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Others wrestled and roisted about. Orlov was probably among them, relishing the rowdy horseplay as much as they, but I couldn't pick him out in the shadowy crowd.

I was still wearing my heavy, sapphire blue velvet gown with its long, tight sleeves and low-cut bodice when, ten minutes later, someone pounded on the door. Startled, I hesitated a moment, then opened it. Count Orlov grinned at me, a decidedly lopsided grin. A lock of thick golden

"

brown hair had tumbled down across his brow. His navy blue eyes were merry, his cheeks pink from the cold. He completely filled the doorway, weaving just a little. Not really drunk, he was certainly tipsy. Attractively so, I thought.

"Ah, you are still dressed," he said in Russian. "I intrude?"

"You do not intrude, but I wish you would speak French.

Your voice is rather slurred and I can barely make out the words."

"My voice is slurred?"

"Definitely."

"This I find hard to believe, Miss Danver."

"Believe me."

"I will speak the French. You must study Russian. Is boring, speaking always the French. We are in Russia now."

"I would never have guessed it," I said.

Orlov looked perplexed, confused, and then realization dawned. "Ah, you make the jest. Me, I am dense."

"Your brain might be just the tiniest bit foggy at the moment,"

I toldhim. "You've obviously been enjoying the celebration in the courtyard."

"Yes, this is true. I enjoy being with my men. Is a very long time since I see them. We have roast chickens and pig and drink much vodka. They challenge me to drink a whole bottle in one swoop, without the bottle ever leaving my lips."

"You obviously accepted the challenge."

"I pass it with ease. I put the bottle to my lips, I throw my head back and drink it all in less than a minute. My knees do not even wobble."

"They're wobbling now," I observed.

"This is your imagination," Orlov replied, offended.

"Well-"

"I do not come here to argue. I come to bring you a surprise."

"Indeed?"

He nodded, grinning again. He had been holding ene hand behind his back as we talked, and now he brought it into view, showing me a pair of beautiful beige leather boots lined with soft beige fur. Clutching them by the tops, he lifted them up so that I might better appreciate the soft, pliant leather, the elegant style.

"Why-they're lovely," I said. "Wherever did you find them out here in the wilderness?"

"One of my cossacks has them. He brings them along an extra pair. He is very tough soldier, fierce and fearless as they come, but he has the small, delicate feet. When the other men tease him about these dainty feet, he bangs them on the side of the head with the butt of his sabre. I think maybe these boots fit you."

"I couldn't possibly take them."

"They are brand-new," he said. "He has not even had them on yet. He is honored to give them up for a good cause. I do not even have to twist his arm a little."

"That's reassuring."

"Maybe just a little," he confessed, grinning.

"I wouldn't want him to be without an extra pair," I said. "I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Count Orlov, but-"

"Do I have to twist your arm, too?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"You will take the boots."

"I don't seem to have much choice."

"Is correct," he informed me.

I didn't want to smile, but I couldn't help it. Orlov tilted to the left, righted himself, grinned again.

"You smile. You make the jest. Is good to see you in this mood. I think you are not sorry you come to Russia with us.

The hall is very cold," he added.

We were still standing in the doorway. I stepped back now, and Orlov came into the room. I closed the door behind him to keep in the heat, and he stood in the middle of the floor, looking at the bed, the furs, the flickering candle flames. The gray fur hat was gone, but he was still wearing the bulky gray fur coat that made him look so enormous.

He seemed to fill the room with his vitality, as though the air itself were charged with a new energy. His magnetism was almost overwhelming in these close quarters, and I wasn't at all sure this was a good idea. He was so very, very attractive, exuding sexual allure, and I wasn't nearly as strong, nor as immune, as I would have liked to be.

"I think perhaps you'd better leave the boots," I said.

"We try them on."

"In the morning."

"Now."

He was tipsy. He would probably have only the vaguest memory of this tomorrow. Ifthere was any sexual tension, it was all on my part. Count Orlov was intent only on presenting me with the boots and, in truth, was undoubtedly much too foggy with vodka to have given seduction a thought. He is just being friendly, I told myself. He is like a great big, frisky puppy. I am being absurd.

"You sit," he said.

I hesitated. He gave me a little shove that was much more forceful than he had intended. The mattress sagged and bounced as my derriere landed on the bed. A fur robe spilled to the floor. I sat up, slightly dazed. Orlov squatted down and, before I could protest, reached under my skirts, wrapped his hand around my calf and lifted my right leg, propping it over his knee. His powerful fingers dug into the flesh of my calf as, with his other hand, he tugged at my shoe. It wouldn't come off. He frowned, eyes dark with concentration, finally jerking it off. I was wearing no stockings. He held my naked foot in his hand, examining it intently, as though he had never seen a female foot before.

"Really, Count Orlov-" I began.

"It is most dainty, the high arch, the pink-tipped toes."

"I think-"

"It is cold, too," he said. "The skin is like ice."

His hand slid slowly down my calf and wrapped around my ankle, and he began to massage my foot, bending it gently, rubbing his hand over the sole, the heel, bending the toes back and forth, and the warmth grew and spread, creeping up my leg. His palm rubbed, his fingers curled, pressed, squeezed, sending delicious, tingling sensations throughout my body. The top of his head gleamed rich golden brown in the candlelight, and his lips were parted, pink and full and firm. His gray fur coat was sprinkled with snow that slowly melted in the heat.

"Is warm now?" he inquired.

"Let's try on the boot," I said.

"Yes, I feel sure it fits."

He gripped my calf again and gave my leg a yank, pulling my foot closer to his chest. It touched the soft gray fur. The fur tickled. He reached for the boot and bent my foot and slipped it into the boot. I wriggled my toes, pushed down as he shoved up, and the boot slipped on as though it had been custom made. Orlov grunted a little, rocking back on his heels. I put my foot down, easing it deeper into the boot. The fur lining seemed to caress my skin. As Orlov watched, I took off my other shoe, put on the other boot and stood up, valiantly striving to retain some semblance of composure.

"I am right," he said. "They fit."

"They fit beautifully," I agreed.

"You are very beautiful. So beautiful."

"Thank you."

"The hair is like copper fire. I long to gather it in my hands. The eyes are so blue. I long to see them look into mine with longing. The breasts are so full. I long to squeeze them tightly."

"You are quite drunk," I told him.

"Me, I can hold my vodka."

"I think you'd better get up."

"Yes, this is a good idea."

He reached for my hand. He tried to pull himself up. He pulled me onto the floor beside him. He looked amazed. He shook his head. I got up and got behind him and put my hands under his arms and heaved and he managed to stumble up and then he toppled onto the bed. I sighed. He sat up, looking at me with bewildered eyes.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"I think maybe you are right. I think maybe I am just the tiniest bit foggy. The room is very warm. The walls seem to weave. I rest here for a few minutes."

"I don't think that would be wise."

"Yes, you are the very proper young woman. You do not have the men in your bedroom. This I am always aware of, and I do not make.the seduction. I am very considerate. I think of you and I sleep with the whore in Paris, the barmaid in Berlin, the peasant wench at the posthouse. I use the restraint. This is noble of me when I want so much to have you for myself."

The liquor had really gone to his head now, and he had no idea what he was saying. I realized that. Hands propped behind him, he looked up at me with navy blue eyes full of the deepest yearning, his cheeks flushed, his brow moist, and I longed to brush that damp golden brown lock from his brow and run my finger over the full pink curve of his lower lip. It had been so long, so very long since I had felt a man's warmth inside me, and this man was so beautiful, his childlike charm so intriguing, combined with his brute strength and rugged virility.

"I should not say these things," he said mournfully.

"You really shouldn't," I agreed.

"I am drunk, I think. I should not have had the second bottle."

"It was most unwise."

"Now you will be angry with me because I want to pleasure you."

"I am not angry, Count Orlov."

"I have wanted to pleasure you since I first see you in England."

"I know."

"Is very difficult to be so correct when I want this so."

"Can you get to your room?" I asked.

"I think this is impossible."

"I'll go fetch one of the men servants," I told him.

I left the room. I paused in the hall for a moment and closed my eyes and took a deep breath, and then, squaring my shoulders, I went downstairs and found Vladimir sitting at the table with Ivan and two others. They were drinking vodka and eating rice cakes. I told him in a crisp, cool voice that his master was upstairs and needed assistance.

Reluctantly, Vladimir got up, gave me a hostile look and followed me. Orlov was snoozing contentedly atop the pile of furs. Vladimir shook him and pulled him to his feet.

Orlov protested, surly now, ready for a fight. Vladimir curled Orlov's left arm around his shoulder, curled his right arm around Orlov's waist and led him out of the room.

I closed the door. I could hear them stumbling down the hall and hear Orlov's sullen protests, and finally there was silence. I undressed and put out the candles and climbed into bed shortly thereafter, but I did not close my eyes. I stared at the moonlight streaking the darkness and listened to the crackle of the fire in the silver brazier and it seemed I could still feel his strong hands massaging my foot. It seemed I could still feel those sensations tingling within me, sensations I had not felt in too long a time. I tried to put it out of my mind. I failed.

I got very little sleep that night.

THE WHITE-LIVERIED SERVANT WHO CAME

into my room the next morning was the same slim, fairhaired youth who had served dinner to Orlov and me at The Wayfarer. On the silver tray he set down on the bedside table were a crystal goblet full of orange juice, a silver pot of coffee, a porcelain cup, a flaky croissant, a Pot of strawberry jam, a platter of sausage and bacon, a linen napkin. He informed me that we would be leaving in an hour and departed as unobtrusively as he had entered.

Sunshine blazed into the room, dazzlingly bright as it reflected off the snow. I sat up in bed, yawning, and leisurely consumed the lavish breakfast, dreading yet another day of wearying travel.

Lucie came in as I finished dressing. She had changed into a gown of dark golden velvet and wore her golden brown sable cloak. She looked fresh and full of vitality and enviably young. I felt old after my sleepless night. Adjusting the long sleeves of my blue velvet gown, smoothing the bodice, I sat down to pull on the boots. Lucie arched a brow when she saw them. I told her her uncle had brought them to me, that they had belonged to one of the cossacks.

"Vanya," she said. "He has very small feet."

"You know them all by name?" I inquired.

"Most of them. Vanya is very special. Before my uncle and I left Russia, Vanya was like a big brother to me. He taught me to ride."

"Oh?"

"He was very patient, but very persistent. He looks fierce and savage, and he is, I suppose, when it is necessary, but with me he was as sweet and gentle as a lamb."

"It was certainly kind of him to give up his boots."

"They are very fine boots. I am glad you have them. We should have purchased several pair for you before we started. I did not think of it."

I pulled on my kidskin gloves. Lucie stepped over to the window and began to trace patterns on the moist condensation.

I put on the heavy ermine cloak and pulled the hood over my head. Only a few coals smoldered in the brazier now, and the room was cold. There were noises in the hall as a fleet of servants dismantled Lucie's room and carried furs, linens, candelabra and such downstairs.

"It's a lovely day," Lucie said. "The sun is glittering on the snow and ice, and no snow is falling. The sky is bluewhite.

We will take a short walk while they pack."

"Wonderful," I replied.

She smiled at my lack of enthusiasm. "It will be good for you," she told me. "It will get the blood circulating. It will toughen you up."

"Just what I need," I said, picking up the ermine muff.

I had to admit that it was lovely outside, the sky cloudless, a vast white canopy lightly stained with pale blue.

There was a bustle of activity as the troikas were loaded, the horses led around from the stables and put in harness, tents folded up. The cossacks were as boisterous as ever, apparently unaffected by last night's consumption of vodka. Three of them stood out front, hurling their sabres in the air, twirling and swinging them in complicated patterns, the dangerously sharp blades slicing the air with a whistling noise. I gasped as one of them began to swirl his sabre in a circular pattern at knee level, nimbly leaping up and down to avoid having his legs sliced off. He flashed a savage grin at me and continued this insane game with renewed vigor.

"Playful, aren't they?" I said.