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He looked utterly miserable. I half expected to see him twist the toe of his boot in the ground.

"Yes?" I prompted.

"Is about the box," he began.

"I'm sure you realize why I couldn't accept so expensive a gift, Count Orlov."

"I-yes, I realize this when my servant returns it to me this morning. I fear maybe-maybe you misinterpret this gift. I fear maybe you take offense. This worries me."

"There's no reason why it should," I said.

"What you think is most important to me."

"You hardly know me, Count Orlov."

"This does not matter."

I waited. He apparently had some sort of explanation he .

wished to make, and it was very difficult for him to find the right words. We could hear the rattle of harness in the distance, the stamping of horses, the gruff shouts of men as they prepared to resume the journey. Thin, wavering yellow-white rays slanted through the trees, bathing the scene with a softly diffused light. A bird swooped gracefully across the stream, perching on a rock on the opposite bank. I was growing more and more uncomfortable as he continued to hesitate. He seemed to be looking into the past, and there was a deep furrow above the bridge of his nose.

"I have this box made a-quite some time ago," he said.

. "I commission the finest jeweler in St. Petersburg to fashion it for me. I intend to give it to a very special person, but-but something happens and I do not give it to her. All this time I keep it, waiting for someone else who is very special to give it to."

"I'm flattered, Count Orlov, but-"

"I do not mean it to give the offense. I wish only for you to have it as a token of my admiration. I do not expect the favors in return. I fear maybe you think this."

His voice was a husky, guttural purr. Heavy lids drooped over eyes full of concern. Standing there in the softly diffused light, hands resting lightly on his thighs, he exuded an appeal so strong it gave a true meaning to the word
magnetism.
He actually seemed to draw one to him, and one had to actively fight that forceful pull. I turned away from him, gazing at the water, and when I spoke my voice was much too crisp.

"I wasn't offended, Count Orlov, nor-nor did I misinterpret your gift. I simply felt it would be improper for me to accept it."

"I wish only to please."

I turned around, cool, composed, safely behind the invisible wall I had managed to throw up. He sensed that wall.

It pained him.

"You are angry?" he asked.

"Of course not."

"I make the blunder. I realize this now."

"It's unimportant, Count Orlov. Please forget it. I really think we should go back now."

"Yes, the carriage will be ready. I am glad we clear this matter up between us. We shall have a pleasant journey to London."

It was going to be a damned uncomfortable journey for me, I thought as we started toward the road. The ground was rough, uneven. Orlov took hold of my arm to assist me, as though I were still an invalid. The skin of his fingers was like rough silk as they gripped my upper arm. I wanted to pull free, run ahead, but that would only have made matters worse. In a few hours I would be in London and free of these fascinating, bewildering Russians who had come into my life so bizarrely. In a few hours, if! were lucky, I would be in Jeremy's arms and nothing else would matter.

LONDON WAS BROWN AND TAN AND DULL,

pewter gray, spread with thickening violet shadows beneath a dreary, cloud-filled late afternoon sky. London was the stench of the river and rotting wood and fish, the squalor of the slums with masses of unwashed humanity jammed into incredibly filthy hovels, the cool elegance of majestic squares with lofty trees and formal flower beds and marble-porticoed mansions. It was vice and vitality, fever and furor, boisterous brawls, constant congestion, the most dangerous, the most exciting, the most stimulating city on earth. I felt that excitement in my bones as the plain private carriage took me through the labyrinth of narrow, twisting streets. Gin-soaked bawds yelled hoarsely, hawking baskets of rags. Thieves and harlots began to crawl out of the shadows as evening approached.

Toffs in satin and velvet frock coats strutted like lords, lace handkerchiefs held to their nostrils, swords at the ready.

My bags had already been delivered to The White Hart.

Count Orlov had insisted I spend the night at the imposing beige and white mansion he had leased-everything was prepared, it was late, I was weary-but I had firmly, politely refused his hospitality. I had to get to The White Hart as soon as possible. Very well, if I insisted, he would send me in the Orlov carriage with six of his men as bodyguards.

I shook my head, adamant. We faced each other in the gorgeous white and gold drawing room, for the carriage had come directly to the mansion on London's most exclusive and aristocratic square. Frustrated, furious Count Orlov wasn't accustomed to being defied-he had finally given an exasperated sigh and had one ofthe English servants who came with the mansion hire a common hackney and sent me offwith great reluctance. Four of his men, in English attire and armed to the teeth, trotted alongside the carriage as runners, ready to slaughter any ruffian Who threatened the precious cargo-me.

Count Orlov had given me no choice about this last detail.

I would have the four bodyguards or I wouldn't be allowed to leave. He would tie me hand and foot. He would lock me up in a closet. I would have proper protection or I wouldn't set foot outside the house. I had given in. We had had wine in the drawing room as we waited for the hackney to arrive. Lucie, tearful, hadn't touched hers. I had given her an emotional hug before I left and promised to try and see her again before I left London. The girl had looked absolutely crestfallen as she stood there on the steps beside her uncle, waving forlornly as the rattling hackney pulled out of the drive. Poor Lucie. I would never learn the dark secrets that caused those violet-blue eyes to be so soulful. I would think of her and her uncle often, but I was mightily relieved to be out of their colorful, exotic, dazzlingly rich and emotionally charged orbit.

The shadows were growing thicker, black nests of shadows filling the alleys, gathering in corners, and the city took on a raw, raucous air as darkness fell. I was secretly relieved to have the stalwart, scowling runners as the hackney passed sordid gin shops and taverns, noisy brothels and gambling dens. The streets were so congested that our progress was slow, the runners moving at a lazy trot as the driver cracked his whip and fought his way through the tangle of carts and coaches, sedan chairs and wagons.

Horses neighed, rearing. Drivers yelled obscenities at each other. The shrill, cacophonous din was as much a part of the city as the music of church bells and chimes. One quickly grew immune to it, and I hardly noticed as we continued on our way.

Another few minutes and I would be at The White Hart.

We passed over an arching stone bridge. I smelled the Thames. More gin shops and brothels, a park, a slightly wider street lined with shops and stalls, lighter, slightly less traffic. Do hurry. Do hurry. Would he be there? Would he look up when I opened the door of the room he had taken? Would he make some jaunty quip as I moved toward him? Would we squabble playfully before he crushed me into his arms and made passionate love to me? Please let him be there. Please let him forgive me. We've been through so much together, and I love him so. I love him so.

Almost there. Down a twisting, cobbled street with weathered signs hanging over shops. Torches beginning to burn as pitch black darkness shrouded the city. A thin white fog rising from the river. I love him with all my heart and soul, and I will never, never let him out of my sight again. If only he's there. If only he's there. Please let him be there.

After what seemed hours the battered old hackney pulled slowly into the yard of The White Hart. My nerves were ajangle. I was so excited, so apprehensive, I could hardly climb out. My knees threatened to give way beneath me as I stepped onto the uneven cobbles. The yard was a dark gray-brown, spoked with the yellow lights streaming from the windows of the inn. There was a strong odor of horses, hay and old leather. Chickens clucked. A dog barked loudly. Ivy clung to the worn brick walls, rattling quietly in the breeze, and the old sign hanging over the door creaked on its hinges. The front door opened. A servant appeared. I felt a wave of dizziness, and I realized that I Was exhausted from the long trip to London.

Count Orlov had paid the hackney driver in advance. He was already turning the carriage around. Horse hooves clattered loudly on the cobbles. Wheels screeched. The four Russians in their ill-fitting English attire stood grumbling, waiting for me to go inside. Excitement and apprehension mounted as I followed the servant into the cozy, shabbily furnished foyer. Candles glowed softly. A worn, flowered rug covered the floor. The bald, bespectacled proprietor

sat behind his counter, idly perusing a newspaper.

Looking up, he hastily put aside the paper and got to his feet, smiling a broad, welcoming smile as he recognized me from my earlier stay.

"Miss Danver!" he exclaimed jovially. "We're so pleased to have you back with us."

"I-my bags-"

"All taken care of," he assured me. "I had them sent up to your room. I took the liberty of assigning you to the same room you had before. It's one of our most comfortable."

"Thank you. That was-that was very kind."

He frowned, examining me closely. Candlelight gleamed on his shiny dome. His spectacles had slipped down his nose. I smiled pleasantly, and I could feel the smile tight and forced on my lips. My legs seemed to tremble.

"You-I say, Miss Danver, you look a bit peaked."

"The trip. It was a-a bit exhausting."

"We'd best get you right up to your room. A nice long rest is what you'll be wanting."

"Mr. Bond-is-is he here?"

"Bond?" The innkeeper looked puzzled.

"Jeremy Bond. He took a room here."

"Oh! You mean that jaunty, good-looking chap who arrived when you did. Afraid he's already gone."

"He's gone?"

"Left three days after you did. Tipped everyone lavishly, he did, gave our Tibby five whole pounds. I say, Miss Danver, are you-"

The dizziness swept over me and the candlelight began to dance wildly as the room swayed. A dark cloud claimed me, shutting out the light, and I felt myself falling, floating.

I drifted in a confused, chaotic void of misty darkness, yet I felt strong hands lifting me, felt myself sink against cushions. I could smell camphor and beeswax and an acrid odor I couldn't identify, and then yellow-orange lights began to flash in front of my eyes and I heard the voices, one deep, worried, the other gruff but distinctly feminine.

"-never know what to do, you men! Get back, give her room, let the poor thing have some
air!"

"She just fell into a swoon, right there' in front of my counter. You could have knocked me over with a-"

"Fetch my cologne and a handkerchief! Do it
now,
you blockhead! Don't just stand there with your mouth hanging open. Move!"

The lights grew brighter, and I heard a low, moaning noise and realized I was making it. I tried to sit up. Firm, gentle hands restrained me. I murmured a protest. My eyelids fluttered, and I sank back into the misty darkness until something damp and cool bathed my temples. I could smell the strong, fragrant scent of flowers. I opened my eyes. The woman leaning over me was extremely plump with a round, bossy but amiable face dominated by a pair of vivid brown eyes. Her mouth was small, a bright cherry red, her cheeks powdered, and a black heart-shaped beauty mark rested coyly on her left temple. Girlish chestnut brown ringlets bobbed on either side of her face in thick profusion. The wig was slightly askew, I observed.

"I -" My voice seemed to come from a great distance. "I must have-"

"Now you just relax, lambie. Reckon you had a little faintin' spell, nothin' at all to be alarmed about."

She continued to dab at my temples with the scentsoaked handkerchief, and I frowned, my nostrils quivering at the overpowering fragrance. She stood back as I struggled into a sitting position, cushions shifting behind my back. I was on the sofa across from the counter. The candles seemed very bright. The proprietor was standing nearby, actually wringing his hands. Two guests moved down the staircase, pausing to stare. The plump woman snapped at them with a few choice phrases that sent them scurrying. She was wearing an old-fashioned gown of sky blue taffeta festooned with pink satin bows and rows of soiled white lace. The once sumptuous taffeta was shiny with age.

"I'm Mrs. Patterson, lambie, Mrs. Pat to the regulars. I run the place with precious little help from my husband here. Get on about your business, Benjamin! I have things well under control. Feel better, lamb?"

"I think I'm all right. I-I feel so foolish."

"Fah! We all get a mite faint sometimes, myself included.

It's this world we're livin' in, so much noise, so much clatter, tries a person's nerves. Think you can stand now?"

I nodded. She took my hand. I got to my feet, still feeling rather shaky. Supporting me with an arm around my shoulders, Mrs. Patterson helped me climb the two flights of stairs and led me down the hall to the room I remembered so well. A fire was burning low in the fireplace. The bedcovers were turned down. A bowl of snapdragons sat on the low table beside the overstuffed, flowered blue chair.

Less than three weeks had passed since I was last here, yet it seemed a lifetime ago. I thought of Jeremy. Tears sprang to my lashes. I brushed them away while the innkeeper's wife watched me with shrewd, compassionate eyes.

"I know it ain't none of my business, lambie, but you ain't expectin', are you?"

"No, it isn't that. I-it was a very long, weary trip, and I just felt a bit-" .

"Reckon I know what you felt, lambie. I've been there before. You wouldn't think it to look at me now, but I've had my share of affairs of th' heart. 'Fore I met Benjamin an' nabbed him, I was quite a
co-kette.
He ran out on you, didn't he?"