Valentina Luellen Read online

  "All my men were born of poor peasant stock, Coun­tess, myself included. We work hard and it has taught us to take our pleasures where we find them and as often as possible. But you would not understand that." Before she could guess his intentions, he had caught her hands in his and turned them palm upwards. His mouth twisted into a bitter smile at the sight of the soft, delicate hands trembling in his. "They do not know what work is. They are only fit to be adorned with rings and kissed by fools who think you are better than they are."

  "Colonel Varanov, you forget yourself! Let me go immediately." Alexandreya's voice shook with anger. "You are insulting."

  Dmitri dropped her hands with a short laugh. Reaching for the two glasses of wine, he held one out to her.

  "Drink up, Countess, the night is young yet."

  "I demand that you leave my room at once," Alexandreya ordered.

  "Do you indeed?" His tone told her he had no intention of complying with her wishes.

  When she made no attempt to take the glass, he drank the wine himself and dropped the glasses on to the table. She felt a chill of fear run through her as his eyes raked over her again, from the fiery tresses wound high on her head in a gleaming coil; past the quivering lips to the low, square neckline of her gown, where they stopped.

  "I am of the opinion I have not shown you enough attention this evening. If I had known who you were earlier-"

  Alexandreya stepped back in alarm. Had he taken leave of his senses - or was there some other, more significant reason for this horrifying change in him?

  "I don't understand you."

  "Come now, Countess, please dispense with the pose of innocence. I admit you fooled me for a while, although I fail to see why it was necessary. If you are Natasha Krylenko's sister, then you did not invite me here merely to dine. I have been wasting valuable time when we could be better employed." He caught her wrist and pulled her against him, his eyes glittering dangerously; angry at what he thought to be a deliberate deception to amuse a woman's vanity. "I shall keep you waiting no longer."

  The scream of terror which rose in Alexandreya's throat never materialised. His lips smashed down on hers in a savage kiss full of primitive passion, leaving her in no doubt as to his intentions. Her resistance only served to increase the wildness she had somehow unwittingly unleashed in him, until with reeling senses she was forced to surrender to his embrace.

  It could not have been more than a minute or two, yet it seemed an eternity before he lifted his mouth from hers and gazed down into her ashen face.

  "You do not have your sister's talent for accommodat­ing lonely soldiers, Countess, perhaps she will give you the benefit of her experience when you reach St. Petersburg."

  Somehow Alexandreya found her voice.

  "If you do not release me, I shall call my maid to fetch the landlord," she threatened.

  "She will not hear you," Dmitri mocked. "She is in the tender care of one of my men."

  Alexandreya's eyes widened with alarm. Anya - and a Cossack! Anger surged through her body, restoring her failing strength. Her eyes blazed as she looked up into the triumphant features of her captor.

  "Five years ago a band of Cossacks raided Anya's vil­lage. She saw her father and brother cut down in front of her - she was forced to watch the rape of her mother before they turned on her. If she is harmed again, I swear you will pay for it with your life."

  Her tiny clenched fists thudded with unexpected viciousness into the smiling face above her and momentarily the hold on her slackened. A violent push sent him reeling back against the table, and by the time he had recovered his balance, Alexandreya was standing beside the door, a small pistol in her hand. She had brought it with her to satisfy Anya's fears, never believing she would have any cause to use it.

  "Get out," she ordered.

  "I underestimated you," Dmitri said, no longer smiling. "You may lack experience, but you have far more spirit than Natasha. You are an unusual combination of fire and ice which interests me,"

  "You are disgusting," Alexandreya flung back. Her finger tightened around the trigger as he stepped towards her. "I warn you, I am an excellent shot." She had never handled a pistol before in her life, but desperation made her sound convincing.

  "Why should I bother myself with you anyway?" he said with a careless shrug. "There are plenty downstairs far more willing."

  "One more thing, Colonel." He halted in the doorway at Alexandreya's ice-cold tones. "Instruct your man to release my maid and have her sent to me, or I promise that the Empress will hear of this outrage when I reach the city."

  Dmitri's face was an expressionless mask as he stared back at her.

  "You are giving the orders now, Countess Romanova, but it will be different in St. Petersburg, as you will discover to your cost."

  With an inarticulate cry of relief, Alexandreya sank down on to the bed as the door closed behind him. She heard loud voices and recognised Anya's, shrill with temper. The next instant, the girl had rushed into the room, screaming that she would murder the Colonel if he had harmed her mistress.

  "My lady, did that dog hurt you? You should have him whipped. Oh, why did you invite him here? I tried to warn you. These Cossack scum are all alike."

  Tears came into her eyes at the sight of the bruises already beginning to show on Alexandreya's wrists and shoulders. "Have him whipped; teach him a lesson."

  "I am all right, Anya. It's you - he said one of his men was taking care of you."

  "That's what he thought. One of them grabbed hold of me as I left here and tried to drag me into his room, but I bit him so hard he let go. I barricaded myself in my room. I tried to come out again to make sure you were all right, but there was a giant outside my door. Oh, my lady, he frightened me half to death! He said he'd cut my heart out and feed it to the dogs if I gave him any trouble. Forgive me - I wanted to come, but-"

  "Hush, I was not harmed, truly, just frightened. We both were, and I shall find out why tomorrow when we reach St. Petersburg."

  "Why! These Cossacks need no reason for the things they do."

  Alexandreya discovered she was still holding the pistol. She dropped it on to the bed with a shudder of disgust.

  "You are wrong, there was a very special reason for Colonel Varanov's attitude. I dread to think what it was. I have the feeling I should have come to Natasha sooner."

  Despite the unpleasantness of the evening, Alexandreya slept deeply until morning. Refusing to leave her, Anya spent the night in a chair by the fire and was busily repacking when her mistress awoke.

  It was still early, but Alexandreya insisted they break­fasted immediately and left directly afterwards. She had no wish to encounter Dmitri Varanov or any of his sol­diers, but she was not spared the embarrassment of seeing him again.

  He came out of the stables as she was crossing to the coach, leading the superb white stallion she had seen him riding the previous day. With immense dignity, Alexan­dreya drew her ermine cloak more tightly around her and passed him without a word.

  The Colonel watched the coach move off and a smile touched the lean mouth.

  "Until we meet again, Countess Alexandreya Romanova."

  The house of Major Vladimir Krylenko, aide-de-camp to His Imperial Highness, Czar Peter, Duke of Holstein, was situated not fifty yards away from the main entrance to the palace. It was set back from the road, reached by access through a narrow archway and across a wide court­yard. It was a large, unattractive house, but one of the few that could boast of interior decorating and this fact alone made Natasha Krylenko one of the most envied women in St. Petersburg. She was also one of the most talked-about. Her apparent lack of regard for her marital status was a topic of conversation which never ceased to interest the local gossip community. It was said by some that her number of lovers was surpassed only by that of the Grand Duchess Catherine herself.

  At the age of twenty-two, after four years of marriage to a man she had soon discovered to be a Mar and a bully, and the pain and di
sappointment of two miscarriages, Natasha was no longer the innocent, romantic girl who had first come to St. Petersburg seeking excitement. Within a few days of being introduced into the society, she had fallen in love, an occurrence which took place at least once a week until Vladimir Krylenko appeared on the scene four months later, and swept her off her feet.

  He was neither handsome nor particularly intelligent, but contrary to other men she had known, he was dominating and an experienced man of the world. She revelled in this novelty, long enough at least to embark upon a secret marriage. At length she took him to the family home at Bratz to meet her parents, and was pleased when she received her parents' blessing on what they thought would be a satisfactory match. A year later, after a particularly brutal beating delivered by her husband in a fit of drunken temper, Natasha was left with no illusions as to her future outlook. In less than a week she had taken her first lover.

  The fierce pride of the Romanovs forbade her to leave

  Vladimir and return home. She did attempt it once, when her sister wrote to tell her of their mother's death, but before the carriage had reached the town limits, it had been overtaken by a party of soldiers under orders from her husband to return her to the house. The beating which followed served as a stiff deterrent against a second attempt.

  Oblivious to the years of misery her sister had endured, Alexandreya leaned out of the window as the carriage turned into the courtyard, peering eagerly through the swifdy gathering dusk for the first glimpse of her after so long. The double doors opened and a footman stepped down to help her alight, and behind him came a woman Alexandreya found hard to recognise as her younger sis­ter.

  The country-girl complexion, if it still remained, was hidden beneath thick powder and rouge, the long brown hair had been cut short and small curls now framed a round face, the plumpness of which was matched by the well-rounded figure inside a vivid yellow dress.

  Alexandreya hugged her for a long moment, then stood back, her expression betraying her surprise.

  "You've changed, Tasha. You are so - so elegant." It was the only word she could think of at that moment.

  Natasha took her arm with a soft laugh and led her into the house.

  "Coming from my elder sister, that is indeed a compli­ment and if I have grown more elegant, Alexa dear, you are far more beautiful. Admirers will be hammering on the door before the end of the week." She laughed again. "Heavens, haven't you learned to control that blush yet -your cheeks are crimson. The men will love it. I notice you don't put colouring on your cheeks still, well, perhaps under the circumstances, you don't need it. Me, I like a little colour. Leave your cloak on this chair, the servants will take it upstairs with your baggage. Come into the drawing room. I had some hot punch brought in the minute I heard the carriage. You can thaw out while your maid is unpacking."

  An hour later, the last traces of cold disappeared from Alexandreya's body. She stretched her legs out towards the fire and looked across to where her sister sat.

  "You are very lucky to have such a lovely house. This room is quite beautiful."

  Natasha glanced at the thick velvet drapes at the win­dows, the many statuettes and marble figurines and the silver plate in the place of honour along the intricately carved sideboard.

  "Yes, it is. Vladimir collects beautiful things."

  There was an odd note in her voice that aroused Alex­andreya's curiosity. She leant forward in her chair.

  "Are you unhappy? Is that why you begged me to come in your letter? What can I do to help?"

  Natasha did not answer. She had been watching her sister curled up in the high-backed chair, envying the flawless complexion and wishing that she still had her crowning glory. At last she said:

  "Unhappy, me? Whatever put that idea into your head?"

  "Why, you did, of course. Your letter sounded almost desperate. Why else would I be here? You said it was impossible for you to remain in St. Petersburg any longer."

  Natasha rose to her feet avoiding her sister's eyes.

  "I must admit when I wrote to you, I was upset. There was father's death - and then Vladimir had been away for several weeks. He is away often, you know, and I grow lonely. It was foolish of me to give way in a weak moment and I regretted it as soon as the letter had been dispatched. I was going to write again, then I had your letter to say you were on your way. Am I forgiven, Alexa?" Natasha knelt beside the chair with an apologetic smile. "I am an idiot, you always said so. Don't be angry with me."

  "Angry - now you are being silly! It is wonderful to be here with you and I am relieved that nothing is wrong. I was worried. Now I am here, you must show me St. Petersburg, it will give me something to remember when I am alone at Bratz."

  "You could always stay here, there is no need for you ever to go back to that lonely old mausoleum. We could find a house for you, engage servants," Natasha protested. "You've wasted years of your life away looking after mother and then father, instead of caring for a husband and children. Your head is crammed full of knowledge from father's books in the Great Library, which will make you far superior to anyone at court and you've paid dearly for it. Look what happened with the very first man who came along-"

  "That is quite enough, Natasha." Alexandreya's tone was suddenly sharp with anger. "My past mistakes are my own affair, have no fear such a thing will ever occur again. Please be good enough to refrain from mentioning it again."

  Natasha kissed her contritely on the cheek.

  "I'm sorry. I had no idea the memory still upset you. Would you like to see your rooms now? They are next to mine so that I can plague you to fasten my gown or finish my hair as I did when we were children. It will be like old times. I swear no maid has ever been as competent as you were."

  It would indeed be like old times, Alexandreya thought as she followed Natasha upstairs. Not for one moment did she suspect that anything was wrong and she was very happy at the thought of the weeks ahead.

  Anya was busy unpacking when Natasha and Alexan­dreya entered the bedroom. Furniture was sparse, there was only the four-poster bed, a dressing-table and a closet, but it was tastefully decorated in blue and gold and looked as comfortable as Alexandreya's own room at home.

  "There are rooms in this house that have never been used," Natasha explained, "I have had this furniture brought down from the attic. You could do with a chair or two. I'll have one of the servants see to it first thing in the morning. This house is far too big for us really, but we stay here because it is close to the palace." She waved a hand towards the curtained windows. "You can see most of it from up here and there is a door in the courtyard below which connects directly with the barrack square. It's terr­ibly convenient - for Vladimir to use when he is late," she added hastily as if afraid her sister might suspect other­wise.

  The sight of the bed with its pure white sheets and the thick mattress made Alexandreya realise how tired she was. Their progress after leaving the inn had been irritatingly slow and impeded by snowdrifts blocking the road. There was so much she wanted to say to Natasha, but the combination of the fire and the hot punch had made her pleasantly drowsy.

  " Tasha, will you think me very rude if I go straight to bed?"

  She did not notice the look of relief on Natasha's face, but Any a did, and wondered why her mistress's wish to retire should be expressed in terms of relief instead of disappointment.

  "My dear, of course not, you must be exhausted after that awful journey. Why did you let me prattle on so? I'll have a supper tray sent up to you at once. Have you everything you need?" She pointed across the room. "That door leads into a small bathroom. This is the only house to have one in the whole street. Would a warm bath help?"

  "Bless you, no. I think I would fall asleep in it. Please apologise to your husband for me."

  "Vladimir - oh, did I forget to tell you? he's been away for the past week on one of his trips to Kronstadt. I don't expect him back until tomorrow. Goodnight, Alexa, sleep well," Natasha said lightly and was clos
ing the door behind her before Alexandreya had recovered from her surprise.

  Quickly pulling off her dust-streaked clothes, she slip­ped into the fresh nightgown Anya held out to her, and got into bed.

  "Do you have a nice room, Anya?"

  "Oh, yes, my lady, it overlooks the square. Do you think I will see the Grand Duke drilling his soldiers?"

  "Why not, I believe he takes great pride in them."

  "Perhaps I will see - him."

  "Who do you mean? The Czar?"

  "No, the other one, that Colonel." A wicked smile crossed Anya's face. "Perhaps if I do, I might accidentally drop something on his head. It would serve him right for what he did to you."

  "He did nothing to me," Alexandreya said firmly. "And I forbid you to discuss what happened with anyone in this house. Should you see Colonel Varanov again, you will ignore him. Is that clear?"

  The maid curtsied and said it was.

  "Shall I draw back the curtains before I go, my lady?"

  "Yes, please."

  Anya blew out the candles and pulled the drapes back from the windows, filling the room with moonlight. An indefinable sound below arrested her attention and she glanced down in time to see a shadowy figure cross the courtyard and slip into the house. It was indeed conve­nient, she mused, and not only for Major Krylenko.

  "Go to bed, Anya, you must be tired too."

  "Yes, my lady."

  Alexandreya lay back amid the pillows with a contented sigh. In her mind she was satisfied that Colonel Dmitri Varanov had merely been an unpleasant moment in her life and could now be forgotten. It was not likely they would meet again. She had never been so mistaken in all her young life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was almost noon when Alexandreya awoke the next day, feeling her old self once more. Ordering Anya to lay out one of her best dresses, she lazed in the rose-Coloured marble tub, filled to the brim with hot scented water, for over an hour, contemplating how her time in St. Peters­burg was to be spent. There was so much to see - the ballet, and the opera, and the Academy of Fine Arts. She was tempted to do as her sister had suggested and rent a house for several months. What had been intended as a rescue mission now seemed to be turning into a pleasant and unexpected holiday, her first away from Bratz in seven years.