first she cried incessantly, making herself so weak that a doctor was called to bleed her. Now the tears were past, and in their place lurked a terrible loneliness. Escape never entered her head, for she knew to attempt it would immediately place Dmitri’s head beneath the executioner’s axe. She suspected that not only the guards, but also her servants were watching her every move and reporting back to Major Krylenko. At the end of the week, Vladimir came to see her again. The apartments were full of the flowers he Sent each day. He looked around him with a satisfied smile, his eyes coming to rest at last on the quiet, pale-faced woman seated on the couch. “Why are you not wearing a more becoming gown?" he enquired, frowning at the high neckecl dress of dark silk. It increased her pallor and he did not like the way it hid her body. “I was not expecting you,” Alexandreya replied. “Then you underestimate my affection for you, my dear. Tonight I intend to announce the wedding date. The Czar has asked us to dine with him. I sincerely hope you will wear something more becoming.” Alexandreya raised her head and looked up at him. Her poise surprised him. He had been prepared for a tearful scene or even an angry one. He was not aware that Alexandreya had accepted the situation fully for the first time that very morning, and had resigned herself to his domination. What did it matter, with Natasha dead and the man she loved believing her to be a liar and a cheat? “I shall try to please you,” she said.

“You do, my dear, I wish you would let me show you how much.” He sat beside her and attempted to caress her breasts. Alexandreya did not move; she knew from past experience it was not wise to anger this man. Whatever he did she must endure it. Perhaps one day her chance to escape would come. “Not now, I beg you, someone might come in. Give me a little more time,” she added. “I am glad you have decided to be sensible,” Vladimir murmured. He kissed her roughly on the lips and then rose. “I will leave you to make preparations for tonight, and remember I want you to look your loveliest.”

Late that same evening, while the rest of the palace slept, Catherine entertained a strange assortment of guests in her private chamber, among them the Archbishop of Novogorod and several Elders of the Church who had been secretly smuggled into the palace from outlying parts of the country. Prince Menshikov, an officer of the Preobrazhensky regiment, Gregory and Alexei Orloff and other officers of the army who had pledged unswerving devotion to Catherine. Dmitri stood beside her chair, listening intently while plans were made. In a week he had aged considerable, and there was a harshness in his face that close friends recognised and they pitied him in silence, not daring to mention Alexandreya by name or implication. Catherine’s plan was a simple one. She had the backing of the Church and the army, except for a few stragglers who could be eliminated should they cause trouble. It was her intention to draw her main support from the people - disillusioned and bitter from months of Peter’s erratic rule. Their discontent - their hatred - was her lever. Used to the right advantage she could oust her husband from the throne with little or no bloodshed. She did not want him killed, although the men present in the room with her, with the exception of the Church, were all for ending his worthless life - a gesture, she was assured, that the people would appreciate. With him dead, they argued, she would be accepted as Empress of Russia by

everyone, from the lowest peasant to Peter’s courtiers themselves. Catherine, however, was adamant. She did not want his death on her conscience and was quite content to make arrangements for him to be confined in a lonely, isolated house at Robshak, some miles from Peterhof. “I will buy him a new regiment of toy soldiers,” she said with a smile. “He will play with them and never miss his throne.” “What of Major Krylenko and his men?” Gregory Orloff asked. Catherine glanced at the emotionless face beside her . “You need have no fear on that score, gentlemen, Colonel Varanov and his Cossacks will deal with them. I have long promised him the satisfaction of slitting the Major's throat.” Dmitri felt several pairs of eyes move in his direction, and read the unspoken questions in them. It was a personal grudge, and they knew it and would not interfere. Afterwards he would deal with Alexandreya. He had sat almost opposite her at dinner that evening, watching her talking and smiling beside Vladimir Krylenko. Love and hate had suddenly merged until he was unable to distinguish between them. Jewels had flashed at her throat and wrists. The pale blue gown she wore, cut low across her breasts, hardly confirmed the picture of virginal modesty she had tried to impress upon him for so long. Her attentiveness to her future husband infuriated him to danger point and more than once Catherine was forced to divert his attention elsewhere. He had been one of the first to leave the supper room. In an upstairs corridor he had waited for Alexandreya to pass en route to her apartments, deliberately choosing a place where he knew they would not be disturbed. She had not seen him until the last moment, and then it was too late to retreat. He blocked her path menacingly, a frightening figure in the shadowy light of the wall torches. “Let me pass,” Alexandreya said, and she saw his eyes gleam at the tremor in her voice.

She had undergone a terrible strain over the past hours, aware every minute that his gaze was centred on her. Everyone had congratulated her on the forthcoming wedding, Dmitri last of all, and his voice had proclaimed, by its scornful tone, exactly what he felt. She was thankful that Vladimir had been too engrossed in conversation to make anything of it. “Let me pass,” she repeated. “You will hear me out. What I have to say will not take long.” He seized her wrist, staring down into her upturned face with steely eyes. “Look at me, Countess. Take a good, long look. Do you think I am the kind of man who would let you escape so easily?” She had not answered, and he had told her then the truth about Natasha’s death, of Madeleine de Veaux’s involvement and how André Bruckner had not been confined to barracks as he had previously told her, but buried in an unmarked grave in the infamous prison fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul. The time was coming, he had assured her, when he would kill Vladimir Krylenko and repay her for all her lies and treachery. The next time he would have no scruples and she would discover just how crude a peasant could be. He had let her go and watched her run along the corridor as if the devil himself was after her. Slowly he had wandered back to Catherine’s apartments, Alexandreya forgotten. The evening had almost ended in disaster earlier when Catherine refused to drink a toast to Peter’s mistress. She had stalked out of the room followed by Dmitri and the Orloff brothers, with Peter’s shrill voice screaming after her, threatening first imprisonment, then death, not only for her, but her son Paul, whom he publicly disowned in no uncertain terms, much to the embarrassment of the remaining dinner guests. Dmitri became aware his fellow conspirators were leaving and turned to follow. “Dmitri, I wish you to stay.” He stopped, looking at Catherine in surprise.

“It is late, Highness.” “I am aware of the hour. Come and sit down here with me and help yourself to vodka if my presence is not enough to make you forget her.” Dmitri flushed, but he did not refuse the offer of a drink. It had become his only solace. Catherine knew that when he was alone he drank heavily, yet she had been unable to bring him to task over it. He showed. no outward signs of a hangover the next morning, and his behaviour gave no cause for complaint. “The Countess looked remarkably well tonight. Do you not think so?” “Remarkably.” “Why don’t you find another woman to sweeten you temper?” Catherine laughed softly. “There are many among my ladies who would sleep with you for the asking. When our hopes have been realised there will be many more. You are to play an important part in my future, Dmitri. You and all the others who are willing to risk their lives for me. When I am Empress, you will be able to name your own reward.” “I want only what I consider to be rightfully mine,” Dmitri said harshly. “What if she is in love with the Major? Have you thought of that?” “He will be dead, and a widow cannot mourn for ever. I have no intention of awaiting her pleasure again, she has too much to answer for.” “It would be better to forget her. I did not say forgive, my friend - but forget. There are other women to give you what you want and be glad to do so. Unless, of course, you are still in love with the girl.” Dmitri swallowed the last of his vodka and replenished the glass. Despite her lovers, Catherine was the only woman he did not despise. Before he had resented her questions, now they no longer bothered him, and he found, himself able to talk- to her freely. In a way they were alike.

“I am not sure what I feel for her,” he returned. “It matters little. I intend to have her, or make sure no one else does.” Catherine nodded understandingly. “So be it. I shall not question how you take her or what you do with her. She is yours.” Catherine and Dmitri were involved in a game of cards when Alexei Orloff came into the room. “Get out,” he ordered the servant hovering in the doorway. “Alexei, why so stern? Has your girl deserted you too?” Catherine laughed. Alexei’s voice did not carry beyond the three of them. “Lieutenant Passek has been arrested. The fool got drunk in a tavern and started saying dangerous things. Krylenko’s agents arrested him, and at this moment the Major himself is on his way to question him. Our lives are in danger, Highness; by morning the Czar will know of our plans. We must act tonight.”

CHAPTER NINE IN THE part of the palace where the Czar had his apartments, a patrolling sentry yawned and paused to gaze out of the window at the lightening sky. It was barely six o’clock in the morning. The flight of a bird from the gardens below was the last thing he saw before he died. Gregory Orloff retrieved his knife and motioned to the group of soldiers behind him to come forward and pick up the fallen man. “Get rid of him. One of you remain here, the rest go upstairs to the Czar’s room. Dispose of the remainder of the guards and replace them. Ah, Dmitri, you are here.” He turned to greet the uniformed figure hurrying towards him. “Are your men in position?” “Throughout the rest of the palace. Have you finished here? You must get Her Majesty away before Krylenko returns. I’ll cover the escape and follow when I’ve dealt with the Major.” Gregory gave him a searching glance, but said nothing. Together they made their way to Catherine’s apartments. Sergei met them outside the main door. “Major Krylenko has just ,ridden into the courtyard.” “Damnation!” Dmitri said fiercely; “We have little time as it is.” "He ordered a fresh horse to be saddled and ready for nine o’clock. The Lieutenant can’t have broken,” Sergei said. “Let us hope he consumed enough liquor to dull the pain for a good while yet,” Gregory muttered. “I’ll wake the Czarina.” He disappeared through the massive door, re-appearing almost immediately with Catherine behind him. She had been dressed and waiting for someone to come, not daring to sleep. She wore a dark jacket and men’s breeches. Her hair was hidden beneath a fur hat.

Dmitri dropped on one knee before her. “God go with you, Highness.” “And with you, my Colonel. Follow us as quickly as you can.” “Within the hour. Come, there are horses waiting below.” They were almost to the staircase at the far end of the corridor when someone began to ascend from the lower floor. Dmitri moved back against the wall, motioning his companions to do likewise as Vladimir Krylenko appeared. His face grew bleak. Now was as good a time as any-to settle old scores. “Take Her Majesty to safety,” he whispered to Gregory. Sword in hand, he stepped out to confront his enemy. “Good evening, Major.” “What the devil! Varanov -let me pass, you fool.” “I am going to kill you,” Dmitri said quietly. “Draw your weapon, man, or I’ll cut you down where you stand.” Vladimir caught sight of a movement in the shadows and started forward. Dmitri’s sword slashed across his cheek, drawing blood, and as he wheeled about, unsheathing his own blade, Gregory led Catherine behind him down the staircase to safety. Dmitri fought as if the very devil possessed him, slashing with a vigour that drove Vladimir Krylenko along the corridor. The newly installed Cossack guards moved back as the men fought nearer, waiting expectantly for their leader to deliver the fatal blow. Dmitri lunged forward, but with unexpected swiftness his opponent sidestepped and thrust upwards. He felt a pain sear his ribs, his vision blurred and he fell against the tapestry-covered wall, blood soaking the front of his shirt.

He saw his Cossacks stealing forward and straightened with a tremendous effort. “Stay back, this man is mine,” he shouted. “I need no help to kill swine.” Vladimir’s eyes glittered and a smile flittered across his face at the sight of the pool of blood at Dmitri’s feet. “I have no time to waste here with you,” he sneered and raised his sword again. “I have preparations to make for my wedding.” The taunt struck home. Dmitri gave a terrible cry and hurled himself forward, possessed with superhuman strength. A savage blow almost cleaved Vladimir’s sword-arm in half, another sent his weapon clattering to the floor. “Mercy, for pity’s sake -” Krylenko cried. “I’ll give you the same brand of mercy you gave to your prisoners,” Dmitri said hoarsely, and he was thinking of André Bruckner as he spoke. He stabbed his blade into the other man with such venom that it went clean through. The effort almost rendered him unconscious, and he fell forward on to his knees, a hand against his wound. Immediately his men were beside him, helping him to rise. The moment he was standing, he shook them off. “One of you find Sergei and bring him here. Someone help me.” It was not help for himself that Dmitri wanted, but assistance to drag the body of Vladimir Krylenko along the adjoining corridor to where Alexandreya had her apartments. There were no guards on the door, he had made sure of that, He kicked it open, ordered his companions to stay put, and limped painfully across the drawing room, dragging his burden. His senses were dulled by pain, yet enough were left to urge him on to this final act of revenge.

The noise of furniture being overturned had awakened Alexandreya. She was sitting up in bed clutching the sheets high around her shoulders. At the sight of the bloody, wild-eyed figure in the doorway, she had screamed and crossed herself before realising who it was - and the man he lifted and dumped unceremoniously on the end of the bed. Breathing heavily, Dmitri clung to one of the bedposts for support and stared at the woman he loved. There was no denying it, he still felt the same and because he did, he could not take her by force as had been his intention. “I’ve brought you your betrothed,” he sneered. “With my compliments.” Alexandreya’s mouth was dry with fear. He looked mad in the flickering candlelight, and she wondered if she might become his next victim. Slowly she relaxed her hold on the sheets and stretched out a hand, her eyes transfixed by the blood seeping through his jacket. “You are hurt! Let me help you,” she pleaded. “For love of you, I killed him. I wanted you that much - now you are no longer important. If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you,” Dmitri threatened. He turned and staggered out of the room, leaving a red trail from the door to where Alexandreya sat, her face stricken with both shock and grief. “Dear God, why didn’t he kill me now?” she moaned, and fell back on to the pillows in a dead faint.

Sergei bound Dmitri’s wound and tried to make him rest, without success. Dmitri had given Alexandreya an ultimatum, and he did not want to stay and see her leave lest he relented and had her taken to the hunting-lodge to await his pleasure. It was still a tempting thought. With the Tartar riding close beside him, he galloped after Catherine and the others. He caught up with them on the outskirts of St. Peters- burg. The ride sapped his strength dearly, and the wound was bleeding again.

“My friend, you are hurt.” Alexei Orloff drew rein beside him, peering into his tortured face. Catherine heard and wheeled her horse about to come level. “A scratch - it is nothing.” The weakness of Dmitri's tone gave away the lie. “You must return at once,” Catherine said. “Sergei will go with you.” “I must respectfully decline, Highness. When the Archbishop proclaims you Empress of Russia, I will be there.” “You have that right,” Catherine said softly. She looked at the faces around her. “So do you all, my friends, and I will not forget what you are helping me to do this night. If you are sure, Dmitri, let us ride on.” The barracks of the Ismailovsky Regiment lay ahead. Catherine rode past the startled sentry before he could utter a challenge and when he recognised the interloper, it was never called. Instead he ran shouting for the drummer boy to rouse the sleeping soldiers. Tired-eyed, half-dressed men came stumbling out of their quarters and were confronted by a sombrely-dressed woman on a black stallion who look at them with pleading eyes and said she had come for their help. From that moment, each and every man was under her command. She was no longer just their Czarina, but also a woman - frail and helpless - who told of the inhuman plan her husband had conceived to be rid of her. And that was not all - her murder would be superseded by the death of her beloved son, Paul, their future ruler. “I beseech your help.” Catherine stretched out her aims appealingly. “Save us.” She was beauty in distress - a defenceless woman under sentence of death by a madman. The soldiers were convinced. The sentry who had been the first to see her was standing close to her horse. Suddenly he knelt and kissed her dusty riding boot and then let out a cry.

“Long live our little Mother, Catherine!" A cheer ran through the crowd and the cry was taken up simultaneously. Catherine had -deliberately played on their sympathies, realising that once one regiment joined her, the others would follow. She had expected and been prepared for success, her plans did not allow otherwise, yet the way the soldiers took her to their hearts caused bright tears to spring to her eyes. “She has done it,” Dmitri whispered. “Thank God.” “There is a finishing touch yet,” Gregory Orloff said with a smile. “Had you forgotten?” Had the soldiers been hard to convince, he was prepared. From one of the outbuildings a priest emerged, crucifix in hand. The 'sight of him caused a murmur among the soldiers. Any doubts were dispelled by the knowledge the Church was behind Catherine. They knelt while the holy man prayed and solemnly proclaimed Catherine, Empress of Russia. The first victory was theirs. When Catherine rode on to the quarters of the Semionovsky Regiment, she had a following of almost forty soldiers. Word had gone on ahead and there were more willing to join her. ‘They came running to greet her, most of them still only half-dressed. Peter’s reign was quickly drawing to its conclusion. Surrounded by nearly seventy soldiers Catherine and her officers turned their horses towards the quarters of the Preobrazhensky Regiment. They were met, not by smiling faces and cheers, but by a column of armed soldiers, with one of Peter’s most loyal officers in command. “Trouble,” Alexei murmured, and his hand fell to his sword. “Where is Menshikov, he was supposed to have these men ready,” Gregory Orloff looked about him in some alarm. “We have a fight on our hands,” Dmitri said, and as he too reached for his sword, so did every man behind him.

“No, wait.” Catherine laid a hand on his arm. Prince Menshikov was riding slowly towards them. The ranks of the Preobrazhensky Regiment opened up to allow him to pass. With a contemptuous glance at the officer in charge, he rode straight to Catherine’s side. “You have been filled full with the Czar’s lies, now hear the truth from me,” he shouted. He pointed to the soldiers from the other regiments. “These men are known to you, many are friends. Will you kill them? Will you kill me? Here is our chance to help free Russia from the yoke of a madman. join us - join your Empress. Long live our little Mother, Catherine, Empress of Russia.” The order of Peter’s officer to arrest the traitors was drowned by the sound of cheering. When he tried to escape, he was dragged from his horse by his own men and stabbed to death. as Catherine rode into St. Petersburg to the peal of bells and the excited cries of her followers. People poured from their houses and ran alongside the horses; thousands followed her into the Kazan Cathedral where the Archbishop waited to receive her, trampling each other in their excitement. Four hours after leaving the palace at Peterhof and only nineteen miles away, Catherine was proclaimed Empress and Autocrat of Russia amid the jubilation of soldiers and peasants alike. Standing beside the Orloff brothers, Dmitri was deafened by the cheers of the crowd. Someone slapped him heartily on the back. He groaned and coughed blood, and fell unconscious to the marble floor.

Catherine was busy with a sheaf of papers on the desk before her. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since the triumphant proclamation in the cathedral, yet already she was engrossed in affairs of state. Her husband had been removed to Robshak in the care of the Orloffs and all his household sent back to the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg. She intended to follow in a few days, after a brief rest, realising that she might not have the

chance again. Complete power was hers. The throne of Russia - it was not a position she intended to abuse. She glanced up from her work as a servant entered. “Yes, what is it?" “The Countess Romanova requests an audience, Your Imperial Majesty.” Catherine’s blue eyes hardened. “Does she, indeed? Tell the Countess I will see her, and make sure we are not disturbed.” Alexandreya slowly crossed the mosaic-tiled floor of the study to the desk. She was wearing a riding habit and carried a small hat. She curtsied. “I have come to beg Your Imperial Majesty's permission to leave the palace,” she said in a quiet voice. So the wretched girl wanted to go home, Catherine thought contemptuously. Aloud she said: “You have it - after all, there is nothing to keep you here now your betrothed is dead.” Alexandreya bit her lip. “I was wondering if you had news of Colonel Varanov. I know he was wounded.” When Catherine had returned to Peterhof and found Alexandreya still in the palace, she had confined her to her apartments. From her maid, Alexandreya had learned of Peter’s arrest, and the celebrations for the new Empress had been loud enough for her to hear upstairs in her rooms. Her questions about Dmitri’s whereabouts had been met with blank expressions. No one had seen him since his departure from the palace - he had not returned.

“He is - is not dead?” Somehow she forced the words out. “No, but he is badly wounded. The Tartar took him to the hunting-lodge. Why do you ask?” “I must go to him.” “He told me what happened here. He will kill you if you do, he is a man of his word.” “I love him,” Alexandreya said. In a quiet voice, she related the threat Vladimir had held over her head. “I didn’t realise Dmitri cared for me until the other night. I pray it is not too late to make him understand. I would rather he killed me than sent me away.” She left the palace with Catherine’s blessing and an apology for misjudging her actions. As she rode at a fast gallop towards the huntinglodge, Alexandreya found herself praying Dmitri would listen to her as readily as the Empress. Towards midday she reined in before the lodge and dismounted, conscious of the curious stares directed at her by the Cossacks busily grooming their horses outside the stables. Hesitantly she pushed open the door and went in. The room was as chaotic as the first time she had visited the lodge, perhaps even more so this time, and there was a heavy odour of fermented beer in the air. As she stood in the doorway, Sergei came out of the bedroom carrying a bowl and a handful of bloodstained bandages. They stared at each other in silence. The Tartar’s eyes began to blaze with anger. The things he carried were tossed aside and with a swiftness that took her completely by surprise he crossed the space between them and slammed the door behind her, barring it with his massive back. "Colonel Varanov, is he badly hurt?" Alexandreya stammered. “The wound is bad, and he refuses to have a doctor attend him. He cares little for his life, thanks to you.”

Sergei reached for his knife. It was in his mind to kill her now and dispose of the body; his master need never know she had even been beneath his roof. In time his wounds would heal, both wounds, and there would be no fear of her presence to upset him. He was reaching out towards Alexandreya when Dmitri called him. Unceremoniously he took her arm, and propelled her forcefully into the bedroom. From the bed where he lay, hardly conscious and fast losing blood again, Dmitri stared at her for a long time as if she were an apparition, and then his face darkened. “What are you doing here?" ' His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, He struggled to sit up, but the effort was too much for him and he fell back on to the pillows with a groan. “I heard you had been injured-” “And so you came to watch me die.” He gave a mirthless laugh which ended in a fit of coughing. Alexandreya shook her head, near to tears, dismayed and shocked by his appearance. His face was grey with pain and there was a thick growth of beard on his chin. She had never seen him unshaven before. It gave him a wild appearance to match his unkempt hair. On the table beside the bed there was an empty jug of braga and another still half full. He had been drinking instead of eating, that was why he looked so thin, and if he had refused to see a doctor, then his wound was probably infected. ` “I told you I would kill you if we ever met again,” Dmitri said. “My life is as important to me as yours is to you, and at the moment it would appear to be of little importance.” She glanced down at Sergei’s fingers, still clutching her arm in a painful grip. “Please let me go, I have no intention of trying to leave. Someone has to stop his wound bleeding.”

“I’d rather bleed to death than have you tend me,” Dmitri snapped; nevertheless the Tartar released her. Removing her riding jacket, Alexandreya bent over him and loosened the bandages swathed across his chest. “If you do not lie still and let this heal you will never be strong ‘enough to kill me,” she said calmly. He flinched as she lifted the bandages and saw the ugly gash which brought bright tears starting to her eyes. “Did you weep over Krylenko’s body too?" Dmitri demanded harshly. “Why are you seeking solace with me after I killed him - or is that an unimportant fact?” "You did what you had to do, I don’t blame you. Sergei, bring some fresh bandages and then ride to Peterhof for a doctor.” “No, no doctor.” Dmitri was adamant. “Damn you, go away and let me die in peace. Find some other fool to keep you warm at night.” Alexandreya drew back as if he had struck her, her eyes growing reproachful. Although she knew she deserved his scorn and far worse, it was still hard to bear such cruel words. "If you will not have a doctor, then I must stay and look after you myself.” “Aren’t you afraid I will drag you into bed with me as thanks for your ministering? It is the least you can expect from a peasant.” “You will hurt me in whatever way you see fit,” Alexandreya answered, “but it does not matter. If it did I would not be here. I love you - I know you won’t believe me, but it is the truth.” He started violently and grew paler, if that was possible with his awful colouring. “Love,” he sneered. “If you mention that word again I’ll have Sergei cut out your tongue. My God, I shall never understand women! You come here knowing I might kill you, or at least make you my mistress, and regardless

of the fact that I cut down your future husband. You really must have loved him.” “I hated him,” she whispered brokenly. Dmitri looked startled. His fingers clutched at her skirt, dragging her closer to him. “Then why marry him? Tell me. If this is a trick, I swear you will pay dearly.” “We made a bargain.” Alexandreya brushed a hand across her eyes. “In a way it was my life for yours. He knew you _had killed Madeleine de Veaux and he threatened to tell the Czar and have you executed. I promised to be his wife if he would keep silent.” Dmitri seemed to be having trouble in understanding her. His bewildered gaze searched her face for a moment before his eyes closed, and a deep sigh escaped him. Alarm seized Alexandreya. She bent over him and touched the unshaven chin with trembling hands. “Dmitri - don’t die. Please open your eyes and tell me you understand. I know you think of me in the same light as Elena, but I’m not like her. I do love you. What else could I do? You would have been arrested and Vladimir promised to give me your head as a wedding present.” She shuddered at the recollection of that terrible day and fresh tears spilled down over her cheeks. “I said I would - would submit to him as long as you were allowed to live. It was a small price to pay - at least I thought so until the moment came when I had to tell you. I’ve wished so many times since then that I had died with Natasha.” “God forgive me.” Dmitri mustered the last of his strength to speak.. He was so weak that he could hardly keep his head raised. “Sergei - fetch the doctor,” he muttered and lapsed into deep unconsciousness. The next few moments were a blur to Alexandreya. She swayed forward, near to fainting with relief at his words. The next clear thing she knew, she was seated in a chair beside the bed with Sergei peering down at her.

“Are you all right?" “Yes - yes - but Colonel Varanov?” “Unconscious I shall have to ride hard if I am to bring the doctor back in time.” “Do you believe me, Sergei?” “The Colonel does. You have given him a reason to live again - be content with that. I will send a man to fetch Irina from the village, you will need help to watch him while I am gone.” Alexandreya stared determinedly into the Tartar’s hard face. “I do love him, and I’ll make him believe it somehow.”

The doctor came and went and for two days Dmitri hovered between life and death, too weak to fight off the sudden fever which seized him within a few hours of Sergei’s departure. With Irina helping her, Alexandreya regularly changed the bandages on his wound and bathed his face and body with cool water. She gave no thought to the indelicacy of the tasks she performed. This was the man she loved, there was nothing she would not do for him. As if realising the way she felt, Irina said nothing, although it grieved her to see a fine lady stooping to such menial work. On the third day the fever broke and by the following afternoon Dmitri’s strength appeared to be returning at a rapid rate. He was able to sit up for a while and take some broth. He allowed Alexandreya to feed him in silence, greatly unnerving her with the intensity of his gaze. When she attempted to remove the tray, he stopped her, his hand on her ann. His eyes were troubled. “Stay, I must talk to you. You have much to forgive me for.”

His contrition stirred Alexandreya’s compassion. She smiled and gently disengaged herself. “Not now. The doctor gave instructions you are to have complete rest.” “Rest be damned. I want to hold you and let your kisses show me how much you love me.” He laughed at the sight of fierce colour flooding into Alexandreya’s cheeks. “You haven’t changed! What a fool I was to believe otherwise. I should have known there was a good reason for what you did. I was cruel, and I want to make amends as soon as possible.” Alexandreya hurriedly withdrew the tray and set it down on the floor while she straightened the blankets. “Try to sleep.” “I will if you come here.” “Why?” “I want to kiss you.” He caught her arm and pulled her down beside him. Alexandreya did not resist, afraid that he would reopen his wound with too much movement. “Dmitri - be careful." “I am stronger than you think. Let me show you.” His kisses were gentle yet still masterful, as if to prove to her nothing had changed since the last time they had come to the lodge. But it had, and Alexandreya suspected it might be a long while before he brought himself to trust her again. Vladimir had forced a wide gulf between them that only her constant love could bridge. She would have to show him she was content to feel his arms around here and his lips on hers and that this was all she asked. In the space of a heartbeat the anger and mistakes of the past were erased, transporting her back to the night, Madeleine de Veaux had died. The

journey of a thousand miles often starts with a single step, she had said how true. They had begun their journey that night and lost the way. This time they would find the true path. Perhaps not today - or tomorrow, Alexandreya knew that this was too soon- after all that had happened, but somewhere in the future, when he no longer compared her with Elena. Dmitri drew her head down on to his chest, his lips against her hair. “Sergei tells me you have been my nurse all this time. Have you had any rest?” “A little,” Alexandreya said. She had fallen sleep for three hours while watching her patient the previous evening. She had closed her eyes against the brilliance of the July sunshine streaming through the windows and instantly fell asleep. She dreamed of Natasha and little Anya, and awoke with such a start she had roused Dmitri, who had also been dozing. “You let me sleep, you shouldn’t,” she protested. “I promised to help Irina gather some fruit.” When she tried to move, she had realised he had no intention of releasing her; his arm had stayed tight around her waist. “The fruit can wait.” Dmitri had been doing some serious thinking ever since his sanity had returned. Aware of the terrible injustice he had wrought through blind jealousy, he was terribly afraid of losing her again. At last he had come to accept her love was beyond reproach. She had proved that with her willingness to sacrifice so much for his sake. He had never known love before in the way he now loved Alexandreya, and was ashamed at the mistrust which had made him keep silent for so long. A faint smile had touched Alexandreya’s face as an amusing thought struck her. “You once said if I came to you in rags you would still want me.” She had touched the creased riding habit she wore. “These are all the clothes I have. The rest I left at Peterhof because they were part of my trousseau, or Vladimir had given them to me. I don’t want them.”

“I still want you,” Dmitri had murmured. He had raised himself painfully on one elbow and looked down into her sparkling eyes. “You have been here almost a week, God knows what the court is saying about us.” “Does it matter?” Alexandreya had answered softly, secretly pleased that he cared so deeply. “They already believe I am your mistress, let them talk if they find pleasure in it. I care for no one except you." If he had made love to her at that moment, Alexandreya had known she would not refuse him. Her body had ached with the longing to surrender and be mastered by the man she loved and who loved her. That was the miracle of it - he loved her. Dmitri’s fingers had stroked the red hair spread out across his shoulders. He had smiled and pressed his mouth into the hollow of her throat. “Will you stay here with me?" “Yes.” “Unwed?” He had caught a glimpse of the hurt expression in her eyes before she quickly looked away. ' “If it is the only way you will have me - yes. I will belong to you for as long as you wish and if you grow tired of me, I will go back to Bratz.” “Now I know you love me.” Dmitri had lain back as if exhausted, and Alexandreya looked at him in surprise. “Do you doubt me?" “No, little one, I was doubting myself, but that is over now.” He had turned her face up to his and there had been a tenderness in his eyes she had never

seen before. “I love you, mala koska. God knows how I love you. Stay with me - as my wife.”

Several days later, Catherine paid them an unexpected visit. When she entered the lodge, Dmitri was lying on the couch; he had refused to stay in bed any longer, and Alexandreya was arranging flowers by the window, wearing a blouse and skirt belonging to Irina. Such a scene of domesticity brought a smile to Catherine’s lips. “So you are still alive?” Her low, amused laugh almost caused Alexandreya to drop the vase she was holding. “Your Imperial Majesty - I did not hear you ride up.” She curtsied and quickly pulled up a chair for Catherine to sit down. “No - no, I do not intend to stay. Gregory and I are merely passing on our way to. St. Petersburg.” From the direction of the couch Dmitri gave a crooked smile. “You will understand if I do not rise, Highness,” he murmured. Catherine nodded in amusement. He looked infinitely better. She said so and saw his eyes go directly to where Alexandreya stood. “It is settled then?” she said. “Yes, Alexandreya is to be my wife. Another week and I shall be able to join you at Peterhof.” “Nonsense, my foolish friend. How can you think of leaving such an attractive nurse?” Gregory Orloff's smiling face appeared in the doorway.

“The Countess will accompany you, of course,” Catherine said. “The wedding will be held in the Winter Palace, and then you can convalesce at Bratz for a month or two.” Alexandreya moved to Dmitri’s. side and Catherine watched as his hand reached up and grasped hers. She had never imagined it possible for him to be so involved with a single woman. “I shall keep my word and visit you in the spring, Countess Romanova, and I shall expect you to have a fine son to show me.” Alexandreya’s eyes glowed and she felt Dmitri’s grasp tighten. A son proof of their great love. What a wonderful moment it would be when she carried his child in her! He had not taken her as his mistress that afternoon when he had asked her to marry him. He would not- presume upon the pleasure of their wedding night, he told her with a smile as he put her gently from him. Catherine felt a sudden rush of nostalgia as she watched the young lovers, and blinked rapidly several times. Such thoughts were not for her. Abruptly she spun around and linked her arm through that of Gregory Orloff. ` “Come, dushka, we must make haste to the palace. I intend this to be a wedding neither St. Petersburg or these two young people will ever forget.”