Chapter 10

C APTAIN E PHRAIM S NOW LOOKED DOWN AT HIS EMPLOYER’S wife from his six-foot-six-inch height. “Now Miz Dunham,” he said slowly. “I ain’t letting you go ashore until we find out where Jared is. These Russkies are tricky folk. I’ve dealt with ’em before.”

“I’ll send a message to the British Ambassador, Captain,” said Miranda. “I expect he’ll know where my husband is.”

“Very good, ma’am. Willy! Where are you, boy?”

“Here, sir!” A young sailor ran up and saluted.

“Miz Dunham’s going to have a note for you to take to the English Embassy in a few minutes. Stand by.”

“Aye, sir.”

Miranda returned to the salon of the yacht and scribbled a quick message asking for news of her husband. The simple, direct message was then taken to the embassy by young Willy, who was told to wait for a reply. Miranda did not intend being fobbed off by a wily diplomat. Her messenger returned within the hour with an invitation to take supper at the embassy. The ambassador’s carriage would be sent for her at seven.

“Oh, Lord! I have nothing to wear,” cried Miranda.

Ephraim Snow grinned. “Seems I’ve heard my Abbie make that same complaint many a time.”

Miranda laughed. “In my case it’s lamentably true. Not only have I traveled without a maid, I’ve also traveled without any evening clothes. After all, I didn’t come to socialize, Eph. You know the city. Is there someplace I can obtain a decent evening gown and shoes?”

“Levi Bimberg’s Emporium is the place, but I’ll take you, Miz Dunham. Wouldn’t be right for you to go unescorted.”

A one-horse carriage was hailed and Miranda and Captain Snow climbed in. He gave directions in careful French, which all the drivers understood, and they headed toward the Nevski Prospeckt, the city’s main avenue. Miranda was quite fascinated with St. Petersburg on this beautiful summer day. The boulevards were wide and tree-lined. There were vast green parks, and pretty flower-planted squares. Along the Neva River ran a lovely long promenade where even now in early afternoon well-dressed couples strolled leisurely.

“Why, it’s beautiful!” cried Miranda. “St. Petersburg is as fair as Paris or London.”

“Aye, it’s just what the Tzar wants visitors to see,” commented Captain Snow bitterly.

“Why, Eph, what do you mean?”

“It’s clear, Miz Dunham, that you don’t know much about Russia. There’s basically two kinds of people here the Tzar and his nobles, and the serfs. Serfs is like slaves. They ain’t got no rights except what their masters give ’em. They exist for the sole convenience and pleasure of their masters, living in incredible poverty ’cause if one dies it don’t matter much since there are so many left to take his place.

“Oh, there’s a small middle class. This world just don’t work without shopkeepers, and the few free farmers who feed ’em, but if you could see the congestion of the inner-city slums it would make yer blood run cold. They got shipyards here, big metalworks, and textile mills. They pay the workers a pittance, and those who don’t live in the slums live in barracks near the factories, which ain’t much better.”

“That’s terrible, Eph!”

“Makes you kinda glad to be an uncivilized American, don’t it?” remarked the Yankee captain drily.

“I can’t believe in any human being treating another badly. I detest slavery.”

“Not all New Englanders feel that way, Miz Dunham. Plenty of ’em running slaves in from Africa to the Southern plantations.” Miranda shuddered, and Ephraim Snow immediately felt guilty for having distressed her. “Hey now, ma’am, no need for you to worry about such things. Think about Jared, and how surprised he’s gonna be to see you here. Think he’ll be at the embassy tonight?”

“No. I’m not certain he’s even in St. Petersburg now. I’m sure we would have heard from the embassy if he were.”

“Probably. Look, ma’am, there’s Levi Bimberg’s Emporium now. If you don’t find what you’re looking for here, then it don’t exist. This is one of the finest shops in the city. He has all the latest imports.”

The carriage drew to a halt before a large shop as elegant as any Miranda had seen in London. Ephraim Snow stepped down and handed Miranda out. “Wait,” he said to the driver, and escorted her into the emporium.

Miranda chose a gown of the finest gold Lyon silk, very, very sheer, and shot through with metallic threads. It was sprinkled with tiny silver stars, and the narrow ribbons that ran beneath the bustline were also silver. It fit as if it had been fashioned for her. She would wear it that evening.

She purchased two other gowns, one of deep rose-pink and silver stripes, and a lavender one tied with gold ribbons. She also bought silk undergarments and stockings, dainty kid slippers in gold and silver, matching ribbons and reticules, and a fringed cream-colored shawl. Miranda had never bought a ready-made gown before; but the shop’s seamstress quickly saw to the minor alterations.

The ambassador’s carriage was prompt, and Captain Snow escorted her down the gangway and safely into the coach. The gold gown shimmered in the evening sunshine, for St. Petersburg in summer saw only a very brief night. Although she had brought little clothing from England, she had brought her jewelry case, and about her neck was a magnificent necklace of amethysts set in pink gold, with matching oval earrings in her pierced ears. Seated, she smoothed her gown with her gold kid gloves. “I should not be late, Eph,” she said as the carriage pulled slowly away.

Across the street from the boat basin, Prince Alexei Cherkessky stood in the upstairs window of an import-export house watching as the English ambassador’s carriage drove past below him. “You are absolutely right, Sasha,” he said. “The woman appears perfect for my purposes. But before I act I must find out who she is. Follow the ambassador’s coach back to the embassy, and learn what you can.”

“Yes, master!” replied Sasha. “I knew she would please you! Do I not always know what pleases you?”

“Um, yes,” the prince murmured absently, his eyes following the coach. “Hurry along, Sasha!”

Sasha ran from the room, and the prince languidly descended the stairs to the main floor of the business house, staring curiously at the row of clerks high up at their desks, bent over their ledgers. The owner of the warehouse hurried forward eagerly. “I hope we have been of service, Gracious Highness.”

“Yes,” said the prince shortly as he departed the building and, without even glancing at the man, climbed into his carriage.

Sasha hurried down the Nevski Prospeckt, keeping the English coach in view as he went. He was an extremely pretty young man of medium height and slender build. His dark hair was curly, his face that of a naughty cupid, and he had eyes like black cherries. His clothing an embroidered open-necked white shirt with wide sleeves, and full black pantaloons were those of a peasant, but the fabrics were rich, and his boots were of the finest leather. About his neck was a thin jeweled gold collar.

The coach turned off the main avenue, and took several turns down side streets, finally passing through the open iron gate of a large four-storied brick house on the Neva River. Sasha stopped short of the gates, and watched as the carriage drew to a stop. The beautiful lady in the shimmering gold gown was handed from the coach and escorted up the steps and into the embassy.

Sasha watched as the vehicle moved around to the stableyard. Following it, he slipped onto the embassy grounds. “Hey, you!” the ambassador’s coachman called to him.

“Good evening,” replied Sasha in his best English. The only child of the late Princess Cherkessky’s favorite maid, he had been educated with his master, the prince, and spoke several languages fluently. It was unusual treatment for even a privileged serf, but it had amused the princess to educate Sasha and the boy had acted as a spur to her son, who found the peasant boy as intelligent as he himself. Sasha’s presence encouraged Prince Alexei to excel at his studies, for it was unthinkable that a mere serf might outdo him.

The coachman eyed Sasha suspiciously. “What do you want?” he demanded rudely. How he hated duty in Russia, but the ambassador paid extra for it.

Sasha smiled up at the burly servant. How he hated these arrogant foreigners. “The pretty lady you just brought here, who is she?” he asked politely.

“Who wants to know?”

“My master, the Prince.” Sasha flipped a silver coin upwards. The coachman deftly caught it. In five minutes, Sasha had all the information the coachman possessed.

“Thanks, friend,” he said, and walked briskly away from the embassy. Knowing St. Petersburg like the back of his hand, he took several shortcuts in order to reach the Cherkessky palace as quickly as possible. He entered the building through a side door, and hurried upstairs to his master’s private apartments, where he found the prince on his bed dallying with his current mistress. Sasha didn’t particularly care for the woman, a foreigner, but then he was always jealous of the prince’s other lovers, male or female. This one was a particularly irritating bitch, a straw blonde with strange yellow amber eyes. She was wearing a diaphanous negligee, which, thought Sasha sourly, she might as well not have had on at all. The woman lounged against the prince, a smug smile on her lips.

“Well?” demanded Prince Cherkessky. “What have you found out for me?”

“Virtually nothing, Highness. The ambassador’s coachman could tell me only the lady’s name. He knew nothing more. He was told to fetch her from her yacht, and bring her to the embassy.”

The prince’s mistress sat up. “Are you considering replacing me, Alexei?” she said sharply.

“I wasn’t, my dear,” came the smooth reply, “but if you use that tone of voice with me again, I shall.”

The woman’s face reflected instant distress, and she wove her plump, white arms about his neck, pouting, “Oh, Alexei, I love you! The thought of losing you drives me to behave indiscreetly.”

“Give me credit for being a gentleman, my dear. When I tire of you, I shall have the manners to tell you so.”

“Then tell me why you have Sasha following women in the streets.”

The prince smiled a wolfish smile, his even white teeth bright in his tanned face. He was an attractive man with an elegant figure, broad shoulders and chest, rapier-slim waist and hips, long legs. His straight black hair was cut short. His eyes were also dark and as expressionless as black agate marbles. His nose was classically flawless, his mouth thin, a trifle cruel. He unwound his mistress from his neck, and said, “There is no reason why you should not know, my dear. When Sasha was at Bimberg’s Emporium today purchasing those scented kid gloves you set your greedy little heart on, he saw a woman of incredible beauty, the woman I have been seeking for several years now. I have seen the woman. She is just what I want!”

“Want, Alexei?”

“For the farm, my dear. I have long sought the perfect mate for one of my prize studs, Lucas. Lucas throws daughters, unlike his brother, Paulus, who throws sons. I have found Paulus several perfect mates over the past five years, and they have produced eighteen sons already blond, beautiful little boys who will eventually sell for a fortune in the bazaars of the Mid and Far East. Although Lucas himself has several mates there are no women who look like him, and I have long wanted a woman with his coloring. I want to get a clutch of silver-blond daughters. The Turks will pay a fortune for such little girls, and I can sell them as young as five years old.”

He looked back at Sasha. “Who is the woman?”

“All I could learn was her name, Gracious Highness. She is Lady Miranda Dunham.”

“ What?! ” The prince’s paramour sat up. “What did you say her name was?”

“Lady Miranda Dunham.”

“Silver-blond, skinny, green-blue eyes?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know this woman?” the prince demanded eagerly.

“Yes, I know the bitch,” replied Gillian Abbott venomously. “Thanks to her I can never go home to England. I must wander the earth, an exile, dependent on bastards like you, Alexei. Yes, I know Miranda Dunham!”

Sasha watched as the prince put an arm around the woman. “Tell me, douceka ,” he murmured against her ear, his elegant hand creeping up to fondle one of Gillian’s pendulous breasts. “Tell me.”

But Gillian was not quite the gullible fool the prince believed. If she told him the whole truth he might be deterred from his purpose, and she would lose her chance for revenge. “Miranda Dunham,” she murmured, “is an unimportant little American with no connections at all.”

“Unimportant? She travels on her own yacht and has a title, my dear.”

“Alexei, you don’t understand! She is an American. ”

“Married to an English title.”

“No! No! She was the daughter of Thomas Dunham, an American whose holdings were originally a royal grant. The family always kept its English ties, and are entitled to use their title in England. When Miranda Dunham’s father died, the title and estate were inherited by a cousin, Jared Dunham. Miss Dunham’s sister was shortly to marry and did. Their mother remarried. But unfortunately, Jared had been appointed his cousin’s guardian. She tried to force him into marriage, but of course he would not be coerced so she became his mistress instead, and she has been utterly impossible ever since.” Gillian congratulated herself on her quick thinking.

“Dare I ask how you know all this, Gillian?”

“I will not be coy with you, Alexei. I, too, was Jared Dunham’s mistress at one time. The little chit replaced me in his bed. Jared is a ruthless man. Nevertheless I owe him a favor, for it was he who warned me I was to be arrested as a spy after Abbott’s death. What greater favor can I do Jared Dunham than to help in the removal of this annoyance? If you want the girl for your slave-breeding farm in the Crimea, then take her. Lord Dunham will be mightily relieved if she disappears from his life. She has no right to use the title, Alexei. It is mere pretension on her part. As to the yacht, I imagine Lord Dunham allowed her to use it in order to get her out of his hair for a time. If she does not return he will not miss her, I assure you. And neither will anyone else.”

“Not her mother or her sister, my dear? Surely they will raise a cry over her disappearance.”

“They are both in America,” Gillian lied smoothly.

The prince considered the situation thoughtfully.

“Do it tonight, Alexei! Who knows how long she will be in Petersburg,” encouraged Gillian urgently. “Think how long you have sought a light-eyed silver blonde for your prize stud. The brats she spawns can make you a fortune!”

Sasha looked closely at his master’s woman. He didn’t like the eager tone in her voice, and her gaze was too bright. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was telling the truth and he seriously suspected she wasn’t. “My lord Prince,” he said quietly in Russian, a language Gillian Abbott didn’t understand, “I am not sure she is telling the truth. I know how very much you want the woman, but remember that the Tzar has warned you that if there is one more scandal over the farm, you’ll be exiled to your estates.”

The prince looked up, then patted the bed. “Come and sit, Sasha,” he said. “Tell me your thought on this, my love. You have always sought only my best interests. You are the only person in the world I trust completely.”

Sasha smiled, relieved, and sprawled himself on the bed next to his master. Propping himself up on his elbow, he continued, “Your mistress seeks revenge.”

“She has made no secret of it,” replied the prince.

“It is more than that, Highness. Her story is too pat. I do not believe a rich man would allow his mistress the use of his yacht when he is not with her. Now a wife might take her husband’s yacht, but never a mistress.”

“What husband in his right mind would allow such a beautiful wife to travel without him? Unescorted? Unchaperoned?”

“There are always extenuating circumstances, my Prince.”

“I am sure you are right, dear Sasha, but I mean to have the woman, and there will be no scandal. I have the perfect plan. Listen, and tell me what you think. We will snatch the American woman, and of course her servants aboard the yacht will go to the police when she does not return. You, dearest Sasha, will escort her to the farm and oversee her breeding to Lucas. I want you to stay until she is safely delivered of her first child. You need have no fears that anyone will find her, for Lady Miranda Dunham will be assumed dead. The body of a blond woman,” and here the prince leaned over and kissed Gillian lightly, “will be found floating in the Neva. She will be wearing Lady Dunham’s clothes and some of her jewelry. After several days in the river it will be hard to tell who she really is, but the clothes and jewelry will lead them to think it is Lady Dunham. Well, Sasha, am I not clever?”

“Beloved Prince, I stand in awe of your subtle mind.”

“Go back to the English coachman. He will have learned more by now that can aid us in capturing our quarry.”

Sasha caught the prince’s hand and kissed it. “I am overjoyed to obey you, my master,” he said, rising from the bed and leaving the room quickly.

“What was all that gibberish you were gobbling with your toady,” asked Gillian in her flawless French.

“Sasha doubts your veracity, my dear,” replied the prince.

“The little worm is merely jealous,” snapped Gillian. “Surely you don’t believe him, Alexei?”

“I have reassured him, my dear,” murmured Prince Cherkessky silkenly. “Now, kiss me.”

At the British Embassy, Miranda was forced to play a waiting game. She arrived to find herself only one of many guests at a large dinner party where it was totally impossible to talk to the ambassador. Her dinner partner, however, was the ambassador’s secretary, who assured her that the ambassador would grant her a private interview on the following day to discuss her husband.

“Only tell me,” begged Miranda, “that he is alive.”

“Good Lord, yes!” ejaculated the secretary. “Heavens, m’lady, were you in doubt?”

Miranda fought to keep her voice low. “Lord Palmerston would tell me nothing. ”

“That damned idiot,” muttered the ambassador’s secretary, realizing what Lady Dunham had been going through for months. “Your pardon, m’lady,” he added hastily.

“I have called Lord Palmerston far worse, Mr. Morgan,” said Miranda, a twinkle in her eyes, and the secretary laughed.

Outside in the mauve Russian twilight, Sasha had returned to engage the ambassador’s coachman in conversation.

“You back?” demanded the Englishman.

Sasha grinned engagingly. “My master gave me a beating for finding out so little about the lovely golden lady. He sent me back to learn more, or he says I can expect another beating.”

The coachman nodded sympathetically. “Aye, they’re all alike, these rich toffs. They wants what they wants, and don’t take no for an answer like the rest of us has to. Well, lad, as it happens I do know more about the lady now. Heard it in the kitchen while I was eating me dinner. She’s come to get her husband, who’s been here in St. Petersburg on business. The ambassador’s a friend of his, so he asked her to dinner. Lord Dunham, however, didn’t know his wife was coming so he left the city a week ago for England. I’ll bring her back here tomorrow afternoon for tea so the ambassador can tell her.”

“Well, now that ought to satisfy my master,” said Sasha. He dug into his pocket and produced another silver coin. “Thanks, my friend,” he said, pressing the coin into the coachman’s hand. Then he sauntered off.

Miranda had been extremely annoyed to find that she must wait for her news of Jared, but at least she now knew he was safe. There had been dancing after the dinner, and she did not find herself shy of partners. Most were members of the diplomatic community, paunchy, overstuffed gentlemen made bold and mellow by the ambassador’s good wines. One man, however, stood out. He was Prince Mirza Eddin Khan, the son of a Turkish princess and a Georgian prince. The prince was an unofficial representative to the Russian court from the Ottoman court, and as far as Miranda was concerned he was the only interesting man in the room that night.

The prince was extremely attractive, standing several inches over six feet. His wavy hair and the thick straight brush mustache above his sensual lips were a lustrous dark brown, his eyes a deep blue, his skin a warm peach tone. Being Moslem, he did not dance, and when Miranda had refused several gentlemen in an effort to catch her breath, he came to stand next to her. “You are far too pretty to frown so,” he remarked in an amused voice. “I have been led to believe that frowns lead to severe wrinkling.”

She turned her face up to him, and at the sight of her marvelous sea-green eyes he felt his breath catch in his throat. “I am not a piece of fluff, Your Highness, but rather a blunt and outspoken American. I would not offend you, but please do not prattle to me like the other gentlemen. I suspect you are far more intelligent than that.”

“I stand corrected, m’lady. If it is plain truth you prefer, then let me tell you that I think you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.”

“I thank you, Your Highness,” she replied, refusing to lower her glance although the rose in her cheeks deepened. He was pleased to see her blush.

They talked of personal matters, finding confidences easy to exchange. At last the prince said, “I have never coveted another man’s possession yet I envy your husband one thing.”

“What is that?” she asked, genuinely curious.

His deep-blue eyes seemed to devour her, mesmerizing her with a warmth that engulfed her whole body. “I envy him you,” Prince Mirza said, and then before she could recover from her surprise he caught her right hand up and pressed a kiss on its back. “Farewell, Lady Dunham.” She watched in amazement as he disappeared across the crowded ballroom, his white silk trousers, Persian coat, and turban a vivid contrast to the other gentlemen’s black evening attire.

It was then that she decided the time had come for her to return to Dream Witch . After all, she had an appointment here tomorrow and she wanted some rest. It was after eleven as the coach lumbered through the quiet streets of St. Petersburg, back to the boat basin. The Russian night was not at all dark. Miranda found twilight at such a late hour rather unnerving. Then, too, there was the memory of Prince Mirza Eddin Khan. She had never felt so attracted to a stranger before, and it distressed her. Why did this Eastern prince with his mysterious eyes fascinate her so?

The London fops who had sought her out had all been firmly rebuffed. Miranda had shocked all of polite society by being openly and passionately in love with her husband and quite unimpressed by other men. The London bucks had retaliated by nicknaming her the Frost Queen. To Mr. Brummel’s delight, Miranda considered that a great compliment.

The next morning, after a restless sleep, Miranda went up on deck to enjoy the sun. To her surprise, a small closed coach with the British ambassador’s crest on its side was drawing up before Dream Witch . On the box sat a handsome young man in Russian peasant’s garb. Catching sight of her, he called, “Are you Lady Dunham?”

“Yes, I am,” she answered.

“The ambassador’s compliments, m’lady. He must change his appointment with you. If you could come now, please.”

“Yes, of course,” replied Miranda. “I must get my shawl and reticule and then I shall be with you.” She quickly ran below to her cabin to fetch the required items, stopping in the main salon on her way out to tell Captain Snow of her departure.

“Good,” replied Ephraim Snow. “I hope you find out everything today.”

Miranda hurried down the gangway to the waiting carriage, where the driver stood holding the coach door open. He helped her inside, slammed the door behind her, and leaped up onto the box. He whipped the horses up and the vehicle lurched away. She was not alone in the coach. Opposite her sat an extremely elegant gentleman in a white and gold uniform.

“I am Lady Dunham,” she said politely in her best French. “May I ask who you are, sir?”

“I am Prince Alexei Cherkessky,” was the reply.

“Do you also have an appointment with the ambassador, Prince Cherkessky?”

“No, my dear, I do not,” he said.

Miranda found to her shock that he was staring boldly at her. His gaze was quite unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and she did not like it. There seemed to be no life in his eyes. “If you do not have an appointment with the ambassador, then why are you in his coach?” she demanded.

“This is not the ambassador’s coach, my dear, it is mine,” he said evenly.

Miranda was suddenly aware that she was in terrible danger. “Prince Cherkessky, I must demand that you return me to my yacht at once!” she said in a firm tone that belied her thundering pulse and trembling knees.

The prince laughed. “Brava, my dear! Your spirit is quite commendable. You are indeed everything I had hoped for, and I have not been mistaken in my judgment of you.”

“What is it you want of me, sir, and why have you resorted to subterfuge in order to get me into your carriage?”

Prince Cherkessky moved across the coach to seat himself next to her. “Actually I want nothing personally of you, my dear. You need have no fear of me. I don’t intend to rape or murder you. I do, however, want you. I have long sought an exquisite woman with your silver-gilt hair.” He took her chin in a firm grasp and looked intensely at her. “Your eyes are like emeralds, yet there is the tiniest hint of a blue flame in them. Perfect!”

Miranda yanked her head away. “You babble, sir!” she said sharply. “Why have you lured me into your coach? I demand an answer!”

“You demand?” said the prince. “Demand? I think, my dear, you had best understand your new place in life very quickly. You do not have the right to demand anything. You now have no rights at all. You are now my property. From the moment you stepped into my coach you became my property, but you needn’t fear that I shall mistreat you. I am sending you to my slave-breeding farm in the Crimea where you will become the foremost mate of one of my two best stud slaves. I expect you to produce some beautiful children for me.”

More angry than frightened, Miranda burst out, “Are you mad?! I am Lady Miranda Dunham, wife of Jared Dunham and Mistress of Wyndsong Manor! Do you know who I am? Return me at once to my yacht! I shall make no mention of this, for surely you are drunk, sir.” She cried out with shock and pain as cruel fingers closed about her wrist.

Pinioning her with one arm, the prince clapped a sweet-scented cloth over her nose and mouth. Miranda struggled wildly, opening her mouth to scream. But she was unable to scream because her lungs were filled with the burning, sickening sweetness. The prince’s grip was unbreakable, and though she fought madly to escape the englufing blackness, it reached up with unrelenting fingers and pulled her down into its dark whirlpool.

The coach picked up speed as it left the main part of the city and entered the suburbs. Soon the prince’s carriage entered a forest and traveled a little-used road until it finally stopped before a small house. Sasha carried the unconscious woman into the house. The prince followed him, and stared with genuine pleasure at his victim, now motionless on the bed.

“St. Basil!” he swore. “She’s even lovelier than we could see from a distance. Look at that coloring, Sasha! The rose in her cheeks, the faint violet shadows above her eyes.” He bent, gently drew the pins from Miranda’s hair, and pulled her pale-gold mane down, fingering its texture. “Feel it, Sasha! It is like thistledown.”

Sasha bent to take a handful of Miranda’s hair between his fingers, marveling at its softness. “She is a true aristocrat, master. What did she say when you told her her fate?”

Prince Cherkessky shrugged. “Some nonsense about being the wife of Jared Dunham. It matters not.”

Sasha looked troubled. “Beloved Highness,” he said, “I think I would believe her. Look at her! She is an angel, and your mistress is the Devil’s daughter herself. I think the Lady Gillian revenges herself on Lord Dunham for having married this beauty rather than her. Let us return the lady to her people. It can be done discreetly.”

“ No! Dammit, Sasha. I have sought a woman like this for three years now, and she is more perfect than I dared to hope! I will not return her. I am denying even myself the pleasure of her body in order to breed her with Lucas as quickly as possible. Here now, help me undress her. I will need her clothes to take back with me.”

Together the two men stripped off Miranda’s fashionable green-and-white-striped muslin morning gown, her petticoat, vest, and lace-trimmed drawers. The prince removed her black slippers while Sasha rolled off her white silk stockings. For a moment they stared at their nude victim, and Sasha said softly, “How very beautiful she is. Look how fine her bone structure is, master. Though her legs are long they are perfectly proportioned.”

The prince reached out and cupped one of Miranda’s breasts, sighing, “Oh, how I deny myself, Sasha! You know that I always sample the merchandise for the farm, but I must not contaminate this particular slave’s womb with my dark seed.”

“You are a good master,” murmured Sasha, falling lightly on his knees, putting his arms about the prince and nuzzling at his distended groin. “Give me your permission, oh beloved Highness,” he begged. “Let Sasha please you. Was I not born and raised to do so? Have I not always been your one true love?”

Prince Alexei Cherkessky gently stroked the dark curly head.

“You have permission, my darling Sasha,” he murmured as he abandoned himself to the sweet pleasure his serf always gave him. Several minutes later, the sexual tension gone from his body, he was all business again. They dressed Miranda in the skirt, petticoats, blouse, and felt boots of a well-cared-for serf. Silently Sasha braided her long hair, tying the ends with bits of colored wool. Then they carried her back outside and settled her in the coach. The prince caught a glimpse of gold on Miranda’s hand, and swore lightly. “St. Basil! Her jewelry! I almost forgot.” He pulled the rings from her fingers, and the earrings from her ears. “Anything else?” he questioned Sasha.

“There was a cameo pin on her gown, but that’s all,” came the reply.

“Get some water from the well, Sasha,” commanded the prince. “If we are going to keep your passenger quiet it is time we administered the first dose of tincture of opium. She is beginning to stir.” The prince mixed the water and the brownish tincture in a small silver cup. Then the two men climbed into the coach, and while Sasha helped the barely conscious Miranda to a half-sitting position the prince carefully forced the liquid down her throat. She gulped the cold liquid eagerly, soothing her throat. Her brain was fuzzy, and before she could piece things together she was sinking back into the comforting darkness.

Down the narrow forest road came an elegant phaeton. “Good!” said the prince. “Boris Ivanovich is right on time. Now listen to me, Sasha. I want you to drive straight through to the Crimea without any layovers. Do whatever you have to do to relieve yourself, eat while the horses are being changed. I want her on the farm within two weeks. Rest her up a few days after you arrive, and then breed her. Remember, the longer it takes, the longer we will be separated, my dearest Sasha.”

“Must I stay until she delivers a child? Can I not come back while she is pregnant as long as I’m back for her confinement.”

“No,” said the prince firmly. “I do not want to take any chances with her. She is much too valuable a slave, Sasha. Keep her in the house wth you, for I don’t want her in the quarters with the other women. She is not like them, and those damned peasant sows could hurt her. Give her whatever she wants within reason to keep her happy.”

Sasha gazed lovingly at his prince, then catching his master’s hands up he covered them with kisses. “We have never before been separated, my beloved master. Each day away from you shall be an eternity.”

“You are the only one I can trust to do this for me, dearest Sasha,” said the prince.

Sasha kissed the prince’s hands once more and then climbed out and carried Miranda into the other coach. It began moving as soon as he had closed the door.

Prince Alexei Cherkessky drove himself back to his palace in the city, where Gillian was waiting for him.

“Where have you been?” she pouted. As usual she was wearing a sheer silk gown that left nothing to the imagination.

In answer he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his cruel mouth forcing hers open. Quickly inflamed, she responded ardently, pressing her voluptuous body against him, taking pleasure from the pain the gold buttons of his uniform inflicted on her soft flesh, from the pain his hands inflicted as they crushed her buttocks. He pushed her onto a settee and, kneeling before her, sought the sweetness between her open legs, his knowledgeable tongue wreaking havoc, biting at her little love button until she screamed with delight. Then as swiftly as he had begun his attack he stopped, standing up and straightening his tunic.

For a moment she lay panting with disbelief, then she swore at him, “You bastard! Don’t leave me hanging!”

He laughed cruelly. “Tonight, douceka . I’m saving myself for tonight. I have a special treat for you, one you’ve never experienced, and will never, I promise you, experience again. You can finish yourself now. Go ahead. I like watching you when you do it to yourself.”

“Rotten bastard!” she snarled, but her fingers were already busily working her aching flesh. It was never the same as with a real man, but she had to do something or explode with the longing.

Prince Cherkessky lit a thin black cheroot, and sat back to watch his mistress as she writhed before him. She was probably the most insatiable female he’d ever met. She would do anything he wanted, and always with gusto. He would miss that, but she was too dangerous to keep around any longer. He knew she hoped to blackmail him into marriage, but he had no intention of making a highbred English whore who spied for Napoleon against her own country the next Princess Cherkessky. That honor was being reserved for a young cousin of the Tzar’s, Princess Tatiania Romanova, and unknown to everyone in St. Petersburg society except his future in-laws, the engagement would be announced next month on Tatiania’s seventeenth birthday, the wedding to take place the following month.

Of course, he had to tie up some loose ends. Sasha was one, but he was safely on his way to the farm. Eventually, thought the prince, I will write him about Tatiania, but I cannot allow him to come back until she has given me several children. Sasha may be the only person I truly care for, but he cannot give me children to insure the continuation of my family.

A moan from Gillian penetrated his thoughts, and he focused his glance on her again, watching her face with interest as she climaxed. “Very nice, my dear!” he said. “Now I shall reward you by telling you where I have been today. I arranged for your former rival to travel south with Sasha. They are already well on their way.”

“Alexei!” Gillian flung herself into his arms. “Oh, I do adore you!”

He smiled thinly. “I am pleased to make you so happy so easily,” the prince said. “Go and bathe yourself in preparation for our evening together, my dear.”

Gillian scrambled to her feet and hurried to her own rooms. She wondered what wonderful surprise he had in store for her. Would it be the sapphire necklace and earrings she had admired last week at the jeweler’s? It was too soon for a marriage proposal. Now that they shared the secret of Miranda Dunham, however, he would marry her to keep her silent. It was only logical, and in the event that it did not occur to him, she would suggest it. He was not a stupid man. He would see the advantage of her being his wife.

In his own apartments the prince prepared, ordering iced champagne and fine black caviar. He bathed, and then surprised his servants by giving them the evening off. By nine o’clock all was in readiness. The draperies were drawn and his bedchamber was lit by shimmering candlelight.

Gillian’s hair had been red and short in London. In St. Petersburg it was long, wavy, and blond, an effective disguise. Tonight she wore it loose, and she was totally nude except for a necklace of diamonds and pink satin slippers. The prince wore only a silk robe.

Gillian’s color was high. She had spent her few hours away from the prince dwelling on Miranda’s fate. Having drunk two glasses of champagne, she grew bold. “Tell me what it will be like for her, Alexei?” she begged him.

“Who?”

“Miranda Dunham. What will it be like for her on your farm?”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but it should be quite comfortable for her. Do not your English horsebreeders take especial care of their prize brood mares? Well, I too take excellent care of my breeding stock.”

“What if she refuses to cooperate,” urged Gillian. “What if she fights your attempts to mate her with Lucas? A woman can fight, you know.”

“If she will not cooperate, Gillian, she will be forced.”

“ How? ”

“She will be tied down so Lucas may complete his duties,” said the prince drily. “Does it please you to know that, Gillian?”

“Yes,” she breathed huskily. “Oh, God, how I wish Jared Dunham could know her fate! Know that another man is using what he considered his!”

The prince’s eyes narrowed. So, Sasha had been right after all. Not that it mattered. The silver-blond beauty was on her way to the farm. Stupid Gillian didn’t even realize that, in her eagerness for revenge, she had exposed her lie about Miranda not being married. “Let us not dwell on the functions of serfs, my dear,” he said. “There are far more pleasant ways in which we may amuse ourselves.” Removing his silk dressing gown, he then removed her necklace and took her hand to lead her toward his bed. “I was cruel to you this afternoon, douceka , but tonight I promise to give you your heart’s desire.”

Gillian’s heart skipped a beat. Had she misjudged him? Was he going to propose tonight, after all?

The prince pulled her to him. “Ah, douceka , what pleasure you give me,” he said, tracing the line of her jaw with his supple fingers. She shivered with delight, and his slanted eyes narrowed. They fell back together on the bed, Gillian atop the prince, and his strong arms lifted her slightly to seat her on his already strong lance. She squealed with pleasure and wiggled her plump bottom provocatively on his thighs. His hands reached out to play with her breasts, rolling the cherrylike nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

“What a sensuous little cossack you are, my dear,” he said as she rode him. “But you are too anxious for your pleasures. Tonight you will have to wait a bit.” He lifted her off him.

“No!” she protested. “Damn you, Alexei, I can climax a hundred times for you, and I want to!”

“No, no, douceka ,” he scolded. “This night we will come close several times, but I will allow you only one pleasure. However, it will be greater than any you’ve ever known or will know again. I promise you perfection, my dear.”

He turned her over onto her stomach and, without her seeing it, reached for the riding crop he had placed conveniently near the bed. Seating himself on her shoulders facing her feet, he applied the crop viciously to her bottom. Gillian screamed and tried to buck him off, but she could not, and he did not stop beating her until her buttocks were a mass of dark pink weals. Then as she lay weeping and helpless he entered her as he would one of his male lovers, using her skillfully until her sobs of pain began to turn into moans of an entirely different nature. When she was quite close to fulfillment, he withdrew from her and rolled her onto her back. Pulling her legs over his shoulders, he buried his face in her, tonguing her with marvelous deftness, then withdrawing with incredible instinct only a moment before she slipped over the edge.

She cursed him again and again, using every foul word she could think of in at least three languages, and he laughed delightedly. Finally Alexei Cherkessky believed his mistress was ready for the final pleasure. She was whimpering and clawing at his groin now, so he murmured “All right, douceka , I’ll fuck you now,” and pushed his swollen organ into her. She sighed as he entered her, thrusting her fevered body upward to meet him. He smiled down at the look of pure pleasure on her face; her eyes were closed, the lids trembling.

Expertly he drove her toward a perfect orgasm, his slim hips thrusting downward in rhythm with her movements. His hands slipped around her white throat with its madly jumping pulse, and he began to speak softly to her. “I am granting you your greatest desire, Gillian, ma douceka . I have allowed you your revenge on Lord Dunham for preferring his exquisite Miranda to you.” The prince’s fingers began to tighten about Gillian’s neck. “Lord Dunham will, I fear, seek her unless there is nothing to seek. You wanted to be Lady Dunham in life, Gillian, but that was not to be. You shall, however, be Lady Dunham in death.”

Gillian’s eyes flew open as sudden sickening realization of his intent penetrated her mind. Her hands flew to his in an effort to release his hold. She opened her mouth, desperately seeking air, trying to scream, but his grip was relentless. Gillian knew she was going to die. His hands began to squeeze the life from her at the very moment she began to experience the greatest climax she ever had known. Survival struggled with sensual pleasure, and she found her strength to fight him gone as her eyes closed.

“They will find your body in the Neva, douceka , dressed in Lady Dunham’s clothes and jewelry. You will be identified as her, and buried in her grave, with her name on your tombstone. Have you no thanks for me, douceka? ”

Gillian Abbott’s body shuddered in a combination of orgasm and death throes, and then she was still. Prince Alexei continued to fuck her until he attained his own pleasure a few moments later. Then he withdrew from her and rose from the bed to wash himself in his dressing room. He drank down a full glass of champagne to steady his nerves. He was shaken from what he considered the most exhilarating experience he had ever had.

He felt he had been more magnificent than he had dared to hope, her orgasm and her death all tangled into one mass of passion. He sighed sadly, realizing it was not likely to happen again. No woman he’d ever known had been as primitively sexual as Gillian. She was unique, and he would miss her. But nothing must endanger his marriage to the Tzar’s young cousin. Slowly he dressed himself, and then he dressed Gillian’s fast-cooling body in Miranda Dunham’s clothing. He could not fit the vest over Gillian’s overgenerous breasts so he discarded it. The drawers were skintight, for Gillian had a plumper bottom than Miranda, but he managed to squeeze her into them. He solved the problem of a too-tight dress bodice by ripping the front of the gown to make it look as if the cameo brooch had been torn off by thieves. After fastening the garters about her legs to hold up the white stockings he discarded the black slippers, for Gillian’s feet could not fit Miranda’s slender shoes. Lastly the prince jammed the wedding ring onto his dead paramour’s finger and, picking up her lifeless body, he carried her from his apartments downstairs and out onto the palace terrace, which faced the river Neva.

The palace was quite deserted. No one saw him. At the terrace edge he paused to lift Gillian over the balustrade, and then he lowered her body by her own arms down into the river where the current quickly caught at it and sucked it away. Alexei Cherkessky watched with great satisfaction. Everything had gone as perfectly as he had planned it. In the morning he would have Marya, his old nurse, clear Gillian’s apartment out. There would be no need for an explanation. Mistresses came and went. Well-trained serfs did not ask questions, and his serfs were as well trained as physical violence and pure fear could make them.

Reaching into his tunic, he drew out a thin black cheroot, and lit it from one of the garden lanterns. Then, slowly inhaling the rich tobacco smoke, he wiped Gillian Abbott from his brain, and began to contemplate Princess Tatiania Romanova, his innocent bride-to-be. He held no hope that a well-brought-up seventeen-year-old virgin would be as interesting as Gillian. Still, if she were not prejudiced against bedsport and was an apt pupil, he could school her, and they would get on quite well. All in all, it was an encouraging thought.