8

P rince Vladimir Dimitrievitch was a barrel-chested, white-haired, mustached boyar with a total of seventy-plus years to his claim. He had been married and widowered twice and, in those unions, had sired a total of seven sons. It was well known that he was keeping a discerning eye out for a third possibility upon whom he could spawn a new crop, and though many a father was willing to present his daughter as a potential bride in hopes of somehow gaining access to the prince’s wealth, the old man was as cautious and discriminating as an ancient dowager afraid of losing her titles and assets to some unscrupulous rake. Despite his white hair, Vladimir was as virile as many men half his age and decidedly more adamant about proving himself capable of exercising his manly functions. He was evidently proud of his unfaltering prowess and, when met with encouragement, waxed gleeful and openly suggestive on the subject of his abilities, especially when a young, winsome maid caught his eye and he gave himself over to his boastful tendencies.

Vladimir’s offspring were all strapping young men with a penchant for excessive carousing and heavy brawling. Their tempers were short even with one another. From the simplest source, they could usually glean some excuse for competing against other rowdies. In contests of brawn, they derived no greater pleasure than to defeat a whole army of foes, friends, and family alike. To say that they were an unruly rabble might have been putting it mildly. Still, they were a likable lot in many ways. It only took a person of sharp perception to figure out that those particular qualities were.

Anna Taraslovna knew she was tempting fate by requesting the presence of Prince Vladimir and his sons at her reception honoring Ivan Voronsky. If provoked, the contrary family was aggressive enough to reduce the whole affair to shambles, but she could think of no viable way to separate kith from kin, or, more pertinently, father from offspring. Indeed, it would be an enormous miracle if the pugnacious family managed to get through the entire evening without resorting to fisticuffs, which in the main comprised her greatest worry. The only reason she considered inviting them at all was out of regard for Ivan and his desire to replace the priest whom Vladimir had hired for his private chapel and then dismissed a pair of months later. Ivan had shrewdly lent a sympathetic ear to the old man’s complaints about the narrow-mindedness of the monk, who had had the gall to chide Vladimir for his intemperate propensities, not the least of which was his fondness for vodka. In light of the ancient’s vast wealth, Ivan was totally dedicated to the idea of Anna inviting the whole family lest their sire be offended by the exclusion of his sons.

As much as Anna chafed over the hazards of inviting the rambunctious clan, she was even more concerned about the risk of allowing her ward to attend. Had she been able to ban Synnovea from the festivities without arousing the curiosity of the guests, who either knew the girl personally or were aware of her through an association with her late father, Anna would’ve done so without hesitation, just to avoid the havoc that her ward could cause. Many who were acquainted with Synnovea would have considered her an unlikely source for trouble, but Anna was contemptuous of such logic. She could foresee her aspirations being sundered before her very eyes and her rival unwillingly becoming the victor in this evening’s affair. Not only could Synnovea’s beauty attract the ardent attentions of Aleksei but the unwavering admiration of the ancient Vladimir as well.

Extremely reluctant to allow the girl any leeway in either area, Anna made a point of seeking Synnovea out in her chambers before the guests began arriving. Her intent was to prescribe the proper decorum that would be required of the girl throughout the evening, but upon barging into Synnovea’s chambers without knocking, Anna was momentarily taken aback by the vision that greeted her. In that brief moment all of her apprehensions congealed into a cold lump of dread. Arrayed in winter white, Synnovea looked as dazzling as any fabled snow queen of Russian lore.

If it were at all possible, Anna’s resentment of the girl increased tenfold as she stalked across the room to confront her. “If I see you cavorting like some mindless little twit among my guests or hear one whisper of complaint about your actions, I swear you won’t be allowed to leave this house until you’ve realized the full import of your folly in provoking me. Though you may have enjoyed your freedom under your father’s lax authority, I’ll expect you to conduct yourself with acceptable humility and be as demure as any proper Russian maid. Do I make myself clear?”

Synnovea took exception to the woman’s intimidation. “As always, Anna, you take special pains to make me cognizant of your demands.”

A spark of irritation ignited the gray eyes. “Do I detect some sarcasm in your reply?”

A stiff smile curved Synnovea’s lips. “My mode of behavior is normally rather reserved, so it seems rather pointless for you to advise me how a lady should conduct herself. I have managed to attend such functions without causing my family or other acquaintances undue embarrassment.”

“I’m not referring to your comportment while attending French or English courts, but what it must be here in my house!” Anna retorted. “I won’t tolerate any of your sly cavorting while you’re with my guests!”

“If you’re so afraid I’ll humiliate you, Anna, why don’t you just lock the door and be done with it?” Synnovea struggled to curb her own fermenting indignation as the princess glared back at her. “I’ll be quite content staying here in my chambers.”

Anna straightened her thin form imperiously. “Unfortunately, I found it needful to invite several of your acquaintances who’ve gained recognition as attendants to my cousin. Your presence would be missed.” Anna sniffed in imposing arrogance. “I understand you’re a close friend of Princess Zelda Pavlovna. Since her husband was unable to separate himself from the duties assigned to him by the field marshal, she’ll be attending tonight’s social with her parents. I’m sure you know them better than I do.”

At the heartening prospect of being able to converse with her young friend, Synnovea relaxed and graciously accepted the woman’s directives, “Be at ease, Anna. I shall comply with your desires.”

“I’m glad you’ve decided to be reasonable,” the princess retorted haughtily.

Synnovea was tempted to tell the woman that it was her conduct in serious need of refining, but knowing only too well that her accusations would involve them in another altercation, she refrained from voicing her opinion.

Anna heaved a tedious sigh. “Against my better judgment, I’ve extended an invitation to Countess Natasha.” She ignored her ward’s sudden smile of delight and deliberately avoided any mention of her reasons, which mainly centered on her hope that Natasha would be able to occupy the major portion of the girl’s attention and thereby reduce the chances of her associating with other guests and creating disaster in sensitive areas. “I see that you’re pleased, and well you should be. The two of you generally seem to be of one mind.”

Synnovea knew the princess meant her comment as a slur, but that certainly wasn’t the way she chose to accept it. Smiling, she dipped into a curtsy. “You do me great honor, Anna.”

An unladylike snort clearly defined the princess’s contempt as that one stalked to the door. There she paused to look back at Synnovea. The rich, pearl-encrusted sarafan and kokoshniki were beautiful beyond anything Anna had ever seen, and though she had expended the contents of an enormous purse on her own gold-and-yellow creation, she was struck by her failure to even come close to matching the other’s radiance. Yet, as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t order Synnovea to change her attire. Such a directive would reveal the full extent of her jealousy. The best she could do was delay the girl and hope she wouldn’t be noticed overmuch when she finally joined the soiree.

“You needn’t hurry down, Synnovea. The guests are just now beginning to arrive, and it will be some moments before they’re all here. Natasha said she wouldn’t be coming until later anyway.”

Anna took her departure before further comment could be made. She dreaded Natasha’s arrival and wondered if she’d be able to find it in herself to set aside her hatred long enough to offer some semblance of a gracious greeting to the woman.

Synnovea stayed closeted upstairs for another hour, having clearly perceived that her tardiness was what Anna desired. When she finally departed her room, she approached the stairs, intending to make her descent but halted abruptly when Aleksei stepped out of the shadows near the bottom and smiled smugly up at her. It was apparent he had been waiting for her to appear. He bounded up the flight, leaving her no recourse but to retreat. He saun tered forward, his red lips parting in a slow, sensual smile that brazenly hinted of his warming lust as his smoldering gaze glided upward from the bejeweled toes of her satin slippers to the pearl-adorned crest of her headdress.

“I’ve been meaning to talk with you, Synnovea,” he murmured, gently testing his still-tender nose with a lean knuckle, as if to remind her of her folly in doing him harm. “Though some men might have been offended by your determination to preserve your virtue, my dear, I must allow that your nature is perhaps different from that of most women. In the situation you’re in here, you have suitable cause to be concerned. Suppose we were to be found out and you were then subjected to the contempt of your friends and the hatred of Anna. Terrifying prospects, I must agree. Still, the pain of discovery seems far more remote than the consequences you’ll definitely suffer if you continue to deny me…”

Synnovea was resolved to hear no more threats. She had already heard enough from Anna to set her temper on edge. In angry reticence, she brushed past him, but her flight was halted when he caught her arm and yanked her around to face him. Though her heart quickened with trepidation, she lifted her gaze with all the dignity that she could muster and, with a brittle gaze, met his silently taunting smile. Her cool poise seemed to incense him, and with an angry jerk that nearly snapped her head from her shoulders, he sent her reeling to the far wall, where she crashed with a mind-jarring jolt. Momentarily stunned by the force of her collision, Synnovea staggered unsteadily, holding a hand to her head as she tried to halt her spinning world. Aleksei followed and, with a smirk, caught her almost gently by the throat, only to shove her back brutally against the wall.

“You needn’t hurry away, my lovely swan,” he mocked and lowered his face toward hers until she could feel his hot breath searing her cheek. “You won’t be missed downstairs for some moments yet. You see, Anna is completely engrossed in making Ivan known to her guests, which leaves us freedom to enjoy ourselves.”

Synnovea clawed at the long fingers that gradually tightened around the bejeweled band of her collar, seriously restricting her ability to breathe. In rising alarm, she tried to free herself. Her efforts only encouraged him to tighten his grip. The hall darkened progressively around them, and she heard his soft, ridiculing laughter as if it came from a great distance away.

“You see, Synnovea? I’ve reserved this little demonstration to show you just how futile it is for you to continue to deny me. Until you yield to my demands, my beauty, I shall be forced to instruct you in the hazards that you’ll invite by resisting me.”

Of a sudden, Aleksei loosened his grip and stepped back, allowing Synnovea to crumple in weak-kneed relief against the wall. Gulping for air, she clutched a shaking hand to her bruised throat and found no strength to draw away as her tormentor braced a hand against the wall behind her head and leaned near.

“I would’ve been gentle with you in the woodcutter’s cottage, Synnovea, but I’ve grown impatient and yearn to settle the matter quickly.” Lifting her upright by the arms, he captured her wrists and pinned them to the wall on either side of her head as he slowly perused her face. “You glow with the radiance of a silver moon, Synnovea, but you remain as aloof as a virgin queen…a snow maiden who has seized my heart. That’s what they call you, isn’t it? I’ve heard them say as much. The Countess Synnovea Zenkovna, the snow queen. The ice maiden! Are you as cold as they say you are, Synnovea? Or will you melt in my arms and become the firebird I’ve roamed this whole world to find?”

“I warn you, Aleksei!” she rasped through her constricted throat. She closed her eyes as her head swam dizzily, and it was a long moment before she again reclaimed some clarity of sense and purpose. Then, with a fiery glare, she vowed, “You’ll have to kill me right here and now, for I’ll never yield to you. If you intend to persist with your foul deeds, be mindful of this. With my last breath, I’ll scream and bring this house down upon your head. I swear I will!”

“Oh, Synnovea, when will you learn?” Aleksei chided, shaking his head sorrowfully. “You have no other recourse but to give in to my demands.” Once again he found it needful to demonstrate his greater strength. Slipping a hand behind her neck, he clasped it cruelly, forcing her to rise to the tips of her toes. His dark eyes pierced her pain-filled orbs. “Continue to deny me, my sweet, and I swear I will see you betrothed to the first doddering ancient who is old enough to vindicate me. Perhaps thus bound in wedlock, you’ll be willing to welcome the manly thrusts of a more competent suitor.” He lent emphasis to his words by slamming her back forcefully against the wall and crushing his hips against hers.

“Get away from me!” she choked as her hands came up to push feebly against his unyielding chest. “Just leave me alone and let me be!”

“I’ll leave you alone!” he snarled, throwing off her hands and snatching her to him. His mouth came down to seize hers with unbridled greed as his arms crushed her in a cruel vise.

Swept with a seething rage, Synnovea reached back an arm to search for the heavy sconce that she knew was hanging on the wall behind her. In the flickering descent of sputtering candles, she brought the weighty piece down with a vengeance upon the man’s thick skull.

Aleksei staggered back in a stunned daze and clutched a hand to his brow while a red aura blurred his vision. Synnovea gave the lecher no further chance to check her flight. Tearing free, she flung herself down the stairs, nearly stumbling in her haste until she came in sight of Boris, who, becoming mindful of her undignified flight, paused in the lower foyer and half turned to look up at her in surprise.

Though her whole being trembled from Aleksei’s recent assault, Synnovea steeled herself against an overt display. Deliberately slowing her breath, she assumed a guise of serenity in spite of the quaking tremors that beset her. She continued her descent with more leisured grace and smiled serenely at the steward even as she listened intently for the warning descent of thundering footfalls behind her.

Upon gaining the lower level, Synnovea went to the kitchen, where she knew she’d be reasonably safe from Aleksei and far removed from the curious stares of Anna and her guests. There, with her back to Elisaveta, she brushed at the tears that continued to well forth and blew her nose in the handkerchief the woman had kindly supplied. The cook dared no questions but pressed a glass of wine into her shaky grasp. Gratefully Synnovea sipped the brew, needing its soothing qualities to quell her violent quaking.

Finally her trembling disquiet ebbed, and Synnovea lent her attention to repairing her appearance. She found that feat much easier than mending the damage done by the stranglehold Aleksei had placed upon her neck, for she now suffered a burning rawness in her throat and a rasping hoarseness in her speech.

Much later than she had ever supposed, Synnovea made her entrance into the great hall, where Ivan, bedecked in a black silk kaftan, seemed to preen in the admiration heaped upon him by Anna and those who were not above indulging the tsar’s cousin with ingratiating adoration no matter her particular bent. Others who were more reserved and reticent about offering the man praise watched and listened stoically from a distance.

Synnovea paused at the outer circle of guests and, from there, cast her gaze about for Princess Zelda. She espied the young woman standing with her parents near the far end of the room. By the studied formality of the three, it was evident that they weren’t at all enchanted with what they were hearing. Synnovea realized the reason when she, too, gave heed to Ivan’s statements. Prince Bazhenov had served as one of the envoys for the tsar in the negotiations that had taken place between Russia and the realm that Ivan currently spoke out against.

“I tell you, my friends, our country is at an impasse,” he declared with unusual passion. “We’ve lost our access to the Baltic by way of a treaty with Sweden, and even now they’re usurping our trade in Novgorod and other important cities. Mysteriously they’ve been granted fishing rights on White Lake, and I’ll wager we’ll soon be outnumbered by Lutheran extremists here in our own country. If we don’t resist fairly soon, they’ll likely be fathering your grandchildren! Mark my words!”

A confused blend of voices arose from several of the guests, but none dared voice any disapproval of the authority which had allowed the Swedes to infiltrate their country so insidiously. Prince Bazhenov, however, was bold enough to speak out in valiant defense of it.

“With Sweden’s aid, Tsar Mikhail has managed to bring us the first peace we’ve known with Poland after many years of conflict. What would you suggest we do now?” he queried caustically. “Take up arms against Sweden?”

Ivan was cautious about answering, having perceived the loyalty the old prince felt for the tsar. “Above all, we must never alienate anyone against the tsardom, for there beats the heart of our very lifeblood.” He paused briefly for effect as he pressed the tips of his stubby fingers together in a contemplative pose. “Perhaps if we seek the advice of another accomplished strategist who is knowledgeable about such affairs, we can gain some insight as to the diplomacy and tactics we should employ against the Swedes.”

“Besides the Patriarch Filaret, you mean?” Prince Bazhenov jeered.

Ivan spread his hands in sublime innocence. “Are not two heads better than one?”

The elder was immediately suspicious. “Are you suggesting, sir, that you would be a worthy candidate for that position?”

“I am only a loyal subject of the tsar, my lord,” the cleric replied with suitable humbleness. “Still, if I were pressed into service, I think I’d be able to offer satisfactory solutions to ease the plight of our countrymen.”

“No doubt,” Prince Bazhenov retorted tersely. “You seem to have all the answers, but I wonder where your suggestions would lead us as a nation.”

“Who doesn’t wonder what the outcome will be?” Ivan countered. “Even now we’re being led as a nation by one man’s wisdom. Does that give you confidence? Can you offer solid guarantees of the Patriarch Filaret’s goals for this country and our future?”

The prince harrumphed loudly, displaying his displeasure over the discussion. Begging Anna’s pardon a moment later, he excused himself and his family from the reception, giving the excuse that he had to attend an early-morning inspection with the tsar and needed his rest.

Trailing behind her parents as they prepared for their departure, Princess Zelda glanced around in search of Synnovea and smiled in sudden pleasure when that one finally emerged from the press of people.

“I thought we’d have time to talk, darling,” Zelda whispered regretfully in her friend’s ear as they hugged each other. “My husband has been telling me things that I was sure you’d be eager to hear. Vassili was wondering if you knew about the rumors making their way around the Kremlin and wanted me to find out. I wish we could talk about this, but as you can see, we must leave. Papa is nearly beside himself. Whoever this Ivan Voronsky is, he hasn’t endeared himself to Papa!”

“I’ll see you as soon as I’m able,” Synnovea promised in a softly rasping murmur. “We can talk then.”

“Take care,” Zelda bade, brushing her lips against the other’s cheek.

Watching from the doorway, Synnovea waited until Prince Bazhenov had handed his family into their carriage and the conveyance had pulled away before she retreated into the house, allowing Boris to close the door behind her. She paused at the entrance of the great hall, listening to Ivan’s voice drone on incessantly, but his views were disconcerting and she withdrew to the dining room, where she hoped she’d be able to find something soft to eat that wouldn’t irritate her throat.

No sooner had Synnovea entered than several boyars gathered close around her. They numbered seven in all and resembled one another in height, brawn, and visage, with three of them having light brown hair and the youngest four black. Even their quickly widening grins hinted of their kinship.

“Enchanting!” one of them murmured and then, heaving an exaggerated sigh, fell back in a mock swoon into the arms of a companion.

“Captivating! Completely dazzling!” another one avowed exuberantly, closely eyeing her.

“Permit me to introduce myself, Boyarina ,” the tallest one bade. “I’m Prince Feodor Vladimirovich, eldest son of Prince Vladimir Dimitrievich, and these”—he swept a hand around to indicate his cohorts—“are my brothers, second-born Igor, then Petr, Stefan, Vasilii, Nikita, and Sergei, the youngest.”

As he introduced them, each man responded with a broad grin and clicked his heels in a brief, clipped bow. As the eldest, Feodor assumed the part of spokesman while his brothers crowded close around him. Together they awaited her response to his inquiry. “And your name. Boyarina? ”

Smiling graciously, Synnovea sank into a deep curtsy as she strained to keep the hoarse rasp in her voice softly subdued. “The Countess Synnovea Altynai Zenkovna, recently arrived from Nizhni Novgorod.”

Sergei swaggered around his older siblings to eagerly ask, “Do you have any sisters?” Then, with a shrug, he complained, “There are so many of us, but only one of you.”

For the first time that evening. Synnovea was able to smile with lighthearted gaiety, and she gave them a pretty shrug. “I fear not, Prince Sergei. As fate would have it, I was an only child.”

“And your husband?” Curious, he cocked a dark brow and asked with bated breath, “Where is he?”

Soft, husky laughter preceded her answer. “Your pardon, most gracious Prince, but I have none.”

“A pity!” he lamented with a happy chortle.

Smoothing his kaftan in a confident manner, he stepped before her and executed a flamboyant bow. Upon straightening, he begged, “Permit me, Countess, to express an avid appreciation of your beauty. In all my score of years I’ve never seen a maid so wondrously fair. You’d bestow upon me a great honor if you’d allow me to court you—”

Immediately he was shoved aside by the dark-eyed Stefan, who offered a warm smile as he took the place formerly occupied by his brother. “Sergei is but a boy, Countess, a youth of no experience. I, on the other hand, have a score and ten years to my claim, and though ’tis also true that I’ve seen none to equal your radiance, I’m sure you’ll agree that I’m better-looking than Sergei.”

“Ha!” the hulking Igor scoffed and swung an arm backward to send Stefan stumbling in retreat. Stroking his handsome beard, Igor settled in a bold stance before her as his blue eyes twinkled back at her. “None of my brothers can equal my experience…” With a challenging brow raised, he cast glances from side to side at his siblings as he boasted, “Or my good looks.”

Hearty guffaws accompanied his statement, attesting to the skepticism of his brothers, who commenced to argue among themselves. Amid all of their squabbling, an excessive amount of rough jostling and painful nudging ensued.

“Not so! I’m the best-looking!”

“Come, now! Would you have the countess believe such lies when I’m here for her to see?”

“It’s a shame you haven’t taken a good look at yourself lately. I’ll warrant I’ve seen better faces on the hind end of a bear!”

Synnovea was about to giggle, but gasped instead as the offended one doubled his fist and bashed the nose of the one who had insulted him. The brothers promptly set themselves to determining the matter by force, at least until a throaty harrumph came from close behind them. The sound had an effect on the brothers that Synnovea found no less than astounding. It cooled their tempers like a pail of icy water. In sudden haste they stumbled backward to open a path for an older man who ambled forward with a rolling gait, as if he had spent his lifetime on the deck of a ship. Not even Colonel Rycroft or Ladislaus matched this one’s height, for the newcomer was at least half a head taller than either of those two stalwarts. Synnovea had some difficulty hiding her own amazement as the white-haired ancient approached her. Upon halting beside Sergei, the old man laid a huge hand upon the lad’s shoulder.

“What is this bickering about now?” he rumbled in a deep voice, closely perusing the young maiden.

“The Countess Zenkovna has no sisters, Papa,” the youth answered. “We were trying to decide which of us would court her.”

“Indeed?” The comely maid had already aroused the old man’s interest, and he was much encouraged by his son’s comment. Though a bit slender for his taste, she was nevertheless rounded in all the right places and had enough height to accommodate his enormous frame. The idea of such an event appealed to him, and with a brightening gleam in his eyes, he swept a forefinger beneath his heavy mustache, flickering up the curving ends. He offered his most ardent smile, displaying a full set of white teeth. “If you’ll allow me to introduce myself, Countess. I’m Prince Vladimir Dimitrievitch, and these, as I’m sure you’ve already ascertained, are my sons. Have they introduced themselves?”

“Most capably, my lord prince,” Synnovea responded, dipping again into a polite curtsy. In the next moment she braced herself for the worst when she happened to glance past his arm and espied Anna forging a channel through a collection of guests who had meandered to the doorway to watch the antics of the princely brood.

“What’s going on here?” the princess demanded, trying to sound gracious, but failing badly. Whatever disturbance was transpiring, she marked Synnovea as the source of the trouble. A sidelong glare clearly conveyed that fact to her ward, giving that one cause to wonder what punishment would be forthcoming.

“My sons and I were making the acquaintance of this fair maid,” Vladimir explained. “Might I ask why we were not informed of the Countess Zenkovna’s presence sooner?”

Anna opened her mouth several times while she struggled to find some viable reason and finally, with a feeble smile, replied, “I wasn’t aware that you wanted to meet her.”

“Nonsense! Any man would be interested in making the acquaintance of a beautiful woman. At least, she doesn’t bore me to tears!”

His comment carried the full weight of his rejection of Ivan’s discourse as well as a firm rebuff for Anna’s attempts to sway his considerations in favor of the cleric. Though he might have been deemed an ancient by the standards of some, Vladimir hadn’t yet lost his wits. What he had heard tonight led him to wonder just where Ivan’s loyalties were rooted.

In spite of her temporary defeat, Anna fixed a smile on her lips and, with as much graciousness as she could convey, faced Synnovea. “I believe I saw Natasha’s carriage coming up the lane in front of the house. Would you care to greet her, my dear?”

“Yes, of course.” Once again Synnovea sank in gracious obeisance before the elderly prince. “If you’ll excuse me, Prince Vladimir, my friend has arrived, and I’d like very much to see her.”

Bestowing a smile upon her, the old man inclined his head, granting his permission. Synnovea slipped quickly through the guests, greeting friends and acquaintances as she went. When she entered the main hall, Aleksei was just making his way down the stairs. Though she saw no immediate evidence of a wound, he was descending very carefully, as if fearful that his head would tumble from its perch. At her hesitant glance, he gave her a menacing glower, leaving no doubt that he wouldn’t rest until he had either his revenge or his way with her.

“Synnovea, my dear child!” Natasha cried with a cheery laugh from the doorway, claiming her attention. “Come here and let me look at you!”

Coolly rejecting Aleksei’s silent threat, Synnovea turned and eagerly extended her hands in welcome as she hastened forward. “Natasha, you look absolutely ravishing!”

The elder laughed and sashayed around in a circle for the benefit of the younger woman. Her black and silver-trimmed sarafan not only complimented her porcelain skin but also lent dramatic emphasis to her darkly lashed, ebony eyes. When left undraped, her black hair seemed touched with a hoary frost, but at the moment, the mass was covered by a shimmering, silver-hued veil and a kokoshniki adorned with finely wrought silver filigree and precious stones.

“Lovely!” Synnovea exclaimed, perusing the woman. It came to her suddenly that whatever enmity Anna bore Natasha might have sprouted from a simple seed of jealousy. Though the princess was younger by three years, her pale-haired good looks had declined far more rapidly than those of the countess, whose skin still glowed with a soft, youthful luster. Few wrinkles could be noted in the elegant widow’s face. Indeed, she was every bit as ravishing in her maturing years as any woman could hope to be.

“This has been a most enlightening week,” Natasha avouched with a warm chuckle. “I’ve been fortunate enough to hear the most delectable gossip.”

“If it’s about Prince Aleksei, please spare me,” Synnovea begged with a genuine lack of interest. “I’ve come to detest the man!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t bore you with that rubbish, my dear. What I’ve been hearing is much more thrilling than anything he has ever done.”

“Zelda wanted to share some news with me, too, but she had to leave before she could tell me what it was.” Synnovea looped an arm through the woman’s elbow and led her to a padded bench in a quiet corner of the great room. “Now here you are, seeming enormously elated. Has Tsar Mikhail chosen a wife perchance?”

“Oh, no, my dear.” Natasha leaned forward eagerly, but when Boris stepped near to offer them a variety of libations from a silver tray she was forced to bide her time. Accepting a glass of fruited wine, Natasha thanked the servant and waited until he had moved away to other guests before she faced her young friend again. “You wouldn’t believe the furor that has been caused in the Kremlin within the last weeks. Why, the very air is abuzz with rumors of a certain Englishman….”

Synnovea’s lovely mouth parted in surprise, and in spite of the quickening pace of her heart, she managed to quell the nervous trembling in her voice as she asked, “Do you mean Colonel Rycroft?”

Gathering her brows into a semblance of perplexity, Natasha inquired, “Isn’t he the same officer who rescued you from that Polish renegade…oh, what was his name…?”

“Ladislaus?” A delicately winged brow arched in sharp suspicion as Synnovea studied the woman. Natasha looked very pleased with herself, as if waiting for the right moment to spring a surprise. “Where did you hear about Ladislaus? I don’t recall mentioning anything about his attack on my carriage.”

The silver veil glimmered in the candlelight as Natasha shook her head woefully and heaved a dejected sigh. “To think that I was the last to be told. I’m crushed to think how little regard you have for me.”

Synnovea was growing increasingly apprehensive. “I only spoke of that brigand when I had to.”

“Oh, I’ve been hearing rumors about him, too,” Natasha assured her. “It seems he has been seen a time or two in Moscow since his attack on your coach, but he always manages to elude the tsar’s soldiers. There has even been some rumblings about Ladislaus wanting to repay the Englishman for the losses that he and his men suffered at his hands.”

Synnovea might as well have been sitting on a powder keg. The best she could offer the woman was a noncommittal conjecture. “Colonel Rycroft would likely welcome a confrontation if it meant the return of the horse that Ladislaus stole from him, but I rather doubt that their encounter would be a contest of arms the fainthearted could easily watch.”

“I really don’t think the colonel is concerning himself overmuch with Ladislaus at the present time, my dear,” Natasha dared to speculate. “I believe he has other things he considers of greater importance on his mind.”

Synnovea peered at Natasha obliquely, not knowing if she’d be able to bear the news which the woman was obviously just brimming to tell. Perhaps it was wiser by far to find a place to hide before she heard what was being bandied about. Still, she couldn’t resist a shaky inquiry. “What could be more important to him than catching Ladislaus?”

“Why, his petition to the tsar, for one thing,” the older woman replied with an effervescent smile.

Synnovea gulped and repeated in a tentative tone, “Petition to the tsar?”

Natasha curbed a smile of amusement, taking unusual delight in prolonging her friend’s discomfiture. “I’m utterly amazed, Synnovea, that you of all people haven’t heard about Colonel Rycroft’s request.” She shrugged blithely. “But then, I must remember that Anna has been keeping you prisoner, hasn’t she? A pity.”

“Why should the colonel’s entreaty be of interest to me?”

The older countess flicked her fine eyebrows upward as she looked at Synnovea in feigned amazement. “Why, because he has been making petitions to the tsar to court you.”

Synnovea clutched a trembling hand to her throat, feeling the heat of a blush suffuse her cheeks. “He didn’t actually dare?”

It was rare to see the cool poise of the younger woman so thoroughly disrupted, especially by reports of a suitor’s bold intentions, but such an occurrence awakened some hope within Natasha’s heart that there was indeed a man who could thaw the blood of this beautiful ice maiden. “Oh, but he did!” she eagerly assured her young friend. “Most persuasively, too, from what I hear! He explained about having had the opportunity to meet you after saving you from the band of thieves, and then asked if there were any Russian laws that forbade him from paying court to you.”

The rapid racing of her pulse prompted Synnovea to fan herself. Breathlessly she concluded, “I am ruined!”

“On the contrary, my dear. Mikhail told Colonel Rycroft that he would seriously consider his petition after reviewing the facts. But, of course, since then there has been no evidence to indicate His Majesty’s decision, for it seems that shortly after Colonel Rycroft made his plea, Major Nikolai Nekrasov also entreated the tsar for the same favor. If I dare venture a guess, I’d say that Nikolai heard about the Englishman’s plea and decided to establish his own claim on you. Indeed, it seemed the two men were on their way to becoming fast friends until they found themselves at odds over you.”

Synnovea groaned in abject misery as she thought of the two appealing to the tsar for permission to woo her, as if he didn’t have better things to ponder. “How dare they drag my name before the tsar without asking my consent!”

Natasha contemplated her young friend in dubious wonder. “Have you become so accustomed to the mores of other countries, Synnovea, that you’ve forgotten how such affairs are handled here? You should know that asking a maid first for permission isn’t the way an arrangement of courtship is accomplished here in Russia. Besides, if either Colonel Rycroft or Major Nekrasov had been confident of Prince Aleksei granting them approval, they’d have gone to him, but Anna made it apparent, especially to the Englishman, that he wasn’t welcome in this house, so he went to a higher authority.” Her brows shot up briefly as she chuckled. “The tsar himself, no less. Major Nekrasov only followed his lead.”

“I’ve given Colonel Rycroft no encouragement!” Synnovea declared in swift defense of her own actions, but as soon as the words were uttered, she knew they weren’t necessarily the truth. Hadn’t she cast the full blame on Anna when she had told Tyrone that he shouldn’t come back to the Taraslov manse? Hadn’t she allowed him entry into her room without alerting others of his midnight visit? And hadn’t she given him a miniature of herself and yielded her lips to his kiss before his departure? If she had casually dismissed the probability of his beseeching the tsar’s favor when he had declared that he’d do that very thing, why was she so upset now? Why was she all aflutter? Was she angry at him…or with herself for being less than fully dedicated to the task of discouraging him?

Natasha had noticed that Synnovea hadn’t offered similar assurances of her conduct with the major. Either the girl had encouraged Nikolai and didn’t care to reveal that fact, or she had never considered the major a serious contender for her affections. Natasha was curious to know the full extent of the truth. “And did you encourage Major Nekrasov?”

Synnovea was scandalized by the idea. “Of course not! He’s a friend, nothing more.”

Natasha smiled smugly. “A man like Colonel Rycroft needs no encouragement, does he? He simply seeks out what he desires to have and now has made it evident that he desires to have you. my dear.”

“I don’t even know the man!” Synnovea insisted in a frail attempt to banish any blame for his efforts to win her.

“Now what are you saying, child? Wasn’t he the one who saved you from that rogue Ladislaus? Wasn’t he the one who carried you to your coach in the rainstorm?” Natasha’s lips curved into a sublime smile as her friend’s cheeks took on a bright glow. “You certainly seemed to know him then, for you made no protest when he lifted you in his arms. Would you have willingly allowed a stranger to pick you up?”

“No, of course, not,” Synnovea admitted lamely.

“Then the two of you have obviously met.”

“Only briefly!” Synnovea emphasized her words, struggling to convince her friend. “Never formally!”

The older countess slowly nodded in smiling serenity. “Apparently it was enough to spark the colonel’s interest.”

“I intend to discourage the man,” Synnovea announced emphatically as she sought to convince herself that that was exactly what she should do.

“What a shame.” Natasha’s carefully devised dejection was accompanied by a soft, wistful sigh. “I must admit that I’m among the ladies who are simply agog over the officer. There hasn’t been this much excitement over a man since the first false Dmitri tried to claim the tsardom a good twenty years ago and his remains were blown out of a cannon. I tell you. Synnovea, Colonel Rycroft excites me!” Almost dreamily, she drummed her slender fingers lightly upon her goblet. “Have you seen the way he sits the back of a horse, my dear?” She already knew the answer, but hurried on with her boasting. “Ramrod-straight he rides, yet with fluid movements that make him seem an integral part of the horse. Can you imagine such a man in your bed?”

Synnovea felt a scalding heat rising in her cheeks as she recalled his hard, naked body pressing against her own. “Certainly not!”

Natasha ignored her breathless answer. Though Synno vea denied the possibility that she had ever entertained such thoughts, Natasha was of a mind to think differently. Surely the progressing tide of color sweeping into her cheeks was enough to confirm the vividness of the girl’s imagination. She was simply protesting too much to be believed. “So! You have thought about him?”

For a moment Synnovea’s lovely mouth hung aslack as she met the older woman’s smiling regard. Then, ever so slightly, the pearl-encrusted headdress dipped forward in acknowledgment. “Briefly.”

“Oh, Synnovea.” Natasha sighed in a gently chiding tone. “Were I a score of years younger, I’d certainly see that such a man was adequately distracted by my attentions.”

Synnovea looked at the woman in some wonder. Natasha was barely ten years older than the Englishman and attractive enough to be able to ensnare his attention if she so desired it. A younger, less experienced maid would have cause to worry if she found herself hopelessly smitten with the colonel and he had eyes only for Natasha. There would likely be no contest.

“If ever I should relent and admit the colonel into my presence, I shall make haste to introduce him to you,” Synnovea gallantly proposed.

“No need for that, my dear,” Natasha assured her with an amused chortle. “That event has already taken place. Prince Zherkof introduced us after Colonel Rycroft put on an exhibition in the Kremlin the other day. It was magnificent, my dear. You should have seen it. I was completely enthralled with the horsemanship of the colonel and his troop. I think the tsar was pleased, too. At least, he appeared to be.”

“When was that?” Synnovea queried carefully, wondering if she had seen him that day.

Natasha’s lips twitched faintly as she fought a small battle with her composure. “Well, I’m not exactly sure, my dear, but it also seems that I saw you near Red Square that day, too. Did you go to Kitaigorod to shop for some thing, perhaps? And were you perchance wearing your peasant attire?”

Synnovea wanted to groan, fearing the woman had witnessed the event which had caused nearly the whole marketplace to halt and stare. “I was there, but I didn’t see you.”

“Oh, it really doesn’t matter,” Natasha told her, noting her friend’s distress. “What does count is the fact that I’ve had the opportunity to invite the colonel to my home next week, along with some of his officers and a few of my most intimate friends. Prince Zherkof will be there, and, of course, my dear, you’re also invited. I do hope that you can persuade Anna to allow you to attend. I’ve heard rumors that she has finally decided to hasten to her father’s bedside. If that’s true, then perhaps you’ll be staying with me when the colonel comes to visit. Your presence at the affair would no doubt encourage a windfall of handsome men.”

Synnovea’s brow peaked as she regarded the elder. “Is it my company you seek or that of the colonel?”

“Both!” Natasha answered with unabashed enthusiasm and laid a hand upon the younger woman’s arm as she smilingly coaxed, “And this time, my dear, please don’t be so formidable and aloof. I’m sure if I hear the name ‘ice maiden’ bestowed upon you one more time, I shall give up trying to find you a proper husband. I once told your father, ‘Aleksandr,’ I said, ‘that girl should marry ere she’s too old to have babies!’ And he said to me, ‘Natasha, stop your nagging. I’m waiting for her to fall in love.’ Bah!” The woman threw up her hands in a gesture of frustration and leaned near Synnovea to share a bit of womanly wisdom. “The way you fall in love, my dear, is to make babies with a man like Colonel Rycroft. I’ll wager you wouldn’t be so cool and distant with him sharing your bed.”

Blushing at the idea, Synnovea answered breathlessly, “Natasha, you’re absolutely scandalous.”

The older countess heaved a wistful sigh. “That was what my last husband said, and we were married the longest.” Her eyes glowed softly in warm remembrance as she confided, “But then, Count Emelian Andreyev”—her tongue rolled his name off with loving ease—“never, to my knowledge, seriously looked at another woman all the time we were married.”

Synnovea had often sensed that Natasha had loved her last husband more than her first two. Her own heart warmed with the idea of such devotion. “Should I ever marry, Natasha, I shall come to you for advice. I’m sure you hold all the secrets for keeping a husband happy and content.”

Natasha laughed at the notion. “I can probably tell you a thing or two.” She paused to more fully contemplate the matter, and then nodded with conviction. “In fact, I can probably tell you a great deal about holding a husband’s attention. And should you marry a man of whom I approve, I’ll try to be most diligent in instructing you.”

Synnovea was immediately suspicious. “And, of course, you would direct me concerning your choice?”

“Naturally, my dear.” The corners of Natasha’s lips lifted slyly. “I should like to begin the formalities by inviting Colonel Rycroft to talk with you while you’re staying at my home.” She held up a hand to halt any protests that might be forthcoming. “Is it so much to ask? After all, Colonel Rycroft did save you from being violated by that renegade thief. Can you not be gracious to the man?”

“You’ll nag me until I agree,” Synnovea accused with an exaggerated sigh, giving in far more willingly than her earlier protestations seemed to bear out. “And so I shall, but ’twill not be to my liking. I warn you of that!”

Natasha folded her hands in genteel contentment. “We shall see how adamantly you disdain the man, my dear.”

“Though I perceive you’re a true svakhi at heart, Natasha, your matchmaking efforts will do you no good,” Synnovea warned. “Anna will never allow the colonel to court me. She simply detests foreigners.”

Natasha’s smile deepened. “As I’ve told you, my dear, the man has attracted the attention of the tsar. ’Tis rumored that His Majesty has been so intrigued and entertained by all the mock battles, forays, and drills the colonel and his men have put on that every weekday morning now he goes out and stands on the wall of the Kremlin to watch them. In view of that fact, my dear, do you think that Tsar Mikhail will be so ill-disposed toward the colonel that he’ll long deny him his heart’s desire? My dearest Synnovea, T wouldn’t put odds on Anna’s power to dissuade her cousin if he happens to grant the colonel’s request.”

“You truly are infatuated with the man, aren’t you?” Synnovea accused, amazed that the woman could bring herself to express such delight in one of the opposite gender. Synnovea would have thought that at Natasha’s age, the woman would’ve ceased to be so easily smitten.

Natasha pondered the other’s supposition for the briefest moment before changing it slightly. “ Taken with the man would be a better description of my feelings, my dear. ’Tis my opinion that men like Colonel Rycroft are a rare breed.” She nodded. “A rare breed, indeed.”