She would get the key. The switch whistled through the air and came down with all her force on Nicholas's naked back. Pain. Why was she feeling the pain as if the switch were striking her?
"That's better," he said quietly. "Did it feel good to let your anger out? Revenge is sweet, isn't it? But for what crime are you taking revenge? Is it because you're a half-breed? Are you punishing your mother for bearing you? Or old Shamus Delaney for rejecting you? Or is it all the people who have been cruel to you? There have been such a lot of them, haven't there, Silver?"
Her throat was tight and agony was exploding within her. "I only want the ... key." The switch seemed almost too heavy to lift and her hand grasping it was shaking. "Give me the key."
"Perhaps it's really me you want to punish after all. I held you prisoner. I took your virginity. I caused you to be beaten and abused by—"
"Nicholas ..." Silver raised the switch and then let it drop nervelessly from her hand to the floor. Tears were running down her cheeks and each breath was a sob. "Please. Give me the key."
"We both know this isn't about the key." He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. "Why?" he asked softly. "Tell me why now. I've borne the pain. I deserve to know."
"I ... can't."
Her glittering eyes held torment, agony, and something else.
"I deserve it, Silver."
"I don't want to say it," she whispered.
"Tell me."
"My ... baby ..." She stopped, fighting the sobs that were racking her body, struggling for words. Then she burst out, "Did you kill my baby, Nicholas? Did you murder my little girl?"
He gazed at her stunned, uncomprehending. "What?"
"Did you do it?"
He rose to his feet and turned to face her. "I suppose the fault could be mine."
She went still, her eyes widening in horror. "You did do it?"
"The doctor said that perhaps you weren't strong enough to bear a child. If I hadn't been so lustful..."
Relief pierced the sick horror she was experiencing like dawn's first rays of sunlight. "No, that wasn't what I meant. The potion. You didn't give me the potion?"
"What potion?"
"Mikhail said there was a potion made of rye grass put in my tea that afternoon. It made me lose my child." Her voice turned fierce. "It killed my little girl."
"My God," he whispered. There was a long silence in the room. "Why didn't you tell me?"
She didn't answer him.
Pain clouded his face. "You thought I killed my own child?" He smiled mirthlessly. "Well, why shouldn't you? There was never trust between us. Why shouldn't you believe I'd commit murder as well as rape and—"
"You never raped me," she said quickly. She couldn't bear the raw hurt she sensed in him. It writhed inside her, adding immeasurably to her own pain.
"How generous. You excuse me of rape but condemn me of murder."
"I didn't condemn you. I didn't know. You gave Etaine the tea to bring to me in the garden. You hired the doctor and he was known to give ladies at court such potions when they asked for them."
"And you think I was aware of that?" Nicholas's tone was savage. "He was English. I thought you'd be more comfortable with him. You were so far from home—" He stopped. "What else?"
She was silent, gazing at him.
"There must have been something else. Tell me."
"I thought you wouldn't want my baby," she said haltingly. "A baby with tainted blood."
He closed his eyes. "Christ, you don't know me at all, do you?" He opened his lids and suddenly his dark eyes were blazing at her. "No, I did not kill your child! Why didn't you ask me? I would have told you the truth. I don't lie, Silver."
"I know."
"Then why in the name of all the saints didn't you come and ask me?"
"I couldn't." The tears were again falling and her hands were nervously opening and closing at her sides. "Don't you understand? I couldn't ask you."
"No, I don't understand. Why not?"
"Because ..." She gazed at him in desperation. "Because I didn't want to know. If it was you, I didn't want to find out. I wouldn't have been able to bear it." Her voice rose. "I wouldn't have been able to stand it, Nicholas."
He took a step nearer. "One more question. Why wouldn't you have been able to stand it?"
She shook her head. "You couldn't love me. I'm not at all lovable. Do you think I don't know that?"
"Attribute it to my peculiar Russian tastes. For I most certainly do love you, Silver Savron."
"My name shouldn't even be Savron. I forced you to marry me."
"Did it never occur to you to question why I gave in so easily?"
"Why should it? I was holding a gun on you."
"And Mikhail was standing in the doorway behind you. He would have taken that little pistol away from you if I'd so much as lifted an eyebrow."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "He was? But why—" She broke off and made an impatient gesture. "That no longer matters. The fact remains that I'm still not gentle or sweet or well mannered. I do what I wish, when I wish. Perhaps you love only my body."
He chuckled. "Only you would make a declaration of devotion so infernally difficult." He cupped her cheeks in his palms. "Listen carefully, do you believe I love Mikhail?"
"Yes."
"And Valentin?"
"Yes."
"Then why shouldn't I love you?"
"I told you, I'm not ..." She was trembling as if with a severe chill, her entire body shaking. "You can't—" She broke off and shook her head. "Don't lie to me, Nicholas, I can't bear it."
"I'm not lying. I told you I don't lie." He stopped speaking as he realized her trembling was increasing by the second. It was quite comfortable in the room now that the fire was burning high, but it seemed to make no difference to the shudders that were attacking her. He drew her ermine cloak closer. "We'll talk of this later. Come closer to the fire."
"No." Her tone was dazed, her face paler than its usual dusky gold.
His lips quirked with amusement. "You've been saying no to me since the moment we met. I believe it's become a habit that must be corrected." He took her hand, pulled her toward the hearth and pushed her gently to her knees on the furs. "Stay here. I'll be back soon."
"Where are you going?" She wrapped her arms around herself to try to still the shivering.
He smiled. "I'm going to start the fire in the steam room. I think I'd be wise to make sure you're able to pay careful attention to my arguments before I try to convince you of my affection. It seems to have had the same effect as a bullet striking a vital organ. It's evidently as much of a shock to you as it was to me." He turned toward the door he had indicated as leading to the steam area and glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling. "Think about what I've said. Surely it's not surprising that I should love you. You've always told me you could do anything, be anything." His voice lowered to velvet softness. "So why can you not be my love?"
9
The door opened fifteen minutes later and a great puff of steam billowed into the room. "If we're not quick, we'll have two steam rooms." Nicholas crossed the room to the teakwood chest against the wall, opened the lid, and pulled out several towels. Then he was kneeling before her on the furs to unfasten the ermine cloak and slip it from her shoulders. He swore softly. "You're still shivering, dammit."
"No, it's much better now." It was true. She did feel less chilled though still dazed and bewildered.
"You'll feel even better in a few moments." He pulled off her crimson velvet boots and tossed them aside. "And much warmer." He unfastened her gown and corset. "Can you slip out of the rest of your clothing while I undress."
"Of course." She stood up and the gown fell to her feet in a pool of white velvet.
"You look like a Gypsy wench in that red petticoat." Nicholas was quickly stripping, his gaze fixed on her.
She frowned as fresh annoyance pierced through the bewilderment surrounding her. "You should know. It's c
lear you have a fondness for Gypsy wenches."
"But I have an even greater fondness for Apache wenches." His eyes were suddenly twinkling. "I've found they have a wildness that never fails to appeal to me." He glanced down at his rigid manhood with a rueful grimace. "Never."
He was completely naked now and she found herself curiously embarrassed. Strange, she had never felt awkward with him before. She looked away, her fingers clumsy as she removed the last of her undergarments.
"No answer? Merde, I believe you've turned shy on me. You truly aren't yourself, are you, love?" He picked up the large towel he'd dropped on the furs and held it out. "Come here." She took a step forward and was immediately enveloped in the towel. "There. Now I can see only fleeting glimpses of your delectable person. Does that make you feel more comfortable?"
She nodded, still not looking at him.
He draped another smaller towel over her hair and wound it deftly about her head. "A turban just like the one Ahmed, the tsar's guard, wears." He picked her up and carried her toward the steam room. "Aren't you ever going to speak to me again?"
"Of course. I just have nothing to say." She forced herself to look directly into his eyes. She had never felt so vulnerable in her entire life, completely defenseless and without armor. She saw nothing but gentleness in Nicholas's face, but it didn't help. She quickly closed her eyes again.
"Sweet heaven," he said in exasperation. "Whatever I expected, it wasn't this." He opened the door. "Well, the steam is so thick in here you can scarcely see me if you should decide to open your eyes." He kicked the heavy birch door closed behind him and placed her on a wooden bench before dropping down beside her and gathering her in his arms. "Are you warm at least?"
"Yes." She opened her eyes and saw nothing but a thick wall of steam. Even Nicholas's features above her were indistinct. The feeling of anonymity, of being lost and yet safe in this warm, steamy fog soothed her in some mysterious fashion. She began to relax. "In my village the young warriors would go to the medicine man's tepee to cleanse themselves and dream their great dream. I think that tepee must have been like this."
Nicholas's hand gently stroked the hair at her temple. "To dream their great dream?"
"The dream that was to guide them all the rest of their lives. I always wanted to go to that tepee."
"Because you wanted to dream?"
"No, because they would let no women go there. Only the young warriors."
He laughed. "I should have known."
She nestled her chin against his chest. "I never believed in dreams. I thought it all foolishness. Life is what we carve out for ourselves. Do you believe in dreams?"
"Some dreams, but not the ones that come to us in sleep."
The damp heat was seeping into her bones, and her muscles were beginning to go limp and utterly relaxed. The hot air was heavy, and it was hard to breathe, but that only served to increase the feeling of delicious languor. "What dreams do you believe in?"
"Oh, the ones about firebirds and Apache maidens and—"
"Don't joke."
"I never joke about firebirds." He sat up. "And now I think I'd better get you out of here. Too much steam at one time isn't good for you."
"I don't want to go," she said lazily. "I like it."
"I thought you would." His tone was amused as he tightened the large towel around her and closed her hand on the folds at the front. "It's a very sensual experience for a very sensual lady. Don't worry, we can always come back later. We have to talk now." He felt her tense beneath his grasp and continued. "It's not going to hurt, Silver. So help me, if you begin to tremble again, I'll spank you."
"We could talk tomorrow."
"Tonight." He opened the door and pushed her gently into the other room. "I'll be right back. I'm going outside."
"To roll in the snow?" She frowned. "That's stupid, you'll catch cold and—"
"I'm used to it, but I won't insist you go with me this time. You'll find the water in the pitcher on the washstand enough of a shock." He was striding toward the front door. "But I can do with some cooling off in more ways than one." His dark eyes were sparkling mischievously as he glanced over his shoulder. "I thought the steam bath would help, but your effect on me is more potent than I imagined." The front door closed behind him.
She stood gazing at the door with a worried frown for a moment before crossing the room to the wash- stand. She peeled off the towels enveloping her, poured water from the pitcher into the bowl, and dropped the washcloth into it.
Seconds later she gasped as the cool water touched her heated flesh. She persevered and found Nicholas was right, the cold was curiously exhilarating after that first shock. When she had finished bathing she slipped on her ermine cloak and settled down on the furs before the fireplace to wait.
She didn't wait long. Only a few minutes later the door was thrown open and Nicholas burst into the room. He slammed the door shut and stood shaking off snow like a bear waking from a winter's sleep. "I think I've turned into an icicle," he said, striding toward the fireplace.
He didn't look like an icicle. He looked boldly masculine and more vitally alive than ever before. His dark eyes were sparkling, the color in his cheeks high, and Silver felt a surge of pleasure just looking at him. She tried to hide it beneath a casual shrug. "It serves you well." She lowered her eyes as she handed him a towel. "What an idiotic thing to do. No wonder Russians are so peculiar; they probably freeze their brains as well as other parts of their anatomy with this foolishness."
Nicholas ran the towel over the dark hair roughing his chest and then over his lean belly. "My 'parts' seem to be in good working order. Though we most definitely should test them." He took an impulsive step forward, then stopped and shook his head re-gretfully; "Later." He dropped the towel and knelt beside her. "And you have no idea how difficult it is for me to postpone that particular test. It seems I've waited a thousand years for you to say the words you said tonight."
Her gaze shifted hurriedly to the fire. "Oh?"
"Talk to me. Tell me why you're so frightened. Look at me, Silver."
She reluctantly did so. "I'm not frightened," she denied. "Well, perhaps a little. But not of you."
"Then of what?"
She moistened her lips with her tongue. "It's ..." She closed her eyes. "This is very strange to me. I've never loved anyone but Rising Star and I knew she would never hurt me."
"And you think I will?"
Her lids opened to reveal eyes glittering like crystal in the firelight. "I don't know. Perhaps you won't mean to but ..."
"But what?"
"What if you tire of me and go away?"
"I won't tire of you. Not ever. And I'll never go away, I've already told you so."
"Everyone goes away." Her lips were trembling as she tried to smile. "Not that I blame them. I'm not at all lovable."
"Christ, I told you . .." He trailed off and began to swear under his breath. He cupped her face in his hands. "It all comes back to that, doesn't it? Just because the Delaneys found no worth in you doesn't mean that I don't." His gaze held hers. "I find many things to love in you, Silver. Your strength and your sense of honor, your loyalty and your warmth."
She gazed at him in bemusement. "Truly?" She laughed shakily. "But you said I had no humor."
He grinned down at her. "But we're working on that. By this time next year—"
"Next year?" She experienced a surge of panic mixed with almost unbearable joy. Perhaps she really could allow herself to think of a future with Nicholas. "I don't know...."
"Well, I do," Nicholas said firmly. "Next year we'll—"
"Do we have to talk about that now?" she interrupted. Her hands clenched nervously at her sides. "I'm confused. I never thought ... This always happened to other people, not to me."
He frowned and then his face softened with understanding. "No, we don't have to talk about it at the moment. I suppose I should give you time to adjust. This is newer to you than it is to me."
"It is?" She gazed at him curiously. "When did you realize you cared for me?"
"Probably from the first moment I set eyes on you and you glared at me in Mrs. Alford's parlor."
She shook her head. "That was lust."
"That, my dear Silver, was destiny." Then as she started to protest he held up his hand. "But perhaps I didn't realize it was destiny until I saw Bassinger trying to whip you to death on the deck of the Mary L." His face became shadowed. "Oh, yes, I realized it then. It nearly tore me to pieces to see that whip come down again and ag—"
"Whip!" Her eyes widened in horror. "I whipped you! Dear God, did I hurt you?" Her hands went out, clutching his shoulders in an agony of remorse. "And you say I'm lovable? Would any other woman have been that cruel? Let me see your back. Perhaps you need a salve or—"
"Hush." He was laughing and shaking his head. "I need nothing. That switch was meant to sting, not cut."
"Turn around. Let me see."
"It's nothing."
"Then let me see for myself."
"As you wish, Your Highness." He obediently turned around. "You see, it's nothing."
It was true the fresh pink marks were barely visible, but they still inspired a wrenching pang of regret. She reached out one trembling finger and touched a faint weal on his shoulder. "I didn't mean to bring you pain. It was so wicked of me. I have no gentleness."
"Neither of us has had a great amount of gentleness in our lives. Perhaps we can develop that quality together."
She felt the tears rise to her eyes and blinked to keep them at bay as she gazed at the web of older white scars on his back. It was certainly no gentle hand that had wielded that whip. "Perhaps." She drew even closer and laid her lips on the jagged scar marring his right shoulder blade. She felt his muscles tense beneath the warmth of her lips and turned her cheek to rest it in the hollow of his back. "I promise I will never hurt you again." Her words were muffled but the sudden note of fierceness was clearly audible as she continued. "And I'll cut the balls off anyone else who tries to do it."
His laughter held a thread of huskiness running through it as he turned to face her. "Now, that was a tender declaration. I find it most ... moving." His fingertips traced the plane of her left cheek. "And I return the vow. Cossack to Apache." His fingers moved with passionate gentleness to the corner of her lips. "Man to woman." His voice lowered to a level above a whisper. "Lover to beloved."
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