by Unconquered
“Married to an English title.”
“No! No! She was the daughter of Thomas Dunham, an American whose holdings were originally a royal grant. The family always kept its English ties, and are entitled to use their title in England. When Miranda Dunham’s father died, the title and estate were inherited by a cousin, Jared Dunham. Miss Dunham’s sister was shortly to marry and did. Their mother remarried. But unfortunately, Jared had been appointed his cousin’s guardian. She tried to force him into marriage, but of course he would not be coerced so she became his mistress instead, and she has been utterly impossible ever since.” Gillian congratulated herself on her quick thinking.
“Dare I ask how you know all this, Gillian?”
“I will not be coy with you, Alexei. I, too, was Jared Dunham’s mistress at one time. The little chit replaced me in his bed. Jared is a ruthless man. Nevertheless I owe him a favor, for it was he who warned me I was to be arrested as a spy after Abbott’s death. What greater favor can I do Jared Dunham than to help in the removal of this annoyance? If you want the girl for your slave-breeding farm in the Crimea, then take her. Lord Dunham will be mightily relieved if she disappears from his life. She has no right to use the title, Alexei. It is mere pretension on her part. As to the yacht, I imagine Lord Dunham allowed her to use it in order to get her out of his hair for a time. If she does not return he will not miss her, I assure you. And neither will anyone else.”
“Not her mother or her sister, my dear? Surely they will raise a cry over her disappearance.”
“They are both in America,” Gillian lied smoothly.
The prince considered the situation thoughtfully.
“Do it tonight, Alexei! Who knows how long she will be in Petersburg,” encouraged Gillian urgently. “Think how long you have sought a light-eyed silver blonde for your prize stud. The brats she spawns can make you a fortune!”
Sasha looked closely at his master’s woman. He didn’t like the eager tone in her voice, and her gaze was too bright. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was telling the truth and he seriously suspected she wasn’t. “My lord Prince,” he said quietly in Russian, a language Gillian Abbott didn’t understand, “I am not sure she is telling the truth. I know how very much you want the woman, but remember that the Tzar has warned you that if there is one more scandal over the farm, you’ll be exiled to your estates.”
The prince looked up, then patted the bed. “Come and sit, Sasha,” he said. “Tell me your thought on this, my love. You have always sought only my best interests. You are the only person in the world I trust completely.”
Sasha smiled, relieved, and sprawled himself on the bed next to his master. Propping himself up on his elbow, he continued, “Your mistress seeks revenge.”
“She has made no secret of it,” replied the prince.
“It is more than that, Highness. Her story is too pat. I do not believe a rich man would allow his mistress the use of his yacht when he is not with her. Now a wife might take her husband’s yacht, but never a mistress.”
“What husband in his right mind would allow such a beautiful wife to travel without him? Unescorted? Unchaperoned?”
“There are always extenuating circumstances, my Prince.”
“I am sure you are right, dear Sasha, but I mean to have the woman, and there will be no scandal. I have the perfect plan. Listen, and tell me what you think. We will snatch the American woman, and of course her servants aboard the yacht will go to the police when she does not return. You, dearest Sasha, will escort her to the farm and oversee her breeding to Lucas. I want you to stay until she is safely delivered of her first child. You need have no fears that anyone will find her, for Lady Miranda Dunham will be assumed dead. The body of a blond woman,” and here the prince leaned over and kissed Gillian lightly, “will be found floating in the Neva. She will be wearing Lady Dunham’s clothes and some of her jewelry. After several days in the river it will be hard to tell who she really is, but the clothes and jewelry will lead them to think it is Lady Dunham. Well, Sasha, am I not clever?”
“Beloved Prince, I stand in awe of your subtle mind.”
“Go back to the English coachman. He will have learned more by now that can aid us in capturing our quarry.”
Sasha caught the prince’s hand and kissed it. “I am overjoyed to obey you, my master,” he said, rising from the bed and leaving the room quickly.
“What was all that gibberish you were gobbling with your toady,” asked Gillian in her flawless French.
“Sasha doubts your veracity, my dear,” replied the prince.
“The little worm is merely jealous,” snapped Gillian. “Surely you don’t believe him, Alexei?”
“I have reassured him, my dear,” murmured Prince Cherkessky silkenly. “Now, kiss me.”
At the British Embassy, Miranda was forced to play a waiting game. She arrived to find herself only one of many guests at a large dinner party where it was totally impossible to talk to the ambassador. Her dinner partner, however, was the ambassador’s secretary, who assured her that the ambassador would grant her a private interview on the following day to discuss her husband.
“Only tell me,” begged Miranda, “that he is alive.”
“Good Lord, yes!” ejaculated the secretary. “Heavens, m’lady, were you in doubt?”
Miranda fought to keep her voice low. “Lord Palmerston would tell me nothing.”
“That damned idiot,” muttered the ambassador’s secretary, realizing what Lady Dunham had been going through for months. “Your pardon, m’lady,” he added hastily.
“I have called Lord Palmerston far worse, Mr. Morgan,” said Miranda, a twinkle in her eyes, and the secretary laughed.
Outside in the mauve Russian twilight, Sasha had returned to engage the ambassador’s coachman in conversation.
“You back?” demanded the Englishman.
Sasha grinned engagingly. “My master gave me a beating for finding out so little about the lovely golden lady. He sent me back to learn more, or he says I can expect another beating.”
The coachman nodded sympathetically. “Aye, they’re all alike, these rich toffs. They wants what they wants, and don’t take no for an answer like the rest of us has to. Well, lad, as it happens I do know more about the lady now. Heard it in the kitchen while I was eating me dinner. She’s come to get her husband, who’s been here in St. Petersburg on business. The ambassador’s a friend of his, so he asked her to dinner. Lord Dunham, however, didn’t know his wife was coming so he left the city a week ago for England. I’ll bring her back here tomorrow afternoon for tea so the ambassador can tell her.”
“Well, now that ought to satisfy my master,” said Sasha. He dug into his pocket and produced another silver coin. “Thanks, my friend,” he said, pressing the coin into the coachman’s hand. Then he sauntered off.
Miranda had been extremely annoyed to find that she must wait for her news of Jared, but at least she now knew he was safe. There had been dancing after the dinner, and she did not find herself shy of partners. Most were members of the diplomatic community, paunchy, overstuffed gentlemen made bold and mellow by the ambassador’s good wines. One man, however, stood out. He was Prince Mirza Eddin Khan, the son of a Turkish princess and a Georgian prince. The prince was an unofficial representative to the Russian court from the Ottoman court, and as far as Miranda was concerned he was the only interesting man in the room that night.
The prince was extremely attractive, standing several inches over six feet. His wavy hair and the thick straight brush mustache above his sensual lips were a lustrous dark brown, his eyes a deep blue, his skin a warm peach tone. Being Moslem, he did not dance, and when Miranda had refused several gentlemen in an effort to catch her breath, he came to stand next to her. “You are far too pretty to frown so,” he remarked in an amused voice. “I have been led to believe that frowns lead to severe wrinkling.”
She turned her face up to him, and at the sight of her marvelous sea-green eyes he felt h
is breath catch in his throat. “I am not a piece of fluff, Your Highness, but rather a blunt and outspoken American. I would not offend you, but please do not prattle to me like the other gentlemen. I suspect you are far more intelligent than that.”
“I stand corrected, m’lady. If it is plain truth you prefer, then let me tell you that I think you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.”
“I thank you, Your Highness,” she replied, refusing to lower her glance although the rose in her cheeks deepened. He was pleased to see her blush.
They talked of personal matters, finding confidences easy to exchange. At last the prince said, “I have never coveted another man’s possession yet I envy your husband one thing.”
“What is that?” she asked, genuinely curious.
His deep-blue eyes seemed to devour her, mesmerizing her with a warmth that engulfed her whole body. “I envy him you,” Prince Mirza said, and then before she could recover from her surprise he caught her right hand up and pressed a kiss on its back. “Farewell, Lady Dunham.” She watched in amazement as he disappeared across the crowded ballroom, his white silk trousers, Persian coat, and turban a vivid contrast to the other gentlemen’s black evening attire.
It was then that she decided the time had come for her to return to Dream Witch. After all, she had an appointment here tomorrow and she wanted some rest. It was after eleven as the coach lumbered through the quiet streets of St. Petersburg, back to the boat basin. The Russian night was not at all dark. Miranda found twilight at such a late hour rather unnerving. Then, too, there was the memory of Prince Mirza Eddin Khan. She had never felt so attracted to a stranger before, and it distressed her. Why did this Eastern prince with his mysterious eyes fascinate her so?
The London fops who had sought her out had all been firmly rebuffed. Miranda had shocked all of polite society by being openly and passionately in love with her husband and quite unimpressed by other men. The London bucks had retaliated by nicknaming her the Frost Queen. To Mr. Brummel’s delight, Miranda considered that a great compliment.
The next morning, after a restless sleep, Miranda went up on deck to enjoy the sun. To her surprise, a small closed coach with the British ambassador’s crest on its side was drawing up before Dream Witch. On the box sat a handsome young man in Russian peasant’s garb. Catching sight of her, he called, “Are you Lady Dunham?”
“Yes, I am,” she answered.
“The ambassador’s compliments, m’lady. He must change his appointment with you. If you could come now, please.”
“Yes, of course,” replied Miranda. “I must get my shawl and reticule and then I shall be with you.” She quickly ran below to her cabin to fetch the required items, stopping in the main salon on her way out to tell Captain Snow of her departure.
“Good,” replied Ephraim Snow. “I hope you find out everything today.”
Miranda hurried down the gangway to the waiting carriage, where the driver stood holding the coach door open. He helped her inside, slammed the door behind her, and leaped up onto the box. He whipped the horses up and the vehicle lurched away. She was not alone in the coach. Opposite her sat an extremely elegant gentleman in a white and gold uniform.
“I am Lady Dunham,” she said politely in her best French. “May I ask who you are, sir?”
“I am Prince Alexei Cherkessky,” was the reply.
“Do you also have an appointment with the ambassador, Prince Cherkessky?”
“No, my dear, I do not,” he said.
Miranda found to her shock that he was staring boldly at her. His gaze was quite unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and she did not like it. There seemed to be no life in his eyes. “If you do not have an appointment with the ambassador, then why are you in his coach?” she demanded.
“This is not the ambassador’s coach, my dear, it is mine,” he said evenly.
Miranda was suddenly aware that she was in terrible danger. “Prince Cherkessky, I must demand that you return me to my yacht at once!” she said in a firm tone that belied her thundering pulse and trembling knees.
The prince laughed. “Brava, my dear! Your spirit is quite commendable. You are indeed everything I had hoped for, and I have not been mistaken in my judgment of you.”
“What is it you want of me, sir, and why have you resorted to subterfuge in order to get me into your carriage?”
Prince Cherkessky moved across the coach to seat himself next to her. “Actually I want nothing personally of you, my dear. You need have no fear of me. I don’t intend to rape or murder you. I do, however, want you. I have long sought an exquisite woman with your silver-gilt hair.” He took her chin in a firm grasp and looked intensely at her. “Your eyes are like emeralds, yet there is the tiniest hint of a blue flame in them. Perfect!”
Miranda yanked her head away. “You babble, sir!” she said sharply. “Why have you lured me into your coach? I demand an answer!”
“You demand?” said the prince. “Demand? I think, my dear, you had best understand your new place in life very quickly. You do not have the right to demand anything. You now have no rights at all. You are now my property. From the moment you stepped into my coach you became my property, but you needn’t fear that I shall mistreat you. I am sending you to my slave-breeding farm in the Crimea where you will become the foremost mate of one of my two best stud slaves. I expect you to produce some beautiful children for me.”
More angry than frightened, Miranda burst out, “Are you mad?! I am Lady Miranda Dunham, wife of Jared Dunham and Mistress of Wyndsong Manor! Do you know who I am? Return me at once to my yacht! I shall make no mention of this, for surely you are drunk, sir.” She cried out with shock and pain as cruel fingers closed about her wrist.
Pinioning her with one arm, the prince clapped a sweet-scented cloth over her nose and mouth. Miranda struggled wildly, opening her mouth to scream. But she was unable to scream because her lungs were filled with the burning, sickening sweetness. The prince’s grip was unbreakable, and though she fought madly to escape the englufing blackness, it reached up with unrelenting fingers and pulled her down into its dark whirlpool.
The coach picked up speed as it left the main part of the city and entered the suburbs. Soon the prince’s carriage entered a forest and traveled a little-used road until it finally stopped before a small house. Sasha carried the unconscious woman into the house. The prince followed him, and stared with genuine pleasure at his victim, now motionless on the bed.
“St. Basil!” he swore. “She’s even lovelier than we could see from a distance. Look at that coloring, Sasha! The rose in her cheeks, the faint violet shadows above her eyes.” He bent, gently drew the pins from Miranda’s hair, and pulled her pale-gold mane down, fingering its texture. “Feel it, Sasha! It is like thistledown.”
Sasha bent to take a handful of Miranda’s hair between his fingers, marveling at its softness. “She is a true aristocrat, master. What did she say when you told her her fate?”
Prince Cherkessky shrugged. “Some nonsense about being the wife of Jared Dunham. It matters not.”
Sasha looked troubled. “Beloved Highness,” he said, “I think I would believe her. Look at her! She is an angel, and your mistress is the Devil’s daughter herself. I think the Lady Gillian revenges herself on Lord Dunham for having married this beauty rather than her. Let us return the lady to her people. It can be done discreetly.”
“No! Dammit, Sasha. I have sought a woman like this for three years now, and she is more perfect than I dared to hope! I will not return her. I am denying even myself the pleasure of her body in order to breed her with Lucas as quickly as possible. Here now, help me undress her. I will need her clothes to take back with me.”
Together the two men stripped off Miranda’s fashionable green-and-white-striped muslin morning gown, her petticoat, vest, and lace-trimmed drawers. The prince removed her black slippers while Sasha rolled off her white silk stockings. For a moment they stared at their nude victim, and Sasha said
softly, “How very beautiful she is. Look how fine her bone structure is, master. Though her legs are long they are perfectly proportioned.”
The prince reached out and cupped one of Miranda’s breasts, sighing, “Oh, how I deny myself, Sasha! You know that I always sample the merchandise for the farm, but I must not contaminate this particular slave’s womb with my dark seed.”
“You are a good master,” murmured Sasha, falling lightly on his knees, putting his arms about the prince and nuzzling at his distended groin. “Give me your permission, oh beloved Highness,” he begged. “Let Sasha please you. Was I not born and raised to do so? Have I not always been your one true love?”
Prince Alexei Cherkessky gently stroked the dark curly head.
“You have permission, my darling Sasha,” he murmured as he abandoned himself to the sweet pleasure his serf always gave him. Several minutes later, the sexual tension gone from his body, he was all business again. They dressed Miranda in the skirt, petticoats, blouse, and felt boots of a well-cared-for serf. Silently Sasha braided her long hair, tying the ends with bits of colored wool. Then they carried her back outside and settled her in the coach. The prince caught a glimpse of gold on Miranda’s hand, and swore lightly. “St. Basil! Her jewelry! I almost forgot.” He pulled the rings from her fingers, and the earrings from her ears. “Anything else?” he questioned Sasha.
“There was a cameo pin on her gown, but that’s all,” came the reply.
“Get some water from the well, Sasha,” commanded the prince. “If we are going to keep your passenger quiet it is time we administered the first dose of tincture of opium. She is beginning to stir.” The prince mixed the water and the brownish tincture in a small silver cup. Then the two men climbed into the coach, and while Sasha helped the barely conscious Miranda to a half-sitting position the prince carefully forced the liquid down her throat. She gulped the cold liquid eagerly, soothing her throat. Her brain was fuzzy, and before she could piece things together she was sinking back into the comforting darkness.