Satin Ice

by Iris Johansen

  "I doubt if he gives a damn whether it pleases me or not." Nicholas, looking in the mirror, finished adjusting his black tie. Once given free rein, Valentin had turned into a veritable whirlwind of activity this last week, he thought sourly. From morning to eve-ning Silver had been subjected to dancing lessons, to fittings for a wardrobe that would stun and dazzle, and to a thorough drill in court etiquette. She had been surprisingly patient and accommodating through it all. He wished he could say the same for himself. Nicholas had scarcely been able to restrain the explosive tension that seemed to be his constant companion of late. He turned away from the mirror. "Tell Count Marinov I'll join him shortly."

  Rogoff nodded, bowed, and departed Nicholas's chamber with his typically royal bearing.

  It couldn't last long, Nicholas thought as he gathered his white gloves from the table, where his valet had laid them in readiness. Perhaps it was natural that Silver would want to savor the splendor of life at court after her life of humiliation and oppression; he was sure, though, after an initial taste she would find it bitter to the palate. She loved freedom too much to tolerate the mincing hypocrisy of the courtiers.

  She was not like his mother.

  Sweet Jesus, he hoped she was not like his mother. He didn't think he could bear it if he discovered in Silver the same ambitions that had driven Natalya all these years.

  A crooked smile twisted his lips as he turned and strode quickly toward the door. He was not in the least like his father. He would never stand by and watch Silver become a demimondaine as Natalya had. If Silver took one step in that direction, he would act swiftly and violently.

  Valentin turned away from the gilded oval floor- length mirror and frowned as Nicholas entered Silver's bedchamber. "You took long enough," he said as he stepped back away from Silver and motioned to the plump maid fussing with Silver's hair to leave the room. "I can't do this alone, you know. Tonight is very important and we must be there in time for the polonaise."

  "I'm here now." Nicholas's gaze was on Silver, who was looking at herself in the mirror, her back to him. He had seen her tense at the sound of his voice as if she were an animal sensing danger. A sudden jab of pain and frustration knifed through him. Why, in God's name? He had told himself her wariness and distrust would fade in time, but this had not been the case. If anything, she was more on guard with him now than ever before.

  His gaze traveled over her. Valentin had chosen well, he thought. She was gowned in a shade of gray satin so pale it appeared to gleam like moonlight in the soft glow of the candles. Against her dusky skin and dark hair the color was sheer sensual provocation and echoed the flashing crystal lightness of her eyes. He felt a sudden tightening in his groin as desire added dimension to his manhood. He tore his gaze from her and turned to Valentin. "Why did you send for me? You appear to have everything under control. She looks fine."

  "I don't look fine," Silver said flatly, gazing at the low square neckline of the gown that revealed a shocking amount of silken flesh. Hidden stays pushed her breasts into bold prominence, framing and subtly offering their voluptuous beauty to the onlooker; below, the tight bodice of the gown accented her slim waist. The long gray satin gloves that reached past her elbows gleamed in the candlelight, forming a sensual contrast that made the flesh that remained uncovered appear even more alluringly bare. "Why do I have to wear this paint on my face? If you want me to look like a whore, the gown alone should be enough."

  "No such thing. Every woman at court wears rouge," Valentin protested quickly. "And the gown is very stylish." He frowned. "Though I shouldn't have given in to you about the bustle. Madame Lemenov said no woman at the ball will be without a bustle."

  She shrugged. "You said I should be different and I hate bustles. They make me feel like a camel with a misplaced hump."

  Valentin chuckled. "We certainly don't want to give that impression." His glance flicked lightly over her breasts. "And all your humps appear to me to be in exactly the right places." He turned to Nicholas. "What do you think, Nicholas? Is that little train as good as a bustle?"

  Nicholas didn't answer for a moment, his gaze riveted on the décolletage. Slowly he lifted his eyes to meet Silver's in the mirror.

  Silver felt her breath leave her lungs. Beautiful. Everything about Nicholas was beautiful. In the stark black and white of his evening clothes he was all golden sensuality. Equally sensual, his dark eyes were gleaming, blazing, beguiling as they effortlessly kept her captive.

  "Nicholas?" Valentin asked again as he adjusted the train of Silver's gown.

  Nicholas forced himself to look away. "Her gown is fine," he said thickly.

  "That's not what I asked," Valentin said. "The bustle?"

  "For God's sake, what difference does it make?" Nicholas asked impatiently. "Who the hell is going to look at her backside when her breasts are almost tumbling out of the bodice?"

  "It makes a good deal of difference," Valentin protested. "We have to strike just the right note. She has to appear original but not unfashionable."

  "No bustle," Silver said firmly. "This corset is bad enough. There was no room for the sheath of my knife, and I had to strap it to my thigh. You said if I'd wear the corset, you'd stop arguing about the bustle. I won't look like a camel—"

  "You're taking your knife?" Valentin asked, startled. He shook his head. "Silver, you can't take your knife to an imperial ball."

  "My knife goes with me or I don't go."

  "Forget it, Valentin," Nicholas said curtly. "Let her take the knife. And if you see the lack of a bustle as such a tragedy, we'll just have to give everyone something else to look at to distract them."

  "For example?"

  "The Savron rubies."

  Valentin's lips pursed in a low whistle. "Natalya will not be pleased."

  "How unfortunate. I'll be right back." Nicholas turned and left the bedchamber.

  "The Savron rubies?" Silver asked.

  "They're a part of the Savron family jewels. A great portion of the Savron fortune is derived from jewels mined in the Urals, and the family's personal collection is passed from father to son. When Nicholas came of age and inherited, he took the rubies away from his mother and refused to return them." Valentin shook his head. "They're quite fabulous, and Natalya will want to cut your throat when she sees you wearing them." He brightened. "However, they'll definitely draw more attention to you than the pearls I had in mind."

  "Much more attention." Nicholas's eyes were glittering recklessly as he entered the room carrying two large leather boxes. He thrust the smaller of the boxes at Valentin. "Hold this." He opened the other box and drew out a necklace that looked as if it might stain his fingers, if not burn them. He stepped behind her and slipped the jewelry around her neck. His gaze met hers in the mirror, and this time there was no sensuality there, only cynicism. "Rubies suit you well. They look far better on you than they did on my mother." He fastened the catch. "What, no comment? Have I overwhelmed you at last?"

  The wide collar of large square-cut rubies intersticed with diamonds was magnificent enough to overwhelm an empress. Silver slowly reached up to touch the necklace with the tips of her fingers. She was surprised how cold they were. The diamonds and rubies blazed with such fierce fire against the duskiness of her throat that they looked as though they might be alive. "It's very . . . nice."

  Suddenly Nicholas's cynicism was gone and a smile lit his face. "Only you would describe a necklace worth a tsar's palace as 'nice.' " He turned and held out his hand "The tiara, Valentin." The bejeweled coronet was placed carefully on her fashionably coiffed hair before he shut the box and tossed it carelessly on the bed. "You don't need the bracelets or earrings. We don't want you looking like a Gypsy in her bangles."

  She stiffened. "Gypsy? Ah, yes, you should be very familiar with Gypsy bangles."

  He looked genuinely surprised. "What?"

  "Let's go." Silver whirled away from the mirror. "I'm tired of all this fussing. I look passable enough."

  "
Passable?" Nicholas repeated slowly.

  She looked glorious. She was moonlight and flame, a beauty so sensual she would have every man in the Winter Palace panting like a starving wolf, he thought savagely. After tonight she would no longer belong to him alone, but to those sycophants who gathered like leeches around the tsar. For a wild moment he wanted to forbid her to go, to keep her for himself, to tell her that she was his and that he would not permit her to— He stemmed the rush of thoughts and drew a steadying breath. It was only for a little while. He could be patient until she grew weary of the glitter of the court. He picked up the black sable cloak lying on the back of the chair and stepped forward to drape it over her shoulders. "Yes, you look quite passable. Now let's get this farce over with."

  "You bring Silver. I'll go ahead to the Nicholas Hall." Valentin tossed his cloak to one of the liveried servants and seconds later began to quickly climb the Grand Staircase. "I want to ask a few questions about who's to be here tonight."

  A moment later he had disappeared among the crowd of guests on the landing.

  "The Nicholas Hall?" Silver asked as a footman took her cloak.

  "The Nicholas Hall is where most of the balls are held here in the Winter Palace." Nicholas's lips twisted. "And, no, they didn't have the good taste to name it after me but after Tsar Nicholas the First." He took her arm and propelled her up the first of the white Carrara marble steps. "There are one hundred and seventeen staircases in the palace, and we're now mounting the Jordan Staircase. It's said to be the most beautiful in the world. Tell me, are you impressed, Silver?"

  There was a mocking edge to his tone that prevented her from admitting she was not only impressed but a little intimidated by the massive staircase and the enormous marble columns with their gold-trimmed pediments. On every other step of the staircase stood troopers of the Chevaliers Gardes, their silver breastplates and helmets crested with shining double eagles. Beside them stood other guards in scarlet tunics. "Stairs are stairs," Silver said at last. "They get you from one level to another. Those scarlet uniforms look a little like the clothes Mikhail wears. Are those men Cossacks?"

  "They belong to the Cossack Life Guards." Nicholas's lips tightened. "Alexander likes the idea of having a few tame Cossacks around because he has so much trouble with the rest of us."

  The guards weren't the only men wearing uniforms, she noticed. A goodly number of the male guests were also garbed in uniforms. Mongol and Circassian officers sported their exotic raiment with a careless elegance that contrasted with the more traditional scarlet and blue tunics and tight elkskin britches of the Hussar officers. "Valentin told me you were once an officer in the army. Why aren't you wearing a uniform?"

  "I joined the army because I was bored after I left the Kuban. When I resigned my commission I ceased to regard myself as one of His Imperial Majesty's toy soldiers. I'm a Cossack."

  "What's the difference?"

  He gave her a sardonic glance. "The difference between your Apache warriors and the U.S. Cavalry. A world of difference, Silver."

  "I see." They were now moving down a long hall, passing by variously dressed servants—a footman in snow-white gaiters and black frock coat; an equerry in a rich cape bordered with imperial eagles and a hat with a long scarlet ostrich plume; a lackey dressed in a Polish surcoat with the red scarf on his head clasped with silver. "Are we almost there? I don't see why anyone would want to live in this place, when it takes so long to get anywhere."

  "It's just ahead." Nicholas nodded at a door a few yards away toward which all the guests were streaming. "I'll be interested to see your reaction."

  She stood in the doorway gazing at the ballroom and was scarcely conscious of the majordomo bellowing out their names. The Nicholas Hall must have been at least two hundred feet long and sixty feet wide, and its gleaming floor reflected the light of thousands of candles in torchères and sconces and in chandeliers hanging like blazing stars from the high ceiling. The delicious fragrance of wood drifted from huge porcelain stoves to blend with the incense several lackeys were swinging in silver censers to per-fume the room. Orchids, gardenias, and hyacinths overflowed from silver and porcelain baskets in every corner and cranny of the room.

  She became aware that Nicholas's gaze was narrowed on her face. "Well, does it come up to your expectations?"

  "I had no expectations." She tried to shrug carelessly. "It's all very grand, isn't it? But then, the saloon on the Mississippi Rose was grand too."

  "How delightful to see you, Nicholas."

  They turned as one toward Natalya. Silver felt the muscles of her shoulders instinctively tense.

  "And I'm so pleased that you've finally decided Silver is ready to meet civilized people." Natalya's eyes bored into the ruby necklace encircling Silver's throat. "I see you've decided to deck your little bride with the Savron jewels. Quite appropriate. I hear all savages are fond of red."

  "We are," Silver said calmly. "It's the color of blood. We're very fond of that too. You'd be wise to remember, Your Highness."

  Natalya snapped her fan closed. "I remember everything I wish to remember. For instance, I recall you told me you were with child." Her gaze wandered to Silver's slim waist. "What a pity you lost the infant. Or was it a pity? Sometimes a child isn't welcome so early in a marriage." She looked up at Nicholas and her voice lowered to silken softness.

  "And sometimes a child isn't welcome at all."

  "And sometimes a child is welcome no matter when it comes." Nicholas's hand closed protectively on Silver's elbow. "If you'll excuse us, Valentin is waiting for us across the room."

  "Certainly. I can be very understanding." Natalya unfurled her fan again and began to move it languidly back and forth. "Though I do have trouble understanding why you never visit your enchanting wife's bed if a child is so welcome." Her eyes narrowed with catlike pleasure on Silver's face, drinking in every nuance of the shock and pain she saw there. "Perhaps you'd care to explain, my dear?"

  "She doesn't have to explain." Nicholas's tone was fierce, and he hurriedly propelled Silver forward. "It would be best if you stay away from Silver this evening."

  "We'll see," Natalya murmured.

  They were halfway across the ballroom when Silver spoke haltingly. "How does she know we don't sleep together? Did you tell her?"

  "I don't discuss my bedroom activities with anyone." Nicholas said. "In fact, I rarely discuss anything more personal than the weather with my mother."

  "Then how did she know?" Silver asked fiercely.

  "One of the servants on the island is probably in her pay." He smiled bitterly. "My mother likes to know what's going on. She believes in the adage that knowledge is power."

  "Which one? Which servant?"

  "I have no idea. Why are you so upset? You'll find purchasing information and gossip is a common practice among these gracious people you wish to emulate." He glanced sidewise at her. "If you find it distasteful, you can always change your mind. We don't have to stay."

  "No." She had let Natalya's splinters pierce her and that must not happen again. Their fire was singeing her confidence and ugly suspicion was keeping her from thinking. The servants on Crystal Island could be bought. Was it only information that was purchased or was it something else as well? Perhaps a potion dropped into a cup of sassafras tea? The hot color of anger bloomed in her cheeks. "No, I wish to stay. I can come to terms with these friends of yours."

  "That's what I'm afraid of," he said with a lopsided smile. "And I have no friends here."

  "You lie," she said coldly. "I'm not blind. I have seen the women looking lustfully at you. You have lain with some of them."

  He nodded. "With many of them. Does that bother you, Silver?"

  No more than a hot brand laid upon her flesh, she thought. "Of course not." She raised her chin. "I only noticed. It is nothing to me." She quickened her steps. She had to get to Valentin to put their plan in notion. She must not think of Nicholas in bed with these court ladies or his Gypsies. She stopp
ed before Valentin and smiled with relief. "We are here. When do we start?"

  "We've started already," Valentin said. "Every man n the room is looking at you with admiration and very woman with speculation or envy. It's not a bad beginning. Now, if only you can spark the tsar's interest."

  The orchestra began to play, and a rustle of expectation whispered through the room. "The tsar is about to make his entrance." Valentin turned his gaze to the doors at the far end of the room. "Do you remember the steps of the polonaise? Nicholas, you must try to position yourself so that when the dance ends you'll be near the tsar and can make the introduction. It's not according to protocol, but perhaps a minor infraction will be overlooked—" He broke off as with great ceremony the door was thrown wide and the tsar and his entourage entered the ballroom.

  "Why is he wearing that funny hat?" Silver asked.

  "The tsar?" Valentin was startled. "What hat?"

  "I think she's referring to the tsar's personal guard." A faint smile tugged at Nicholas's lips as his gaze followed Silver's to the huge Nubian leading the column. "I doubt if Alexander would be flattered. That's Ahmed, a gift from a minor sheikh of Morocco to the tsar. He's wearing his official uniform and the headpiece is called a turban. He was a most awkward gift, since Alexander had just signed a document freeing the serfs. Naturally, he had to immediately free Ahmed but Ahmed refuses to acknowledge it. His Imperial Majesty is directly behind him, walking with Peskov."

  "How peculiar." Silver turned her gaze from the giant Nubian dressed in scarlet pantaloons and vest to the man directly behind him. After the colorful grandeur of the palace guard, the smaller Alexander II was a distinct disappointment in his dark blue beribboned uniform and curling mustache. "He looks ...puny."

  "You mean in comparison with the Nubian?" Nicholas's eyes were twinkling. "His Majesty is more of a scholar than a sportsman."

  "Where is the tsarina?"

  "She's not attending tonight, I understand," Valentin said. "A minor indisposition."