“Jeremy did,” I said.
“Was he the best you’ve ever had?”
“Unquestionably.”
Catherine smiled and, sighing, took the last scone and piled it with clotted cream, adding a generous spoonful of strawberry jam. “Sex is such a stimulating subject. Some women I know claim it’s not all it’s touted to be. As for me, the worst I ever had was wonderful.”
“I suppose it’s an acquired taste—like olives.”
“And I could never stop until I ate the whole bowlful!”
Both of us laughed, and Catherine stood up. I quickly followed suit. Sunlight shimmered, thinner now.
“Alas,” she said, “I must put my crown back on and become the regal, imperious Catherine again. I’ve enjoyed your visit immensely, my dear. It’s rarely I have an opportunity to be—merely another woman.”
“That you’ll never be,” I said.
“Come, I’ll walk you to the door. It’s highly unorthodox, of course, but the servants have grown quite immune to my shocking lack of formality when I am at home with guests.”
She opened the double doors and we moved slowly down the hall, side by side. Even in the rumpled pink gown, with her untidy hair and ink-stained fingers, she was still the Empress, wrapped in dignity and projecting an authority no informality could nullify. Footmen stood at attention as we passed, all of them, I noted, extremely tall and attractive. Apparently Catherine liked to keep a supply of olives on hand.
“It’s been a memorable afternoon,” I said.
“One day you can tell your grandchildren you had tea with Catherine of Russia.”
“I doubt there’ll be grandchildren,” I replied.
“Nonsense. You’ll meet another man, my dear. He won’t be like your dashing English rogue, but he’ll have his own special qualities. At the moment you think you’ll never get over this Jeremy, but—one does.”
“That’s a comforting thought.”
“One never forgets, but one does get over them.”
I sensed she was speaking of Serge Saltikov, that first love who had come into her life like a god, who had left as soon as his unusual service to Russia had been performed. I sensed, too, that, despite her words, she had never really gotten over him, that the pain, bitterness and disillusion he had caused had colored the rest of her life.
“Men!” she said as we started down the staircase. “I seem destined to fall for absolute rotters.”
“I know the feeling well.”
“What’s wrong with us, my dear?”
“I wish I knew.”
Catherine smiled. “If the perfect male came along, he would bore either of us to tears.”
“There’s no such thing as the perfect male,” I replied.
A particularly muscular footman stood at the foot of the stairs, handsome in his snug velvet livery. Catherine touched his arm lightly as we passed. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod.
“At least there are plentiful snacks,” she told me. “I’ve found an olive or two whets my appetite for the main course. You see, I really am as wicked as they say I am!”
“Wickedness, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.”
“You’re a born diplomat, my dear.”
“I hope I can be diplomatic with Gregory when I get back. He expected you to pay me off and send me packing on the next ship, leaving the field clear.”
Catherine smiled a rueful smile as the great doors were opened for us and we stepped into the sunshine.
“Poor Gregory. I’d like to think it was his undying love for me that prompted his plan, but something tells me he had quite a different motive.”
“What shall I say to him?”
“Tell him I was merely looking you over,” she said. “He’s gone to so much trouble, poor dear. I suppose I should let him enjoy himself a while longer. I will invite the two of you for an intimate dinner and cards next week—Thursday night is free. You’ll come then.”
“I shall look forward to it.”
The Empress smiled. “It should be vastly amusing.”
“Thank you for a marvelous visit,” I said quietly.
“The pleasure was all mine, my dear. I had a splendid time, and I discovered your delicious English scones. More temptation to contend with—I’m sure it will be a losing battle!”
Catherine took my hand and squeezed it. I made a deep curtsey. A footman handed me my fur cloak and escorted me to the waiting carriage. I climbed inside, and during the ride back to the Marble Palace I thought about the remarkable woman who was so complex, so contradictory, so strong and yet so very vulnerable. The Empress of Russia was a woman of many contrasts, and I knew that the warm, amiable hostess of this afternoon no more represented the true Catherine than did the imperious bully of the council table. She was a combination of both, I suspected, a warm and loyal friend, a formidable foe.
Gregory was going to be very disappointed to learn that the Empress hadn’t ordered me to leave Russia, but that didn’t overly concern me. I would be leaving soon now—the month I had agreed to stay was almost over. The intimate dinner at the Hermitage next Thursday would be my farewell performance. What a relief it would be to leave this country. I wondered if Bryan had been able to book passage for himself and Lucie yet. Before I left Russia I intended to see her safely on the way to England, even if it meant my staying a bit longer.
As the carriage turned into the drive of the Marble Palace I thought about Lucie’s encounter with Vladimir last night, and the apprehension I had felt earlier returned. If Gregory found out she had been secretly meeting Bryan in the west wing … The carriage stopped in front of the elegant marble portico and a servant opened the door for me. I climbed out. There is no point in anticipating trouble, I told myself.
Something had happened while I was at the Hermitage. I sensed it the moment I entered the front hall. A heavy, ominous atmosphere seemed to hang over the Marble Palace, and the very silence seemed to retain the vibrations of angry shouting, I handed my cloak to a footman, a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach as I sensed those vibrations stirring in the air. When Gregory stepped into the hall, I knew. As soon as I saw his face I knew Vladimir had spoken to him.
“You were gone a very long time,” he said.
“I—I suppose I was.”
His face was stern, all hard lines and surfaces, as though it had become a stony mask. He did not bombard me with questions about my visit with Catherine, did not, in fact, say anything for several long moments, still preoccupied with the scene that had taken place during my absence. What had happened? What had he said to her? What had he done? I longed to rush at him and demand answers, but I remained cool and poised, as though I suspected nothing.
“Come into the drawing room,” he ordered.
I followed him obediently. My brown silk skirt rustled loudly. Orlov was wearing brown knee boots, wheat-colored breeches, and a loose silky beige shirt. His tawny hair was pulled back and fastened at the nape with a brown velvet ribbon. His navy blue eyes were stony, and there was a dangerous curl at one corner of his mouth. Thin, pale sunlight slanted through the windows in wavering shafts, dusting the room with gold that gradually faded. Shadows stretched over the gleaming parquet floor.
“She offered you money?” he asked.
I shook my head. “It was—a very friendly visit. I think she just wanted to—to size up the competition.”
“She continues to bide her time,” he said sullenly.
“She plans to invite both of us to an intimate dinner next Thursday night. The official invitation will arrive in a day or so. I—I have the feeling she will make her move then.”
“I do not understand why she invites both of us.”
“She spoke very highly of you, Gregory.”
“She seemed jealous of you?”
“She was very curious about me, wanting to know all about my past and how I came to meet you. I told her about the accident. I told her you were the most exciting man I had ever met, th
at I was completely unable to resist your masculine allure.”
He stood in a shaft of sunlight with his arms folded across his chest, his hair burnished a dark, dull gold. He seemed hewn from solid granite, and I had a moment of nervous alarm. Did he know that I was involved? Did he know I had helped them? The only other time I had seen him in such a lethal mood was just before he had flogged Joseph Pulaski in the village. Dear God, I thought. Oh, dear God. I had to see Lucie at once.
“I think I’ll go on upstairs now, Gregory.”
“There’s something you need to know.”
“Oh?” I spoke the word ever so lightly.
“Lucie has been secretly meeting this Englishman, this Bryan Lloyd.”
I was silent, waiting. He scowled angrily.
“She has been slipping down to the west wing late at night and meeting him in a room there. Vladimir finds out about it last night. He discovers her wandering in the hall. She makes a feeble excuse and goes back to her bedroom and later on slips out again. He follows her to the west wing and hears them talking in the room and later watches the Englishman leave the palace.”
“I—I see. Is—is that so very awful, Gregory? They’re young and—”
He curled his hand into a fist and banged it down on the table beside him. A vase tottered, toppled, fell to the floor with a loud crash. He didn’t even notice.
“She admits everything! She defies me! She claims she is going to marry this moneyless youth, this foreigner! She tells me I have no right to plan her life. No right! Her father ignores her. He is embarrassed by her presence in his house. I take pity on her. I give her everything—everything! And this is how she shows her gratitude!”
He continued to thunder and rave, banging the table again, cheeks flushed, eyes flaming with fury, and, finally spent, he took a deep breath and heaved his chest and regained some of the lethal calm. I had never seen him in such a rage before, and it was a frightening sight. He had been … unhinged, unbalanced, resembling nothing so much as a madman. I knew my cheeks were pale. Gregory stared at me and took another deep breath.
“I have given orders,” he said.
“Orders?” My voice was surprisingly level.
“She is confined to the house. There are to be no more shopping trips, no more excursions. Vladimir will be stationed outside her room each night to see that she does not slip out, My men have been ordered to shoot this Bryan Lloyd on sight if he dares step foot on my property.”
I said nothing. I felt icy cold.
“I have taken all her jewels and locked them up in my safe, and she is to have no money. She will be as poor, as moneyless as he until she comes to her senses.”
“I suppose you will feed her,” I said, “or do you intend to put her on a diet of bread and water?”
Gregory ignored the question. “She will see reason soon enough,” he continued. He was calmer now, his voice normal. “She will brood for a while, but she will soon see this is for her own good. She will marry the man I have chosen for her and be grateful to me for looking after her interests.”
“You’ve already chosen the man?”
“I have a talk with him yesterday. We come to an agreement. He asks for an enormous settlement, but me, I am glad to pay it. He has a fine estate and his title is one of the best in Russia.”
“Do I know him?”
“Prince Danzimov, who dined with us last week.”
“Danzimov!” I was horrified. “The man’s a notorious womanizer, Gregory, a completely unprincipled rake without a shred of morality. He asked me to become his mistress in this very room. You can’t seriously consider marrying her off to a—a man like that.”
“You do not understand these matters,” he told me. “She will be a princess and have much esteem. She will have a place at court and be mistress of a fine country estate. Danzimov is still young and not unpleasing to look at. He is a wealthy man. I have done quite well for her.”
“He’ll make her utterly miserable.”
Orlov gave me a patronizing smile. “Like so many of your countrymen, you are the sentimentalist. You have the foolish notions about love. In Russia we arrange these things sensibly. You are not pleased by my choice, I see, but it is really none of your concern.”
“You’re quite right about that.”
“Now, tell me more about Catherine and this invitation she will send. I was distracted before and didn’t give it the proper attention.”
“If you don’t mind, Gregory, I’d rather go up to my room just now. I’m very tired. We’ll discuss my visit at length later.”
Gregory nodded and, all charm again, escorted me to the foot of the staircase. The icy coldness still possessed me as I climbed the stairs, and I had never felt such steely resolve. My rooms were to the right of the landing. I turned to the left, moving resolutely down the hall toward Lucie’s quarters. I didn’t bother to knock. I went straight in, closing the door firmly behind me and turning the lock.
The sunlight was a thin silver now, fading fast, and only a few shimmering rays slanted through the windows. None of the candles had been lighted, and the room was a hazy bower of soft blue-gray shadow with weak bars of silver melting on the floor. I had expected to find Lucie distraught and in tears. She wasn’t. She was sitting on the sofa, her hands in her lap, beautifully composed. She looked up at me, but she didn’t speak. I supposed she was in a state of shock. I moved toward her, and then I gasped, noticing her face for the first time. Her left cheek was swollen, already turning an ugly mauve, and the skin of her cheekbone was scraped and flecked with dried blood. My knees went weak.
“He did this to you?” I whispered.
“I’m all right, Marietta.”
“You must tend to it. Ice. Salve. You must—”
“Don’t fuss over me. Please.”
“Lucie—”
“I’m not the first woman with a swollen cheek, and I doubt I shall be the last. It doesn’t even burn anymore. It feels numb.”
Her voice was perfectly level. There was a poignant dignity about her as she sat there on the sofa in her blue muslin dress, her hands folded neatly in her lap. I forced myself to quell the emotions raging inside and fought to regain some semblance of calm.
“He told you, I suppose,” she said.
“He told me. He didn’t say he had struck you.”
“A minor detail,” she replied. “He probably considered it too insignificant to mention. I managed to slip out and find Vanya—Vladimir doesn’t begin his watchdog duties until nightfall. Vanya took a message to Bryan at the student hostel and—and Bryan won’t be coming tonight. I don’t want him shot.”
I was too tense to sit down. I moved over to stand in front of the fireplace. The fire had not been lighted. The room was growing cold. I shivered, folding my arms around my waist.
“How could he?” I said. “How could he be so brutal and uncaring?”
“You’ve never really known my uncle, Marietta.”
“I’m beginning to realize that.”
Lucie lifted one of her slender hands to brush back a loose wave of golden brown hair. “He’s very accomplished at showing only that part of his character he wishes an individual to see. He can be tender and warm, as he was with you in the beginning, but he can also be—an entirely different person.”
The silver was melting. The shadowy haze thickened, all color fading, yet neither of us moved to light the candles. Lucie sat perfectly still on the sofa, silent for several moments, and then she raised her head, looking up at me. A final shaft of pale silver sunlight fell across the upper portion of her body, and I saw her face clearly. Her eyes had never been so calm, so old.
“My uncle feels responsible for me,” she said quietly. “My father never cared for me. He gladly turned me over to his brother and made it quite clear it wouldn’t matter if he never saw me again. My uncle took very good care of me. He was very generous, even after he tired of me.”
I looked into those calm eyes and realized what sh
e was saying and a wave of horror swept over me. Lucie saw my expression in the dim haze and smiled a bitter smile.
“I never told you,” she said. “You never guessed. He was the first, Marietta. I was thirteen years old. I was in the stables on my father’s estate. My uncle came upon me there. He shoved me down onto a pile of hay and took me by force. He came to my room that night and took me again, and a few days later my father agreed to let me go away with him. My uncle was the first person who ever paid any kind of attention to me, and I—I suppose I equated that attention with giving my body, so—when my uncle grew tired of me and looked for new diversions, I began to give it freely.”
I understood so much now, and in addition to the horror I felt a great sadness that was almost overwhelming. Lucie got up and moved about the room lighting the candles, blossoms of wavering golden light marking her progress.
“And then you came into my life and—and gave me hope that I might become another person,” she continued. “I met Bryan, and I actually believed I might find real happiness.”
“You shall,” I said.
“The ironic thing about it is—we were so close. Last night he informed me that he had finally been able to book passage for us. The ship leaves next Thursday night.”
“Thursday night,” I said, thinking.
“At ten o’clock. We were to sail from St. Petersburg to Copenhagen, from Copenhagen to Oslo, and then across the North Sea to London. Bryan told me all about it. It was—it was to be a grand adventure. I’ve never been on a ship before, you see, and—”
“You’ll be on that ship, Lucie,” I promised.
Lucie shook her head. “There’s no possible way,” she replied. “My uncle will be watching my every move. Vladimir will be guarding my door. I—please don’t build my hopes up again, Marietta. I couldn’t stand—I couldn’t bear—” And for the first time tears sparkled in her eyes and spilled over her lashes. “I’ve resigned myself. I haven’t the strength to—”
I stepped over to her and took her hands and held them tightly. Lucie lowered her eyes, tears glistening on her discolored cheek.
When Love Commands Page 39
