I tried to relax as we turned into the drive. The Marble Palace stood in its own private park, the trees bare now, silvered with ice, the gardens white with snow, but the palace itself was still one of the wonders of the city. It was large and dignified, a handsome structure, not nearly as ornate as some of the other palaces. The source of wonderment was the exterior walls, which consisted of alternate bands of pink marble from Finland and blue marble from Siberia, the colors soft and harmonious, creating a luxurious, elegant effect of great beauty. Catherine had built it for her lover in 1772, and it was considered a masterpiece of architectural style and grace.
We stopped in front of the majestic portico and Vanya dismounted, helping me alight as the other two cossacks rode on around to the stables. He told me he would tend to Natasha, see that she was properly rubbed down. I asked him to give her an extra portion of oats. I thanked Vanya again and stood on the marble steps for a few moments, watching him lead the horses away. A liveried servant opened the door. I stepped inside, trying to throw off the dread that gripped me.
I removed my fur cloak and handed it to the servant. I was wearing a topaz velvet gown with long, tight sleeves and a low bodice edged with soft brown fur. In one of the hall mirrors I saw a tall woman with windblown coppery red hair and unhappy sapphire eyes. The lids were shadowed with pale gray. The face looked thinner, high cheekbones more pronounced. Shoving the unruly waves back, I sighed and moved on down the hall, praying I wouldn’t run into Gregory.
Even in my present mood I couldn’t help but marvel anew at the incredible beauty of the place. A gift of love from a still-devoted and appreciative Empress, the Marble Palace was filled with the richest, most beautiful furnishings money could buy, subdued elegance the theme. The near-garish splendor of Rostopchin’s mansion was missing here, the spacious rooms exquisitely appointed in tasteful harmony that dazzled the eye. Precious objets d’art stood out all the more for lack of clutter, each one superbly displayed. One had the impression of warm, pale marble, satiny woods, creamy velvets and delicate gilt, jeweled and enameled objects gleaming.
There seemed to be an unusual amount of bustle this afternoon. Although the hall was empty and I had seen no servants besides the one who had carried my cloak away, the palace seemed to hum with activity, sensed, not seen. From the distant ballroom came a curious noise, like hammering, I thought, and as I paused, puzzled, I heard scurrying footsteps and caught a glimpse of four servants moving past an open door in back of the hall, their arms laden with huge baskets of flowers. I sensed activity in the kitchen, too. Although it was a long way from the hall, I seemed to hear the clatter of pans and, softly muted by distance, the shrill cries of the chef, but perhaps I was imagining it. I moved on, idly wondering what was afoot.
“You are back, I see,” he said.
I had just reached the staircase as he strolled slowly out of one of the reception rooms. He was wearing dark brown velvet breeches and frock coat and a splendid golden brocade vest embroidered in brown. He had gone out visiting earlier, I knew, and his tawny golden brown hair was pulled away from his face and tied at the nape of his neck with a brown velvet ribbon as current fashion decreed. He had rarely looked as handsome as he did now, gazing at me with an idle speculation in those hooded eyes.
“I have been out myself. I come back and ask for you. The servant tells me you have gone for a ride. This I did not know about.”
“I wasn’t aware I had to ask your permission,” I said.
“I assume you have gone shopping with Lucie.”
I gazed at him coolly, on the defensive. I had refused to marry him, and, after that night at Count Rostopchin’s, had refused to sleep with him again as well, but I had reluctantly agreed to remain in St. Petersburg as Lucie’s paid companion for three months as we had originally agreed. Was he accusing me of neglecting my duties?
“Lucie and I have been shopping almost every afternoon. I didn’t feel I could take another afternoon in the shops on the Nevsky Prospekt, so I decided to go riding instead. As Vladimir and three of the other guards went with her I didn’t feel I was being remiss.”
“You misunderstand me,” he said.
“Do I?”
“You are cold. There is a snap in your voice.”
“I’m sorry. I—I suppose I’m a little tired.”
He smiled fondly, and I forced myself to relax. He was going to be congenial, then. There would be no sullen looks, no angry silences. Orlov was accustomed to having his own way and, thwarted, was beginning to show a side of his nature I had only glimpsed before. It was as though we were playing a subtle cat-and-mouse game, and I never knew what he was going to do or say.
“Come,” he said. “We will have a glass of wine. It will make you feel better.”
“I think not,” I said.
“You find me so repulsive you won’t even have a glass of wine with me?”
“You know that’s not true.”
“You avoid me. You are tense when I am near.”
“I—I just don’t feel like fencing with you today. I’ve told you over and over again that—that I’m honored by your desire to marry me but that I can’t possibly become your wife. You keep—”
“We do not fence today,” he told me. “We call a truce, yes? We have a glass of wine and be friends.”
I couldn’t refuse, not without insulting him, and I reluctantly followed him into the cream and tan drawing room with its delicate gold gilt and light orange velvet upholstery. Gregory poured our wine, and I gazed at the smooth marble walls that should have been cold but, instead, gave the room a surprising warmth. Catherine must have loved him very much to have given him a palace like this, I thought, and I wondered if she would ever acknowledge his presence in the city. Orlov had expected a royal summons from her as soon as we arrived, and after ten days his failure to receive one had darkened his mood even more.
She knew he was here. There was no way she could help knowing. Gregory had gone visiting almost every day, using the spectacular silver and blue carriage pulled by six white horses that was even more elaborate than the one he had used in England, and we had gone to the theater and opera five times, sitting in jewellike boxes that left us exposed to the stares of the rest of the audience, and stare they did. Orlov had insisted I come along with him and Lucie. I had agreed in order to avoid any more unpleasantness, and he had been deliberately attentive to me in public, displaying me as he might display some prized possession. The city, I knew, must already be full of delicious speculation about our relationship, and instinct told me that this was exactly what he wanted.
Gregory handed me a glass of wine. I took it, still a bit stiff and defensive. He smiled again, and again I felt myself the mouse. He had something in mind. He had not asked me in here simply to have a glass of wine.
“Relax, Marietta,” he crooned.
“It’s not easy with you standing so close.”
“I do not eat you,” he promised. “I do not even try to persuade you to change your mind about marrying me.”
“Oh?”
Gregory looked into my eyes for a moment, and then he sauntered casually over to the pale cream and tan marble fireplace with its superbly carved mantelpiece. He glanced at the gorgeous gold clock sitting atop it, idly examined one of the pair of orange porcelain vases etched with golden leaves. He was deliberating about something. I could see that. I took a sip of wine, waiting. After a few moments he turned, drank his wine, and set the glass aside. When he spoke, his voice was light, carefully controlled.
“I accept your decision,” he told me. “At last I accept it. At first I am disappointed, then hurt, and then I decide you are perhaps playing with me and wish to be persuaded. Women enjoy these games.”
“Some of them do,” I said. “I don’t happen to be one of them.”
“I am puzzled, too, by your refusal to sleep with me again. That evening at Vasily’s you are most responsive. We can discuss this, no? You respond passionately, and I know it is not
merely the oysters. I know you enjoy it as much as I do. This is so?”
“You were more than adequate,” I replied coldly. “You can rest assured you—haven’t lost your skills.”
A smile flickered over his lips. “This does not worry me,” he said. “I do not imagine for a moment that it is my performance in bed that causes you to turn down my proposal.”
This cool display of male arrogance shouldn’t have surprised me. I had certainly seen enough of it in my time. I finished my wine, and as I looked at the man standing across the room I realized that I didn’t know him at all. The warm, jovial Orlov with his charming speech patterns and engaging mannerisms had been a total fraud, a role he played with consummate skill. Dazzled by his physical presence, immersed in my grief over Jeremy, I had never—bothered to look beneath the surface. Although I had often sensed the cold ruthlessness, I had ignored it, and from the first I had underestimated his intelligence.
“I think about it for a long time,” he said, “and then I decide you use me. You sleep with me because you think it will make you forget this man who deserts you in London.”
I looked at him, and I couldn’t deny it. How had I ever considered him a charming simpleton, a sexually magnetic pet? He was as shrewd and perceptive as any man I had ever known.
“It—it isn’t something I’m proud of,” I said. “I—I never pretended to love you, Gregory. I found you wonderfully attractive and I knew you wanted me and—and, yes, I thought an affair with you would help me forget Jeremy.”
He sauntered over to pour himself another glass of wine, and I sensed he was enjoying my discomfort.
“I was mistaken,” I continued. “When you started talking about marriage I realized how—how unfair to you I’d been, and I knew I had to pull back at once before it went any further.”
“You are very honest,” he said. “This I admire.”
“I didn’t mean to mislead you.”
“No harm is done. We have a splendid time together. It is a most memorable night. Rarely have I enjoyed myself more. I am only sorry that we shall not have more such nights.”
“That’s out of the question.”
Another smile flickered, this one faintly mocking. “You no longer find me attractive?”
“I’m no longer willing to deceive myself.”
“You still love this Jeremy?”
“I do,” I admitted. “It’s something I must live with. I hope that time will—will heal these feelings, but I know now another man isn’t going to help.”
“Not even Orlov?”
“Not even the great Gregory Orlov.”
He chuckled, genuinely amused, and that surprised me. The male ego being what it is, it would have been far more natural for him to be offended, and my tone of voice had hardly been pleasant.
“Any other woman would have jumped at the chance to marry Orlov,” he informed me.
“That well may be.”
“Even if I have the hump back, even if I have the hideous face, she would be more than eager because of my great wealth. She would think of the jewels, the clothes, the fine houses. She would pretend to find me the most appealing man in the world.”
“Some women might.”
“You do not consider these things at all. The great wealth never enters your mind.”
“I’m not interested in your fortune, Gregory.”
Orlov nodded. I was very uncomfortable and wished he would come to whatever point he hoped to make. Setting his glass aside, clasping his hands behind his back, he began to pace, deliberating again. Watching him, I was reminded of a lion prowling. Sleek, handsome, he radiated the strength and powerful magnetism of that animal, and, remembering the knout and the bright crimson flecks in the snow, I felt he could be just as savage.
He stopped. He stood facing me, hands resting on his thighs, and as he looked at me his eyes were cool and decidedly calculating.
“I think it is time we—how is it you English say?” He paused, frowning, groping for the right words. “Ah, yes. I think it is time we place the cards down on the table. This is the correct expression?”
“More or less.”
“You are honest with me. I am not completely honest with you.”
Am I supposed to be surprised at that? I asked silently. I ran a finger around the rim of my empty glass, waiting for him to continue.
“I persuade you to come to Russia with us as Lucie’s companion and it is in this capacity that you join us. I agree to pay you a large salary and see that you leave for America three months after we arrive.”
“That’s right.”
“I have another reason for wanting you to come,” he said.
“Oh?”
“It is—” He hesitated, rather uncomfortable. “It is important that I arrive in St. Petersburg with a beautiful woman, the most beautiful woman I can find, and the minute I see you I know that you are that woman. I know I must bring you to Russia with me.”
“I see.”
“You do?” He looked surprised.
“I think so. Sir Harry—Sir Harry tried to warn me. He told me you never do anything without good reason, that the reason is not always the obvious one. He tried his best to persuade me not to come to Russia.”
“Sir Harry knows me a long time,” he said.
“He suspected you might have an ulterior motive.”
“‘Ulterior?’ This is not a word I would use. I—uh—I use a little deception, I tell a few white lies, but it is not ulterior. All along I plan to pay you well.”
“But not for keeping Lucie company.”
He smiled a sheepish smile, the naughty little boy again, but I no longer found the pose endearing.
“Is good for Lucie that you come along. This much is true. She needs a companion for the long journey. I see you are very fond of her, and I believe maybe you will come if I use this fondness as a lever. If I tell you the real reason I want you to come, I fear you will refuse.”
Two nights ago, in the lobby of the glittering opera house, we had encountered one Countess Dedotov, a plump, supercilious woman in pink satin and diamonds who had the reputation of being one of the biggest gossips at Catherine’s court. Orlov had introduced me as “a close friend,” and as he chatted with the fluttery, painted old fool he had casually fondled my arm. I had maintained a cool silence, and, not wishing to embarrass him, I hadn’t pulled away. Oh, yes, I knew the reason Orlov wanted me to come to Russia with him.
“Catherine is a very jealous woman, isn’t she?” I said.
“This is so.”
“Perhaps something of the dog-in-the-manger as well.”
“This I do not understand.”
“The dog in the manger did not want his bone, but he did not want any other dog to have it. Some women are like that. They have lost interest in a man and no longer want him, but when they see him with another woman they decide to get him back.”
“Women are strange this way.”
“You—you wanted to use me to make Catherine jealous.”
“This I admit.”
“You believed that if she saw us together her—her interest in you would be rekindled.”
He nodded, relieved that I had guessed, that he had not had to explain it to me. He looked ever so guileless now, smiling a broad smile, that disarming charm in full force.
“Is this so bad of me?” he asked.
“You made love to me,” I continued, “and then you asked me to marry you so that—so that our relationship would be all the more convincing. You never intended to marry me, did you?”
“Well—”
“You intended to introduce me as you fiancée and flaunt me about town on your arm and—and—” I was growing angrier by the moment. “And then you intended to discard me like—”
“This is not true!” he protested.
“God damn you, Gregory Orlov!”
Blindly, I reached for the vase on the table beside me. I heaved it over my head. I hurled it. Orlov cried out an
d ducked as it flew past him and hit the wall with a resounding crash and shattered into a thousand glittering gold shards. He looked stunned. I was rather stunned myself.
“That was priceless!” he exclaimed.
“I don’t care!”
“It was one of a kind!”
“I don’t care!”
“Catherine gave it to me!”
“I don’t give a sod, you son of a bitch! Please try to get that through your thick skull.”
Gregory’s eyes widened in amazement. “Ladies do not use such language,” he said in a shocked voice.
“I’m not a lady! I never have been, and I—I’m getting bloody good and tired of acting like one. I wish I’d had a pistol. I would have blown your bloody head off.”
“This ‘bloody’ is not a nice word at all, I think. In England it has a bad meaning indeed. No?”
“You’re bloody right!”
Gregory couldn’t control himself any longer. He burst into gales of robust laughter, a rich, hearty sound that made me all the angrier. I glared at him, fuming, and finally all the fight went out of me and he stopped laughing. I was exhausted, but I felt much, much better.
“You really know how to fire a pistol?” he inquired.
“I happen to be a crack shot.”
“This I would never have suspected.”
“There are a lot of things about me you would never have suspected.”
“I see the fire in your eyes. It is most startling. You are very beautiful when you are angry like this. You have the fiery spirit. You might almost be Russian.”
“Go to hell,” I said wearily.
“I do not intend to discard you after I have won Catherine’s favor again, Marietta. This is not my intention at all. I intend to send you back to America a very wealthy woman. From the first this is my intention.”
When Love Commands Page 30