Silver Nights (23 page)

“You are less than sweet-smelling, Sophia Alexeyevna!” His hands went around her waist, and before she could guess his intention, he had pulled her down on top of him. “There'll be no games until you are clean and fresh.”

Sophie spluttered wetly, pushing against his chest in an effort to right herself. “Look what you have done! I am all wet in front.” She squeezed out her skirt in feigned indignation.

“It's a start,” he declared, heaving himself, naked and dripping, out of the tub. “Tanya Feodorovna has a bath waiting for you in your own chamber. Why do you not go and put yourself in it?”

Sophie regarded him speculatively. “Shall I dry you?” She stretched out her hand for the towel, but Adam snatched it from her grasp.

“No games!” He hastily rubbed himself down under Sophie's mischievous, desirous stare, the tip of her tongue trailing lazily over her lips. He shrugged into his dressing gown, tying the girdle securely before stepping toward her with clear purpose.

Sophie took a step backward. “Adam…Adam, no!” Squealing, she found herself slung unceremoniously over one broad shoulder.

“It's bathtime.” Adam strode with his noisy, struggling burden back to Sophie's bedchamber, where a clucking Tanya waited.

“Goodness gracious, lord. Just put her down there.”

“Traitor, Tanya!” accused Sophie, set on her feet.

 

Downstairs, Prince Golitskov smiled to himself as the old house came to life again under Sophie's ringing accents and bubbling laughter. There was a different tone to that laughter,
but he could find nothing amiss with it. When a woman was touched with love, it tended to be heard. On this sage reflection, he went down to his cellar in search of a celebratory bottle or two.

On returning to the library, he found Count Danilevski, most elegant in a dark green coat and dove gray britches, the elaborate folds of a starched cravat at his neck.

“Some transformation, Count,” observed the prince, going to the sideboard to pour vodka.

“Yes, thanks to Anna's skills,” replied the count, taking the proffered glass. “She managed to achieve miracles with the contents of my cloak-bag.”

“I trust Sophie will undergo a similar transformation.” Golitskov raised his glass in salute.

Adam chuckled, returning the salute. “I left her in the competent hands of Tanya Feodorovna, who was threatening any number of dire consequences if Sophia Alexeyevna did not stop behaving like an overexcited child on her name day.”

The prince smiled, a little absently, Adam thought. Then he said, “Tell me of this Dmitriev, Adam. Sophie cannot be objective, understandably enough.”

“I am not sure that I can, either,” Adam said candidly. “But I have known him for many years. I will tell you what I can.”

When he had finished his description, Golitskov said nothing for a minute. He poked the fire, staring into the surging flames. “In your opinion, how will he react to Sophie's safe arrival here?”

Adam frowned. “Dmitriev does not care for his plans to go awry. It is always possible he will repudiate her as his wife and be satisfied with leaving her here in disgrace. But…”

Golitskov waited. “But he knows that far from hurting Sophie, such action would afford her the greatest pleasure,” Adam finished. “For that reason, I do not think he will take that course.”

“She must not…Oh, Sophie, there you are,
chère
.” Smoothly, the prince broke off at his granddaughter's en
trance. “Hardly the first style of elegance, but an infinite improvement,” he teased, taking in her white blouse and simple skirt and bodice of amber corduroy.

“They were about the only clothes I could find,” Sophie said ruefully. “I brought nothing with me but the two gowns Adam purchased for me in Novgorod, and they have seen better days.” She laughed. “I would be glad if you would have an accounting with Adam,
Grandpère
. He disbursed all the charges of the journey and would not permit me to sell the aquamarines to cover my own expenses.”

“I will excuse such a nonsensical statement on the grounds of overexcitement,” Adam said bluntly. “The matter is not to be referred to again.”

“But, Adam, I cannot possibly allow you to—”

“Now, you just listen to me, Sophia Alexeyevna! For the last four weeks you have fought brigands, ridden through blizzards, taken exactly what action suited you at any time, however reckless and unnecessary, and I have barely remonstrated with you. I know you do not tolerate another hand on your bridle, but in this instance you will curb your tongue and respect
my
wishes.”

Sophie gulped and began busily smoothing down her apron. Adam had not spoken to her in that tone before, but it was abundantly clear that even if she persisted he would not back down. The ensuing unpleasantness would hardly be consonant with a magical idyll. “I'll just go and see how Anna is managing with supper,” she said, beating a prudent and orderly retreat.

“I congratulate you, my dear Count.” Golitskov smiled dryly. “I will not echo Sophie's error, but I will express my gratitude.”

“Could we have an end to this now, Prince?” There was a note of impatience in his voice. “If I have done anything to merit gratitude, I am amply recompensed by your hospitality.”

The old prince bowed and deftly returned to the subject interrupted by Sophie's appearance. “As I was saying, Sophie must not under any circumstances return to her husband.
If he makes such a demand, then I shall send her out of Russia. We have relatives in France; she will be beyond his jurisdiction there.”

“Let us pray it does not come to such a drastic move, Prince.” Adam went to the French doors, where he stared somberly out into the night. To be deprived of the right to offer her his own protection ate into him like a snail on a cabbage leaf, yet he had no rights, none whatsoever. He was merely the lover, a parasite of love, living off the host…

“Supper is ready.” Sophie's voice came cheerfully from the doorway. “There is duck! Just imagine, Adam, duck!”

“I am not sure I can.” Resolutely, he put the dark moment from him and turned back to the room. “My palate has been so battered in the last weeks that I doubt it retains the ability to respond to refinement.”

“Anna's duck is the ultimate in refinement,” Sophie told him earnestly, linking arms with him as they went into the dining room. “It will heal the most maltreated palate.” She sat down, shaking out her napkin. “Linen! Amazing!” Her eyes danced across the table at him. “After supper, we will go and skate in the Devil's Punch Bowl.”

“We will
what
?” Adam was betrayed into something resembling a yelp.

“Skate,” she said in wide-eyed innocence. “You can skate, surely?”

“Yes, of course I can.”

“Then I shall show you my favorite place. It is at its best at night, and tonight is full of stars.”

“Not tonight, Sophie,” Adam said, slicing into his duck.

“But I want—”

“Not tonight, Sophie,” he repeated in the same level tone.

Prince Golitskov's shoulders began to shake. Sophie, with her boundless enthusiasm and restless vigor, had always had a passion for sharing her treasures, and very little tolerance for delay in the imparting of these delights.

“But there might not be such a perfect night again for days.” Frowning, she sipped her wine. “I said I would show you all the magical places at Berkholzskoye.”

“And I said something about magic also,” he responded as evenly as before. “Do you not recall?”

Sophie did. That delicate blush that Adam loved crept over the smooth, pale complexion. “If you are fatigued, I daresay it would be better not to skate tonight,” she murmured, burying her nose in her goblet.

“Traveling is a somewhat fatiguing business,” Adam agreed placidly, catching the old prince's eye. Golitskov was clearly deriving huge enjoyment from the exchange.

Looking up, Sophie intercepted the glance. Her flush deepened, but she only reached for the big bowl of caviar standing in the middle of the table, spooning a generous portion onto her plate. “Adam, will you have some? It is very fine caviar.” She passed him the bowl.

They did not linger long in the library after supper. Sophie, her former ebullience somewhat subdued by the checks it had received, made no demur when, her grandfather announcing that he was going to seek his rest, Adam rose too, reaching down his hand to draw her to her feet. His eyes smiled at her with a mixture of amusement and pretended reproof as he slipped his arm around her waist and escorted her up the stairs to the west wing.

“I cannot help feeling, Sophia Alexeyevna, that you need to get your priorities straight,” he said, once the door of the large bedchamber, its walls decorated with painted frescoes, was closed behind them. “Skating! In heaven's name! We have a feather bed in a warm chamber, complete privacy, clean skin, no journeying to do on the morrow, and the woman wants to go skating!” He flung his hands up in affected exasperation.

“It was just so exciting to be home,” Sophie mumbled. “And I do so want you to love all the things I love.” The dark eyes lifted to his face. “But I do see that it was perhaps a little premature.”

“Just a little,” he agreed, drawing her into his embrace, burying his face in the rich shining hair, the chestnut highlights glinting in the candlelight. “How often I have dreamed of being able to do this,” he whispered. “The scent of you
used to drive me to the edge of distraction, spring flowers and lavender.”

“Not recently,” she corrected with a little chuckle, lifting her arms to encircle his neck. “Kiss me.”

There was silence in the room. The candle flickered in a draft from the window. The wood in the blue-tiled porcelain stove in the wall blazed merrily. “Love me,” Sophie whispered, drawing back from him for the barest instant. “Love me now, Adam.”

 

Within a week, Sophie's complexion had regained the healthy glow of an outdoor life, and soon her bones began to be a little better covered under the combined influences of an appetite sharpened by exercise and Anna's cooking. She swung through the house with her long stride, carrying the freshness of the steppes with her as she took over the household reins again. Her garden was buried under snow, but she took Adam through it nevertheless, telling him what would be coming up with the first spring thaw.

Such enthusiasm she had, he thought. She threw her heart into whatever interested her, be it the settling of some domestic dispute, an ailing serf on the estate, the choice of paint color for one of the parlors, a litter of puppies, the chess board, or a card game.

To his enormous amusement, Adam had discovered that Sophie was an inveterate cheat when it came to cards. It was such a wonderful paradox that this utterly straightforward individual should stoop to sly little tricks, none of which deceived him for a minute.

“I won again!” she announced one evening after supper, laying her cards upon the table. “See, I have an ace.” She gleefully rubbed her hands together. “You owe me a fortune, Adam.”

“I owe you nothing,” he said. “Do you really think I didn't see you slip that ace onto your lap when you were dealing?”

“I did not!” she protested, but a telltale pink showed against her cheekbones.

“You are no better at lying than you are at cheating,” Adam declared. “Which is why I do not take the reprisals to which simple justice entitles me.”

“I'll never make a cardsharp,” Sophie said wistfully. “I have often thought what fun it would be to play in the great gambling houses, winning fortunes by tricks.”

“You shameless creature!” Adam reached for her hands, pulling her around the table onto his lap. “What a disgraceful ambition.”

“Yes, isn't it?” She laughed down at him. “But we are all entitled to our sins.” With a burst of vitality, she sprang from his knee. “Let us go and skate at the Devil's Punch Bowl. The stars are wonderful tonight.”

Adam looked longingly at the blazing fire, the ruby wine in his glass. “It is so cold, Sophie.”

“Oh, but you promised you would come one day.” She took his hands, tugging imperatively. “I swear to you it will be worth the cold. You have never seen anything so beautiful…never done anything so beautiful. Is it not so,
Grandpère
?”

Prince Golitskov looked up from his book. “I sympathize with you, Adam, but Sophie is right. If you have any feeling for the steppes, then the Devil's Punch Bowl on such a night can only bewitch.”

“Then let us go.” Adam stood up, stretched lazily. “I know when I am defeated, but you are a shameless bully, Sophia Alexeyevna.”

“But I only wish to give you pleasure,” she replied in simple truth. “Sometimes one must be led along the paths of pleasure.” That crooked smile quirked, and his heart turned over with the power of his love.

“Oh, Sophie” was all he could say.

Outside, where the air was so sharp and dry it seemed it could be shattered like crystal, they took one of the open sleighs, drawn by a high-stepping, powerful-chested gelding. Sophie tossed the curving metal blades that they would strap to their shoes on top of the lynx fur rug. Beside them went two pistols. “Wolves,” she explained, as if Adam were in
need of explanation. Climbing swiftly into the sleigh, she settled the rug over them and took the reins.

Adam sat back, content to leave this expedition in Sophie's charge. The Nordic sky, black, with the depth and softness of velvet, tactile almost, provided the background for a profusion of stars, each one a separate entity, clear, defined, pouring light upon this glistening whiteness over which they traveled. The night sounds of the steppes were in the air, but they were intrinsic to the scene and could not be separated into their component parts. He turned his head sideways to look at Sophie, her profile etched against the horizon where white met silver and black. She had the air of complete absorption she wore when in her own element, at one with her surroundings.