by The Countess
Ignoring her feeble attempts to free herself from his grasp, he seated her in the nearest chair and fetched a glass of wine.
"Drink this - without argument."
He put the glass to her lips and waited patiently while she took a few sips. It was hard not to feel sorry for her.
"I had no right to say what I did. I have upset you terribly."
"That has been your intention since the day we first met, Colonel. Why should you care, now you have succeeded?"
"I don't know; but I am still troubled. Are you feeling better?"
His concern was an opportunity to have her revenge on him for all the indignities he had heaped on her head, but she found herself unable to do so and merely nodded.
"Good. Would you care to take the air? I have many thoroughbred horses in the stables which may interest you."
"Thank you, Colonel," Alexandreya said. She was grateful that he did not press the subject. There was a familiar gleam in his eyes as he helped her to her feet.
"I have not changed my mind about you, Countess. For a moment we shared past injuries, that is all."
Alexandreya looked up at him curiously as they strolled towards the stables.
"If you believe love to be such a farce, why do you allow Andre and Natasha to meet here?"
"I am not attempting to further the course of true love, if that's what you mean," Dmitri answered dryly. "I've told you, I use people."
"My sister?"
A savage expletive broke from his lips that sent the colour surging into her cheeks.
"Give me credit for some decent feelings. I have a few left," he snapped. "Bruckner and I have an arrangement; call it part of the war game, if you wish."
"I don't understand." Alexandreya had no knowledge of politics or of the deadly, secret war waged within the Empress's court.
"No, of course, you would not. Bratz must be heaven compared to St. Petersburg." Dmitri halted in the stable doorway and folded his arms. "What do you think of my horses?"
Alexandreya found herself admiring some of the most magnificent animals she had ever seen. Proud, stalwart stallions, mostly of Arabian stock, among them Dmitri's own white mount and several mares, who turned to stare at her as she approached nearer.
"I have never seen the like of them," she confessed. "Are they all thoroughbreds?"
"Every one."
She paused beside a mare, slightly smaller than the others, whose gleaming coat was almost the colour of her own fiery hair.
"She is my favourite, apart from my own," Dmitri nodded towards the white stallion. "I've been training her since she was a year old."
Leaning over into the stall, he caressed the red coat. He loved these animals, Alexandreya thought, and books, and a place to retire to away from the rest of the world - at least he seemed to. Which was the real man? This one, unexpectedly gentle and vulnerable, or the tough, self-made cynic who took pleasure in making enemies?
"How do you make use of Andre, Colonel Varanov?"
Alexandreya could not forget his words, which seemed to have a threatening air about them.
'Tallow him to use the hunting-lodge for his meetings with you sister, and in return he gives me information."
"He is a spy, then?"
"You could call him that; Major Krylenko would most certainly call him a traitor. However, I prefer to think of him as a friend in the enemy camp."
"You make it sound as if there is war going on," Alexandreya answered with a shudder.
"There is, although no one outside or inside the palace dares to admit it. Catherine is at war with Peter, and so it is only natural the two households are for ever at each other's throats."
"And at the head of them, you and Vladimir Krylenko wage your own personal battles," Alexandreya said. "It's horrible."
"It could be when the Empress dies and the Czar controls the whole country. He hates his wife and all connected with her. He would be overjoyed to find some reason to have my head on a spike." He smiled for an instant as if the thought amused him, then was serious again. Daily the situation at court grew more dangerous, it was not a matter for jest.
"Once the Czar is in power, he will rid himself of Catherine, of that I am sure. There will be bloodshed such as this country has not known for hundreds of years. The streets will be red with the blood of innocent men, women and children. He is as mad as some of his forefathers."
"You speak treason, Colonel." The vehemence in his voice frightened Alexandreya.
"It is the truth and everyone knows it. Even the Empress's Secret Chancellory cannot keep track of his wild schemes." The Chancellory was an intricate spy network spread throughout the countryside, mainly responsible for the hundreds of deportations to Siberia. It was known to few people, but those who knew of its devious work went in constant fear in case they came under scrutiny. "You would be wise to return to Bratz, Countess, where you will be safe."
"I cannot leave my sister."
"Take her with you. Young Bruckner's life won't be worth a prayer if the Major finds out he is in my pay. He would place you all in danger."
Alexandreya nodded. There was wisdom in his words worth heeding.
"It is my intention to return home as soon as possible. Thank you for the warning."
"Your name is enough to earn Peter's hatred," Dmitri returned quietly. "I have no wish to see either of us in his torture chamber."
He was standing very close to her - so close in fact, that as she turned to leave she brushed against him and immediately stepped back as if his shoulder had been red-hot. His smouldering gaze was intent on her. "Why are you afraid of me?" he asked, almost gently.
His arm went out in front of her, barring the way.
"I am not afraid."
"Then it must be dislike. Why then have you endured my company for so long this morning?"
"Natasha will be wondering where we are," Alexandreya said, in a voice that did not sound at all like her own. She made no attempt to move his arm, suspecting that he wanted her to make that very mistake.
"I doubt if she cares at this particular moment." Dmitri caught her chin in firm fingers and jerked her face up to his. "I dislike talking to the top of your head, although it is a very pretty head. I prefer to see your eyes, Countess, because you talk with them. Did you know that? They tell me everything I want to know."
His nearness was having the strangest effect on Alexandreya. She was actually wanting him to take her in his arms as he had done that night at the inn; she could almost feel the fierce pressure of his lips on hers again. What was it he had said about her eyes? Too late she averted her face from his piercing gaze and turned to flee, only to find that her retreat was also barred, by the stall of the red mare.
"They tell me everything," Dmitri said meaningly, and took her purposefully in his arms.
Alexandreya's body grew rigid with fear. He was revenging himself on her to ease the pain of another woman's scorn. The insult stabbed deeper with the realisation that only a minute before she had been prepared to submit willingly to his embrace.
Dmitri lowered his lips to hers, unperturbed at their refusal to yield, fully confident that in a short while he would quell all resistance. He was his own master and hers too, when he chose to be; she would learn to accept that in time. When he drew back from her, his eyes blazed with triumph.
"You seem to enjoy the kisses of a peasant, my mala koska. Do you prefer them to those of your fancy man at Bratz?"
His reference to her as "his little cat" was surpassed by the insulting inference that she kept a lover at Bratz. He was openly admitting she meant no more to him than any of his other conquests, and she had almost given him victory with her traitorous lips. She threw back her head and stared up at him. In the struggle her hair had fallen free of its coil to tumble like tongues of fire each side of her ashen cheeks.
"My God, but you're lovely," Dmitri said hoarsely before he could stop himself.
"If you do not let me go, Colonel
Varanov, the Grand Duchess will hear of this outrage when I have my audience with her this afternoon."
Her voice startled him. It did not tremble as he expected, but was quiet and perfectly calm. Alexandreya knew she had to get away from him and to do so, she would have to become the kind of woman he detested. "The kisses of a peasant are not to my liking, nor do I enjoy being held like a sack of oatmeal. I suggest you try your talents on someone more likely to reciprocate."
A mask came down over Dmitri's face; his hands fell away, clenching into tight fists at his sides. He appeared indecisive whether or not to strike the proud face before him. Alexandreya did not move; her heart was pounding with such violence that she could hardly breathe, and so loudly she was sure he must hear it and realise she had spoken out of desperation.
"By all means tell Catherine you were troubled by the unwanted advances of this peasant. It will amuse her and gain you nothing, except perhaps her contempt." His tone cut her like a whiplash. "And when you have unburdened yourself- you will still have me to reckon with."
He left her standing by the stall and strode back into the hunting-lodge.
"But you must have said something to make him ride off without a word," Natasha said curiously.
For the sixth time since leaving the lodge she attempted to find out Why Dmitri had suddenly taken it into his head to return to the palace.
"Please, 'Tasha, I don't want to discuss it. We went out to the stables to inspect his horses, that's all. We talked for a while and then he had to return on some errand."
Ignoring the plague of questions showered on her while she bathed and dressed ready for her audience with Catherine, Alexandreya refused to discuss Dmitri Varanov any more. By the time she was ready to leave the house, Alexandreya had come to a decision.
"I am going back to Bratz, Natasha."
"But only yesterday we were talking of finding a house here in St. Petersburg." Her sister blanched at the unexpected news. Life without Alexandreya would be unbearable after the past happy weeks. "Stay until spring, at least."
Alexandreya shook her head. At Bratz she would be free of Dmitri Varanov and the attraction, she felt sure, would soon fade.
"Come with me, Natasha - without Vladimir's knowledge." As her sister hesitated, she added softly, "Bring Andre - or arrange for him to follow us when it is safe."
"You would allow him to live in your home?" Natasha breathed. "Alexa, I do not deserve this. I have brought shame on our family. Think how people will talk."
"Then we will shut them out," Alexandreya declared. "You are all I have now. I want you to come home."
A few minutes before three o'clock, the carriage deposited Alexandreya at the side entrance to the palace, where a servant was waiting to escort her to the apartments of the Grand Duchess.
She passed through long, thickly carpeted corridors where the walls were lined with portraits of past rulers of Russia; up numerous marble staircases with gold handrails and was completely lost by the time the servant halted before a massive door, into which were carved the delicate faces of a dozen or more cherubs. It swung back noiselessly to admit her into Catherine's presence.
"Countess Romanova, how prompt you are! We shall be friends, I think." Catherine astounded the ladies-in-waiting around her by briskly dismissing them and actually rising to greet the new arrival.
"Your Imperial Highness."
Alexandreya curtsied respectfully. She had chosen to wear a gown of rich blue velvet, instead of the pink silk Anya had pressed for her. Now she was glad, for she saw the Grand Duchess was attired in that colour. It made her look younger and did not distract too much attention from her crowning glory - the beautifully dressed hair adorned with pearls.
"Come and sit beside me, Alexandreya Nikolevna." Catherine sat down again and patted the empty place beside her. "We must have a long talk. How do you like my St. Petersburg?" She had a natural way of putting people at their ease when she wished and Alexandreya's nervousness disappeared.
"I am greatly impressed," she answered truthfully. "Some of the streets are quite beautiful. It is like living in the country when one can look out of the windows and see rows of trees instead of more houses."
"At last, someone who has an appreciation of the country," Catherine said with enthusiasm. "I am sick of having gossiping wretches about me, most of whom are too frightened to venture out of doors lest they are stricken with some ailment or other. You went riding this morning, did you not?"
"Why, yes. With my sister."
"I saw you while I, too, was enjoying the air. You handle a horse well. I like to see that. Where did you go?"
"My sister was showing me the countryside."
"Not far from my palace at Peterhof, perhaps?" Catherine had put two and two together after a brief encounter with her personal guard commander, who was not in the best of tempers. "Did you by any chance meet Colonel Varanov?"
Alexandreya knew it was useless to deny it; Catherine was watching her intently.
"We did encounter each other - unexpectedly."
"Then it is you I must upbraid for causing his foul mood. I have the impression you are a thorn in the side of my poor Dmitri. He has not been the same since your arrival."
"Colonel Varanov and I barely know each other," Alex-andreya protested. "This was only the third time we had met and it was purely by accident."
"Of course it was." Catherine smiled, not believing a word. Dmitri was a man of purpose. With him, nothing was accidental.
She rang the tiny gold bell at her fingertips and tea was brought in and laid on the table in front of them. The tea was poured into wafer-thin cups of pure gold, from a small teapot of fine bone china. It came from a village in the Ural mountains, Catherine told her when Alexandreya voiced her admiration and the men who made it were among the finest craftsmen in the world. Later, she said, they would go on a tour of the library and the art gallery which she felt would interest her guest. Alexandreya found herself wondering if Dmitri had divulged their conversation at the hunting-lodge.
They were destined never to finish their tea. An urgent knocking on the door, followed by Dmitri's tall figure striding across the room towards them, made Catherine leap to her feet in surprise and anger.
"Colonel Varanov, have you taken leave of your senses? How dare you enter this room without my leave?"
"Your Imperial Highness, forgive me." Dmitri ignored Alexandreya's presence, if he even noticed it. He had eyes only for Catherine. "There is no time for formalities."
Something in his expression stopped another outburst from Catherine. She stiffened, searching his face with anxious eyes as if frightened she already knew the cause for his unbidden entry.
"Speak. Quickly."
"I have just left the apartments of the Empress. She collapsed a few minutes ago." He paused, his face hardening. "The news is bad - the worst I could ever bring you. Her Imperial Majesty is dead."
A cry was torn from Catherine's lips. Her eyes glazed as if she might faint, but she recovered and crossed herself with two fingers as was the Russian custom.
"God help Russia," she whispered. "It has come sooner than we expected. You have not said, the Empress is dead, long live the Czar, Colonel," she added in an odd tone of voice.
"Would you have me make a mockery of this terrible hour?" Dmitri asked flatly.
"No, my friend, the mockery will come soon enough now Peter has the throne. God help Russia," she repeated and then in a harsh whisper, "God help us, Dmitri."
CHAPTER FOUR
Her Imperial Majesty, Elizabeth Petrovna, Empress of all the Russias and daughter of Peter the Great, was buried beside her father in the family vault after lying in state for three days in the private chapel she had used daily. During the twenty-one years on the throne, Elizabeth had always been vain and extravagant. At the time of her death, her wardrobe was found to contain fifteen thousand dresses, paid for by extra taxes and burdens imposed on the unfortunate peasants. She had inher
ited her father's temper and was well-known for her sudden rages and extreme punishments. But if Elizabeth had been cruel, there were some people at court who considered her reign to have been mild compared to the one to come, when Peter, her nephew, assumed the full powers of the throne.
Throughout the long funeral service, the new ruler of Russia talked incessantly to courtiers about him, made jokes on the weather and how there were people who would rue the day they had bowed to Elizabeth's wishes, and generally made known his boredom at the show of pomp, with complete disregard to the fact that the church was packed to full capacity. There was a feeling of relief that Catherine at least had gone into mourning - a gesture appreciated even by members of the Czar's household.
Alexandreya was present at the church for the funeral and later, she attended the cathedral when Peter III, Duke of Holstein, was officially anointed as Czar and Autocrat of all the Russias, showing the same bad taste in manners at each ceremony.
There had been no contact with Dmitri since her visit to the palace had ended so abruptly. Catherine had dismissed her at once, voicing a natural desire to be alone, and had given instructions that her guest was to be escorted home.
Alexandreya had followed Dmitri down the marble staircase and along the corridors, feeling as if she had intruded into another world. He strode in front of her giving no indication that he wished her to speak. She desperately wanted to do so, to apologise for her behaviour that morning, but his attitude deterred her. He saw her to the waiting carriage, closed the door firmly behind her, and was already on his way back upstairs before it moved off. No word had passed between them, neither of anger nor apology. They were as strangers.
The brief glimpses she had of him, as Catherine's escort during the next few days, were of a man carved out of. stone. If he was ever aware of her presence he gave no sign and when she happened to be leaving the house one day and he rode by at the head of his druzhinia of guards, he stared straight through her as if she had not been there.