“How should I know?” She pulled away from him angrily. She eyed Alexei malevolently. “Say what you like about St. Petersburg society, you are a laughing stock. You were so busy pawing over that convent child, you can’t see the truth when it is handed to you on a calling card. She is a whore, Alexei!” Elizabeth spat the words at him. “New to the profession, I will give her that much; but a whore nonetheless. And she is learning her trade from your cousin, my esteemed spouse, Prince Oleg!” Elizabeth’s expression told Alexei how she was gloating over this information and how she enjoyed telling him.
The impossible was true! It was as if Alexei’s mind were being torn in two. Dark inner voices argued and fought for control of him as the gulf of empty certainty grew broader and deeper and colder within him. Of course they were lovers!
It was something he now realized he had suspected all along but refused to acknowledge. Only this explanation could account for Katia’s ambivalence and fear, for the change in her personality. He almost thanked Elizabeth for helping him to see the truth at last. “How long?” he asked, clenching his teeth.
“Does it matter? Since midsummer, I think. She jumped right from her sickbed into Oleg’s arms. The recuperative powers of the young are quite extraordinary.” Elizabeth snickered as she went to the door. “We’ll see how you like my husband’s leavings. I promise you, Alexei, she will be better educated than a Parisian trollop when he is done with her.”
Alexei had Elizabeth before her hand could turn the crystal doorknob. He shoved her hard against the wall and pinned her in place with a hand across her throat. “If you were a man, Elizabeth, I would kill you now for honour’s sake. I am in love with Katiana Danova.” There! He’d said the words at last.
“Love!” Elizabeth spat the word and her face contorted. But Alexei knew from the glow of her cheeks and the flashing eyes that in some perverted way, she was aroused by their confrontation. At the throat of her negligee he saw beads of perspiration between her breasts and her large nipples were outlined hard against the sheer fabric.
“I love Katia, and I’m going to get her away from this place no matter what it takes. Tell that to your esteemed husband!” He pushed Elizabeth away as if touching her was foul.
“Tell him yourself!” Elizabeth tried to laugh. “How romantic you are, Alexei. Like a schoolboy. Don’t you know your reputation will be ruined if you have anything to do with one of my husband’s little toys? The word of what she is will follow you no matter where you go; and no matter what, you will always know. You will look at her and know she was Oleg’s whore.”
“Whatever Katia has done, she did because she had no other choice. She was alone…” He could not stand to look at Elizabeth.
“She has her aunt.”
“She was helpless. She had no choice.”
“A woman always has a choice, Alexei,” purred Elizabeth, changing her tactics suddenly. She moved against him seductively, making her own choice clear. He felt the demanding press of her pelvis against his leg.
There was a moment—an instant of time and no more—when Elizabeth and Alexei stared at one another; and it was long enough for the seed of doubt to root in Alexei’s mind. Was it possible, as Elizabeth said, that Katia had chosen freely to be Oleg’s mistress? What had he promised her? Angry with himself for doubting Katia, he gestured Elizabeth away and roughly told her to get out.
“You don’t like hearing the truth, do you?” she snarled.
“Leave me alone, Elizabeth.” His voice was controlled and dangerous. “Leave me alone before I hurt you.” With all his heart, Alexei wanted to see Elizabeth broken, crying for forgiveness, confessing that she had lied and lied and lied to him about Katia. But he realized that the anger he felt toward the princess would better be directed to Oleg. Or even at himself for doubting Katia so easily.
At the sound of a carriage, moments after Elizabeth’s departure, Alexei forgot Elizabeth and his doubts. He ran to the window in time to see Oleg’s black and gold carriage draw into the courtyard. Steam rose from the horses’ bodies as the stableboys hurried to unhitch them. A green-clad footman opened the door of the vehicle, and Prince Oleg emerged. His great cloak did not quite conceal his masquerade attire. As Alexei watched, Oleg turned back to the carriage and raised a scarlet glove to assist Katia in alighting. As she stepped down onto the cobblestones, she looked up. Her complexion was ashen as a winterscape and gaunt in the morning’s cruel light. Alexei could not be sure that she had seen him at the window. Her expression gave no indication. But her appearance was so desolate and forlorn that his heart went out to her with pure compassion. He realized he didn’t care what she had done or with whom. He knew that he could forgive her almost anything if it would return the brightness to her summer eyes once more.
When Oleg took her hand and helped her to the ground, Katia’s mind was in a daze; and she hardly noticed that her shoes and skirts were stiff with mud. Even her hair was filthy and hung around her face in damp strands. Leo took her arm, and she didn’t try to pull away but walked across the cobbled yard toward the entrance to the south wing of the palace with a man on either side of her. In grief and unspeakable shame, Katia had an unexpected dignity. Her back was school girl straight; her head was held regally high though a terrible resignation had descended upon her. The implications of it were so terrifying that she hardly dared think of them. She seemed to have gone to ice through and through as if her costume had become a reality somehow. She walked beside Oleg and Leo, half numb with thoughts of murder and revenge.
Oleg had told her that his patience was running short, and she believed him. If she remained cold to him much longer, he was entirely capable of giving her over to Annjanette. She knew he would even get some kind of perverse sexual excitement out of doing it. He was the kind of madman who would enjoy knowing that somewhere someone was abusing her. She moved carefully between the two men, her mind determined and razor sharp now.
At the door outside Katia’s suite of rooms, Oleg urged Leo to join them for breakfast, but the bodyguard declined.
“So be it, my friend,” said Oleg, shaking Leo’s hand firmly. “But we have a bargain, you and I. That much is certain, is it not?”
For reply, Leo laughed and glanced toward Katia. Oleg shook her a little.
“Bestir yourself, Katia. And summon up a little smile for Leo. If it were not for him, you would be at the bottom of the Neva by this time.”
Obediently, Katia drew her lips back over her teeth in imitation of a smile. But her eyes counterpointed this false good will with determined hate. It was useless for her to tell Oleg how Leo had used her before returning her to him. The information would probably not be believed; and if it were; Oleg would likely be aroused by the story and ask to witness a repetition.
Oleg was laughing as he shoved Katia through the sitting room door ahead of him. A fire had recently been lighted, but the room was still cold. He saw an envelope on the mantle addressed to Katia. He opened it.
“Your aunt is with that priest. The Little Father. She says she’s ill and that the Little Father has invited her to be his guest for a few days in Kominski Park. She writes, I must cleanse myself, Katia. Somehow I must purify my soul and then everything will be alright again.”
Oleg laughed derisively and threw the letter into the fire. “So much for your chaperone. You are entirely alone with me.” He pulled the mudstained fur cloak from her shoulders. Grasping the wide neckline of her gown, he tore the bodice open down the front. Crystal beads scattered across the carpet. He circled her as she stood half-naked, like a frozen Venus before him. With his palm hard against the small of her back, he pushed her toward the bedroom. She staggered, tripped over her torn skirts, and fell. He kicked at her thighs and buttocks, forcing her to rise. But her garments were in confusion and disorder, her mind was swimming; she fell again and had to crawl into the bedroom while Oleg laughed behind her. With her glittering rags twisted about her ankles, she cringed in anticipation of his boot.
> Instead, Oleg left her cowering and went to pour himself a glass of wine. The grey day filled the room with cold light. He pulled the heavy drapes closed and added logs to the bedroom fire. Then he loosened the tight fitting garments of his costume and stepped out of them. Naked, he stretched luxuriously and fondled himself to erection. Taking an ermine coverlet from the bed, he wrapped it about his shoulders, refilled his champagne glass, and sprawled in a comfortable chair.
Katia watched him from where she still lay on the floor. She appeared defeated, exhausted; and yet inside she felt something taking shape and strengthening.
“Come here,” Oleg ordered. When she did not move, he assured her, “I am not going to hurt you, Katia. I only want you to come and listen to me because I am going to be totally honest and forthright with you. Come here and kneel before me.”
She obeyed, curious about this promised honesty, but on her guard as well. ‘I must be very careful,’ she was thinking as she knelt. ‘He must not know how much I hate him.’ She was thinking of murder again and the realization made her body shake suddenly.
“Do not be so afraid, Katia. You are quivering like a beast in a trap. Really, you have no cause for such terror. I offer you a simple bargain. Nothing more. Now,” he stroked her cheek gently as he spoke letting his hand trail down the line of her throat and shoulder, “we both know that you are not an ice princess. Yet you continue to hold your passions in check where I am concerned.”
“I feel no passion for you, Oleg Ivanovich.” She spoke quietly, afraid a louder voice might give away too much of what was growing in her angry heart.
“Then you must pretend, my dear. It is as simple as that. Do you think your situation is so different from that of other young women? Women cannot choose their lovers. They must pretend. Pretend, Katia. Pretend,” his voice grew hard, “or you will find yourself Leo’s woman; or Annjanette’s. Neither is a pretty fate.” Oleg put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head back so that he could see into her eyes. He yawned. “Enough. I’m sure we understand each other now. My body craves sleep after such a night.” He loosened the coverlet around him and reclined against the cushioned chair. “Pleasure me with your mouth, Katia. And make it exciting for me.”
Shutting off one part of her consciousness, Katia tried not to think of what she was doing. Her mouth was still soured by Leo; and she was nauseated by the taste of him, mixing with Oleg. Nevertheless, part of her remained aloof from the sordid scene and was mildly amused in a bitter sense to see how easy it was to satisfy men like Oleg and Leo who cared for nothing but sensation. The substance of passion—of love—was beyond their primitive understandings. Oleg had told her to pretend. Well, she could do that. She needed time to plan her escape from the Palace Romanov, the murder if necessary; and now she was willing to pretend if that would buy her a little precious time.
‘It is just an odious task,’ she told herself and was almost successful in blotting out her awareness of Oleg’s body and their loathesome intimacy.
She focused her attention on revenge instead. She knew after the night’s experience on the island that Oleg’s death was the only thing that would free her. She knew now that he would never let her escape his power. Even as Leo’s woman, she would remain in Oleg’s sphere of domination. She would be as much his slave as ever. And what would happen to Mary?
She caressed Oleg dutifully and felt him move in her mouth. A volcanic rage was building in her, and she knew that she would have to kill him if she was ever to be free and safe at last. ‘My soul will be damned,’ she thought as she moved her mouth and lips automatically. But, somehow, she could not believe in a god who expected her to endure degradation in endless silence. She would do what she must. She would even pretend passion if need be while she awaited the perfect moment.
Murder. The word was ugly, but no more so than Oleg Romanov himself.
She felt him tighten and strain, and then give way violently. With a supreme effort of will, she kept herself from retching as she swallowed. She sipped violet water afterwards, and then washed him clean with a warm wet cloth. Only when he was dry and powdered did she wash and dress herself. She sat at her dressing table and brushed the dried mud from her hair.
Oleg eyed her speculatively from where he lolled. “I believe I sensed a slight thaw, my angel. Can this be so?”
“I was pretending. Your Highness.” Her voice was flat and expressionless. “As you suggested I might.”
“Of course. Of course. And I encourage you in this pretense. Keep it up, Katia, and one of these days as you play at passion, you will find yourself actually feeling it. That is when our pleasure will begin, sweet. Once you learn to enjoy our coupling, a world of sensual delights awaits us both. Together.”
To Katia it was no longer worthwhile to argue the tired point. Nor did she wish to. She told herself she would soon enough be free of Oleg for all time. Perhaps then…She brushed her hair and thought dreamily of Alexei Stephanovich and their planned rendezvous at Tzarskoe Selo. A few moments with him would make damnation bearable. When he was gone, she would put an end to Oleg Romanov. If it meant imprisonment, Siberia, even death, she would be free of him once and for all.
He was watching her, and gradually his feelings of satisfaction were replaced by an odd, nagging suspicion. Katia’s reflection in the dressing table mirror reminded him of someone, someone he felt sure he should remember. And the expression on her face he found even more troubling than this faint resemblance to a person he had forgotten. Once he had misjudged Elizabeth by underestimating her anger. Now she was in league against him and a constant threat to the security of his position with the Czar. He would not be foolish enough to underestimate Katia although it would be wise to let her think he did. He read her expression with its complex mixture of strong emotions, and knew that he would have to watch her carefully from now on.
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was a golden autumn day, crisp and invigorating; and the Imperial garden parkland and walks at Tsarskoe Selo were crowded with guests invited to spend the afternoon and evening amidst an atmosphere of harvest carnival. Situated on the edge of the Petersburg plain fifteen miles from the city, the eight hundred acres of the Czar’s Village were enclosed by high iron fences, the border patrolled by uniformed soldiers. The retreat had been opened during the reign of Peter the Great when his wife, Catherine, desired some place to escape from the granite chill of St. Petersburg’s freshly laid out streets. For more than one hundred years Tsarskoe Selo had been the retreat of Russia’s royal family, and no expense had been spared to create an atmosphere of unparalleled beauty and luxury. Two palaces, the Catherine and the Alexander, each with hundreds of rooms, claimed to surpass the glory of Versailles. Descending from these were wide flower-filled terraces with fountains and pavillions and marble statues honoring the greats of Russian history. It was a miniature world in which the wealthy and privileged played and refreshed themselves with scarcely a thought of the real world outside the protective fences.
On the day of the harvest celebration laughter and the sweet-sorrowful strains of the balalaika filled the air as elegantly dressed noblemen and their ladies strolled the tiled pathways that laced and twisted through acres of grass and garden and cultivated woodland with here and there a pond dotted with swans or a marble pool in which golden fish from the Orient swam. A red and gold Chinese-style wooden bridge carved with half a dozen life-sized figures spanned a pleasantly wild little stream on whose wide and grassy shores revelers sought entertainment from strolling troubadours and acrobats, jugglers and sword swallowers and men who ate fire. There was a woman in a tiny immodest skirt who danced on the back of a cantering horse and another who performed marvelously with long vicious whips and claimed to be a New World Indian. She called herself Coya, and Prince Oleg had business with her. He left Katia in the care of Count Proskoi and his wife.
When he found Coya, he spoke quickly, not wishing their meeting to last overlong and arouse curiosity. ‘Count Se
villa says you have something for me.” His outstretched hand held a small brocade bag.
“These are the sapphires?” she asked in a heavily accented voice.
“See for yourself. But hurry.” Oleg looked about him nervously. Coya made him uncomfortable with her long black eyes and wide expressionless lips.
She took the bag from him and emptied the blue stones onto her brown palm. Four perfect stars shone back at her, and she nodded with satisfaction. She replaced the sapphires and put the bag in the fold of her skirt. Then she opened the buttons of her weskit, reached within, and removed a tiny vial of golden liquid. She handed it to Oleg, and he quickly put it in his vest pocket.
“Only once,” cautioned Coya. “More is death.”
Oleg didn’t listen. He was already several steps away, more than eager to absent himself from Coya— whoever and whatever she was. He put his hand to his vest pocket and felt the little vial of golden liquid. He smiled to himself as he strode along a tiled pathway in search of Count Proskoi and Katia. Count Sevilla had promised him that the elixir was almost magical in its aphrodisiac properties and certain to awake the sexual hungers of any woman. In the meantime, where was she? Proskoi stood amidst a crowd of titled gentlemen and ladies applauding a young gypsy and her dancing bear. But Katia had vanished.
“Ah, Romanov!” cried the Count congenially, “You have returned in time to watch this little girl and her bear. Throw her a gold piece, my friend, and watch them dance!”
“Where is Katia?”
“Now, don’t look so disturbed, dear fellow. I can hardly be a young girl’s keeper can I? She said she wanted to join the young people dancing over there across the bridge. Never mind about her for now. What could be safer than Tzarskoe Selo? Stay and watch this girl. It really is quite extraordinary what these primitives can…”
The Frost And The Flame Page 25