When Love Commands

by Jennifer Wilde

  “I see,” I said.

  “Here we are,” he observed. Was that relief in his voice?

  The carriage stopped in front of the Winter Palace, and a footman opened the door for us. Jeremy alighted and turned to help me down. My skirts made a silky sound, rustling quietly. Handsomely liveried footmen holding torches lined the wide marble steps. Jeremy took my hand and led me up the steps. A footman took my cloak inside, Jeremy refusing to surrender the short, dashing cape. He was confident, almost cocky as we followed a footman along the marble halls, not at all awed by the magnificent splendor, as at ease here as he would have been on the open plain. And when the chamberlain announced us and we entered the reception hall filled with glittering, gorgeously attired people, he might have been entering a tavern filled with old drinking mates.

  “Quite a mob,” he remarked. “I’m the guest of honor, by the way.”

  “How nice for you,” I said dryly.

  He smiled and nodded amiably at first one person, then another, and I observed that he seemed to have made quite a number of acquaintances during the past three days. I began to suspect that he hadn’t spent nearly as much time in conferences as he had implied, and I began to fume silently when I saw how obsequious everyone was toward him. Their attitude toward me was considerably more ambivalent. I was here, yes, and on the arm of the hero of the day, but after the Potemkin–red room incident which, of course, was altogether too delicious to remain secret in this beehive of gossips, I had been persona non grata at court. Should they acknowledge my presence by more than a cool nod? Should they speak to me? They kept their distance until, finally, The Tester sauntered over to us, looking particularly sultry and opulent in a black velvet gown with scarlet panels, a small fortune in diamonds and rubies adorning her throat and wrists.

  “It’s lovely to see you again, darling,” Protasova said. “Let me steal you away from this gorgeous man for a few minutes. I’m dying to talk and you look like you could use a glass of champagne.”

  “I certainly could.”

  As Protasova led me across the room, the others relaxed visibly. If the Empress’s chief lady-in-waiting sought me out, I must be grata again. Dozens of smiles flashed at me as Protasova motioned to a footman and plucked two glasses from the tray he brought over. An amazingly handsome young lieutenant with dark bronze hair and moody blue eyes joined us, his tight-fitting uniform obviously tailored to accentuate his lean, athletic build. Protasova gave a weary sigh and told him to go wash behind his ears.

  “They get younger all the time,” she said, “and I, alas, begin to feel older and older. Not that I don’t still enjoy my work,” she added.

  “A new testee?” I inquired. “What happened to young Peter?”

  “He failed the test,” she replied. “In fact, he ran off with Countess Zavadovsky, she of the frilly pink gown and high-pitched giggles. It caused a minor scandal but no great loss.”

  I took a sip of my champagne, glancing across the room. Jeremy was surrounded by people, quite the center of attention and savoring every minute of it. Less than enchanted, I finished the champagne and set the glass aside, a flush tinting my cheeks.

  “Your Mr. Bond has caused quite a sensation,” Protasova remarked, observing my ire, “but he’ll be all yours tomorrow, darling.”

  “If he lives,” I snapped.

  Protasova laughed huskily. “Incidentally,” she said, “Potemkin departed for Moscow this morning.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it.”

  “His departure ten hours before your reappearance at court was no coincidence, believe me. The Empress has forgiven him, but she’s taking no chances. I suppose you’ve heard about Orlov,” she added.

  “I—I’m afraid I haven’t.”

  “Terribly sad,” Protasova said, shaking her head. “It seems he went berserk when he and his brothers were out pursuing the peasants, started raving and slashing at everyone with his sabre. They had to restrain him—he was bound hand and foot, in fact. His brother Alexis is taking care of him. Gregory’s at Alexis’s house, and one hears they had to remove all the furniture from his room and pad the walls to keep him from doing harm to himself.”

  “I’m very sorry,” I said quietly.

  “Two doctors are in constant attendance, and his chances of recovery are still in doubt. They’ve been giving him drugs to calm him down—at least he no longer believes he’s the Imperial Eagle.”

  Several people came over to speak to me then, and I was forced to put on a polite social front. The information about Gregory didn’t surprise me, nor did it distress me. I was pleased to know he was being cared for, of course, but his fate no longer concerned me. I chatted and answered inane questions and said yes, Mr. Bond was indeed a hero, and when the hero himself eventually came over to lead me away I gave him a look that should have turned him to stone.

  “Something wrong?” he inquired.

  “We’ll discuss it later,” I promised.

  “Quite a place, this,” he said. “I’ve never seen so many crystal chandeliers, so much pink marble and gold leaf, but you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I’d rather be in our hut in the wilderness, in front of the fire. What about you?”

  I didn’t deign to answer, and Jeremy grinned his endearing grin and gave my arm a squeeze. Everyone was looking at us, so I didn’t slap his face, nor did I kick his shin. I longed to do both. He knew I was aggravated and knew the reason why and seemed to find it amusing, which didn’t help his cause one bit. I saw the way the women were looking at him, not a one of them who didn’t long to steal him away from me. He was aware of those looks, too, and he swaggered even more in his outlandish uniform and gold-lined cape.

  A hush fell over the crowd as the gilded white double doors at the end of the room opened and two handsome guards in full uniform stepped through, holding the doors back as the Empress of All the Russias made her dramatic, belated entrance. Catherine paused in the doorway for a moment, glancing about the room with dark, thoughtful eyes. She was sumptuously attired in a pink velvet gown appliquéd with silver flowers, the wide skirt parting in front to display the cloth-of-silver underskirt. Her powdered hair was wonderfully arranged in a high pompadour and ringlets, à la Marie Antoinette, a stunning diamond clasp holding one white and two pale pink plumes in place, and diamonds shimmered at her ears and throat as well. The short, rather dumpy woman with round cheeks, long nose and plump pink mouth had never looked more majestic, those dark eyes rather pensive tonight.

  When she saw Jeremy and me, Catherine smiled warmly and started toward us, casually acknowledging the bows and curtseys along the way. Jeremy executed a deep, perfect bow when she reached us, and I curtseyed, brocade rustling softly. Catherine nodded and, momentarily ignoring Jeremy, took my hands in hers, squeezing them gently.

  “It’s nice to see you again, my dear,” she said. “I’m very pleased you could come.”

  “I’m honored to be here, Your Majesty.”

  “You look radiant,” she told me. “I see the gown was ready in time. It’s most becoming.”

  “I want to thank you for it, for the diamonds as well. It is so—very kind and generous of you.”

  “A small token of our appreciation,” Catherine replied. “I didn’t want you to leave Russia without a little memento. I see my selection was appropriate—the diamonds enhance your remarkable beauty, my dear.”

  Her manner was friendly, her eyes full of warmth, but that kinship I had felt when we had tea at the Hermitage was missing. Though he was away, Potemkin was still between us. She smiled and turned to Jeremy and said he looked very striking in his uniform and asked if he found this reception tedious and dull, man of action that he was. Ever the gallant, Jeremy replied that no reception arranged by Her Majesty could possibly be dull, that her gracious presence would immediately enliven any function, tedious or no. Catherine’s response to all this charm was purely female. She beamed, looked ready to melt with pleasure. He had a way with
women. Indeed he did.

  Catherine moved on to greet her other guests, and the English ambassador and his wife came over to talk with us. The ambassador informed Jeremy that, single-handedly, he had improved diplomatic relations between Russia and England tenfold, that England owed him a huge debt of gratitude. Jeremy said it was nothing at all. Sir Reginald Lloyd joined us a little later and told me that he was to take me in to dinner tonight and considered it an honor. This was news to me, but I smiled and said I was honored to be going in with such a handsome and distinguished gentleman.

  Jeremy, of course, went in with Catherine when we adjourned to the large gold and ivory and pale pink dining room with its painted ceiling and shimmering chandeliers. She held on to his arm, smiling as he told an amusing anecdote. They occupied a table with the British ambassador and his wife and two court officials, while I dined at the next table with Sir Reginald, Protasova and six others. I tried my best to enjoy the meal, talking about Lucie and Bryan with Sir Reginald, listening to Protasova’s witty and deliciously risqué accounts of court intrigue, primarily amorous, but it seemed interminable nevertheless.

  Jeremy was having a marvelous time, holding everyone at his table spellbound with accounts of his rowdy adventures in America—I caught a few words now and then. Catherine was clearly enchanted, as vivacious as a girl as she smiled and nodded and encouraged him to tell more. I shouldn’t be irritated, I told myself. He was entitled to his hour in the sun. He was indeed a hero, and he had proved his love for me a thousand times over. Still, I toyed with my food and drank far too much wine, longing to leave. Sensing my mood, Sir Reginald told me again what a boon Jeremy had been for English diplomatic relations with Russia and added that his ideas on military defense had pleased and stimulated Catherine’s generals. So he had spent a great deal of time with them after all, I thought, ashamed at myself for entertaining suspicions.

  As Protasova had observed, he would be all mine tomorrow, and when after dinner the formal ceremony was held and Catherine presented him with his medal, I was filled with pride and found it difficult to hold back my tears. He was grave and dignified, standing at attention as the Empress placed the ribbon around his neck, and his words of thanks were brief. He had done no more than any Englishman would have done, he said, and while he was quite grateful to the Empress and to Russia, he felt the medal really belonged to Miss Marietta Danver, whose heroism far outweighed his own and who was responsible for his being in Russia in the first place.

  Almost as large as a saucer and oval in shape, the medal hanging around his neck on a dark blue velvet ribbon was completely covered with jewels, the Imperial Eagle in diamonds against a red and blue background, one side rubies, the other sapphires, mounted on and framed in silver. It had been created by the court jeweler especially for Jeremy and must have cost a fortune. Catherine took his hand and smiled and said her country would be eternally grateful to him, and then one of her generals said a few words and the English ambassador spoke and all the while Jeremy stood there tall and solemn and wonderfully handsome, looking every inch the hero.

  And afterward, when everyone crowded around him to express their congratulations, he nimbly eluded them and came over to where I was standing. Smiling a tender smile, love in his eyes, he took my hands in his and told me the medal really did belong to me and he intended to hang it around my neck immediately. To keep from dissolving into tears and making a complete fool of myself I tartly informed him that it was much too garish for my taste and would clash with my gown. He said I could be an awful bitch at times and I said he was right and he grinned and gave me a tight, affectionate hug right there in front of everyone.

  “Let’s leave, love,” he said. “I can hardly wait to get you all to myself.”

  “We can’t leave until the Empress does, it would be a shocking breach of protocol. Besides, you’re the guest of honor.”

  “Protocol be damned. Come.”

  He led me over to Catherine and she smiled warmly and said she hoped the medal would always remind him of his sojourn in Russia and added that she was still sorry he hadn’t let her make him a count. Jeremy told her that the medal would remind him not only of Russia but of its gracious and beautiful Empress as well, and the compliment made her glow. Lowering her heavy lids, she gave him a seductive look, tapped his arm playfully, and told him he was absolutely outrageous and it was a good thing he was leaving Russia at once, lest she lose her heart completely.

  “You have a prize here, my dear,” she said, turning to me. “Hold on to him.”

  “I intend to,” I said.

  “I realize it’s a shocking breach of protocol,” Jeremy began, “but, as you know, we have a ship to board and—” He let the sentence dangle, smiling an apologetic smile.

  “It’s a long drive to Kronstadt,” Catherine said, “and, it’s after three. You must leave at once, of course.”

  And, breaching protocol herself, Catherine left her other guests and accompanied us back to the front entrance, the perfect hostess, Empress or no. A footman brought my cloak. Another hurried out to see that our carriage was brought round. Jeremy slipped the gorgeous mink-lined cream brocade around my shoulders, and the three of us chatted lightly until the footman returned. Catherine gave Jeremy her hand. He lifted it to his lips and told her he would always remember her many kindnesses. Catherine smiled and wished him well and then turned to me, her dark blue eyes full of warmth and, I thought, rather sad.

  “I shall think of you fondly, my dear,” she told me. “Be happy in your new life.”

  I made a deep curtsey, and we took our leave, moving down the wide white marble steps by the light of the torches still held aloft by the footmen stationed on either side. Jeremy helped me into the elegant gold and white carriage and, a few moments later, we were on our way, both of us weary and lost in thought. We passed the outskirts of the city and had almost reached Peterhof before Jeremy sighed deeply and said it had been quite an evening, hadn’t it. I agreed and told him he had been a credit to his country.

  “Hated every minute of it,” he confided. “All of those people flocking around me, babbling in French. I just wanted to be with you, love, wanted to take those diamonds out of your hair and take that incredibly lovely gown off your body and let you know how much I’ve missed you these past weeks.”

  “You missed me?” I inquired.

  “Every single minute,” he swore.

  I didn’t necessarily believe him, but it was sweet of him to say so just the same. Gazing at him sitting across from me in the soft haze of moonlight, a crooked grin on his lips, I felt a delicious, amorous glow spreading inside and thought how pleasant it was going to be to have him take the diamonds out of my hair and the gown off my body.

  The moonlight had faded when we reached Kronstadt, the sky a light pearl gray with a faint suggestion of gold in the east. Despite the early hour the magnificent harbor was bustling with activity, cargo being loaded and unloaded by the light of lanterns that glowed like pale fireflies, dozens of men rushing purposefully about, sailors from the naval base hurrying to their ship for early morning maneuvers. Our ship was an impressive vessel, sails unfurling as crew scurried about in the riggings. The captain himself led us up the gangplank, told us our trunks were on board and said he was most honored to be carrying such distinguished passengers. Catherine had made all the arrangements for our journey, I recalled, so it wasn’t surprising he was so attentive and polite.

  Even so, I was amazed at our quarters. Both bedroom and stateroom were commodious, the walls paneled in ivory white with gold leaf patterns, lovely carpets spread over the rich teakwood floors. Candles glowed softly in glass globes dripping crystal pendants. A bottle of champagne nestled in ice in a silver bucket on a table in the stateroom. Beside it stood two tall crystal glasses, and there was also a large silver dish of caviar and a silver tray piled high with thin slivers of toast, chopped boiled eggs and onion and an assortment of tempting delicacies. Stepping over to the bedroom door, I gazed
at the large, lovely bed with its pale golden satin counterpane and soft mink spread of the same pale hue.

  Jeremy came up behind me and curled an arm around my waist, looking over my shoulder at the bed. I could feel his warmth and strength as he pulled me close, resting his cheek against mine.

  “Perfect accommodations,” he murmured, looking at the bed. “This ship’s taking us all the way to New Orleans, incidentally.”

  That surprised me. I had naturally assumed we would be changing ships at least twice.

  “Catherine arranged it,” he said. “She wanted to be sure we would travel in style. We’ll be stopping in Copenhagen and picking up more passengers in Marseilles, but it was all arranged for our convenience. She’s an extremely thoughtful woman.”

  “She certainly is,” I said.

  Oh, yes. Catherine was thoughtful and Catherine was considerate. Catherine had gone to an incredible amount of trouble and expense. Catherine had done this, done that—and the two of them had been extremely chummy tonight, so very relaxed in each other’s company. I could feel my temper rising, feel a flush coloring my cheeks. He rubbed his cheek against mine, his arm tightening around my waist.

  “Catherine’s very generous,” I remarked.

  “It’s her nature,” he said.

  I pulled away from him and whirled around. “Too bloody generous,” I informed him.

  His vivid blue eyes were utterly guileless. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked.

  “She’s always generous to the men she fancies. You slept with her, didn’t you? Don’t you dare lie to me!”

  He hesitated for a moment and then decided he had best come clean. “Why do you think she gave me the medal?”

  “You bastard!”

  “I did it for England, love.”

  “You son of a bitch!”

  “I couldn’t help it, Marietta,” he protested. “When the Empress of Russia invites a chap to pop into bed with her, he can hardly tell her he’s got a headache. It was a question of National Honor.”