Tangled in her voluminous skirts, April was unable to get a good grasp on the wild-eyed Zofia who lunged after the gem and its betraying sparkle. The maid finally crawled to grab up the jewel just as April came to her feet again and darted for the open door to try and cut off Zofia’s escape.
Cupping the gemstone in her violently trembling hands, Zofia stared at it a long moment and then raised her gaze to April’s. Suddenly she hissed, “I will not let you destroy him.”
“Who?” April cried, seeing wild emotion in the woman’s eyes. Clearly, Zofia was demented and reliving some terrible nightmare in her head.
But Zofia only clenched the jewel so tightly that her fist whitened, and shook it in April’s direction. “You thought you could come back and haunt him as she did. But I will not let you hurt him. No, I shall kill you myself first, and you can molder in your graves together then.”
Horrified by the maid’s ranting, but at the same time curious to know what Zofia knew about the jewel, April played along for a daring moment. Softly she said, “I don’t want to hurt anybody, Zofia, as I am sure you don’t either. But you seem to be determined to have the diamond. Do you need the money so badly?”
Zofia stared at her a second and then laughed with a twisted fierceness that took the young woman aback. “You thought you could hide it from me, eh? As if I couldn’t figure out your games, hiding the jewel and pretending to be a gypsy. I recognized you at once. Your mother swore she would have her revenge one day when I took the babe from her dying arms, but I never believed it. And I will not let you destroy Vasili as she vowed to do from the grave.” Zofia drilled a stare full of hatred deep into April’s shock-widened eyes, and the younger woman gathered the facts.
“Baby?” she breathed, her thoughts like lightning as she remembered the circumstances of her own birth almost eighteen years ago. “That diamond was found around my neck as a baby, Zofia. Why?”
“Because I put it there,” the maid shrieked at her. “In my youth I was soft and foolish, and could not bring myself to kill a helpless babe. So I left you in the snow for God to take you instead. And when I returned, you and the diamond were both gone.”
Staggered by the impact of knowledge, April whispered desperately, “Who was my mother, Zofia? Why was she dying? You must tell me.” She clutched at the bed poster for support, knowing the terrible truth was rising to drown her in a matter of moments.
Zofia shook her head impatiently. “It is not important now. What matters is that I have the diamond back, and you are revealed for what you really are.” She gave a diabolical little laugh. “Do you know what will happen when the count finds out who you are?”
“Yes. He will have you branded and hung as a thief. And he is right downstairs, Zofia. Don’t be foolish. Give it back to me now and I will plead leniency for you.”
The maid only shook her head wildly and suddenly lunged past April, knocking the younger woman roughly aside.
In her tight stays and full ball gown April could not catch the woman. She kicked off her satin slippers and sprinted after Zofia in a valiant attempt, but the maid disappeared down the maze of shadowy halls.
Breathing hard, April headed for the stairs. She must alert the count. Ivanov would be concerned to find such a madwoman in his house. As she flew back down the staircase with the blue velvet gown bunched in her hands, April heard a soft cackle of crazy laughter somewhere up above her. The hair rose on her neck but she hurried on, arriving dazed and breathless at the door to Ivanov’s study.
“What is wrong, my dear?” The count was sitting by the fire and rose, concerned, when she bolted into the room. She saw by his expression he was shocked to see her hair half-tumbled down to her shoulders and the panic in her eyes.
“Zofia,” April managed to gasp out, pointing back the way she had come.
“What has happened? You are distraught. Come and sit by the fire.” Ivanov spoke in a strange calm way and yet April was too distressed to notice the odd glaze that had suddenly filmed over his dark eyes at the sight of her in the blue ball gown.
“I found Zofia in my room. She was going through the vanity, and when I confronted her she said all sorts of mad things —”
But Ivanov only turned, reached down to an ornate table beside the chair he had been sitting in and picked up a pair of matching fluted glasses which reflected rainbow colors as he extended one to her. “Shall we have that toast now?” he proposed pleasantly.
Was everyone mad? April shook her head. “How can you call for a drink at a time like this?” Then she wondered if Ivanov had perhaps been drinking on his own while she was upstairs, and was overcome with the effects now. But his speech was precise as he raised a quizzical brow at her.
“How? Because I have waited forever for this. You see, it is time to announce our engagement. I wish to seal our love tonight with a toast, and something you will cherish forever.” He smiled indulgently at her, as if to a child, and then exchanged the glasses for a long flat velvet box when she refused to take a glass from him. “Come now, Katya. Do not sulk. I know you will be delighted —”
April pressed her hands to her head, trying to stop the waves of dizziness that threatened to weaken her now. What game was he playing? When he snapped open the box she only stared at the beautiful collar of emeralds glittering against the black velvet.
“They match your eyes, beloved,” Ivanov said in a voice thick with emotion as he took the necklace out. “Let me put them on you. I want to see them gracing your lovely neck tonight. It would make me the happiest of men.”
April shook her head wildly, choked with fear and unable to scream as he advanced, murmuring softly.
“I forgot to tell you what a princess in truth you were tonight,” he said, and smiled at her. “I am sure your uncle would be most proud, had he lived to see your coming-out. You stole the spotlight and the hearts of men this eve, Katya. It is no wonder that you are hailed as the Circassian Cat. You are clever, my dear.”
Suddenly Ivanov was before her, just a hand span away, and his hot breath came hard and fast upon her cheek. April froze in a mixture of indecision and fear, and he took the advantage to trail his icy fingers upon her neck. In a moment the sapphire necklace she was wearing slid off into his hand and he set it aside. He substituted the heavier emerald choker and secured the clasp.
Suddenly his smile faded. His brow creased, and he said in a low voice close to her, “However, I did not approve of Prince Andrei dancing such close attendance upon you tonight. It seems you encouraged him, Katya. Have you forgotten so quickly that you are my betrothed?”
“I’m not —” April began in a desperate attempt to pull Ivanov back to reality, but he misinterpreted her words and cut her off with a savage growl.
“You are mine. Mine and no other’s. You may flirt with princes all you please, Katya, but in the end you will be my wife. Must I impress this upon you again? I have respected you and bowed to your wishes to hold off my attentions until our wedding night, but whenever I see you playing the coquette with other men, I burn to have you myself.”
April had no chance to scream, only whimper, when Ivanov suddenly yanked her fiercely into his arms and crushed his hard lips into hers. Struggling wildly, she tried to throw him off but could not. He gave her a painful, punishing kiss, roughly kneading her breast all the while, as she quivered with revulsion and rising hate.
Only one brute before had dared to treat her so — and Nicky had gotten his just due. Though she was too close to the count to kick effectively, April whipped her elbow between them and punched him sharply in the solar plexus. With a muffled grunt, Ivanov broke off the attack.
April whirled to run, her long skirts hampering her again. She dashed gasping from the study into the dark empty hall, her blood surging in her ears. Behind her he called, “Katya! Come back. You cannot hide. If you persist in annoying me, I shall lock you in the Gold Room again.”
Her head throbbing with urgency, April glanced right and left for escape
. She knew it would be foolish to head out barefoot in the darkness and the merciless snow. She would not get far. Then, remembering a series of rooms she had wandered through before on a tour, one of which led indirectly to the stables, she turned left and ran for all she was worth.
Behind her footsteps rang out in the dark hall as Ivanov looked for her. “Katya. I am getting angry!”
Quelling a sob, April continued to flee. The last she heard was the count cursing and searching for a lamp as she finally found a doorknob and yanked open the entrance to what appeared to be the conservatory.
To her surprise, a series of candelabra had been lit and rested upon the black harpsichord in the corner. The candles were low but the light served to guide her directly across to another door that linked to yet another passageway.
Suddenly a scale of notes tinkled out as someone ran a hand over the harpsichord keys. April jumped in fright and whirled around, startled, to face the grinning visage of Pavel.
She had not seen the dwarf sitting there. Pavel had chosen to don the bizarre spangled costume of the black and white harlequin. Though he still repulsed her, for once April was glad to see him.
“Pavel,” she cried softly. “You must help me!”
“But of course.” He jumped down from the bench and gave her a ludicrous bow. “I am always happy to help a lovely lady in distress.”
“Please listen. Count Ivanov is coming after me. He seems to think I am someone else. He has been saying the strangest things tonight, and Zofia too.”
“Really?” The dwarf acted genuinely concerned. “Then certainly we must see you to safety.” He hurried to precede her through the door she had found. “Follow me.”
Sobbing with relief, April followed Pavel through a dark passageway and down a series of narrow, spiral stairs. She did not consciously decide to trust Pavel, but merely wished to escape the madness she had left behind. Her thoughts were whirling wildly as she remembered the things Zofia had said. If she could have stopped and gotten sick, she would have done so. Her nerves were on razor-edge and she could not think straight.
“Here we are,” Pavel announced. “It is dark but we shall find our way. I will light a candle. There is one in the corner, as I recall.”
“Hurry!” April whispered, disliking the feel of damp, cold stone under her feet where she stood. “What is this place?” she called after his retreating figure.
There was no answer. A sudden flare from a wick lit what appeared to be a gruesome stone cellar of sorts.
“Just a moment,” Pavel called back reassuringly before she could panic further, “I will bring the candle to you and you can hold it over my head as I lead the way out.” He came back toward her and with trembling gratitude April took the taper-holder in her hands.
As she concentrated on keeping the wick alight, Pavel slipped past her and back through the door they had entered. Abruptly it banged shut behind. She cried out and whirled to grab the knob, but there wasn’t one. Then she heard an oily chuckle as the dwarf slid the bolt home on the other side.
“Sweet dreams, princess,” Pavel crooned to her. “You’d best hope Vasili calms down before I tell him where you are. There will be no reasoning with him then.”
April felt her fear give way to a surge of rage. “You little rat!” she cried.
“You’ll know more about rats before the night is through down here,” Pavel sniggered back. “If I keep Ivanov from killing you, you will owe me. I intend to make you pay dearly for the favor.”
“Never,” April hissed, sensing his implication and feeling the chills streak up her spine. But there was only the sound of retreating footsteps, light and mischievous as a troll’s, and then only terrible silence.
With despair April saw the candle was hardly a stub. It would not last more than a half-hour. What then? In this house of madness, who knew what would happen next?
WHEN DAMIEN ARRIVED WITH Tatiana at her estate on Poltava Circle, the mansion was fully ablaze with the entire staff waiting up for her safe arrival from the ball.
Along the way, the princess had been desperately trying to persuade Damien to spend the night. He finally agreed, letting Tatiana think it was the lure of her overripe body that drew him into her private bedchambers after she haughtily dismissed the servants for the night.
While Damien toyed with her bright hair upon the huge bed strewn with fur pelts, Tatiana complained about the war and he listened sympathetically. He found several bottles of vodka, and kept filling her glass as they talked. Tatiana drank it down like water and was quickly philosophical. They talked for an hour without making love.
At first, the princess was annoyed, but when she realized he was showing the first genuine interest in her that any lover ever had, she was touched and content to let him just stroke her head.
Finally, when she was drunk enough to talk about anything, Damien risked the most dangerous questions of all. He found Tatiana knew a great deal of Menshikov’s plans, since her uncle came and went frequently to her house. She raged about Czar Nicholas’s threat to replace her uncle with someone he considered more suitable, Prince Michael Gorchakov.
“Can you imagine? Gorchakov,” she snorted with disdain, lolling about on the bed beside Damien, red hair askew. “That weak-kneed Cossack and his horse-faced wife have never done anything of note, certainly not at court. And they both look down their noses at anyone who cannot trace their lineage back a thousand years. What matter when you go back to a plow horse and a rutting Mongol anyway?” Tatiana shrieked with laughter at her own wit and Damien was forced to bring her back to the subject.
“I am sure your uncle’s and your bloodline is much finer,” he said.
Tatiana stopped laughing, and her dark eyes gleamed with anger. “Some say —” she began, and hiccupped indelicately, “— some say that I am not fit to be a princess. Can you imagine? Cruel, jealous peasants that they are … like Ivanov and his ilk.”
“Count Ivanov?” Damien prompted, interested to hear what she had to say about the mysterious nobleman.
Tatiana made a face. “Mad old fool. He lost his wits long ago over Katya.” At Damien’s puzzled look, she seized eagerly on the tale, asking, “Didn’t you notice that little whore he paraded around tonight? The blonde in the blue gown?”
“She was striking,” he admitted cautiously.
Tatiana sniffed. “Straight from the grave, that one. I’ll admit she gave me a start at first. It was like looking at a ghost.”
Damien felt a prickle of foreboding at her words. “What do you mean?”
“She looks just like a girl named Ekaterina — Katya — who held sway over Ivanov’s heart years ago. The fool was obsessed with Katya. But so was half the city.” Tatiana was obviously miffed by the memory. “Anyway, Vasili decided to marry her. He pursued her relentlessly. I think Katya was frightened of him after awhile.”
“What happened?” Damien urged her go on, thinking of April still living under a madman’s roof.
Tatiana shrugged indifferently. “Katya left. It was right after she told Vasili that she was going to marry a prince — I can’t remember his name — and they wed and were off to his estates somewhere south. I heard years later that they had been killed in their travels by brigands. I can’t help but wonder if Ivanov had a hand in it … he was so obsessed with her.”
Tatiana yawned hugely, starting to drift into sleep, and Damien started to rise from the bed. His heart pounded with a nameless dread. He had but one thought: to get out of there and find April, to wrest her from that madman’s grasp. For he knew with a horrible certainty that he had uncovered the reason for his own uneasiness at Samarin House — Ivanov was possessed by demons from the past.
When Damien rose and made a move to go, Tatiana reached out with claw-like fingernails to clutch his sleeve. “Make love to me, Demetros.” Her gaze momentarily cleared as he plucked her hand from his arm, and suddenly she focused on his dark blue eyes.
Tatiana had never believed that his name w
as Demetros, for she had seen him fail to respond to it several times. It had not mattered to her what he called himself, as long as he was a good lover. But as she stared up at him, the alcoholic haze suddenly lifted, and the knowledge of what she had just told him rang throughout her head.
“Damien,” she whispered. “Damien Cross!”
“You’re drunk,” he said, taking a step back away from the bed. “You need to sleep it off, woman.”
Tatiana did not fall for it again. “I never forget a face,” she repeated, rolling over onto her elbows, her dark eyes narrowing on him. “What are you up to, Damien? Why are you trying to get me to betray my country?”
Damien did not answer her for a moment. Looking down at the once-vital woman with the glorious red hair, he saw only the shell of the beauty she had been. Drink had taken her looks as well as her soul, and for that he was sorry. But he would not allow her to interfere with his mission.
“If you do not answer me, I will scream for my guards,” Tatiana threatened softly. “They are just down the hall, and they will not bother to ask questions. Or perhaps I should just turn you over to my uncle, hmm? He knows how to make spies speak.”
“What do you want to know?” Damien asked her, with a resigned air.
“First, what you are doing in Moscow? Are you with your father on this trip also?”
“Edward is dead,” Damien informed her flatly.
“Then you are Lord Cross now.” She licked her red lips greedily. “Oh, Damien, I can be very good to you, if you don’t anger me. We can help each other —”
“You’re right, princess.” He looked thoughtful as he raked a hand through his thick black hair, and then returned to her side. “I’ve never forgotten our time together, and I will make it better tonight … if you let me.”
Tatiana smiled with triumph, catching him by the lapels to pull him down over her body. “I still don’t know why you’re here,” she whispered fiercely, “but I don’t care. Make love to me, Damien. Tomorrow is soon enough for matters of war, but tonight, the only thing that matters is love.”
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