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The snow was falling heavily now, thicker and thicker, the wind whipping it into a swirling furor. I closed my eyes, trying to push back the pain, trying to lock it inside.

You mustn't think of him. The son of a bitch isn't worth it.

Forget him. Forget him. Put him out of your mind. Jeremy Bond is a thorough scoundrel, charming and ruthless and absolutely unworthy. You never meant anything to him.

Not really. The minute you were gone he forgot all about you and found a blonde and sallied off with her. And
your
money. The bastard
robbed
you. Stop tormenting yourself this way.

I enumerated all his faults, and they were manifold. I listed all of the reasons why I should detest him, and it didn't help at all. The fact remained that, without him, I was only half alive. The fact remained that, without him, life seemed a bleak gray expanse without a single ray of sunshine, something to be endured, not enjoyed. How was it possible to enjoy anything if Jeremy wasn't there to share it with me? What pleasure in.wearing lovely clothes if Jeremy wasn't there to see them? What joy in seeing new sights, experiencing new things if he was not beside me? What point in going on if ... if one's very reason for living was gone?

You've got to get over him, I told myself. You've got to.

This is madness. You'll never see him again. You must face that. You must go on. I was able to rationalize, I was able to reason with myself, but the pain remained, a searing force that filled the emptiness he had left. All these weeks had gone by, and still it was agonizing. As the troika glided through the snowstorm in this alien land, as bells jangled and horse hooves clopped on the icy road, I stared into the future and it was bleak and gray and I knew I must change that. I knew I must get over him. But how?

The surest way to get over a man was to find another man. I knew that from experience. I had loved Derek Hawke for years. I had given myself to him heart and soul and he had savaged them both, leaving a wreck, a shell of a woman, yet I had gotten over him when Jeremy came into my life. Derek meant nothing to me now. He was a name, a face, a memory that stirred not the slightest emotion inside, no bitterness, no regret. Would I ever feel that way about Jeremy? Would I ever be able to summon his image in my mind without this excruciating anguish? Would another man ever supplant him in my heart?

No. No man was
ever
going to get that close to me again.

No man was ever going to have that kind of power over me.

I wasn't going to be hurt like this ever again, but ... must I deny myself the pleasures of male companionship because of fear? Wasn't it possible to take the pleasure without the commitment? Wasn't it possible to savor and enjoy and give of oneself without giving heart and soul as well? I wondered about that as I stared at the swirling white curtains that shrouded the landscape. Like the apothecary's powder, the distractions had helped deaden the agony and I had managed to carryon all this time. I had managed to

. laugh and smile and maintain a facade and, at times, even convince myself that I was making progress, and then the pain returned and I experienced anew the emptiness, the loss, the desolation.

Perhaps I needed a stronger powder.

Calmly, I considered that. I intended to survive, and if that was what it took, should I deny myself the remedy?

The most fascinating man I had ever met was on hand. He wanted me. I was strongly attracted to him. I had no illusions about him, it was true, but when I was with him I did not think of Jeremy Bond. Any woman foolish enough to fall in love with Count Gregory Orlov would be letting herself in for a great deal of grief, but must love enter into it? I was fond of him already, and physically, sexually, he was incredibly alluring. Was Orlov what I needed to end this anguish? Covered with furs, my feet resting on the silver brazier, I stared at the Russian snow and wondered about it. Dare I take the powder?

Dare I take the risk?

VLADIMIR PUSHED BACK THE HEAVY FUR covering

the doorway and stepped into the hut, followed by two husky servants. I was fully dressed this time, and I gazed at him coolly as the servants picked up the richly decorated porcelain tub and carried it out, water sloshing but never spilling over the rim. Wearing a heavy fur coat over his uniform, Vladimir made no effort to conceal his hostility as another servant entered to remove towels, soap, sponge, eliminating all signs of my bath. All this extra work, those hostile eyes seemed to say, merely to satisfy an eccentric whim. No one else demanded a bath. Even Lucie was content to rely on the elaborate use of perfumes and cologne.

Although all of the men and servants were staying in tents pitched just outside the village, Lucie, Orlovn and I had each been given a hut, their occupants moving in with neighbors during our brief stay. Circular-shaped, made of mud and wood with a steep, conical roof, my hut had been transformed with carpets spread over the dirt floor, my own fur-covered sleeping platform replacing the shabby cot. Candelabra, tables, a chair, and a full-length mirror completed the luxurious effect, but no amount of luxury could dispel the odor of dirt and onions and livestock. I strongly suspected that a goat and several pigs shared the place with the family who had temporarily moved out. The large silver brazier provided a certain amount of heat, but it was still chilly. The place must be freezing without it, I thought, and I wondered how the peasants survived these dreadful winters.

The servant left. Vladimir and I were alone. He continued to stare at me with an open contempt I chose to ignore.

"When shall we be leaving the village?" I asked in Russian.

Vladimir made no reply, looked as though it would be beneath him to address me.

"I know my Russian is not good," I said, "but I also know you can understand me perfectly. I've no idea why you hold me in such contempt, Vladimir, but I suggest you at least
try
to be civil." .

The tall Russian muttered something under his breath, still pretending not to understand me, then turned as yet another servant entered with a large white box tied with gold ribbon. He took the box from the servant, ordered him out of the hut and twisted his wide lips sarcastically.

"He orders me to let him know when you wear the apricot velvet gown," he said. "Is unmanly duty, this, but each day I take note of what you will wear. This morning I see you have taken out the gown. I tell him. He grins like a boy and says it is time to deliver the box."

"I don't understand what you're talking about."

Vladimir tossed the box onto the fur-covered sleeping platform.

"Is something he does in London. A surprise he plans. I leave now. I have important duties to perform."

"You still haven't answered my question, Vladimir.

When shall we be leaving the village?"

"They should finish with the provisions by noon. The cook will prepare a lunch. We will leave immediately after.

Too long we stay in this filthy village."

"I see. Was it too dreadfully painful, speaking to me?"

"If you wish to tell Count Orlov you are displeased, do so," he said sullenly. "He will relieve me of my duties. He will strip me of my rank. He will do anything to make his English lady happy. You are much more important to him than his loyal, devoted servants."

"You would kill for him, wouldn't you?"

"With my bare hands."

"That kind ofloyalty is rare indeed," I said. "The count is very fortunate to have such devoted men."

"We protect him," he growled.

"And you feel you should protect him from me, don't you? I'm no threat, Vladimir, not to you, certainly not to Count Orlov."

"We will see," he said, his eyes as hostile as ever.

He turned and left, slinging aside the smelly fur hanging that covered the doorway. I sighed, frustrated by the exchange but determined not to let it bother me. Vladimir would never become a friend, as Vanya had. I would never be able to win him over, nor did I particularly care to, but I saw no reason to let the antagonism blossom into full enmity.

I wouldn't say anything to Count Orlov, of course. It wasn't that important. This whole Russian journey had an aura of unreality about it, and Vladimir's hostility was merely another part of it.

Standing before the full-length mirror propped against the wall, I picked up the gold-handled brush and began to brush my clean hair, gleaming with a rich coppery sheen.

The long, soaking bath had been marvelous. It was the second I had had since we arrived at the village three days ago, after two long weeks without being able to bathe at all. Two weeks had passed since the day Vanya killed the wolf, and during all that time we had spent the night in only one posthouse, the others having been destroyed by fire or otherwise made uninhabitable-the destruction quite deliberate, apparently done by rebellious peasants said to be roaming the land. We had seen no sign of them, however, and Orlov minimized the threat, assuring me they would soon be put down. After interminable nights spent sleeping in tents, bundled in fur, the wind howling like bands of demonic spirits, it had been a relief to reach the village, squalid though it was.

I put the brush aside and adjusted the bodice of the deep apricot velvet gown I had chosen to wear. It had long, tight sleeves, a modestly low square-cut neckline and a snug waist, the full skirt belling out over several pale apricot underskirts. Why had Vladimir been waiting for me to wear this particular gown? I had almost forgotten the box.

Moving to the sleeping platform with its gold brocade covering and lustrous pile offurs, I undid the gold ribbon and removed the top of the box. Thin tissue paper crinkled as I folded it back.

I didn't actually gasp, but my eyes widened in amazement as I beheld the red fox cloak inside. It was gorgeous, the most gorgeous fur I had ever seen, the thick, glossy pelts a rich red-brown with coppery highlights, almost the identical color of my hair. Lifting it out of the box, I was further amazed to find that it was lined with deep apricot velvet that perfectly matched my gown. How had he managed it? It was a glorious garment, so glorious I couldn't resist putting it on, although I certainly couldn't accept such an expensive gift. Yes, the velvet was the same cloth, it might have come from the same bolt, and the fur was just a shade darker than my hair, deep copper red. I pulled the hood over my head and stepped to the mirror, feeling like a queen in the luxuriant cloak.

There was a loud rap at the side of the door. The fur was pulled back. Count Orlov stepped into the hut, grinning a wide grin, beaming with delight as he saw me wearing his gift.

"You are surprised?" he inquired.

"I-I'm overwhelmed."

"You like?"

"It's incredibly beautiful, but-"

"I have it done in London. Lucie is part ofthe intrigue. I have the furs already, you see, and when I see your hair I know I must have them made into a garment for you. Lucie slips this apricot vel vet gown out of your wardrobe and says this cloth must be used for the lining. Is big problem finding an exact match, but I threaten to strangle the furrier if he does not do so."

"Count Orlov, I -"

"I have it made up, and I keep it for the big surprise. I think you are never going to wear this particular gown. I think maybe you have left it behind. This morning Vladimir tells me you have taken out this gown to wear and I fetch the surprise and smile when I think how happy it will make you."

He chuckled to himself, his dark blue eyes glowing with pleasure. Wearing pale tan leather boots and snug tan breeches, a heavy brown fur coat covering arms and torso, he looked more than ever like a great, friendly bear. His head was uncovered, his tawny gold locks attractively windblown, and his cheeks were flushed. He seemed to exude brute strength and vitality.

"I do not have to strangle the furrier. He does a fine job. I give him much gold."

"I-it's a wonderfully thoughtful gift, Count Orlov, and I don't want you to think I don't appreciate it, but-"

His eyes darkened. The wide mouth curled into a mockferocious snarl.

"We do not argue," he ordered. "Me, I am in no mood for it. You give me the-how you say?-the bad time and perhaps I strangle
you. "

"I can't accept it," I said quietly. "It's much too lovely, much too expensive."

"You give me the bad time?"

''I'm afraid I must. I -"

He moved over to me in four brisk strides, hands uncurling from fists, flying in the air like huge moths. He seized my throat, fingers curling firmly at the back of my neck, his two huge thumbs pressing lightly against the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath my larynx. Startled, I tilted my head back, looking up into those mock-fierce eyes. He smiled. The thumbs caressed my flesh with just the slightest pressure, just enough to make me swallow and realize that I was totally helpless, that he could crush the life out of me with the greatest of ease.

"You still wish to argue?" he asked playfully.

"I –I don't know if I dare-"

"You turn down my gift in England. This I accept. This I try to understand. I am disappointed, but I do not insist.

Now we are in Russia. Here I am in command. Here I am to be obeyed. I command you to accept this gift I have prepared or else I punish you most severely."

His voice was a husky purr, deep, melodious, undeniably sensual, and his eyes were no longer fierce. They were filled with that dark glow of desire I had dreaded seeing in them. His fingers tightened the merest fraction, and I felt a tremulous thrill as his lips parted, wide and pink, as he ran the tip of his tongue over them and tilted his head to one side and lowered it, covering my lips with his own. He kissed me lightly at first, still holding me by the throat, and then he curled one arm around my shoulders, the other around my waist and kissed me with fervor, crushing me to him.

I did not struggle. To 'struggle would have been futile.

, His arms held me with bruising force, so tightly I feared my bones would snap, and as his lips forced my own apart, as his tongue thrust foward, filling my mouth, the thrill I had felt moments earlier grew and spread and splintered into a thousand sweet sensations that rendered me an abject slave. Against my will, against my every instinct, I melted against that hard, muscular body and gave in to the splendor of the man, the moment, the magic his mouth wrought inside me. It had been so long, so long since I had felt this rapturous ache, months and months of denial, and if it was the wrong man it didn't matter at all. A part of me that had been locked up tight within and painfully denied had sprung stunningly to life and I savored the return with a trembling relief.