RUSSIAN WINTER NIGHTS

by Linda Skye

  Russia, 1733

  There is no joy in the Yuletide season for Ekaterina Romanova. As the empress’s niece, she knows all too well the wickedness that lies behind the gilded facade of the Winter Court. But an intimate encounter with a handsome stranger offers her a few moments of escape, and awakens her to forbidden desires….

  Andrey Kvasov is stunned to learn that the beautiful peasant girl he almost made love to in the woods is really a princess. If their mutual passion is discovered, they will both be in grave danger—for the cruel empress has designs of her own on the young architect, and betrayal will be severely punished….

  Russian Winter Nights

  Linda Skye

  Russia is a land of startling beauty, mysterious legends and majestic architecture. Its rich history has always fascinated me, especially anything related to emperors, empresses and revolutions. When I finally got to visit St. Petersburg, one of the things that struck me most was the breathtaking decor of the Catherine Palace. There were so many beautiful places to admire: the Amber Room, the Picture Hall and, of course, the Hall of Light—which was the initial inspiration for this story. I, just like our heroine, was utterly captivated by the golden glow of that great room. I hope you will be transported to that lavish palace through this story, which is dedicated to anyone who has ever been entranced by brilliant buildings.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter One

  Ekaterina Romanova, the eldest, most beautiful daughter of Baron Dimitri and the niece of the reigning Empress of Russia, was standing amongst the clucking chickens outside the palace kitchens, dressed in a plain peasant smock and woollen overcoat. Her thick, dark curls were unbound and tumbled carelessly down her back. Her smooth complexion was free of fashionable white powder.

  If her ageing father could see her in her current, unadorned state as she stood in a place reserved for the common folk, he would probably die of a heart attack. Her mother would swoon. Her younger sisters would tut their disapproval and hide their faces in shame.

  But Ekaterina simply could not care less about what they all might think of her.

  “Come, children,” she called in her sweet, chime-like voice. “Come have some bread!”

  A flock of hungry children surrounded the young noblewoman, their grubby hands reaching out and their sweet, high voices calling out excitedly. For Ekaterina was passing out large, steaming loaves of freshly baked bread for the children to take home to their nearly starving families.

  “Bread! Bread!” the children cried, and whistled excitedly.

  “Yes,” Ekaterina laughed. “Bread! But don’t push—there’s enough for everyone!”

  Within just a few minutes, Ekaterina had nothing left in her wicker basket but crumbs. She smiled, satisfied, as thick wet snowflakes drifted down around her.

  It was nearly Christmas, and the bread she had just distributed would be a boon to the families of the palace servants. She could imagine them smiling around their bland pots of stew with hot slices of crusty bread to warm their bellies, when normally they would be carefully rationing out tiny portions of grain in a desperate bid to save up enough food for the endless winter, when frost would make life nearly unbearable for most.

  Hardly a happy Christmas, she mused silently.

  Ekaterina resisted the urge to frown. In the North, her father tried to treat his serfs fairly, and because of the example she saw in his policies, she had always campaigned for the rights of the peasants, who were the working backbone of their livelihood. But here, at Catherine Palace, the lavish rococo residence of Russian emperors and empresses, the peasant servants were treated little better than donkeys and dogs. They were reduced to scrounging about for the most minimal of sustenance, accepting the crumbs that the Empress had tossed their way because, simply put, there was no other choice available to them.

  Ekaterina grimaced at the thought of her aunt, Empress Anna of Russia. She was a gargantuan woman, her pudgy features swollen from years of consuming the very tastiest and fattiest of foods. Ekaterina was almost surprised that her aunt could still breathe in her tightly laced corset.

  But what was even worse than her careless, decadent lifestyle was Empress Anna’s cruel and vindictive nature.

  Ekaterina slowly wandered towards the edge of the walled courtyard, her delicate brows gently creasing in thought. The summons for Ekaterina to join the imperial court in the city of Tsarskoye Selo had come as an unpleasant surprise to the Romanov family in the North. Empress Anna had always distanced herself from the old nobility, especially her siblings—so to ask for her brother’s youngest daughter to join the court did not bode well.

  Contrary to what others might have thought, such a summons was not an honour—it was more likely a subtle declaration of war. Ekaterina, as a young, unmarried noblewoman, could be used as a political hostage—or humiliated for sport. Just last year, a member of the old gentry had displeased Empress Anna in some trivial way, and she had forced the elderly man to entertain her court by stripping naked and squawking like a bird in a specially constructed gilded cage. Even worse, the nobleman’s extended family had abruptly and unexplainably disappeared during the harsh winter, no doubt thanks to the actions of Empress Anna’s personal police squad.

  Since arriving a mere week ago, Ekaterina had so far managed to avoid close contact with her aunt, opting to stay hidden behind the jewelled plumes of the headdresses of more ambitious court women. But being inconspicuous in such a gaudy, debauched court took quite a bit of effort, and Ekaterina could not help but resort to old tricks to keep her sanity—such as strolling anonymously through the peasant areas.

  As she reached the edge of the walled courtyard, she heard soft, tinkling laughter. Pausing, she looked over to where a small gaggle of children was weaving pine boughs together to make crude Christmas ornaments. They were nothing like the expensive, gaudy contraptions that her aunt had commissioned for the Christmas season. Unlike the crystal baubles and bright candles, these simple decorations were dotted with crimson holly berries and strung together with tatty bits of string.

  But they were even more beautiful in Ekaterina’s eyes.

  The children’s ruddy faces shot up as she approached, her boots crunching over the freshly fallen snow. Ekaterina smiled warmly, her dainty fingertips skimming over the fragrant pine needles.

  “They’re beautiful, children,” she said encouragingly.

  The children’s smiles widened. Ekaterina patted each child on the head and leaned down to whisper.

  “Come see me in the kitchens tomorrow,” she told them with a wink. “I’ll have some sweet treats for you to share.”

  With that, she rose and resumed her stroll, warmed by the squeals of excited giggling left in her wake. She followed the stone wall to an iron gate, which she pushed open. As she stepped through the archway, a lovely winter landscape met her eyes. Brilliantly white snow carpeted the expansive meadows, broken only by a few clusters of evergreen trees. Ekaterina stepped farther away from the palace and closer to the wilderness, relishing the cold, crisp air on her face and the bright blue sky stretching as far as the eye could see.

  And then she saw him.

  A man was standing in the centre of the field, his the only tracks in the glittering snow. He was facing away from her, his thumbs hooked in his trouser pockets. Even though a cold wind stirred the fabric of his loose white shirt, he did not move—he didn’t even shiver! He was so still that the white puffs of his breath were the only indication that he was a living, breathing man and
not a statue.

  But what a statue he would have made! His figure could have made any of the marble mythical gods envious.

  Even from behind, he cut a striking silhouette against the perfect blue of the horizon. He was tall, long and lean—a fact accentuated by his billowing linen shirt and fitted wool trousers. His shoulders were broad, and he had dark, tousled hair that did not quite conceal a square jaw covered in rough stubble. Ekaterina swallowed breathlessly as he shifted his weight. And then he began to walk away, his shoes crunching over the new snow as he wandered towards the copse of trees that hid a small brook from sight.

  He was leaving!

  Ekaterina’s feet were rooted to the spot although she desperately didn’t want to lose sight of the stranger. She was intensely curious, but at the same time, trailing after a stranger seemed a terribly dangerous idea. Ekaterina bit her lip, her brow furrowing as the distance between them grew. Should she risk revealing herself, risk her safety for a glimpse of this handsome stranger?

  Just then, the man paused and turned slightly to the side. A breeze lifted his dark locks, which played across his perfect profile. Ekaterina’s stomach erupted in fluttering.

  Yes, she told herself. She just couldn’t help herself.

  Resolute and determined, Ekaterina followed him, carefully putting her feet in his large footprints so as to remain a silent and unseen follower. Although, she thought with a wry smile, he would see her immediately if he but turned around. Just a quick glimpse of his face, she told herself. A quick glance, and her curiosity would be satisfied. As she trailed after his loping strides, she found herself wondering if he would be angry at her intrusion or interested in her audacity?

  Her thoughts suddenly ceased as the mystery man reached the creek, which had almost completely frozen over. She halted, expecting him to turn around and spot her, but a quacking pair of geese distracted them both. Ekaterina eyed the waddling birds quizzically. Had they neglected to migrate? How had they survived?

  And then the man dug into his trouser pockets and pulled out a few crusts of bread. Clucking at the geese, he tossed the bread to the snow-covered ground and watched as the geese noisily snapped up the bits of food. Anger awoke in Ekaterina’s belly, rising like a flame to her throat. The squawking of the fat birds only increased her ire as she watched him toss another handful of crusts.

  How dare he, she thought as she strode heedlessly forward. How dare he squander such food on mere geese!

  Startled at the sound of shoes on snow, the stranger stilled and turned, his brows lifted in surprise.

  “You!” Ekaterina snapped, her blue eyes fiery as she advanced on him. “What do you think you are doing?”

  The stranger held up his hands, the last few breadcrumbs falling to the ground.

  “Feeding the birds?” he answered, his eyes wide.

  “Feeding the birds?” Ekaterina exclaimed incredulously. “You’re feeding the birds fresh bread while the peasants are near starvation?”

  *

  The man blinked, his expression unreservedly abashed. This woman had interrupted his daily ritual of wandering out into the wilderness to feed his geese. Hearing a human voice in the cold, abandoned outdoors was unexpected…though not completely unwanted. Her voice was sweet, even in anger, and it was a welcome contrast to the harshness he’d just left behind. He’d wandered out into the countryside to escape the sweat, dust and shouting, and the cold, fresh air and natural beauty usually invigorated him. But now…he only had eyes for the firecracker burning him with her stare.

  The woman before him was petite, her slight form dwarfed in her overly large wool overcoat. Her bright blue eyes were unparalleled jewels that burned with passion. His artist’s eye immediately traced the pale contours of her exquisite face; from the elegant arch of her thin eyebrows, to the perfect bow in her dainty lips. With midnight black hair and a radiant complexion, she stood out in stark relief to the barren land around them. He hadn’t seen her before at court, and he was sure he would have noticed her if she had ever made an appearance.

  But despite her slim frame and petite figure, she was now a burning bundle of seething rage. He took a step back. But the woman pressed forward and reached up to jab a finger into his shoulder.

  “Well?” she questioned, her voice like a sharp whip.

  She reached out to poke him again, but he caught her hand in an easy grip.

  “Young lady,” he began, his voice a slow, smooth velvet tone. “I don’t know who you are, but I don’t see how it is any business of yours what I do with my bread. But for your information, these are my geese. I found them with broken wings, and now I have to feed them.”

  Colour bloomed beautifully on her porcelain cheeks, and her ocean-blue eyes widened. Her pink lips parted in surprise, and she quickly snatched her hand back, cradling it against her chest as if she had been burned. The man watched this transformation with ever-increasing interest, his desire to sketch her expressive face matched only by the primal urge to mould his hands to her hips and pull her close.

  For her part, Ekaterina felt the anger drain from her body. His touch had been like fire, setting her nerves alight with an inexplicable longing. Awareness washed over her in a tingling wave as she took in the rugged slant of his thick brows, the intensity in his green eyes, the curve of his sensual lips and the hard line of his jaw.

  Not a statue of a Greek god, she thought to herself, but a living, breathing Adonis!

  He raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and reality slammed back into her with the force of a tidal wave. He was a stranger in her aunt’s palace, and he could be anyone…and anyone could bring malicious whispers to her aunt’s itching ears.

  Her face closed as her guard went up. The man’s other brow lifted, his expression mildly surprised at the sudden change.

  “I mean you no harm,” he said in the same steady tone. “I am merely an employee here at the palace.”

  “You work in the palace?” she asked, her facial features softening slightly.

  “Yes,” he said and nodded. “My name is Andrey.”

  She studied his face, distrust in her eyes. Andrey met her glare with an open expression, suddenly afraid that the beautiful creature before him would take flight and leave him alone in the cold. She was so refreshingly different from the women he’d met in the palace.

  “Where do you work?” she asked, suspicion tingeing her tone.

  “In the workshop,” he replied.

  It was only a slight lie, he told himself. There was no need to expound upon the unnecessarily complicated nature of his true employment at the palace. He simply did not want to lose the chance to spend more time with her.

  “The workshop?” Ekaterina almost sighed in relief. No one in the workshop would ever brush shoulders with the nobles. It was far too dusty and dingy for the likes of the Russian aristocracy. She shook off the lingering feelings of dread, banishing all thoughts of her horrible aunt. Instead, she looked upon Andrey with clear eyes. As her gaze dropped to his hands, she imagined them at work. He had long, tapered fingers and calloused palms. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and she could see the muscles in his taut forearms. She visualised the careful attention he would give to carving, the bulge of his upper arms as he worked the machinery, and the sweat glistening on his perfect brow.

  Ekaterina felt a tingle in her thighs that spread like fire through her lower belly. It ached deliciously. It twisted her stomach in knots. It made her shift from foot to foot.

  “Now if you have finished with your interrogation,” Andrey said, cutting into her thoughts in a wry tone. “Who might you be?”

  Ekaterina started, looking up. Her cheeks warmed as she felt the full force of his lusty gaze. He was watching her knowingly, his intense eyes hooded. She took a moment to slowly savour the sight of him. She would have loved to bask in the heat of his gaze, but she knew it was dangerous—oh, so dangerous—to dally for too long. So, lifting her chin defiantly, she turned on her heel and cast one last loo
k over her shoulder.

  “No one of interest,” she quipped.

  She made as if to walk away briskly, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. She turned to level the stranger with a half-hearted glare, only to be met with his smouldering eyes. She swallowed, suddenly feeling light at the feeling of his fingers.

  “You don’t know what I’m interested in,” Andrey returned, his voice even. “Maybe I want to have a chat with a mysterious woman in the middle of nowhere.”

  Ekaterina pulled out of his grip and spun around, a frown turning down her pink lips. She inclined her head slightly, studying his chiselled face. Her mind screamed at her to leave, to turn and escape back into the palace before it was too late. But her heart and body tugged in the opposite direction; she longed to run her fingers through that thick hair, to feel the sweep of his stubbled jaw under her smooth palms, to push away his shirt and explore the mysterious expanse of muscle hidden beneath.

  He was just too gorgeous.

  Surely a few more minutes couldn’t hurt, she told herself. After all, he was a lowly peasant and she was a hidden princess. They would probably never meet again, and no one would be the wiser about this strange encounter.

  *

  Andrey could plainly see the war in her eyes; she wanted to stay and yet felt she had to go.

  I don’t want her to go.

  The yearning was an insistent tug, pounding like the blood in his veins. He wanted to hear her voice, feel the curve of her body against his and paint the canvas of her flesh with his lips. But she looked ready to flee, and he did not want to lose his chance. Her sweet face and honest sincerity were a balm to his frazzled nerves. He hated palace life. When it wasn’t stuffy and pretentious, it was dirty and dusty. Even worse were the palace girls; their faces false with makeup, and their voices forcibly high-pitched. So, while the wilderness was his usual escape, he longed to spend even a few more moments with this woman.

  And so before she could make up her mind, he took her by the arms and pulled her into his chest.