Silver Nights (7 page)

 

Sophie found Tanya snoring resonantly on the mattress in the corner of the chamber. A day that began at sunup and ended at sundown seemed perfectly fitting to Tanya Feodorovna. But Sophie knew that her own fatigue and tension had gone beyond sleep. She was accustomed to vigorous exercise and the bracing refreshment of the open air. Instead, she had spent a day of torment shut up in a dark, airless carriage interior, with the prospect of another such day ahead of her…and another such…and another such…until the city walls would enclose her, and the bars of a marriage…

She could not endure it. It was the stark truth, and she knew that, without conscious planning, she had been doing all in her power this evening to encourage her escort to drop his guard. Now, she went to the tiny window, looking out into the dusk, thinking rapidly. She could not return to Berkholzskoye…not yet. But she had the Golitskov gems; her grandfather had not intended that they should be put to use so soon, but they had been an unconditional gift. She had her pistol, and she had Khan, the unbeatable Khan. Once on his back, she could outstrip all pursuit, cross the border into Poland…and from there into Austria. A world where the czarina's imperial will did not hold sway. What would a fugitive do there?

Not a useful question at this point, decided Sophie. She moved silently around the little chamber, gathering up the few things she considered necessary. The gems, her pistol, a change of clothes; boots, hooded cloak, and gloves would
provide protection against the night chills. The thought of the fresh night air, of the sensation as it whistled past her ears, of the sound of Khan's hooves pounding across the steppes, eating up the miles that lay between her and freedom, was so heady that for a second she felt almost dizzy.

There was a profound silence in the posting house. The postman and his family would also follow the sun in their daily routine. Where was the count? That was the all-important question. The bedchamber opened directly onto the living room, and clearly she could not risk leaving by that route. It would have to be the window. She looked doubtfully at the tiny aperture. It appeared barely big enough for an adult, even a tiny one, to squeeze through. But at least she was tall rather than stout. Resolutely, she dropped her possessions through the window, hearing the soft thud as they hit the earth beneath. Swinging herself onto the stone sill, she managed with an elaborate contortion to get her legs through the window. Leaning backward, so that her head was clear of the top of the window, she slithered forward until most of her was hanging in space. Then she dropped, ducking her head, to land intact and relatively quietly beside her bundle.

She paused, listening to the night noises of the steppe. They were the usual noises, the sough of the wind, the howl of a wolf, nothing to alarm…no human sounds. Picking up her bundle, she crept around the corner of the house, clinging to the shadows of the walls, wishing the sky were less clear. The stars were so bright, it could almost have been day.

The low stable building loomed ahead, but she had to cross open ground to reach it. Again, she paused, motionless, straining every nerve and fiber to sense another human presence. But again there was nothing, just the lightless building at her back, the white streak of the dusty road, a screen of trees on the other side of that road, and her goal in front of her. Crouching low, she ran across the open ground.

Adam broke from the trees just as she reached the stable door. For a moment, he wasn't sure whether he had really seen that unmistakable figure, whether it was not a trick of
the strange light. Then he was running across the road. Stealthily, he slipped into the pitch darkness of the stable behind her. Straw rustled beneath the nighttime stirrings of the beasts in their stalls, but there was no way in the blackness to tell which horse was where. She would have to traverse the entire length of the building, he thought, in order to identify Khan, and he skinned his eyes into the darkness. But he could see no shadow separate from any of the others, could hear no sound of movement other than the horses. Then came a soft clicking sound that was definitely human. It was answered by a low whicker, indicating that Khan and his mistress had their own form of communication.

The sound had come from Adam's right, and he padded on tiptoe toward it. A shape solidified out of the shadows, reaching up to unlatch the gate to a stall.

He pounced; so fast Sophie had no time to register his advent before he had grasped her around the waist with an iron arm, his other hand clamped to her mouth. “You are incorrigible, Sophie!” he hissed against her ear. “Now, don't make a sound or you'll bring the entire troop down from the loft.”

In her shock, Sophie offered no resistance; yet despite the painful pounding of her heart, she noticed that for the first time he had used her familiar name. She was hustled, still clutching her bundle, out of the concealing darkness, back into the night brightness.

“Just what have you got there?” Adam demanded. He had one arm still around her waist, but he held out his free hand imperatively for her burden.

Once he saw its contents, she would have no chance of persuading him that she had simply wished to take a nighttime ride after her day of enforced idleness. Never again would he be careless enough to afford her such an opportunity for flight. Sophie looked defeat squarely in the eye. She was going to St. Petersburg with the escort of Count Adam Danilevski, and there was no point fighting the fact any longer. Without a word, she yielded up the bundle.

Adam went through it in silence, whistling soundlessly at
the contents of the gem casket. He thrust her pistol into his belt, placing the rest of her possessions upon the ground before turning her to face him. “What am I going to do with you, Sophia Alexeyevna?”

The oval face, upturned in the starlight, had regained its earlier healthy bloom, he thought with shocking irrelevance. The dark eyes were luminous, that generous mouth opened slightly as if she searched for an answer to his question.

The answer came from nowhere, an impulse he could do nothing to prevent. His head lowered with infinite slowness and his mouth took hers. A violent tremor ran through her body, and she leaped against him as if she had been struck by lightning. The pressure of his lips increased while for a second she struggled to evade an invasion that seemed to go far beyond her mouth. The arm binding her tightened, and with an almost searing thoroughness, he forced her lips apart so that she was opened to receive the deep exploration of his thrusting tongue. There was a moment when she thought wildly that this was some demonic form of punishment; then, in the crimson-shot blackness of her closed eyes, came the absolute realization that nothing so wondrously pleasurable could be punitive. A slow, spreading warmth filled her; her body melted with exquisite languor against the hardness of the one that held her; her mouth softened in welcome.

As if in response, the arm holding her relaxed, became a firm, warm presence on her body. His hand flattened against the curve of her hip as he drew her closer to him and the tip of his tongue played sweetly in the corner of her mouth. Her head fell back, offering the slender, vulnerable arch of her throat. His lips moved down, nuzzled against the pulse point that beat like a bird's wing against his mouth as he slipped his free hand into the opening of her jacket, cupping the soft roundness of one breast in his palm, feeling the heated skin, the sudden hardness of her nipple pressing against the fine lawn of her shirt.

The lean suppleness of the body between his hands delighted him as she moved against him, almost unconsciously wanton in the candid expression of desire. He was aware of
the fragrance of her hair and skin, redolent with the freshness of the steppes, and the blood pounded in his veins, his hands moving urgently over her as she reached against him.

Then the dream shattered with the violence of a cannonade. She was destined to be another man's bride! He was behaving with her as some man had behaved with Eva…. He was betraying every trust ever invested in him. He jumped back from her, taking his hands away from that warm, giving flesh as if she were a burning brand.

Sophie looked up at him, shock and dismay at this abrupt cessation of contact stark on her face. “What is it? What has happened?”

Adam took himself in hand, fighting the anger that wanted to wound her as the cause, albeit unwitting, of this appalling bolt from the blue. “If you have a grain of common sense, you will forget that ever happened,” he said, his voice grating in the stillness. “As far as I am concerned, it did not.” Bending, he picked up her bundle. “We are going back to the house. Now, march!” He kept a hand on the small of her back, propelling her in front of him, but the physical contact bore no resemblance to the loving touch of a minute earlier, and Sophie, stunned, bewildered by the onrush of feelings that were unlike any she had ever before experienced, stumbled ahead of him.

A lamp burned dimly in the corner of the living room. He marched his charge across the room, flinging open the bedchamber door. It crashed against the stone wall, and Tanya Feodorovna sat up with a cry of alarm. “Wh…wh…what has happened?” She tugged at her nightcap, askew on the graying hair. “Why, Sophia Alexeyevna, why aren't you in bed?”

“The princess had other ideas about the way to spend the night,” said the count caustically. “You will put her to bed, please, and bring out here, apart from her nightgown, every stitch of clothing she possesses.”

“No!” Sophie gasped at such a humiliating instruction. “You cannot take away my clothes!”

“On the contrary, Princess,” he said. “I can and I am
going to. I fail to see why I should deprive one of my men of his well-earned rest just to guard that window. And I have no intention of standing guard myself. I do not think even you will venture far in your nightgown.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Sophie standing in the middle of the grimy little chamber, overwhelmed by the events of the evening and by this extraordinary volte-face—the man who could arouse such wondrous sensations with those skilled and tender caresses was suddenly become severe warden, transfigured into this other persona without any apparent provocation and without drawing breath, it seemed. She was bereft, hurt, and utterly confused.

“When will you ever learn?” grumbled Tanya, rising from her mattress. “I've never heard of such a fuss. Hurry up, now.” Scolding vigorously, she got her erstwhile nursling out of her clothes and into her nightgown. “I'll brush your hair.” She reached for the hairbrush, but with a furious exclamation Sophie pushed her away and thumped into bed.

“Just leave me alone, Tanya! How can you possibly talk about hairbrushing in such a place, and at such a time?” This absurd domestic preoccupation did strike her as utterly ridiculous, even as she recognized that for Tanya Feodorovna their present situation was not at all strange. What God and the masters decreed could never be strange. One just accepted it. She lay watching in fulminating silence as Tanya gathered up her discarded clothes, folded them neatly, and took them, together with the portmanteau, out into the living room.

“There you are, lord,” she said, as placidly as if it were the most ordinary instruction she had received.

“Thank you.” Adam was rummaging in his own belongings. He pulled out a bottle of vodka, glancing moodily at the woman as he unscrewed the top. “You may fetch them in the morning.” Raising the bottle to his lips, he drank deeply.

Tanya shrugged, recognizing the familiar look of a man who was going to be dipping deep into the fiery spirit throughout the night. It was the male prerogative, and a woman could count herself fortunate if the indulgence didn't lead to raised fists. Her own man had been a terrifying devil in
the drink. But somehow she didn't think this one would be; depressed and silent, most likely. Not violent, despite provocation. He'd been gentle enough with Sophia Alexeyevna in her sickness that afternoon. But she'd clearly upset him powerfully now. Shaking her head, Tanya returned to her mattress.

Sophie lay looking into the darkness. What had happened? What did it mean? Why did she feel as if some part of herself, hitherto dormant, had come to vibrant life? She had wanted that wonderful moment to last for eternity…had wanted most passionately for the next, inevitable step…for his hands on her body, for hers on his. What would a man's skin feel like? Wide-eyed, she stared up at the low, beamed ceiling. That was something to be discovered in the marriage bed, something she
would
discover. She ran her hands over her body, trying to imagine what she would feel like to someone else. Would she be pleasing? Such a thought had never occurred to her before, but now it took on the sharp edge of reality. At the end of this journey loomed a husband, not one of her choosing, but unless he exhibited some hideous vice or disfigurement she would not find it easy to refuse him, or imperial command. Indeed, why should she? It was not as if she had an alternative to offer. It was not as if the only man who had ever kissed her could possibly be a candidate. One kiss did not constitute a marriage proposal.

A mere wall away, Adam Danilevski drank vodka and wondered what in Hades had happened to him. He hadn't kissed a woman since the last time he had kissed Eva. He had no truck with women who expected kisses. The only women who interested him these days were those who, for a certain price, could satisfy his basic needs. A purely commercial relationship allowed no emotional ties, and without those ties there was no possibility of the entanglements that led to betrayal. But he had been on the verge of an act of betrayal himself. The betrayal of his orders, of his position in the Imperial Guard, and the betrayal of a man who was owed, in addition to the good faith one gentleman was entitled to expect from another in a matter such as this, his unswerving loyalty by virtue of his being Adam's commanding officer.

Adam looked into the vodka bottle and contemplated the prospect of four weeks in the company of Sophia Alexeyevna, opposing him at every turn. At least if she fought him it would be possible to keep his distance, hide behind the harsh facade of jailer.