She had never been a beautiful woman, and now, in middle age, had added a considerable amount of excess poundage to that stately frame. One would hesitate to call her fat, but she was certainly well padded. Well rounded, too, I observed. Rubenesque. Her powdered hair was pulled back from her face and arranged in coiled waves, a diamond and ruby tiara across her crown with matching earrings dangling from her lobes. Her cheeks were round, her mouth a plump pink rosebud, her nose a trifle long. Surmounted by dark curving brows, her dark blue eyes glittered with lively intelligence.
A sumptuous diamond and ruby necklace sparkled at her throat, and her silver brocade gown was embroidered with delicate ruby red flowers, silver tissue lace edging the bodice and full puffed sleeves. The scalloped flounces of the very full skirt parted in front to display the ruby velvet underskirt. Catherine of Russia might not be beautiful, but she was a striking figure, radiating power and authority and, yes, great sensuality. Here was a woman born to rule and born to savor all the pleasures of the flesh. As she drew nearer, I felt a nervous tremor welling up inside, for I suspected that she was indeed a very jealous and possessive woman.
She was speaking to a group of people nearby now, only yards away. Potemkin smiled with secret amusement, toying idly with the gold tissue lace, watching his mistress smile at a remark one of her courtiers made. She seemed totally unaware of our presence, lingering to exchange a few more remarks with those nearby. Orlov stood tall and proud, an expectant gleam in his eyes. He had regained all his confidence and, if possible, looked even more resplendent as the object of his obsession turned and moved majestically toward us, her silver brocade skirt spreading, diamonds and rubies flashing brilliantly.
As she stopped in front of us, Potemkin nodded with a studied nonchalance I found both rude and shocking. Gregory made a deep, impressive bow, clicking his heels, and I curtsied with much rustling of skirts. Catherine’s dark blue eyes sparkled with something that might have been amusement, but it was impossible to tell. They were wonderfully intelligent eyes, eyes that observed everything with wry detachment. Her complexion, I noted, was as soft and smooth as satin, unmarred by the heavy cosmetics ladies of her court used so lavishly.
“It’s been a long time, Gregory,” she said.
“Much too long, my Catherine.”
“You’re looking very well. Very handsome too. You haven’t lost your looks.”
“I am most flattered you think so. You are lovelier than ever.”
“Nor have you lost your lying tongue.”
“It is true, my Catherine. You are a vision.”
“And much heavier than I was last time you saw me.”
“This only gives one more to admire.”
Catherine smiled a rueful smile and turned her attention to me. Gregory quickly performed an introduction. Those dark, intelligent eyes examined me from head to toe as everyone in the room watched with bated breath. I stood statue still, my cool composure belying the nervous tremors inside. Catherine of Russia intimidated kings and caused nations to quake, and I felt sure my knees might give way at any moment.
“I see we have the same dressmaker,” she remarked.
“So it would seem,” I replied.
She looked at the necklace. “And the same taste in jewelry,” she added wryly. “A gift from Orlov?”
I nodded, and the rueful smile returned to her lips. I thought I detected both understanding and kinship in her eyes, and I sensed instinctively that this woman was not going to be my enemy. We both know men, those eyes seemed to say. We’re on to all their little tricks. They’re really quite transparent creatures, aren’t they, not at all a match for us. Perhaps I imagined the message, but I saw at once that my relationship with Orlov perturbed her not a jot.
“He has magnificent taste,” she said, and I knew she was speaking of me, not the necklace. “It seems you and I have quite a lot in common, Miss Danver. We’ll have to get together for a cozy chat one day soon. I’ll send a carriage for you.”
“I would be most honored.”
“You’re late,” Potemkin said rudely, fixing his mistress with a scathing eye. “The guests wait and wait. They cannot go in to eat until you get here, you know that.”
“Paperwork. Reports. I’m never free of them. I wanted to finish signing some documents before—”
“It is no excuse!” he snapped. “If you let me handle these things for you, you would have time to entertain properly.”
Catherine looked at him, and, for a brief moment, her face was utterly naked, the face of a woman who was sexually enslaved to a crude, dominating male. The blue eyes were full of silent pleading. The soft pink mouth parted, and she tilted her head back as though to avoid a blow. That look told me all I needed to know about their relationship. The brief moment passed, and the eyes became cool, defiant.
“I’m prepared to put up with a lot from you, dear one,” she said, “but I am not yet prepared to turn the government over to you. Gregory, would you do me the honor of escorting me in to dine? You may escort Miss Danver, Potemkin. She will dine at your table. Gregory will dine with the Turkish ambassador and me.”
Orlov extended his arm. She gave him a smile and placed her hand inside the muscular curve and he led her away, causing an excited buzz of whispers all over the room. Potemkin laughed a throaty laugh and took my hand roughly, tucking it in his arm.
“I know why she does this,” he said pleasantly. “She thinks it will humiliate me, make me look bad in front of all our guests. I know all these little games she plays. She will pay later,” he promised.
He led me toward an archway leading into the adjoining room, Catherine and Orlov preceding us, the other guests forming up behind us. The smell of sweat and garlic was overwhelming at such close contact. He pressed his forearm and bicep together, squeezing my hand between them, looking down at me with a gleam in his eye.
“This suits me fine,” he said as we strolled. “I have the opportunity to woo you.”
“Wooing me would be a complete waste of your time, Count Potemkin.”
“You say this. You do not mean it. No woman is able to resist Potemkin’s spell. They melt into his arms. You will be no exception. This I assure you.”
He laughed again, and I fought to resist his strange power. Dark desires seemed to stir inside me as he helped me into a gilt chair at one of the small tables in the dining salle. Catherine was already seated nearby, and the other guests began to assemble at the larger tables below us. Potemkin and I were to dine alone, it seemed, while Orlov and the Empress entertained the guest of honor. Potemkin placed a rough hand on my bare shoulder.
“Do not be afraid, little bird. Potemkin will be very gentle.”
He took a chair across from me and smiled, his eye glowing with dark amusement, and I did indeed feel like a small bird trapped by a giant, predatory eagle. Forbidden fantasies seemed to shimmer behind thin veils in my mind, and a curious lethargy seemed to steal over me. I quickly took a sip of wine, remembering Count Rostopchin’s talk of mysticism and the black arts. I didn’t doubt that Potemkin was well versed in them. How else could I explain the strange enchantment he cast over me? I found him utterly appalling, and yet … I took another sip of wine, steeling myself against his charm.
The meal was magnificent, magnificently served by footmen in gold and silver livery. I heard Orlov laughing at the table nearby as I nibbled a piece of truffle. Catherine laughed, too, and she seemed inordinately vivacious. I suspected it was for Potemkin’s benefit. The enormous room was filled with bright chatter and laughter, but all attention was focused on the two tables up front. Was history being made? Was Catherine about to oust Potemkin and take back her former lover?
Potemkin dipped a fleshy artichoke leaf into a small bowl of butter, looking at me as he ate it.
“My little English dove. That’s what I shall call you. We will find us a cozy nest. How your wings will flutter when Potemkin impales you with his wondrous prick.”
I almost dropped
my fork. Potemkin laughed his throaty laugh and, throughout the rest of the meal, described in salacious detail exactly what he intended to do to me and how I would respond. His lovely, melodious voice seemed to chant as he employed the crudest, most explicit words, and I tried not to listen to that hypnotic voice, tried not to visualize the things he painted so vividly. When the delectable cream and chocolate gateau was placed in front of me, I could only stare at it with burning cheeks.
“You do not eat much,” he observed.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Potemkin has a voracious appetite. He longs to devour his little English dove.”
“Count Potemkin, you—you are the most obscene, the most appalling man I have ever encountered.”
“All of them tell me this in the beginning. Later they beg me for more of my appalling company.”
He ate his cake greedily, his eye never leaving my own. After what seemed an eternity, Cathering finally rose, signaling that the meal was over. There would be dancing in the ballroom, and tables had been set for those who preferred to gamble. Potemkin helped me out of my chair. People were starting to follow Catherine and Orlov out of the room. I caught a glimpse of pale gray velvet and sleek blond hair and, smiling ever so politely, asked Potemkin to excuse me. He looked very unhappy as I moved quickly away.
I caught up with Bryan in the corridor leading to the ballroom. He looked at me with dull blue eyes, neither surprised nor pleased when I took him by the arm.
“I need to speak with you,” I said.
“I see nothing to prevent you.”
“Is—is there someplace where we can get a breath of fresh air? I desperately need it.”
“I suppose I could take you into the courtyard.”
“Please do.”
People stared at us with avid curiosity, and eyebrows were elevated as Bryan led me down a side corridor. Was Orlov’s mistress going to seduce the diplomat’s son? What delicious speculation there would be. It was wonderful to step outside, to breathe air not oppressed with odors of sweat and stale powder and strong perfumes. The small courtyard was completely enclosed, filled with shadows, pale rays of moonlight illuminating a marble statue, marble benches, softly gilding the leaves. It was chilly, but I welcomed the cold.
“A favorite trysting place,” Bryan told me. “Before the evening ends, the shrubbery will be thronging with passionate, panting bodies. Well, Miss Danver, it seems you’ve finally met the high and mighty of the land.”
I noted the formal “Miss Danver” but decided to ignore it. Folding my arms around my waist, I took several deep breaths, trying to clear my mind of Gregory Potemkin and the horrifying spell he seemed to have cast over me.
“You look upset,” Bryan said.
“I—I’ve just had a very unpleasant experience.”
“Potemkin? I saw you dining with him.”
“He’s deplorable.”
“And deplorably powerful. Fortunately he’s also extremely intelligent and not without political acumen. He hasn’t been totally disastrous to the country yet.”
“Does—does he really practice the black arts?”
“Some people think so. He’s studied with the religious mystics and picked up all the tricks of the shamans, but I doubt he actually lights black candles and draws peculiar hexagons on the floor. He spent several months with Mesmer, and that probably accounts for much of his unnatural power.”
“Mesmer?”
“A physician from Vienna who has developed a method of putting people into trances. It’s know as mesmerism. The subject is fully conscious yet completely under Mesmer’s control. He’s the sensation of Europe, and I’m sure Potemkin learned a great deal from him.”
I shuddered in the moonlight. Bryan brushed the heavy blond wave from his brow. Shadows stirred around us. Leaves rustled. We could hear faint strains of music coming from the ballroom.
“I don’t imagine you asked me out here to talk about Potemkin,” he said. “Vanya was skulking around my hostel this afternoon, asking for me. Once he’d discovered I had rooms there, he left abruptly.”
“I sent him, Bryan. I—I didn’t have an opportunity to speak to him today, but I felt sure he’d locate you. If I hadn’t seen you here I would have contacted you somehow.”
“I thought not to come, but finally decided it would be better than sulking in my rooms. I suppose this is about Lucie. How is she?”
“Distraught,” I said.
“Oh?”
“She didn’t send that letter, Bryan. She didn’t know anything about it. She’s been—she’s hardly eaten. She stays in her room. She’s convinced you despise her. She’s very much in love with you.”
Bryan was silent for several long moments. In the moonlight I could see his face. It was grave and young and lined with pain.
“She—didn’t send the letter?”
“Her uncle sent it. He wants her to marry a title, an estate.”
“She loves me?”
“Desperately, and—and I believe you love her, too.”
“I shouldn’t like to think of life without her,” he told me. “I thought she—I believed—”
“I know what you must have thought, what you must have felt.”
“I have to see her, Marietta!”
He seized my hands and held them tightly, the old vitality returning in a youthful flood. He told me that he loved her, loved her with all his heart and soul, didn’t care about Orlov, didn’t care about anyone but Lucie, they weren’t too young, not at all, and he was going to have her, by God, nothing would stop him. I let him talk. I listened, and when he finally stopped for breath I began to talk myself, slowly, calmly, outlining my plan.
“Do—do you think it will work?” he asked when I finished. “It sounds a bit risky. I wouldn’t want Lucie to be in any—”
“I daresay there is a certain amount of risk involved, but I feel sure Lucie would run twice the risk in order to see you again. I’ll make the arrangements, Bryan. Vanya will bring a message to you when I feel it’s safe to proceed.”
“You trust this chap?”
“Completely.”
“I don’t know, Marietta. If Orlov were to discover—”
“He won’t,” I said patiently. “We’ve been out here far too long, Bryan. You’d better take me to the ballroom now. I have a performance to give.”
When we returned I resumed my role and danced with a dozen courtiers. I smiled at their compliments, fended off their advances and watched out for Potemkin, whom I wished to avoid at all costs. I had a glass of champagne with Madame Protasova who told me that Potemkin had vanished with a giddy young lady-in-waiting and that, after leading the first dance and dancing together two more times, Catherine and Orlov seemed to have vanished as well. I shrugged with cool indifference and went to watch the gambling for a while and finally, around four, partook of the buffet set for the guests, eating blintzes, caviar, and scrambled eggs with a dashingly attired blond guardsman who was extremely attentive and hopeful.
“I’m free every afternoon,” he told me.
“How nice for you,” I replied.
“I often ride in the park. Do you ride?”
“When I can,” I said.
“I have a set of rooms in the city. I’d love to show them to you.”
“I imagine they’re quite popular with the ladies.”
He grinned. “Very,” he said, “although they rarely see anything but the ceiling.”
“Is it a nice ceiling?”
“Divine, I’m told.”
I handed him my plate. “Then I suggest you stare at it and think of what you’re missing.”
“But—”
“I’ve more interesting things to look at,” I said as I turned away.
Catherine appeared near dawn to bid her guests farewell. Standing at the door of the ballroom, she looked as regal and majestic as she had when the evening began. Empress she might be, but Catherine was still the perfect hostess, smiling and exchanging a f
ew words with her guests as they departed. Her dark, intelligent blue eyes were serene. Her powdered hair had a silvery sheen. She was a stunning figure in the silver brocade and ruby red gown.
Orlov located me in the ballroom, hardly able to contain his elation. His lips wore a perpetual smile as we joined the procession leaving the room. When we reached Catherine, he made another deep bow and told her it had been an evening he would treasure forever. The Empress gave him a polite nod and, smiling pleasantly, reminded me of the cozy chat we would have soon. Gregory beamed euphorically as we were led back through the labyrinth of corridors and collected our wraps.
The sun was just coming up as we descended the long flight of wide marble steps to the waiting carriage. The pearl gray sky was tinted with luminous pink and gold streaks, and shadows melted all around us.
“We dance together three times!” Gregory exclaimed. “We play cards together and everyone watches! She takes me to her rooms and tells me to amuse myself while she reads more reports, signs more documents.”
I wasn’t really surprised. “She worked?” I said.
“I know my Catherine,” he told me. “She is being coy. She does not wish to seem too eager to take me back.”
Everyone would know she had taken him to her rooms. No one would know she had spent all those hours at her desk, least of all Potemkin. Poor Gregory, I thought. How long would it be before he discovered that Catherine had used him just as he had intended to use me? Let him enjoy his illusions, I told myself. They would crumble soon enough.
I had other things to think about.
Chapter Eighteen
Our appearance at the Winter Palace and the events of the evening caused a veritable storm of gossip and the wildest speculation. Catherine had taken Orlov to her bedroom and they had made passionate love for hours on end. She and Potemkin had had a vicious argument and he was definitely on his way out. During the course of the evening I had had an interlude with Potemkin, had seduced Bryan Lloyd, and made assignations with half a dozen guardsmen. Orlov was going to move back into his old apartments. Potemkin and I were going to leave Russia together. Gregory and Potemkin were going to fight a duel. The whole city buzzed with delicious, improbable rumors. This frivolous, foolish wagging of tongues seemed to be a major pastime of the court.
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