Chapter 15

M IRANDA LOOKED INTO HER MIRROR . S HE HAD CHANGED, AND she liked the change. She was twenty years old and, at last, the girl she had been was gone. A woman stared back at her from the Venetian glass, a woman whose bittersweet experiences of the last year had served only to increase her beauty, refine it as one would refine gold.

Her skin was as translucent as the finest porcelain. Her cheeks, washed with pale rose, stretched tight over her high, fine bones. The sea-green eyes never wavered in their direct gaze. If she had been a beautiful young girl, she was now an incredibly stunning young woman.

There were deeper changes as well. Where once she had been quick to act and ruled by her heart, she now considered carefully and thoughtfully.

Mirza Khan, her tender lover these few months, had begged her to remain with him, or at least to return to him if Jared repudiated her. She cared deeply for him, yet she knew she would never love him as she loved Jared Dunham, and Mirza Khan deserved all of her heart.

She sighed, allowing herself a moment to think back over the terrible things she had seen in the last year. Perhaps the most painful was the death of little Fleur. The day of her death, which was the day after Mirza Khan had insisted that Miranda name her, seemed to mark the closing of one door and the opening of another. The child’s quiet and apparently painless death had been no surprise at all to Miranda and had been, of course, something of a relief. What kind of life would she have had, blind and probably deaf as well?

Miranda would always be grateful to the prince for insisting on a name. How awful if the baby had gone to her grave nameless! She was buried in a secluded part of the garden, and Mirza Khan had held Miranda while she wept and wept. There were no longer any tears for the child. Perhaps there would be again one day, but for now Miranda intended to walk through the new door, into a new life. She could not, just now, allow herself to dwell on the past.

Rising, she left her room and sought Mirza Khan. Walking alone in the selamlik garden when she found him, the prince’s face lit up at sight of her, and she walked proudly into his outstretched arms. “Thank you, Mirza,” she said. “Thank you. I have suddenly realized that I am whole again, and it is you who have created this miracle.”

He held her against him, aching with need for her. “We are friends, and so it was written before either of us was even born. It is what we call kismet , a preordained fate.” His hand lightly touched her soft hair. How long? he wondered. How long before I must let her go, and then spend the rest of the years apportioned to me wondering what I ever did that I must bear such pain, such loss.

“You love me,” she said quietly, knowing his thoughts so clearly that it startled her. She had never been able to play that particular trick with anyone else but Amanda.

“Of course I love you,” he said with false heartiness.

“ No! ” her voice was sharp, and demanded his attention. “You really love me. Oh, Mirza, have I brought you pain? You don’t deserve that, darling.”

“Walk with me, Miranda,” was his reply. They strolled the smooth marble paths of the garden. “Do you know how old I am?” he asked her, and then without waiting for her answer said, “I am forty-five years old, Miranda, a full twenty-five years your senior. I might be your father.”

“No, Mirza, you could never be my papa.” To his surprise he heard laughter in her voice.

“What I am trying to say to you, Miranda, is yes, I really do love you, but had we never become lovers I would still love you because it is my fate to do so. It is also my fate to see you returned safely to your world. If you remain there with your husband then I must accept that bitter portion of my fate as I have so joyously accepted the sweet portion of it. My years have taught me not to rail against Allah’s plan for me, though I may sometimes feel that I know better than God himself. If I have given you sweet memories to feast upon in the long dark nights ahead, then so have you given me sweet memories in return.” Turning, he tipped her face up to him, his deep-blue eyes locking onto hers with such tenderness that she felt the tears pricking, and blinked them fiercely back. “Into each man’s life, if he is lucky, comes one very special love. There will never be another, but my dearest little puritan, my life is so much richer for loving you. I regret nothing, and neither must you, for regret would lessen what has passed between us, and make it only ordinary.”

Reaching up, she took his head in her hands and, pulling it down, kissed him a tender, sweet kiss. “I have become a woman with you,” she said. “Never have I felt so strong, so sure, and it is your love that has done this. It will envelop me when I leave you, an invisible, protective armor.”

She slipped her hand into his, and they strolled wordlessly, enjoying the beauties of the garden with its tinkling, blue-tiled fountains, its fish pools whose swift golden inhabitants darted to and fro amid the water lilies. The yellow rose trees were in full bloom amid beds of fluffy white gypsophila, tall spikes of purple lavender, lemon balm, and other sweet herbs.

The sunlight caressed her long hair while a soft wind teasingly played with it. Soon he led her into his dimly lit bedchamber. She shed her peacock-blue caftan, he his long white robe, and they came together in an embrace. His body, lean, warm, and hard, felt good against hers. Her lips parted to receive his tongue into her mouth, a tongue that loved hers with tender familiarity. Her hands smoothed down the long line of his back, cupped his buttocks, and moved back upward, her nails gently raking his skin. He bore her backward onto the bed, his passionate mouth never leaving hers, and her arms slipped up around his neck. Her pale-gold hair billowed outward, and he tangled his hands in its soft thickness as he covered her face with a thousand kisses.

Rolling to one side, he cradled her within the shelter of his arm while his other hand gently caressed her breasts, his fingers touching her skin slowly as if committing its texture to memory. Watching him through half-closed eyes, she said softly, “This is the last time for us, isn’t it, Mirza?”

“How did you know?”

“I saw Dream Witch anchor off your beach earlier this afternoon,” she replied.

“You will sail with the evening tide, Miranda, my love. Your Captain Snow has brought your maid. She will come ashore later with your clothes.”

“Oh, Mirza, I am suddenly afraid!” she cried.

“No!” His deep voice was fierce. “You must never show fear, my darling, for if you exhibit any sign of weakness you will be overcome. Your world is full of people who have never faced a decision more serious than having to choose between two invitations. They believe that the correct thing in your situation would have been suicide. However, if in your shoes, would they have killed themselves? Of course not!

“Live, Miranda. Apologize to no one, not even to yourself!”

Then Mirza Khan sealed her mouth with a burning kiss, and continued to make tender, passionate love to her. He kissed every inch of her, slipping down the silk sheets to begin with her pretty pink toes. His tongue flicked at the arch of each foot, and she giggled. He worshiped at each long leg, nuzzling, then playfully nipping at the soft skin on the insides of her thighs.

Her nipples grew high and tight with longing, and she gasped when his mouth closed over first one and then the other. She held his head close to her breasts. Slowly he lifted himself so as to face her, and as their eyes met, hers filled with tears. It was so unfair that he loved her like this, and that she must leave him.

He kissed her belly, and said, “I have tasted of your milk, my darling, now will I taste of your honey,” and his dark head dipped down to that secret grotto of love. Tauntingly his tongue flicked at the sweet flesh, and she moaned low, a sound that came from deep, deep back in her throat. Her body began to shudder.

“I … I want to love you … that way, too,” she managed to gasp, but he didn’t stop. “Please, Mirza!” He stopped and swung his body sideways so she might taste of him as he had tasted of her.

She took him gently into her mouth, her naughty tongue teasing the crimson head of his manhood. He sobbed, and his mouth reciprocated her loving until she thought she would go mad with the pleasure. Playfully, she nipped at him.

“Oh, bitch, to do this to me now!” he groaned. Then, disengaging her grip on him, he pulled her beneath him and thrust into her, pushing his shaft as deep as he could. She thrust herself up to meet him, pulling his head to hers, kissing him hungrily, tasting herself in his mouth. Together they reached the final peak, and then together they tumbled whirling through timelessness until reaching earth once more to cling together in a last sweet embrace before sleep overtook them.

When Miranda awoke he was gone. Slowly she rose, donned her caftan, and made her way back across the harem garden to her room in the women’s quarters. Turkhan awaited her, and the two women embraced in sisterly fashion.

“Will he see me before I go?” Miranda said. “I cannot leave without seeing him once more.”

“He will see you.”

“You love him, Turkhan.” It was a statement, and the reply was not surprising.

“Yes, I love him, and in his fashion he cares for me. I have been with him for fifteen years, since I was fourteen. Others come and go, but I always remain, as I will remain to comfort him after you have gone.”

“He is fortunate to have you,” replied Miranda sincerely.

Turkhan smiled, and put an arm around the younger woman. “Miranda, little sister, how very Western you are! I do not mind that my lord Mirza loves you, for you have made him happy, and we all knew that you would have to leave us one day. When you have gone we will have the pleasurable task of soothing our lord’s pain. The other butterflies of his harem believe they will succeed, and he will kindly tell them they have, but I know better. You will always be with him, hidden in a dark, secret place deep within his heart. I cannot change that, nor would I. Every experience we face in this life is for a purpose, even the bittersweet ones.”

“I might return,” Miranda said softly.

“No,” Turkhan shook her lovely head. “You care for my lord Mirza, but your heart is with the man to whom you return. Even if he casts you off, you will remain near him as I remain near Mirza Khan because you love him, as I love my lord.”

“Yes,” came the reply. “I love Jared, and no matter what happens I will want to be near him.”

“I understand,” said Turkhan, and then she said in a lighter tone, “Let us go to the baths. Your people will be here soon.”

Miranda luxuriated in the lovely harem baths a last time. After a massage, she dozed and was awakened by an elderly woman slave offering sweet, boiling Turkish coffee. Drinking the coffee quickly, she was wrapped in a large, fluffy towel and left the baths. Miranda opened the door to her room and entered it. She heard a gasp, and then a joyful cry.

“ Milady! It really is you! ”

She swallowed. The transition had begun. “Yes, Perky. It really is me.”

Perkins burst into tears. “Oh, milady, we was so heartbroken. Milord was wild with grief. He was drunk for close to two months.”

“Was he?” Miranda smiled, quite pleased. “What happened after he sobered up, Perky?”

Perkins’ plain, girlish face became tight with disapproval. “It ain’t my place to criticize, m’lady, but after he sobered up he became the biggest rake in London. Thank God you weren’t really dead, and you’re coming home. I shudder to think of that Lady de Winter being little Tom’s mama!”

“What?!” Miranda felt her temper rising. He certainly hadn’t put himself out with a long mourning period, had he?

“Oh m’lady, forgive me for upsetting you! I’ll tell you true. The gossip was that he was planning to offer for her, but he didn’t. They say all he wanted was a mama for little Master Tom, for the child’s been with Lady Swynford ever since you left. She wouldn’t let him go from the hall, but kept him with Master Neddie. Now, however, she’s breeding again. And besides, m’lord wants the boy. He loves the child so much. I never heard that he loved Lady de Winter, m’lady. There’s never been the slightest gossip of that! I swear it!”

Miranda put out a gentle hand and patted Perkins’ cheek. “It’s all right, Perky. I think it’s better that I know exactly what has been happening. Come now, help me dress.” She needed to change the subject, and grasped the opportunity. “Have fashions changed very much in the year I’ve been away?”

“Oh yes, m’lady! The bodices are tighter, the skirts a little fuller, and the hems come just to the ankle. Wait till you see the cabin full of lovely gowns his lordship’s brought for you.”

Very slowly, Miranda began to lose her color. She swayed and Perky reached out to steady her.

“ He’s here?! ” Miranda whispered. “Is Lord Dunham aboard the ship?”

“Why, yes, of course,” Perky replied.

Miranda grew silent. So there was to be little time to plan what she would say to Jared, little time to prepare herself? Miranda dropped her towel, and Perky, blushing, handed her a pair of fine muslin drawers and white silk stockings with embroidered gold clocks on them. There were braided gold silk garters to hold the stockings up. “Oh, this is new!” Miranda noted as her maid dropped a quilted white silk petticoat with its own attached bodice over her head. The bodice was sleeveless, and had wide straps.

The dress Perky had brought her was of coral and apricot muslin in alternating stripes. The scooped neckline was low, the sleeves short puffs, the bodice indeed quite tight. The skirt belled out gently over her petticoat, ending just at the ankle. Miranda slipped into a pair of black slippers.

“The dress is a bit tight in the bodice, m’lady, but I can let it out later. I’d have thought you’d be a bit less in the bustline what with not nursing all these months.”

Miranda nodded, sat, and watched quietly as her maid parted her hair in the center. Perky braided it and then arranged the braid in a round knot at the back of her head. “Lord Dunham sent your jewel case along, m’lady,” said Perky, and she opened the top tray in the red Morocco leather case.

Miranda first removed a strand of pearls on a gold chain with a diamond clasp, and fastened them about her neck. Then she took the matching pearl-and-diamond earrings, and secured them in her ears. The fashionable London woman in the mirror stared at her coolly, and Miranda knew it was time to go. She stood. “Take the case, Perky, and go to the barge. I must bid Prince Mirza farewell and thank him for his hospitality.”

She took a final look around the small bedroom with its yellow- and white-tiled corner stove, its built-in single bed, and the small dressing table with the Venetian glass mirror. She had been happy here, and though her heart longed for Jared, she was afraid of what awaited her and reluctant to leave the safety of Mirza Khan’s sure love. “You must never show fear,” he had said. “Never apologize, even to yourself.”

“Come, Perky,” she said brightly, and the two women left the room. The harem women were waiting in the salon. The little English maid stood back shyly, her eyes wide at the sight of the beautiful women in lavish, colorful costumes. Perky did not understand any language other than English, and could not understand what was said, but she knew that the women were sad to see her mistress leave.

Having bid a warm good-bye to the women of the harem, Miranda turned back to Guzel and Safiye, and asked, “Will you show my maidservant the way to the quay?”

Miranda then spoke to Perkins. “I will be with you shortly. These ladies will show you to the barge.”

Perky curtseyed. “Very good, m’lady,” she said, and followed Safiye and Guzel from the room.

“He awaits you in the main salon,” said Turkhan. Giving Miranda a farewell kiss on the cheek, she finished, “I will take good care of him.”

“I know you will. I only hope he knows how fortunate he is to have you,” said Miranda sincerely. “Men can sometimes be such damned fools!”

“In his own way he appreciates me,” was the contended reply. “Go now, Miranda. May you find true happiness again with your husband.”

Miranda walked to the main salon in the public rooms of the small palace. He was waiting, dressed as he had been the first time she had seen him in St. Petersburg, in white trousers, a white Persian coat, and a small white turban.

“We end as we began,” he said quietly, taking her hand and kissing it in the Western fashion. “How beautiful you look, Lady Dunham, the picture of the fashionable European woman!”

“I love you,” she said softly. “Not in the way in which I love Jared, but I do love you, Mirza. I didn’t know a woman could care so deeply, in such different ways, for two men at the same time.”

“I wondered if you would ever understand that,” he smiled, holding out his arms to her.

With a little cry she buried herself in his embrace. “Mirza, I am so confused!”

“No, Miranda, you are not really confused, you are simply reluctant to exchange my love for the uncertainty of what awaits you. I will not deny my love for you or my need for you, but neither will I accept second best, for I am a proud man. Your love for Jared Dunham is far greater than your love for me could ever be. Return to him, little puritan, and fight for him!

“I don’t give a damn what polite society in England says. When a woman is forced, the shame is not on her but on the man who forces her. Your Jared has had more than his share of ladies, I will wager, and if he is the man you claim then he will not hold you responsible for something you could not help. Remember what I have told you. Never apologize!”

“And what shall I tell him of you, Mirza Eddin Khan? You did not force me.”

“What do you want to tell him, Miranda?”

She moved out of his embrace just enough to look up into his handsome face. His deep-blue eyes challenged her. “I think, Mirza Khan, that there are certain things in this world a wife must keep to herself,” she answered, and her sea-green eyes were laughing.

“I have taught you well, oh daughter of Eve,” he said softly.

“I have been an apt pupil, my dearest friend,”

He smiled his oddly roguish smile, and then pulling her back into his embrace, he kissed her deeply and tenderly. She melted back against him, tasting him one last time, enjoying the tickly softness of his mustache one last time, feeling so loved that when he finally released her she lay in his arms for a moment or two more, her eyes closed. Finally she sighed deeply, regretfully, and, opening her eyes, stepped away from him. Neither of them said anything, the time for words being long past. He took her hand in his, and they walked from the salon across the portico, across the green lawn, and down to the marble quay.

Perky, who was on the barge approaching Dream Witch , saw them and caught her breath in surprise. When she had been told her mistress was staying at the palace of a cousin of the sultan, she had envisioned a kindly, white-haired patriarch, and she assumed that Lord Dunham had, too. This very tall, handsome gentleman was not at all what she had expected. “Coo,” she whispered to herself, “ain’t he gorgeous!” They held hands, too. Well, it wasn’t her business, and heaven only knew Lord Dunham has chased every lightskirt in London, and lifted them, too! These last months hadn’t been easy on any of them.

The couple walked out onto the quay. The barge would return for Miranda in a very few minutes.

“Allah go with you, my darling. I shall think of you each day for the rest of my life and count the time well spent.”

“I will not forget you, Mirza. I only wish I were as deserving of your love as I should be. Turkhan loves you, you know. She would make you a very good wife.”

He laughed. Catching her hand, he kissed the palm in a teasing gesture. “Farewell, my little puritan! When you write me that you have made your own happy ending, then I will consider your advice!” He helped her down into the barge.

“Consider my advice well, my proud prince,” she teased. “Have you not taught me that true love is a rare thing, to be prized above all else?”

“I bow before your wisdom, Miranda,” he answered. Though he laughed, his eyes were sad, so sad she almost cried with his pain.

“Farewell, Mirza Eddin Khan,” she said softly, “and thank you, my love.”

For the briefest moment he gazed raptly at her. Then speaking curtly to his boatman, he gave orders and the barge bobbed out onto the gentle evening seas. She watched the shore recede, looking for a last time at the lovely little palace where she had been so happy, so safe.

From the building on the hill emerged a regal female figure in flowing ruby-red robes. The woman made her way to Mirza Khan’s side and stood silently next to him. Wordlessly he put his arm about her, and Miranda smiled, pleased. Turkhan will surely win him over, she thought.

Jared Dunham stood on the deck of Dream Witch , watching as the barge moved slowly across the water toward him. Thoughtfully he lowered his spyglass and stared at the man in white who was standing on the quay. The prince was certainly not what he’d expected. Jared had seen clearly the way Miranda had looked at him and also the way the prince had looked at Miranda. Jared felt extremely uncomfortable, as if he’d been spying on a private meeting. Cold anger welled up in him. She was his wife! Why should he feel like an outsider? Jared had been advised by many people in England that Miranda would need him desperately, that she would need all the love and understanding he could give her. But the elegant woman walking hand in hand with the handsome prince did not look in need of anything at all.

Suddenly Jared felt that he was being watched, and he put the spyglass to his eye once more. Prince Mirza stood staring directly at him and his look carried this message: Take care of her, for I want her too! Jared was astounded. It was as if the man had spoken clearly in his ear. With an angry oath, he slammed the spyglass shut and stormed from the deck.

Perky had arrived some time before, with the jewel case, and was below. Ephraim Snow, alone on deck, awaited Miranda. As she was hoisted up in the bosun’s chair, the old captain was suddenly overcome. Helping her from the chair with trembling fingers, he sobbed, “Oh, my lady!”

Miranda reached over and touched his cheek, knowing that to kiss him would be wrong.

“Hello, Eph,” she said softly. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

The sound of Miranda’s voice made her presence a firm reality, and helped the old man to recover. Wiping his eyes, he said gruffly, “Worst time of my whole life was telling Master Jared that you’d been killed.”

“I didn’t do it deliberately,” she sighed. Damn! Was it going to be like this with all of them? Was she to be held accountable for her abduction? Never apologize! She heard Mirza Khan’s voice as clearly as if he were standing beside her. Miranda turned away from Eph and walked swiftly to the stern of the ship. She raised her hand in a farewell gesture. The gesture was quickly answered by a red arm and a white arm waving back from the quay.

The anchor was raised, and the Dream Witch slipped down the Bosphorus into the Sea of Marmara. The evening sky had darkened to a deep lavender, and on the far western horizon was the thinnest slash of scarlet. Miranda gazed intently at the disappearing coastline. It was over. The nightmare was over, and she was going home. Home!

Wait, said a small voice. You may not have won yet. You have yet to see Jared.

Ephraim Snow’s voice cut into her thoughts. “You gonna stay out here all night, Mistress Miranda?”

She turned to face him. “Where is my husband, Eph? I was told that he came to Istanbul. He was not on deck to greet me when I came aboard.”

Je-sus! Something sure as hell was eating at her. “He was up on deck, with his spyglass, watchin’ as you said your good-byes. Somethin’ sure as hell riled him cause when you were halfway between us and the shore, he went below lookin’ madder than a boiled owl.”

“Where is he now?”

“In his cabin.”

“Tell my husband I am in the main salon, Eph,” she said, and she left him.

Lord, she’d changed. He’d understood the enthusiastic girl-woman he’d brought to Russia those long months ago. But she was as gone as if she really had been murdered. The woman who had given him that cool, sharp order looked at him with eyes that never wavered. In fact it had been he who had looked away first. Praise the Lord she wasn’t his problem! Let Jared Dunham handle her … if he could! The Captain went to fetch the gentleman.

Jared looked somewhat chagrined by the message Ephraim Snow brought. He had a question:

“Has she changed?”

“Aye.”

He had known it! “Very much?” he asked.

“You’ll judge for yourself, Master Jared.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, and, brushing past the captain, walked to the main salon. Opening the door, he entered it. Her back was to him. He couldn’t fathom the set of it and that annoyed him. She didn’t appear the broken reed he had been told she would be. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “So, madam, you are back at long last!”

She turned. Her new beauty stunned him. “Indeed, m’lord, I am most certainly back.” The mouth mocked him, as did the knowing sea-green eyes.

He didn’t remember her mouth so lush, and the last time he had looked into those eyes they had been innocent. He stared angrily back at her. The dress had too low a neckline, and her breasts swelled far too provocatively above it. “I trust, madam,” he said coldly, “that you have a good explanation for your conduct.”

“I merely sought my husband,” she said in a syrupy sweet voice that was belied by the stormy look in her eyes, “my husband, who left me to play at a game of intrigue while I carried and bore our first child alone.”

“A child you cared so little about that you left him when he was barely two months old!” he retorted.

“I love little Tom!” she shouted furiously at him. “I expected to find you, and bring you home immediately. My son was safer in England with Amanda. Would you rather I had exposed him to the rigors of the journey to Russia?

“I could bear it no longer without you! Your beastly friend, Palmerston, would tell me nothing! Nothing! He behaved as if you did not even exist.”

“Touching, madam, but tell me, how did you attract Prince Cherkessky’s attention?”

“ What? ”

“Alexei Cherkessky, the man who abducted you. Ephraim Snow told me you attended a party at the English Embassy the night before you disappeared. Did you meet the prince there? Did you flirt with him and bring the situation on yourself, Miranda?”

She threw the nearest thing at hand, a heavy crystal inkwell. It dented the door behind his head, the black ink running down the paneling onto the deck, where it sank slowly into the wide boards. “So, m’lord, I am to be held accountable for this situation, am I? Oh God, how little you know me to believe such a thing! When did I, in the few short months of our marriage, ever give you cause for doubt? Never! But you, m’lord! First there was Gillian Abbott, then who knows how many women in St. Petersburg, and you mourned me but a few months before you were back in the social swing. So now there is Lady de Winter.”

She turned away furiously, hiding her face from his angry gaze, blinking back the tears fast filling her eyes. She would not let him see her weakness. He would only use it against her.

“ Did Cherkessky rape you? ” His voice was ragged.

She turned back to face him, and he thought he had never seen her so angry. “No,” came the short, sharp reply, and then she swept past him and left the room.

Tears nearly blinding her, she made her way to her spacious cabin by memory, ordering a startled Perky from the room as she flung herself on the bed.

He had looked so handsome! But they were at odds, and her heart was breaking again. She had noticed just the faintest touch of silver at his temples, and wondered if her disappearance was responsible for it. At least her scars didn’t show. What a terrible beginning it had been!

He came into the room now and, kneeling by the bed, said quietly, “We did not make a good new beginning, did we, Miranda? I am glad to have you back.” He cautiously placed his arm around her.

“I have been coming back to you ever since Prince Cherkessky had me abducted,” she said. “I attempted to escape his villa within a month of my arrival.”

“ You did?! ” This was the Miranda he knew. “How?”

“By sea. I thought if I could sail to Istanbul I could go to the English Embassy. But I was caught, and until the Tatars came I was too closely watched.” She shrugged off his arm, not seeing the spasm of pain that crossed his face. “I walked practically all the way to ’Stanbul,” she said proudly. “Oh, sometimes I’d ride a few miles on one of their booty carts, but mostly I walked. The prince’s servants told the Tatars that I was a rich Englishwoman who could be ransomed in ’Stanbul, but they also warned me to beware the savages, and how right they were. The bastards intended to sell me right along with the rest of the poor souls they’d captured, but I overheard them plotting the night before we entered the city.

“We were camped outside the wall. I waited until they were all sleeping, then walked to the nearest gate, and when it was opened at dawn I walked across the entire city to the English Embassy. I had a hell of a time convincing the idiot gatekeeper who I was; but by wildest coincidence Kit Edmund appeared, and I was saved!” She rose and began pacing the cabin. Her look was very far away.

“The Tatars were behind me. Kit and his friend, Mirza Eddin Khan, were ahead of me, and there I was in the middle. The Tatars were screaming that I was honest booty from a raid and Kit was shouting that I was protected under British law.”

“How did you get out of it?”

“Mirza Khan poured half a pouch of unset gemstones into the Tatar hetman’s hands. It was a fortune, and really quite gallant of him! The Tatars were more than satisfied with the price, and they finally left me alone.

“May we eat now? I am really quite famished.”

She brushed past Jared and entered their private day cabin, where a small feast had been laid out for them. The cook had taken the trouble, while waiting for her to board the ship, to shop the bazaars of the waterfront for fresh food. Here was the delectable result of his labors.

There was a joint of rare beef, a plump brown capon stuffed with rice, dried peaches and apricots, and a platter of mussels cooked in herbs and wine. Miranda paused over a large bowl of tomato and eggplant, and decided it looked too much like what she’d been eating for a year. She moved on to a bowl of green beans and then to one of carrots and celery in sherried cream sauce. There was rice pilaf and kasha, and she passed up the latter without a second thought. Next to a crock of sweet butter was a large loaf of fresh hot bread. She cut herself a large slice and slathered it shamelessly with butter. It had been over a year since she had seen white bread. Quickly deciding on the rest of her meal, she took several slices of beef, a little rice, and some creamed carrots and celery. She eyed the sideboard, covered with berry tarts smothered in cream, a wedge of Stilton cheese, the makings of tea, and bottles of both red and white wine.

She seated herself and instantly popped a slice of beef in her mouth.

“How I missed rare beef,” she giggled. “The Russians overcook it.”

“And the Turks?”

“They eat a lot of lamb,” she replied. “Pass me the salt, please.”

He handed her the round pewter dish, and taking up a plate helped himself to some supper. He would have to be satisfied for the time being because she was going to tell him only what she chose to, and no more. Probing would only drive her away.

They ate in silence, Miranda quicky finishing and going to the sideboard to brew a pot of black China tea. Then, cutting two generous wedges of the berry tart, she placed them on the table.

“Your appetite is as magnificent as ever, m’lady,” he said.

“There were times on the journey to Istanbul when I was very hungry,” she replied. “Mignon and I tried to supplement our diet with seafood when we marched near the sea, and we picked greens and wild strawberries.”

“Who is Mignon?”

“She was the illegitimate daughter of a French nobleman. She had been a governess in St. Petersburg when the prince lured her to his Crimean estates. Two Tatars raped her and killed her when we were halfway to ’Stanbul. All she wanted was to get back to Paris.”

My God, he thought, how she has suffered! Remembering her former innocence, her uncertainty, he was truly admiring of the strong woman she had become … and a little jealous not to have had a part in the transformation.

She stood up. “I am going to bed now, and I would like to be alone.”

He protested. “We have been separated for over two years.”

She heard the soft plea in his voice. How she wanted to answer that plea! How she longed to have his strong arms around her, comforting her, telling her it was all going to be all right. She took a deep breath and said, “Before we resume our life together I want to tell you what happened to me in Russia. Earlier you suggested that I might have been responsible for my own predicament. That is not so. I was not responsible in any way. I do not, however, choose to tell the story over and over. I will tell it once to you and our family. After that I will speak of it no more. When you have heard my tale you may not choose to resume our marriage. I cannot be dishonest with you. You know that is not my way. We have waited all this time. A few more weeks should not make any difference.” She turned away, unable to bear the look on his face.

“Do you know, Miranda,” he said quietly, “that you have not once said my name today.”

“I did not realize it.”

“Say my name!” He gripped her shoulders, and spun her around to face him. “Say my name, dammit!”

“J-Jared! Oh, Jared, I have missed you so much!” and his mouth swooped fiercely down on hers before she could pull away. She reveled in the kiss, the familiar taste and touch of him rising up to assault her. For the briefest time madness overtook her, urging her to let the kiss take them to its natural conclusion.

Let him pick her up and carry her tenderly to her bed. Let him undress her and kiss away all the shame. Let him learn the truth and, revolted, hate her!

She pulled away. “Please, Jared! Please wait for my sake until we are back in England!”

He was shocked by her desperation, by the fact that she was both trembling and crying, yet didn’t seem to be aware of it. What had happened to her? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “I don’t care what happened in Russia,” he said hoarsely. “I love you, Miranda, and we have been given a second chance!”

“ But I care! ” came the harsh reply. “I care because it happened to me! It weighs on me terribly. Now let me be! You will know all soon enough, but I will not willingly sleep with you until you do, and if you force me I will never forgive you!” Then she turned and fled into her cabin, slamming the door behind her.

Jared stood a moment, looking at the closed door. Then he walked to the sideboard, and picked up a snifter and the brandy bottle. Uncorking the bottle, he poured himself a generous drink, and then sat leaning forward, the crystal glass cupped in his big hands.

She had said the prince hadn’t touched her, and he believed her. Then what was so terrible that she could not resume their marriage immediately?

Jared got up and entered her bedchamber. Her even breathing told him that she was asleep. He stayed there for a long time, sitting in the dark. Occasionally she shivered and whimpered. Once he thought she cried out a name, but he couldn’t make it out. Finally, after she was quiet for a long while, he gently tucked her beneath the quilts.

In the morning she was paler than she had been the day before. Jared was forced to accept her silence until she could talk to the family, at Swynford Hall, but it was not easy for him. Being so close to her, caught within the confines of the ship with no way of escaping her tantalizing presence, was difficult for him. Only the pain in her face stopped him from pressing her.

The voyage was idyllic, with gentle breezes and bright blue skies during the day and starry nights. As the ship passed the Greek isles and the Mediterranean coast, Jared was ironically reminded of a honeymoon voyage.

Dream Witch slipped past Gibraltar, past Cape St. Vincent, past Cape Finisterre and into the Bay of Biscay, where the weather took a sudden turn and they rode through a fierce late-summer storm. In the midst of it he could not find her, and his heart leaped wildly until he saw her standing at the ship’s rail, her knuckles white with her iron grip, her face wet with tears or rain, he did not know which. Leaning into the wind, he fought his way across the deck to her, and put his arm tightly around her.

He could feel her trembling through the thin fabric of her swirling cloak, and he bent so that she might hear him. “If this has been hard on me, it has been harder on you, Miranda. Frankly I do not know how you have borne it, and you have borne it alone. For God’s sweet sake, wildcat, I am your husband! Lean on me! I am here! Do not shut me out! There is nothing in this world that could stop me from loving you!”

She looked up at him, the pain in her eyes searing him, but she would say nothing. What was her secret? What was so terrible that it was tearing her apart? “Come inside with me, my love,” he said gently, and she nodded, loosening her grip on the rail and allowing him to lead her back into the shelter of the main salon.

The storm was gone the following morning, and a steady south wind pushed the sleek vessel along into the English Channel. A few days later they docked at Welland Beach.

At last she was back in England! Miranda endured the stuffy carriage and the tension between Jared and herself for a day. They spent the night at an inn, and when they set off the next morning, Jared smiled at her, and said, “I ordered the two extra horses so we might ride instead of sitting all day in the coach. Would you like to ride, Miranda? I didn’t bring your breeches,” he teased her, “but I think you can manage a sidesaddle.”

They rode together across the October landscape to Swynford, stopping to rest their horses and to eat picnics prepared for them by innkeepers. At last they came within sight of Swynford Hall, the sunset crowning the manor house and its dark gray roof.