Valentina Luellen Read online




  CHAPTER ONE

  November, in the year of 1761, was one of the coldest months the Russian countryside had ever experienced. Villages and towns had been cut off for months by unusu­ally heavy drifts of snow; the fleet was ice-bound at the port of Kronstadt, much to the annoyance of the Czar Peter, for it forced him to remain indoors in the Winter Palace and amuse himself instead with his toy soldiers, while in the streets outside, people dropped dead from the intense cold.

  Nevertheless, there was great activity in the city now the court had arrived to spend the winter months there. The enthusiasm of the Empress Elizabeth for entertaining on a vast scale had doubled itself over the past year as if to prove to the ever-watchful eyes about her that rumours of ill-health were unfounded. She was alive and well and not yet ready to hand the throne over to her half-witted nephew.

  Although it was well past midday, it was still bitterly cold and a chilling wind from Siberia swept across the glisten­ing white countryside, pounding mercilessly against the column of soldiers riding stiffly, half-frozen to their sad-dies. They were returning to St. Petersburg after a long and tedious patrol which had lasted over a week. At a signal from the officer in charge, the column headed down a steep incline towards the main road, guiding their horses over the treacherous ground with an unerring skill that made them pride of the Empress's army. These men were Cossacks, the most formidable fighting force in Russia; proud, fierce and utterly ruthless. They were feared and in many instances, hated by the rich boyars and nobles who were only too aware of the power the Cossack Hetrnen wielded over the common people.

  The snow on the road was thick, but hard, unlike that covering the countryside over which they had traversed so far, and it meant the horses were able to break into a swift canter. A mile further along the road they caught up with a carriage progressing at a far slower pace.

  The Cossack officer frowned and muttered something under his breath about fools who ventured out in such weather, and gave his men the signal to overtake.

  At the sound of drumming hooves, the face of a young girl appeared at the window of the carriage, registered displeasure at what she saw and promptly disappeared again.

  "They are trying to pass us, my lady," she said, turning to the richly-dressed young woman in the far corner.

  Her mistress, the Countess Alexandreya Nadine Romanova, leaned forward to glance out of the window, and her green eyes sparked with sudden anger at the sight of the approaching riders.

  "You are right, That officer is waving them on, can't he see the road is too narrow? He will force us off the road."

  The column galloped by, showering the coach and its occupants with flying snow from beneath the horses' hooves. Alexandreya had a glimpse of a hard brown face bearing a contemptuous expression as the officer turned his head to look at her, then he and his men were gone, leaving the coachman fighting to keep the carriage wheels out of a huge snowdrift.

  "Cossacks," Anya the maid said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Did you see the way they looked at us? Ignorant pigs."

  Alexandreya brushed the last of the snow from her clothes and sat back in her seat, too tired to even feel annoyed over the incident.

  "They are the first signs of life we have seen since yesterday morning," she said. "Let us hope it means we are near a village or inn. I must sleep in a bed to­night."

  "But, my lady, you cannot think of such a thing," Anya protested. "Two women travelling alone will be consi­dered easy prey for the scum who inhabit these roadside places. Did you know these inns keep women to amuse the male guests? Without an escort I shudder to think what we would be taken for."

  "Don't fuss so." Alexandreya smiled across into the girl's anxious features. "Perhaps we shall find an inn not of ill repute, they cannot all be dens of iniquity. Besides, the horses will drop if we try to reach St. Petersburg without a rest. I prefer to spend a few hours in a house of doubtful repute than to find myself stranded in a strange part of the country with dead horses."

  Anya sat in a disturbed silence, watching her mistress drift into an exhausted sleep. Not once in all the four years since she had been rescued from a Cossack raid and taken into service by the Romanova family, had she known the Countess to venture more than twenty miles from home, let alone some two hundred and fifty. Her mistress was paler than usual and she had refused to let Anya dress her magnificent long red hair that morning, despite the fact that it had not been combed for nearly a whole day, saying that she was tired and her head ached.

  It was little wonder, considering the distance they had come, Anya thought. She knew the journey was in response to a letter her mistress had received from her sister in St. Petersburg. Her name was Natasha and she was the wife of one of Czar Peter's officers.

  Although only eighteen years old, Anya knew more of the world and how to take care of herself than her beloved mistress, barely three years her senior, and she feared for the safety of them both. They were travelling with only a driver and a manservant, hardly a sufficient show of force to repel bandits - or to demand courtesy from such ruf­fians as the Cossacks who had almost ridden their carriage off the road.

  Towards late afternoon, they came in sight of an inn. Alexandreya stared out of the window, hardly able to conceal her apprehension at the sight of the sombre, desolate road-house set back beneath some trees.

  "I am sure we will be able to find accommodation for one night," she said, managing to hide her misgivings as she turned to her maid. "Tell Michael to accompany us."

  "This is foolishness, my lady. We will have our throats cut."

  "Do as I say, you foolish girl." Tiredness made Alexandreya's tone sharp. "Or stay here and sleep in the coach."

  Muttering under her breath, Anya crossed herself quickly and climbed down from the coach. The sound of coarse laughter reached their ears as they approached the door. Anya hesitated and hung back as Alexandreya step­ped inside. The air was heavy with a smoke haze that stung her eyes as she glanced quickly around the dimly-lighted room. It was full of soldiers, their uniforms instantly recognisable as belonging to the Cossacks who had passed them earlier.

  She began to cross the room and at once the hubbub of voices ceased and all eyes were directed on the slim, elegantly robed woman, with the unmistakable bearing of a high-born lady. Someone close by made a remark which evoked sniggers and whispers from his companion. Anya glared at them balefully and moved closer to her mis­tress.

  A short, stocky man came forward to meet them, wip­ing his hands on a piece of dirty cloth wound about his middle. A Cossack caught his arm and looked significantly at the two women.

  "New girls, Boris?"

  "Drunken fool - can't you tell a lady when you see one?" He bowed low before Alexandreya. "I am the land­lord, madam - welcome to my humble establishment. We keep the best wines and food outside St. Peters­burg."

  "I will sample both in a short while," Alexandreya answered, "but first I need to refresh myself after a long journey. I require a room for myself and my maid. You seem to be very full, but no doubt you can find quarters for my other two servants in the stables."

  "Rooms?" The landlord looked aghast. "But that is impossible. The inn is full. I have three or four men sharing one room, even the stables are crowded."

  "With Cossack pigs," Anya muttered.

  "Colonel Varanov always stays here on his return from a patrol - his men would slit my throat if I put you in one of their rooms, besides they are not to be trusted. Believe me, madam, it is best if you go on to St. Petersburg."

  "The lady looks exceedingly tired, Boris, and she did say she had had a long journey," a quiet voice inter­vened.

  A man in a dark grey uniform, with gold epaulettes on-the shoulders, stood on the staircase behind the landl
ord. Alexandreya found herself under the bold surveillance of dark, piercing eyes that were oddly disconcerting. Although they scrutinised her from head to toe, there was not a flicker of interest in them.

  He was very broad, and tall; so tall, in fact, that he was forced to duck his head beneath the beams strung across the staircase as he continued on his way downstairs. A man of ordinary height could have passed beneath them with ease. Alexandreya realised the quick glimpse she had had of his face through the carriage window had been deceptive. He was a full-blooded Cossack Hetman and his arrogant stance proclaimed that he was not ashamed that his forefathers had been freebooters and pirates. She saw a hint of ruthlessness in the square-cut jaw, determination in the firm mouth.

  He inclined his head slightly towards her. It was a polite acknowledgement of her presence, nothing more.

  "Colonel Dmitri Varanov. May I be of assistance?"

  "You are most kind." Alexandreya forced a smile to her stiff lips, choosing her words with care. "I am told the inn is full."

  "It is, but the problem of a room is easily solved. You shall have mine. See to it, Boris, I will share with Sergei. Have the lady's trunks taken up immediately. Well?" An impatient note crept into his voice as Boris stood silent, apparently overwhelmed with surprise.

  "At once, Colonel."

  Colonel Varanov laughed as he scurried away and cast a glance behind him.

  "There is an empty, table. Would you care for some wine while the room is being prepared?"

  "My mistress is the Countess Alexandreya Romanova, she does not drink with common soldiers," Anya said coldly.

  "Indeed." There was a flicker of recognition at the impressive name. "Not even as a matter of common cour­tesy?"

  Alexandreya flushed acutely and silenced Anya with a fierce frown.

  "Go and help the landlord with our things," she ordered.

  "But, my lady!"

  "Do as you are told. Your rudeness is unforgivable. If it was not for Colonel Varanov we would be spending another awful night in the carriage." She stretched out her hand to the officer. "I am exceedingly grateful."

  For a long moment her gesture was ignored, then slowly Dmitri Varanov raised her fingers to his lips. "I am at your service, Countess."

  Alexandreya went to her room as soon as it was ready. She had sat with Colonel Varanov for nearly twenty minutes and taken a glass of excellent wine, with hardly a word passing between them. Aware of the questioning stares from his men as he escorted her upstairs, she thanked him and closed the door firmly behind her.

  It was a relief to climb out of her travel-stained clothes and relax in a tub of moderately hot water that Anya had miraculously conjured from out of nowhere. Afterwards she fell into bed and slept blissfully for several hours, totally unaware of the hardness of the bed or the coarse­ness of the sheets.

  "I dread to think what food they will put before you," Anya said as she hooked her mistress into a gown of burgundy-coloured velvet. "Full of bugs, I expect, like the beds."

  "I found the bed quite clean, Anya. Please, don't fuss so."

  "Only because that Colonel made the landlord change the bedding. He threatened to give him a flogging if you had a single complaint in the morning."

  "Did he, now. It would appear my doubts about the Colonel are groundless." Alexandreya clipped a pair of emerald earrings into her ears, her eyes thoughtful. "He would be insulted if I offered him money, I am certain, but I must repay his kindness somehow. I know, I shall invite him to dine with me! Anya, find the landlord and tell him I require a table and two chairs here. Then find Colonel Varanov and ask him if he will dine with me."

  "My lady, it is not seemly for you to entertain a soldier unchaperoned," Anya said stubbornly. "If the Count, your father, was alive--"

  "He would understand and respect my wish to repay this man," her mistress replied. "I know you are con­cerned for me, little Anya, because of the way you were treated by Cossack soldiers, but they cannot all be vicious murderers as were those who killed your parents. Go now and do my bidding."

  "Yes, my lady."

  Colonel Dmitri Mikhailovich Varanov knocked on the door of Alexandreya's room promptly at nine o'clock. Anya admitted him, letting him know by a sour look that she, at least, did not welcome him.

  "You may go, Anya.”

  She hesitated, but her mistress's tone forbade argument and she curtsied and left them.

  "I am glad you decided to accept my invitation, Col­onel." Alexandreya motioned to the chair beside him. "Please be seated. Boris has provided a fine dinner. Fish soup, hams, caviar and a bottle of Italian wine. I suspect you had a hand in this."

  "Boris knows my tastes -I pay him well to provide good food for myself and my men whenever we are here." Dmitri seated himself and reached for the bottle of wine.

  "And such beautiful glasses too." Alexandreya leaned forward to examine one of the exquisitely carved goblets.

  "Wine can never be truly appreciated in those atrocities Boris calls glasses. I brought these with me today."

  Alexandreya tasted her wine and smiled approval.

  "This is excellent. One does not usually find such good taste in a soldier."

  A spark of anger flashed through her companion's eyes.

  "Why, because I was born a peasant?" he asked coldly. "I am not ashamed of it."

  "You mistake my meaning. A soldier is a man of action - violence. He has little time to spend-" Alexandreya's voice trailed off as she became aware she was about to say the wrong thing again.

  "Improving himself, I think you meant to say." Dmitri Varanov did not allow her to retire gracefully. The berry-brown face opposite her grew hard. "I fully realise I am being honoured by this invitation, Countess Romanova, but if my peasant presence is so distasteful to you, I can retire. You are under no obligation to me."

  His dark eyes met hers and challenged her to dismiss him, and further earn his contempt. Alexandreya swal­lowed nervously and lowered her gaze. She had never had this trouble entertaining at home. But then none of her guests had been as arrogant and egotistical as this Cossack, with his obvious dislike of the nobility.

  "I did not invite you here to argue. I am a stranger in this part of the country, as you have probably guessed, and I am most anxious to hear of St. Petersburg and the Empress's court. Please stay and talk with me."

  Dmitri's gaze rested for so long on her face that she felt the colour begin to mount in her cheeks and quickly looked away, wishing she was not prone to these attacks of blushing. It was not becoming and it completely wrecked her composure. His mouth curved into a crooked smile.

  "As the Countess wishes."

  They dined in an atmosphere of conflicting feelings. Whereas Alexandreya was completely relaxed and talking freely, her companion seemed to withdraw further from the conversation as the evening progressed. He was not a lady's man, Alexandreya decided. His manners were impeccable, which surprised her, and he answered her many questions with politeness and great patience, but he conveyed the impression of preferring to be elsewhere - or in other company.

  "Was the ham to your liking, Countess?" he asked when the dinner was over.

  "It was indeed. I must congratulate Boris before I leave."

  Dmitri leaned across the table and refilled their glasses, his eyes appraising the attractive face before him. For the first time that evening he found himself studying her. She was by far the most beautiful woman he had encountered in a long time - and beautiful in a way quite new to him. He was used to the experienced women of the court. His present mistress was apt to change her lovers as often as her dresses. This girl seemed different.

  Her gown was expensive and the emeralds hanging from her ears were probably priceless; outwardly her appearance differed very little from the other women he knew, but she lacked boldness, or was it maturity? She was almost shy in his presence and he hated her for it, because this made him withdraw into silence, instead of lashing her with the sarcastic tongue he reserved for women of
her station.

  She turned and smiled at him. The firelight flickered over the alabaster whiteness of her bare shoulders and Dimitri found himself forced to resist a strong impulse to take her in his arms and kiss her until the calm pose shattered and the woman beneath was revealed.

  "Did you realise your men almost rode my carriage off the road this afternoon, Colonel?"

  "I did not. I apologise."

  "I neither asked for an apology, nor indicated one was necessary," Alexandreya returned haughtily. "I was merely pointing out a fact which apparently had escaped your notice."

  "My men and I were tired. We were caught in a bad storm earlier, and were anxious to get some hot food inside us."

  "I, too, was in the storm, Colonel; if it had not delayed us, I should be with my sister in St. Petersburg now, instead of depriving you of your room."

  "You intend to stay in the city then," Dmitri said.

  "For a short while, then I return home and I hope to be taking my sister with me. Is St. Petersburg as lovely as everyone tells me, and as large? My sister's husband is in the army, his name is Krylenko, Major Vladimir Krylenko, Czar Peter's aide-de-camp." Alexandreya brightened considerably. "Is it possible you know him?"

  "I know Major Krylenko very well." Dmitri's face had darkened and she realised he did not like the other man. He stared at her intently, then allowed his eyes to wander slowly down over her body in a scrutinising inspection that was so unexpected and seemingly out of character, Alexandreya found herself lost for words. She felt naked beneath his gaze and was unexplicably afraid.

  "Oh, yes, I am acquainted with the Major - your sister Natasha also," he continued at length. "We have spent many enjoyable evenings together."

  Rising to his feet, he refilled their glasses again, drain­ing the last of the wine from the bottle.

  "I'll see if Boris can produce another one, or perhaps two," he murmured with a smile.

  Alexandreya rose also, sensing a change in his attitude that she did not like.

  "It is late, Colonel Varanov, and I want to make an early start in the morning. If your men allow me to get to sleep," she added as a gust of tumultuous laughter sounded from below. The soldiers had been comparatively quiet at first, but as the lateness of the evening increased, so had their celebrating.