gone from hot to cold. But then, she supposed, it was such a long way from the kitchen to the dining room that there was little choice.
She couldn't believe that people paid through the nose for the privilege of staying in this old pile, perhaps on the off-chance that they would get to have a drink and rub noses with the present lord and lady—who were, thank God, traveling on the Continent at present.
What the hell would Misha think? she asked herself. She'd thought it would be so romantic, so idyllic.
Ah, well, she told herself, the rain has let up, the shoot will soon be over, and Misha is on his way. Somehow or other they would grin and bear it.
With a finger she deftly dabbed a bit more of the purplish currant blusher to her cheekbones, then began carefully spreading it out with her fingertips, thinning it toward the edges just so, not too much. She sat back, then leaned forward, her eyes concentrating on her reflection once again.
That'll do it, she thought. Now, just a bit more of that new port-colored lipstick. She found the golden tube among a pile of cosmetics on the dresser, and carefully brushed it across her generous lips, then blotted, and studied them in the mirror.
"Purr ...feet," she told her reflection.
"So you're so desperate you're talking to yourself now?" said a voice from behind her.
Serena jerked around. "Jason!" she cried. "You're an angel from heaven. Just in time to help me pick out something to wear tonight."
"So Magic Fingers is descending upon us, I take it," Jason said. He flipped his nearly waist-length dark brown hair with its bold blond skunk stripes out of his eyes.
"Yes," Serena said. "He's supposed to be here in time for dinner."
"I got the Times and the Daily Telegraph," Jason said. "They both have fabu reviews of his concerts. You'd think he was the second coming." He flapped the newspapers against the black leather jeans he seemed to live in.
"Oh, Jason, you're a sweetheart," Serena said. "I'd forgotten all about the papers. You'll have to tell me what they say." She giggled. "Misha'll think I'm really keeping up."
"Should I read them to you?" Jason asked.
"Skim," Serena said. "The highlights. You know." She fumbled through the multitude of bottles on the dressing table until she found the one that contained her magic potion—a perfume made especially for her with lots of vetiver, various citrus notes, a hint of floral. It was an exotic scent that she knew Misha was crazy about. She began dabbing it generously around her ears, down her throat, at her wrists, between her breasts and thighs.
Jason sat down on the worn Turkish carpet, crossing his big logger boots in the lotus position, and riffled through the Times until he found the review there. He cleared his throat.
" 'The Liszt Sonata in B Minor,'" he began, " 'has never been played more diabolically or erotically than in Mikhail Levin's brilliant interpretation of it the last two evenings in the Royal Albert Hall.'"
"Diabolical! Erotic!" Serena cried with delight. She slapped a hand against the dresser and laughed. "Oh, Misha will love that, won't he?"
"I guess so," Jason said. He grinned. "If he plays like he looks, then it's got to be hot."
"Read, you naughty boy," Serena said as she began brushing her hair.
Jason continued. " 'Levin has exposed everything imaginable in this virtual autobiography of Liszt—' "
"What the hell does that mean?" Serena asked.
"I don't have a clue," Jason said, laughing. He squinted in the dim light as he continued skimming the article. "Whoa! Get this shit! 'Levin is the embodiment of the Romantic, a Byronic superman.' "
Serena squealed. "I don't believe it! My little Misha!"
"I bet he's not so little," Jason quipped.
"Skim!" Serena said.
Jason went on. " 'He cuts a proud, irresistible figure and represents the epitome in behavior, looks, and achievement of the true Romantic hero.' "
Jason stopped and looked up at Serena. "This is too much." Jason laughed. "I think I'm falling in love with him." He pushed the sleeves of his sweater up above his elbows, and the tattoos that covered his arms undulated as he moved the newspaper about.
"He's off-limits," Serena teased, brushing her hair in long, even strokes. "Keep skimming."
" 'The Faustian theme—' " Jason began.
"Oh, God, Jason," Serena cried. "Spare me. That's enough. That's already more than I want to know. I don't need to know any of the boring details."
"What about the Daily Telegraph?" Jason asked.
"Forget it," Serena said. "Where's Bennett, by the way?" she asked.
"The last I saw him," Jason replied, "he was sneaking out to the stables with one of the models."
"You're kidding?" Serena said "Going for a ride, maybe?"
"Ride one of the stable boys is more like it," Jason said.
"Naughty, naughty," Serena said. "I thought all these boys and girls would be pretty straight arrows. Coming from such stuffy, rich old families and all."
"No way," Jason said. "The boys have all gone to those fancy schools where they diddle each other till they're in college. A couple of them hit on me. I don't know about the girls, but nearly all of them—boys and girls—do a lot of drugs."
Serena got up from the dressing table and walked over to the huge armoire where she had hung most of her clothes. She swung its doors open wide. "Look," she said. "Go through there and see what you think."
Jason began pushing hangers, glancing through the large selection of beautiful dresses and gowns. Suddenly he stopped. "This is fabu!" he said excitedly. "This is it!"
He jerked the gown out of the armoire and held it up in front of Serena with a flourish.
"Oh, one of the Galliano's from Dior," Serena said. "Do you think so, Jason?"
"Definitely," he said with a nod. "It's just the thing. Magic Fingers will love it."
Serena looked at the dress. She took it from Jason and held it up against her body, eyeing herself in the big cheval mirror in the corner. What a fabulous concoction, she thought. It had a silk brocade jacket that was made almost like a doublet, cinched in very tight at the waist and flared out around the hips. It was a creamy white with pinkish flowers and gold-green foliage. A hood attached to the jacket was lined with nutria dyed a royal blue and decorated with silk flowers in various shades of blue. Worn under the jacket was a ribbed rayon turtleneck that glimmered gold. The skirt was a gold lam£ bias mermaid cut that was embossed with flowers.
"If you get cold at dinner," Jason said, "you can wear the hood."
Serena laughed. "Not a bad idea," she said. Then she looked at him. "You're sure that Misha would like it?"
"You out of your mind, girl?" Jason said. "Of course he will."
"That's settled, then," Serena said. "Thank God."
"Thank God what?" a mellifluous baritone asked from behind the two of them.
Serena turned around and saw Misha standing there, suitcase and garment bag in hand, watching them with a smile of amusement.
"You're here already," she squealed. She dropped the dress to the floor and rushed into his arms.
"Yes," he said, setting down his suitcase and laying his garment bag across it. He eagerly embraced her, reveling in the feel of her body against his. He kissed her with abandon, ignoring Jason for the moment, then drew back, looking into her eyes.
"I'm so glad to see you," he said, gently squeezing her shoulders.
"You can't be happier than I am," Serena breathed excitedly.
Misha looked over her shoulder and saw Jason, rescued dress in hand, watching them. The young man's face was flushed with embarrassment, witnessing their intimacy. He quickly averted his eyes and hung the dress on the armoire's open door.
"Hi, Jason," Misha said. He gave Serena a peck on the lips, then went over and shook hands with Jason. "How's the shoot been going?" he asked.
"I think I'd better let the boss lady fill you in," Jason said.
"Ah-ha," Misha said, taking Serena's hand in his as she joi
ned them. "That bad?"
"Not really," Jason said. "Anyway, I'll leave you two alone. I've got to start setting up for tonight." He started toward the bedroom door.
"See you later," Serena said. "And Jason?"
He turned at the door and looked at her. "Thanks a lot. For everything."
"No problem," he said, grinning. He turned back around and left, quietly closing the bedroom door behind him.
"He's a nice kid," Misha said.
"Yeah," Serena said, "he is." She put an arm around his waist and snuggled close to him.
With a finger Misha tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. His expression was solemn. "We've got to talk," he said.
Serena frowned. "You look so ... so grim," she said. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he said, reassuringly. "There's just some things we need to discuss. Let's get comfy, okay?"
"Sure," Serena said. She sat down on the edge of the huge canopied bed, then scooted back against the pillows, watching Misha take off his jacket and shoes. He joined her, taking one of her hands in his.
"You're making me nervous, Misha," she said anxiously. "What's this all about?"
He looked at her. "I've asked you before, but I want to know for certain now." He took her other hand now, covering both of hers with his. "Do you really want to be with me all the time, Serena?" he asked. "Do you really want to get married?"
Serena's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment she couldn't respond. Then she slowly began to nod. "Y-yes, Misha," she stuttered. "I—I really do."
"One last time," he said. "You're absolutely certain?"
She nodded again. "Yes," she said with more conviction. "Yes, Misha. Yes, yes!"
He pulled her to him then and kissed her passionately, overjoyed with her words. "Oh, Serena, you can't imagine what this means to me," he said breathlessly. "It makes me the happiest man in the world to know that you love me."
"And I do, Misha," she said. "I do love you, and I want to marry you. This is not a game. You're the only man who's ever made me feel like a woman. You're the only man ...well, the only man whose children I've ever wanted to have."
Tears sprang into Misha's eyes, and he hugged her again. He could hardly believe his ears. To think that this sublime creature loves me! And to think that she wants to have my children!
He began to smother her with kisses, pulling her bathrobe from her exquisite body in a frenzy of desire. Within moments they both lay naked on the bed, frantically kissing, licking, stroking, probing as he mounted her, their desire for each other so profound and all-consuming that they reached that ultimate wave of ecstasy almost instantly, their cries of pleasure mingling with the juices of their love.
Later, cuddled next to each other, Misha didn't think that he had ever felt so fulfilled, so wanted or needed, or as ... powerful. It was a power derived from the love that she felt for him, a power that meant he had conquered this exotic, independent, sublimely beautiful woman.
He turned to Serena. "Next week, when I go back to New York," he whispered, "I'm going to ask Vera to start divorce proceedings."
Serena stared at him. "You're sure about that?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, nodding. "Next week. I don't know how long it will take, and I don't know what kind of a fight she'll put up, if any. But I'm definitely going to tell her next week."
Serena kissed him tenderly. "You won't lose your nerve?" she asked.
"No," Misha said, "not now. Now that I'm sure of the way you feel, and the way I feel."
"If you get cold feet," Serena said, "just think of me. Waiting for you." She ran a fingertip around his face delicately, lovingly.
"I will," he said, smiling.
"I don't want to move from this spot," Serena said. "From you. But we'd better start getting dressed for dinner."
She sat up in bed and leaned over, reaching for her bathrobe on the floor. Then she slid out from under the covers, got out of bed, and shrugged into the robe.
"Wish we could skip dinner," Misha said, still lying back against the pillows.
"No can do," Serena said. "And we'd better hurry. Really."
"Okay," Misha said, getting out of bed. "Black tie, right?"
"Yes," Serena said.
Misha picked up his suitcase and put it on the bench at the foot of the bed, then laid the garment bag across the bed. He caught a glimpse of the newspapers on the Turkish carpet where Jason had left them.
"Were you two looking at the reviews by any chance?" he asked Serena.
"Oh, yes," Serena said, slipping out of her bathrobe and taking the gown off its heavily padded hanger. "They were fantastic, Misha. Jason and I got a big kick out of one of the critics saying your playing was diabolical and erotic. And all that stuff about you being a Romantic hero. Wow!" She giggled. "I didn't know I was going with Byron!"
Misha looked at her curiously. She had never shown quite this much interest in his concerts before. In fact, she seemed to have very little curiosity about his professional life at all. Perhaps that wretched vampire, Coral Randolph, had been wrong. Maybe Serena really was becoming interested in his career.
He began slowly dressing, watching Serena as she got into her bra and panty hose. Then he remembered something else the vampire had said.
"Did you get into London at all?" he asked Serena in a casual manner.
"What?" she asked.
"Did you manage to get into London at all?" he repeated.
"Yeah," she said. "The night of your first concert." She turned and looked at him, then shrugged. "But there was no way I could get to it. I had the whole troupe with me. The models, assistants, and so on. It was a night out for us to get to know one another a little bit. You know, break the ice so the shoot would be easier. Theoretically, anyway."
"What did you do?" he asked, putting on his heavily starched white tux shirt.
"Went to Annabel's for din-din, then went dancing at some gay bars. The kind of discos where they let straights in. Then we ended up at these really sleazy sort of sex clubs way off the beaten track that some of the kids knew about. You know. The kind of place where you see every kind of freak on earth. It was a blast." She giggled. "We did have fun, but I was dead the next morning."
Just like the old vampire said, he thought. But at least Serena told me about it. So where's the harm?
Misha adjusted his cummerbund, then slipped on his dinner jacket. Finally he put on his black patent leather shoes with the grosgrain bows. He turned to Serena. "Will I do?" he asked.
"You look positively . .. Byronic!" she said, laughing. "Oh, you look so handsome." She gave him a kiss on the lips. "I'll just be a second."
She pulled on the glittering turtleneck, then slipped into the gold, embossed lam skirt.
"Wow!" Misha said. "Beautiful!"
"Wait till you see the rest," she said. She got the creamy silk brocade jacket with its hood from the back of a chair and slipped into it, cinching it at the waist. "What do you think?" she asked.
Misha looked at her long and hard. She was a vision, he thought. She had never looked more beautiful or more sophisticated. There was absolutely nothing of the girl raised in the swamps or the runaway about this divine, ethereal creature.
"You're magnificent," he said simply. "Magnificent."
"Thank you, sir," she said. "Ready, then?" she asked.
"Ready."
"Shall we?" She held out an arm, he took it, and they swept out of the stately bedroom, and began the long, long walk through hallway after hallway to the dining room.
"That was a hoot," Misha exclaimed as he and Serena stumbled into the bedroom, both of them intoxicated by the evening, the wine, and each other.
"A hoot?" Serena echoed, swirling around in her Galliano gown, enjoying its silken movement against her body. "That's what you really thought?"
It was after two in the morning, and the dinner and after-dinner drinks and conversation were finally over.
"Ah, yes!" Misha enthused, untying his b
ow tie and dropping it into his suitcase with a flourish. "An extraordinary hoot at that. It was wonderful!" He laughed and took Serena into his arms.
"It reminded me of the dinners with some of the dotty old European aristocrats I have to go to a lot. These kids are just younger versions of the same people. Their children or grandchildren. But at the fancy dinners I go to, they don't usually pass around a vial of coke or whatever to snort, along with the food."
Serena laughed. "No, I bet they don't." She freed herself from the silk brocade hooded jacket and laid it on a chair, then began sliding off the gold lame embossed skirt.
Then he became more serious. "You know what though, Serena?"
"What?" she said, sliding her panty hose down her long, trim legs.
"It was a beautiful evening. Extraordinarily beautiful," Misha said, his voice wistful. "The fabulous couture clothes, the candlelit chandeliers and candelabra, the flowers from the greenhouses, all the old table linens and family china and silver and crystal. It was magnificent, really."
"Yeah," Serena said. "Too bad the food sucked."
Misha looked at her with an irritable expression. "Well, the food was typically English," he said. "I expected nothing more or less. But what a room to serve it in! The family dining room is phenomenally beautiful. The carved moldings and doors and those gigantic carved marble fireplaces. All that precious gold silk damask on the walls, with paintings, one on top of the other!"
"Yeah, I guess so," Serena allowed, shrugging into her bathrobe. "But did you see how there're tears in the silk? Even in the curtains. This whole joint is coming apart at the seams."
"I think that's part of its charm," Misha said. "All the shabby grandeur. The wear and tear of the centuries has given everything a patina that only time can."
"They can keep it, if you ask me," Serena said.
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