The pale light streaming through the long windows of the upper hall cast a mellow glow on the portrait of his father on the wall at the head of the stairs. Nicholas's lips curved in a self-mocking smile as he paused a moment to stand before the portrait. How many times had he sworn he would not follow in the footsteps of his father? Yet here he was, caught in the same silken net that had destroyed Dimitri Savron as surely as the sword thrust had extinguished his life's breath.
Nicholas stared at the portrait, a slight frown wrinkling his brow. But he was not his father and Silver was not at all like his mother. There was no resemblance between the two women except for their strength. His mother was ice and Silver was flame....
"Nicholas?"
He whirled to face the windowed alcove across from the staircase, relaxing as he caught sight of the slender woman standing there. Silver was not flame at the moment but an ethereal creature, transformed by the opalescent light. She was dressed in a loose white robe, her long dark hair falling straight and shining down her back. Her face was in shadow, and he couldn't see her expression, but there was a charged tension emanating from her that caused him a thrill of concern. "For God's sake, what are you doing wandering around in the middle of the night? Are you ill? The child—"
"I'm not ill." She again turned her head to look out the window, and her profile was framed against the glowing pearl patch of the sky. "I couldn't sleep. After I wrote my guardian, Patrick, telling him we'd arrived safely and all was well with me, I just lay in bed and ... It's no real wonder I couldn't sleep. I knew Russia would be a very peculiar country, but I had no idea it would be so upside down." She added quickly, "However, I'm sure that I'll get used to it very soon. It's not as if it truly bothers me. I'm certain it was the long trip and then this peculiar night light. In a few days—"
"Hush." Nicholas crossed the space between them in long quick strides and pulled her into his arms. He knew instantly that it was a mistake. He had acted on impulse, unable to bear the poignant feelings that had assaulted him as he watched her struggling with her isolation and loneliness. He had wanted to comfort not seduce her, but his body was blind to motive. It responded only to her warm full breasts and the scent of her. He could feel the sharp edge of desire harden his loins and tighten the muscles of his belly. Comfort, he prayed desperately. Give to her, don't take. But comfort could be given only if he distanced himself physically. He drew a deep, ragged breath and reluctantly pushed her away from him. He said lightly, "I humbly apologize for bringing you to my most peculiar land. Perhaps you'll be persuaded to forgive our little idiosyncracies in time." He forced himself to drop his hands from her shoulders. "St. Petersburg has many attractions to balance against her faults."
She laughed. "You sound like Valentin. He couldn't stop talking about the wonders to be found here. He even hired four boatmen who sang to us as they rowed to the island. If they'd hit a wrong note, I believe he would have thought it dishonored his wonderful city and pushed them overboard."
"He believes no city is tolerable but this one. I'm not quite so enthusiastic. Every city loses some of its charm when one gets accustomed to it, and then boredom soon follows."
She stiffened. "Do you grow bored so easily, then?"
"Sometimes. Don't we all?"
"I don't." Her voice was suddenly fierce. "I think only dull, stupid people become bored. If one is intelligent and has imagination, one should be able to keep interest alive."
He inclined his head in a half-mocking bow. "I stand abased. Evidently I'm lacking in one or both of those qualities, as I find myself quite often in the doldrums. Though I admit that I haven't been so afflicted lately."
"No?" Her voice sounded breathless even to herself.
"Definitely not. Since you came into my life I've been hit on the head, forced to jump overboard to swim in that atrociously muddy Mississippi River, and been involved in the sinking of—"
"None of that was my fault," she interrupted. "It was entirely your own arrogant disregard of my rights that caused the trouble."
"Perhaps."
"No perhaps about it," she said indignantly, her eyes flashing. "You kidnapped me."
The air of vulnerability about Silver that had been troubling him was gone now, replaced by the blazing vitality that was her most salient characteristic. Just a bit more skillful maneuvering, Nicholas thought, and she would be fully herself again. He lowered his lids to veil his eyes. "It was necessary. You wouldn't tell me where Dominic Delaney was at the time. You're a very stubborn woman."
"Stubborn? You call it stubborn to defend myself from an arrogant jackass ?"
He had goaded her enough. There was no longer a trace of the fragility that had made him want to cuddle Silver as if she were a child. She would be all right now. "Is that any way to talk to your lord and master?" he drawled. "Jackass, kidnapper. Gracious, I'm appalled."
"Lord and master," she sputtered. "You're not—" She stopped, frowning uncertainly. "You're laughing at me."
He shook his head. "I wouldn't dare. I was merely joking." He snapped his fingers. "I forgot you couldn't tell the difference. We must correct that." He pretended to think. "I have it. I will pull my left earlobe when I'm joking. Then you may respond with suitable wifely amusement." He shook his head morosely. "No, that wouldn't do. I'm too witty. By the end of the year my earlobe would be dragging my collar."
Silver laughed and Nicholas felt a river of pleasure run through him. He gently touched her lips with his index finger. "You weren't supposed to laugh at such a bad joke, my dear. I guess I'll just have to risk lengthening my earlobe."
"I thought it was funny." She gazed directly into his eyes. "And I'll laugh when I please."
"Probably at my humble self." He couldn't look away from her. His senses were singing with the scent of her hair, the fragrant warmth emanating from her body. He could see the throbbing of her heart beneath the delicate golden skin of her temple. He had never known a more responsive woman ... and she was responding to him now. Her musky scent intensified, her breasts moved more quickly beneath the thin cotton of her robe, her eyes glowed. Her body was unconsciously readying itself for him, and he found the knowledge was wildly exciting. Heaven knew his own body was ready. He had never been more conscious of his body and its sexual purpose, its animal strength. His heart was slamming against the wall of his chest, and the hard length of his arousal pressed urgently against the material of his trousers.
This restraint was madness. He had always been more Cossack than gentleman, so why didn't he take what he wanted. Even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer—the same answer he had arrived at that night on the Mississippi Rose. And it had caused him a damnable amount of discomfort for the last two months.
Christ, he didn't want to step back away from her. But reluctantly, slowly, he did.
Memories flooded back to him causing a wrenching, twisting hunger in his loins. She was looking at him in bewilderment. How long had he stood there in this haze of rutting hunger? Too long, and it must end or he would break.
He took another step back. "It's time you were in bed. It's nearly dawn."
"How can you tell?"
"I can tell. What room did Valentin give you?"
She gestured vaguely to a paneled door down the hall. "It's very grand. The bed is almost as big as the entire riverboat."
She had been given the master bedroom, Nicholas realized. Valentin knew very well Nicholas wasn't occupying Silver's bed. Giving Silver Nicholas's bedchamber could be either a result of Valentin's puckish humor or an attempt to spare Silver the servants' gossip. The motive didn't really matter at the moment. It was done now.
"At least the bed's firmly anchored to terra firma. That will be a change from the bunks you've occupied for the last weeks." He grabbed her hand and drew her quickly down the hall. "Come along. I'll show you how we 'peculiar' Russians cope with our white nights." He threw open the door and drew her across the room to the huge gilded canopy bed in the center of
the chamber. "Ah, I thought so. The servants weren't called to draw the drapes. Climb into bed while I close them." He started toward the bank of windows on the north wall that reached almost from floor to ceiling.
"I don't want them drawn," Silver protested as she took off her robe, got into bed, and pulled up the crimson velvet coverlet. "I can't breathe...."
He stopped and turned to look at her. Of course she couldn't breathe, he realized in a sudden wave of empathy. Silver required freedom as she did air, and she must have felt stifled in a room as heavy with tradition as it was with ornate furnishings. Poor little firebird.
"Then we'll leave them open. I don't like to draw them myself. Sometimes when I wake in the night from a bad dream it makes me feel better to see the light streaming into the room. It helps me forget that smothering darkness and go back to sleep."
"Forget your nightmares?"
He shrugged. "And something that happened a long time ago." He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. "But if we leave the drapes open, you'll have to learn to contend with the light."
She closed her eyes. "It really wasn't the light that bothered me. I don't know what made me so uneasy."
"Don't you?" He knew very well what was troubling her. He had experienced that sense of isolation himself the first few weeks after he had left the Kuban. "Perhaps you were worried about your little friend, Etaine. Will it make you rest easier if I tell you I know where she is now?"
Her eyes flew open. "You do? How? Where is she?"
"I paid a visit to a gentleman by the name of Ivan Skorsky tonight. Skorsky's a hanger-on at court who makes himself popular by knowing everything going on in this fair city. Of course he could tell me exactly where a certain circus is performing."
She stared at him in surprise. "It seems too easy. I expected to have to search for them."
"Which should prove to you how useful it is to have me as your husband."
"But why did you go straight to Skorsky?"
He avoided her eyes as he tucked her coverlet carefully around her. "I thought you would rest easier."
"I will," she said haltingly. "Thank you."
"Thank me after I've plucked your little Etaine from beneath her fond papa's nose. I don't think that will be as easy as finding her."
"What do you mean?"
He stood up. "Tomorrow. You have enough to think about tonight. You may have trouble going to sleep now. I probably should have waited until morning, but I wanted you to know your Etaine is nearby."
"I don't care if I sleep. Nicholas, I want to know—"
"It will wait." He started for the door.
"You're the most exasperating man. I hate to wait for anything. I don't want to wait."
Heaven knew he didn't either. He had waited far too long already. He opened the door. "I've been told that anticipation is the most exotic of sauces."
"Your exotic sauce gives me a bellyache," she said crossly. "Nicholas, tell me—"
"No," he said firmly as he turned to face her.
She was silent a moment, and he waited, expecting an explosion. Then her expression suddenly altered. "You're not the same."
"In what way?"
"I don't know." Her gaze searched his face. "But you're not behaving the way you did on the ship."
He smiled faintly. "Perhaps I've sipped at that sauce for too long. I'm afraid I don't have the palate of a courtier. A Cossack doesn't taste, he devours."
The door closed behind him.
Silver forced herself not to gaze after him like a breathless ninny. He had been kind, gentle, almost brotherly. He had said little to indicate he was feeling the same hunger as she. Perhaps she was imagining the tension that crackled between them.
Her hands clenched nervously on the edge of the soft velvet coverlet. She was not imagining it. The maddening man wanted her. She knew he did. She had lain here looking up at him, seeing that pale light shine on his golden hair and the devil-angel beauty of his features, willing him to touch her.
And he had walked away. He had wanted her and he had walked away.
What kind of man was Nicholas Savron, for heaven's sake?
The question remained unanswered when she finally fell into a troubled sleep over an hour later.
"Patience." A gentle, almost loving smile touched Paul Monteith's well-shaped lips as he gazed down at the sleeping child on the cot. "You've had to wait only a few short weeks, Peskov, while I've been holding a watch for ten long years. It will happen soon."
"I'm not the only one who's impatient," the count muttered. "There are others to whom I've made promises. You can't expect me to put them off indefinitely. You gave me your word, Monteith."
"And I shall keep it." Monteith turned away and moved gracefully toward the door of the tent. "When the time is right. You don't pick an apple until it blossoms." He stepped through the doorway and breathed in the cool air. Early morning mists enveloped the circus tents; an impressive manor house was just discernible through a stand of birches to the north of the encampment. "Go home," he said to the older man, stepping aside to let him pass. "And tell the others that it will be when I say or not at all. I will not be rushed."
"Are you sure it will work? What if she's not. the correct ..." Peskov faltered and then stopped as he met Monteith's gaze. He nervously gnawed at his lower lip. "Of course, I didn't mean to question you. I only wondered—"
"Then wonder no longer. I've tested her and she has proven true." Monteith's deep voice vibrated with certainty. "You're lucky that I'm allowing you and your friends to participate."
"We realize that." Peskov's tone was placating. "We're honored that you contacted us when you arrived in St. Petersburg."
Monteith shrugged. "It is the custom."
"And the gift of the child." Peskov smiled. "We are truly overwhelmed."
"It is not a gift. You presume too much." Monteith's tone was impatient. "I will merely allow you to draw the essence."
"There's another matter." Peskov hesitated. "The others wish me to convey their concern."
"Concern?"
"They're afraid the child may be damaged." Monteith's face held no expression, but Peskov found him self hurrying to finish. "You send her into the cage every night with those three lions. It's too dangerous."
"Is it?" Monteith's voice was silky. "Etaine's been doing this act since she was five years old. She has a way with animals. You saw her kneel there among those beasts like a maiden with her unicorn. Tell me, does it excite you to know that just one swipe of a lion's sharp claws could kill her?" Monteith smiled faintly. "Ah, I can see that it does. It excites me too. Even after all these years."
"But that swipe would also destroy your plans for her," Peskov reminded him.
Monteith shook his head. "She is nothing until she is honed. Each time she goes into the cage she becomes more finely drawn, her facets become more highly polished. I lose nothing if I lose her now."
"But we think—"
"Do you wish me to leave your fine city?" Monteith interrupted softly. "Perhaps I should take Etaine to benefit another of our groups?"
"I didn't say that," Peskov said hurriedly. "Naturally her preparation is at your discretion. We merely make a suggestion."
"And I merely ignore it." Monteith's smile was coolly contemptuous. "Good night, Peskov. I trust I'll see you at the performance this evening?"
"Of course," Peskov muttered. "I hope you're not offended, Paul."
Monteith didn't answer.
The count reluctantly turned away. "Good night." He started briskly toward the path that led through the stand of birches toward the manor house.
Paul Monteith watched him until the count was lost from view, the faint smile never leaving his lips. What a fool the man was. Peskov would never rise to be more than a bumbling acolyte no matter how hard he strove. Not that the count would strive very hard. He was far too fond of his fine house and stables and his position at court. He had not learned how little the trappings of wealth mat
tered when one was pursuing the ultimate experience. Peskov had actually been surprised when Monteith had refused his invitation to stay at the manor instead of remaining with his circus. The pompous idiot didn't realize how easily Monteith could have acquired what the count valued so highly. He understood greed and had even found it convenient to pretend to have that motivation in the past, but Peskov equated power with wealth and possessions. Monteith knew about power. Power could draw riches, but it could also draw more....
Monteith turned away to gaze at the iridescent horizon. He had enjoyed the white nights but he was glad they would not last for much longer. He had always had a taste for the unusual, like these white nights, but he was bored with them now and wanted a change. Ah, but changes were coming, he thought. Wonderful, dazzling changes. He had known as soon as he set foot on this shore. Every instinct had quivered with certainty. After ten years of waiting he would soon know the satisfaction of seeing everything slide into motion just as it was meant to do.
He was still smiling with contentment as he opened the flap and entered his tent. Yes, he was very glad he had decided to bring Etaine to Russia.
2
Silver hesitated on the top step of the grand staircase. Dear God, she had been too weary when they had arrived the night before even to take in the grandiosity of the foyer of the palace. She straight- cried her shoulders and sailed regally down the steps. "Nicholas, Mikhail, Valentin," she called imperiously, her voice echoing off the arches of the soaring ceiling. "Where are you?"
A servant dressed in dark green livery appeared at the curve of the staircase. "If it pleases your highness, Prince Nicholas and Master Kuzdief have gone into town. I am Rogoff. May I be of service?"
Silver stopped on the third step from the bottom. "Count Marinov?"
"In the breakfast room."
"Take me there."
She followed the servant from the foyer down a long gleaming corridor, her heels echoing loudly on the shining parquet floor. They passed two footmen standing rigidly at attention before Rogoff paused before a beautifully carved mahogany door. He threw it open with a little flourish and announced, "Her Highness, Princess Savron."
Satin Ice Page 2