Silver Nights (28 page)

“I hear and obey, lord.” Sophie laughingly obliged, tossing the garment to the floor. “Now what?” She planted her hands on her hips and threw back her head, more than a hint of challenge in her glowing dark eyes.

The air scintillated as the game took shape. Reaching out his hand, he caught the swirling mass of hair, twisting it around his wrist, pulling her toward him like a fish on a line. “Sophia Alexeyevna, I think it is time you discovered what happens when your challenges are accepted,” he murmured, turning her to face the bed….

“Sweet heaven!” Sophie moaned some considerable time later collapsing onto her stomach as her knees gave way beneath her. “If that is what happens when my challenges are accepted, I shall have to make a practice of issuing them more frequently.”

Too breathless for the moment to respond verbally, Adam tapped her bottom with his fingertips. They lay in the shaft of moonlight from the porthole until the sweat had dried on their bodies. Sophie, shivering in the sudden chill, reached down for the sheet twisted beneath her, but Adam forestalled her, turning her body as he disentangled the covers, drawing
them over her. Lazily, one finger flicked her nipple as he covered her breast, his hand squeezing the soft globe.

“Oh, don't do that!” Sophie winced, covering his hand with her own.

“Did I hurt you, sweet?” Remorsefully, Adam sat up. “I did not mean to be ungentle.”

“You were not,” she said. “It is just that I am a little tender at the moment. I expect it is the time of the month.” A slow, cold sweat started on her body. Adam, unnoticing, lay down again beside her. Sophie stared up at the cabin ceiling, wrestling with her errant memory. When? She could not remember. She had never paid the slightest attention to that inevitable monthly inconvenience. It came when it came. Sweat trickled between her sore breasts, puddled in her navel. Queasiness, fatigue, no interest in wine, hunger…Holy Mother, she did not need Tanya to interpret the signs for her. Her body went rigid.

“Whatever is it?” Adam propped himself on one elbow. “You've gone as stiff as a board, Sophie.” He smoothed her hair. “You're sweating, love. Do you not feel well?”

She licked her dry lips. “I am not ill exactly. I think…I think I am with child, Adam.”

The stillness in his body was matched by the silence in the cabin. “But I thought you—”

“So did I,” she interrupted. “It would seem that Paul's failure to sire an heir should perhaps be laid at his door rather than at those of his wives.”

Adam sat up, his expression calm. “Do you suspect this, Sophie, or do you know it for a fact?”

“I know it,” she said hopelessly. “But I did not know it until just this minute. I did not even suspect…although the signs…Oh, what are we going to do, Adam?”

“I expect your husband will be overjoyed,” he said coolly, hiding his anguish.

“It cannot be Paul's child,” she said, her voice flat. “He has come to my bed but once since he sent me away to Berkholzskoye, and he failed to…” She shrugged expressively.

Adam got out of bed, pulling his robe around him. It was
a piece of information that filled him with the most absurd pleasure, yet it was the least helpful fact in these desperate straits. He forced himself to think clearly. “How many weeks is it?”

Sophie shook her head in mortification. “I cannot remember. I know it is silly, but I just cannot remember.”

Adam stared at her. “That is not so much silly, Sophie, as downright careless. All women keep track of these matters.”

“How do you know they do?” She could hear the defensive sullenness in her voice.

“I have four older sisters,” he said shortly. “They treated me as part of the furniture most of the time. I heard many things.”

“Well, I am not like all women.” She turned her face to the wall.

“No, you are not.” He sat on the bed beside her, rubbing her back gently. “You must try to remember, however. It is vitally important. Was it before you came to Kiev?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Adam closed his eyes on his exasperation. “You must do better than think, Sophie.”

She had been in Kiev six weeks. After a minute, she nodded definitely. “It has not come upon me since I arrived in Kiev.”

Adam sighed. “Let us try to get a little closer. Was it before the wolf hunt?” Then his face cleared. “Actually, I can answer that for you. Do you remember how angry I was when you jumped that ravine during the hunt?”

Sophie turned around to face him, her expression puzzled. “Yes, but what has that…? Ahh…It was that night, of course. You decided to forgive me, only I was indisposed.” For a moment, she smiled at the memory as if forgetting why it had been prompted.

“That was the end of January,” Adam said. “It is now the beginning of April. We have until perhaps July before your condition will become too obvious to be concealed beneath your gowns, however loose.”

“What are you suggesting?” She lay looking up into his
face, which revealed nothing but the countenance of a man accustomed to making plans, to dealing with crises, doing both those things. In a way it was comforting, but in another way dismaying that he should not evince an emotional reaction to this disaster.

Abruptly, Adam stood up, striding to the porthole, where he stood looking out at the land sliding past beneath the moonglow. Of all the tragic ironies of fate. The woman he loved was bearing his child, a child he could never acknowledge as his own. And his wife had carried another man's child that she would have had her husband acknowledge as his own.

“There is only one solution, Sophie.” He spoke out into the night so that she had to sit up, concentrating in order to hear him. “It is a common problem, and the solution is as common. You must remain at court until your condition cannot be concealed, then you must petition the empress for permission to retire to Berkholzskoye for a spell. If necessary, you will tell her the truth. She will not deny you the right to…to cover up your error.” He shrugged, his dry tone masking the terrible bleakness. “She was obliged to do the same during her own marriage. You will deliver the child, who will then be established with some family on the estate. The child, for its own protection, will grow up in ignorance of its parentage, but it will be well provided for.”

He swung back to the room, but his face was in shadow. “It is fortunate that your husband will be little in your company during this journey. At Kiev, on the return journey, you will petition the empress. Since Prince Dmitriev will not be welcomed at Berkholzskoye, there is every reason to hope that he need never discover the truth. After the birth, you will return to St. Petersburg as if nothing had happened.”

Sophie touched her stomach, wave after wave of desolation washing through her until she thought she would drown in its blackness. “We must give up our child?”

“There is no alternative,” he rasped.

“When we reach the Crimea, it would be simple enough surely to slip over the frontier into Turkey,” she whispered.

“And do what?” he demanded harshly. “Outlawed adulterers with neither family nor fortune, wandering the Ottoman Empire at the mercy of every Turkish bandit…Oh, Sophie, be realistic.”

Her head bowed, the thick hair falling forward, baring the supple column of her neck. Adam crossed the cabin, bending to kiss the fragile, curving pillar. “We have at least until June, sweetheart. There is a place in Potemkin's wonderland for us. Let us enjoy the present and face the future when it comes.”

In a world where happiness was so ephemeral, could be snatched from one with such violence, it would be a criminal waste to sully what one had with what would be. She raised her head, reaching over her shoulder to stroke his face.

“We will live in Potemkin's illusions then, love, and welcome the substitute for reality.”

 

As the galleys glided in stately procession down the Dnieper, everything conspired to ensure that reality was suspended as they all became lost in the prince's dreamland. The air was filled with music from the orchestras playing on the decks. Flags fluttered gaily in the spring breezes. On the banks a continuous pageant was played out before the spellbound audience. A troop of Cossack horsemen would suddenly appear, charging out of the desert, wild and warlike on their magnificent steeds, performing before their empress and her guests the most amazing equestrian feats that utterly entranced Sophie.

“I wish I could join them,” she said wistfully to Adam as they leaned against the rail. “On Khan, I could do all of those things just as well.”

Adam, who had seen exactly what she could accomplish on the back of her Cossack stallion, did not disagree. “Why do you not suggest to Potemkin that when they appear again, they should have a warlike woman in their midst? I am sure he can provide the costume.”

“Do you think I could?” Eagerly, she looked up at him. “Oh, you are teasing me.”

“No, surely not!” he exclaimed, wishing he could tuck a wind-whipped lock of her hair under her hat, that he could kiss the tip of that straight nose, could…

“Just look at that pretty village.” Sophie, unaware of his wishful musings, had turned again to the rail. Brightly painted houses clustered among gardens brilliant with flowers. Peasants, smiling and waving, their clothes sturdy, clean, not a rag to be seen, worked in their gardens or drove goats and cows along the straight white road disappearing into the steppe.

“Do you think those houses are more than a painted facade?” The Prince de Ligne appeared at the rail beside Sophie. He shook his head in amazement. “Do you really think they have inhabitants, Princess?”

“The Russian peasant is not in general so well clothed and housed, your excellency,” she said with a sigh. “But I do not think we are supposed to view Russia in its truth.”

“That road was laid last night,” Adam told them with the authority of a member of Potemkin's staff. “The crews worked all night to create the village, its gardens, and its road.”

“Just to be displayed for as long as it takes this fleet to pass,” broke in the Comte de Segur. “It is a mirage Potemkin has created. A mirage to the glory of his empress.”

“But we are none of us impervious to its charm,” Sophie pointed out with absolute truth.

“No, indeed not.” The Prussian envoy shook his head once more in amazement. “It is to be transported out of time, out of place.” He laughed. “We are a part of Cleopatra's fleet; the czarina is a modern queen of Egypt.”

Potemkin had certainly succeeded in his aim, Adam reflected, looking out at the grandeur of the flower-strewn steppes, the brilliant sky, the whole magnificence of this wild landscape. The prince had intended to impress this bevy of distinguished foreigners with the overwhelming majesty of Russia, and the majesty of her empress. They might not be deceived by Potemkin's illusions, but they could not fail to
be impressed, something that would be communicated to their governments.

A twitter of pipes came across the water. Glancing down, Sophie saw a launch being rowed to the galley. Resplendent in his braided uniform and plumed hat sat her husband, the only passenger. Instinctively, she moved away from Adam's side. The company of the Prince de Ligne and the Comte de Ségur was unexceptionable; indeed, to ensure their entertainment and comfort was a part of her duties. In the manner of a hunted animal seeking protective covering, she stepped between the two ambassadors, beginning an animated discussion on the music presently enlivening the air around them.

Prince Paul Dmitriev stepped onto the galley amid the ceremony accorded a man of his rank. His cane was tucked beneath his arm, his buttons shone in the sun, the plume of his hat waved gracefully in the breeze. His cold, pale blue eyes fell upon his wife.

“Madame.” He stepped toward her, took her hand, and deliberately kissed her cheek in husbandly greeting. “I have sadly neglected you, I fear, but duty must come before pleasure.”

“And you are ever dutiful, Paul,” Sophie said.

Adam clenched his fists. Surely, Sophie could not be underestimating her husband, not after what he had done to her, and tried to do to her? She would simply madden him further with the quickness of her retorts. It was a quickness that came naturally to her, he knew. But it was lunacy to sharpen her wits on such a one as Paul Dmitriev.

The general's thin smile flickered. “There is no duty that I will fail to perform, my dear wife. By whatever means are necessary.”

The menacing reminder of that duty he intended performing when the world returned to normal brought the sick fear again; but she was quite safe here, under the bright blue sky in Potemkin's fairy tale, Adam beside her, the two ambassadors smiling benignly, hearing nothing out of the ordinary in the exchange. She was quite safe…here…for the moment. Her hand drifted to her belly.

“Do you notice anything at all out of the ordinary about Sophia Alexeyevna, Grisha?” Catherine frowned, leaning back in her chair late one evening in her cabin, with its twin beds. The favorite was at the moment playing cards with some of his fellow guardsmen in the library, an activity smiled upon by his imperial mistress. His absence provided his elders with the opportunity for intimate discussion.

“She is in love,” Potemkin declared unequivocally. “That faraway radiance cannot be explained in any other way.”

“But with whom?” Catherine tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Both the Prince de Ligne and the Comte de Ségur are much in her company, but she could not be so foolish as to attempt dalliance in such fields.”

“They do not outrank the princess,” Potemkin pointed out gently.

“No, of course not. That is not the issue.” Impatience tinged the czarina's generally calm tones; she took a long drink from the glass of hot water that served as her habitual nightcap. “But Prince Dmitriev is not the kind to look upon a little adventuring by his wife with equanimity. We cannot afford a scandal involving foreign ambassadors.”

“It will perhaps be advisable to keep the general occupied,” mused Potemkin. “Until we can discover who is the most fortunate of men.”

Catherine smiled. “Do I detect a note of envy, Grisha?”

“I fear so.” The prince sighed heavily, but his eye gleamed.

“Fortunately, there is no shortage of youth and beauty, so one can find consolation for dashed hopes.”

“Well, you must keep the husband as far from his wife as possible. I will have a talk with her…. Ah, Sasha. Did you win?” All smiles, the empress turned to the just-opened door, where lounged Alexander Mamonov, somewhat the worse for drink, his red uniform jacket unbuttoned at the neck.

“Alas, no, Madame,” he said, hiccuping, then met a piercing stare from Potemkin. The prince had put Monsieur Redcoat in the czarina's bed and could as easily remove him. Alcohol tended to inhibit vigor, and Her Imperial Majesty demanded an excess of vigor from her young men. Potemkin would not countenance a slipping in performance.

“I will leave you, Madame.” Potemkin bowed over Catherine's hand, kissing her fingers, and if in either of their breasts rose the powerful memories of kisses they had shared, of the excessive vigors of their erotic love, joined so many years ago, it was a secret they kept from the young man struggling to prepare himself for the night's duties lying ahead.

 

A puzzled Sophie left the czarina's cabin the next morning. She had just been subjected to a gentle, yet most skillful interrogation, and she did not know why. The empress had inquired into her health, into her habits, into the friends she had made on board, into the amount of time she spent with her husband. She had asked Sophie's opinion of all the distinguished guests on board, and those pleasantly smiling eyes had not missed a nuance of expression on Sophie's face as she had answered frankly. Yes, she did find the French and Prussian envoys particularly good company, but then so did the empress, did she not? It would be difficult not to be amused by such cultivated, witty gentlemen. The czarina had been obliged to agree with her lady-in-waiting's seemingly unimpeachable objectivity.

Sophie had been dismissed after an hour, having no idea whether the czarina had discovered whatever it was she wished to discover. It was most unnerving, particularly when
one
was
harboring a particularly weighty secret. Could the czarina possibly suspect the lover, the pregnancy? No, there was not a hint of the latter about face or form, and she and Adam were far too careful for suspicion.

Another cloud hung over her horizon, however. They would reach Kaidak on the morrow, where the Prince of Prussia would join the grand tour. Paul's primary duty would be completed then. Presumably he would have more time to spend at the social functions that made up the daily round of shipboard life. He would be in his wife's company as much as he chose.

That quiver of fear ran up her spine again. He never lost an opportunity to remind her of the temporary nature of her present refuge. In company, he talked openly of his intention to spend some time on his country estate when this journey was completed. The cold blue eyes would rest upon her in mocking derision, as if he could see through the indifferent facade to the terror beneath. Alone, imprisoned in the country mansion with only serfs, locked in their own terrified obedience, for witness, she would be defenseless against a cruelty that she knew acknowledged no limits. And if he were to discover her pregnancy…dear God, the images such a prospect conjured were too appalling to contemplate. Supposing she could not persuade the empress to grant her permission to go to Berkholzskoye? The empress's permission would override any contrary order of her husband's, but what if Catherine would not grant even the few months of rustication necessary to accomplish the secret birth of the child she carried?

That night Sophie did not respond to the tapping on the partition. Plagued as she was with the horrific fancies of an imagination already exacerbated by the emotional upheavals of pregnancy, she knew that tonight she could not behave with Adam as if only the present illusion was important. It would not relieve the fears to share them, and it would add most dreadfully to Adam's anxieties, which he tried so manfully to keep from her.

Next door, Adam frowningly contemplated the thin, utterly
uncommunicative piece of wood. He had been occupied all day with Potemkin and preparations for tomorrow's arrival in Kaidak. A glimpse of Sophie at dinner was all that had been afforded him; it was not a glimpse that had done much for his peace of mind. She had looked wan, abstracted, quite without her usual glow. Was she asleep now? He stared at the partition as if it would dissolve before his eyes. It did not, but he was convinced that Sophie was lying wide awake on the other side.

His mouth took a grim turn. The narrow passage outside the cabin door was deserted, and he slipped out of his cabin and into the one next door with no more disturbance than a shadow. The mound on the bed stirred as he closed the door.

“You are not asleep,” he stated, padding soft-footed to the bed. “Do not play games with me, Sophie. I don't have the patience for them.”

Sophie opened her eyes, wondering why he sounded so annoyed. “I do not feel like making love.”

“Then we will not,” he said matter-of-factly. “Was that why you would not answer me when I knocked?” When she did not reply, he sat on the bed, catching her chin between finger and thumb, turning her face toward him. “I trust that was not the reason, Sophia Alexeyevna. I am not some client in a whorehouse.”

Color flooded the pale cheeks. The dark eyes sparked anger. “How could you say something like that?”

“Was it the reason?”

“No, of course it was not.” She sighed. “Why are you so annoyed?”

“Because something is troubling you, has been all day, unless I much mistake the matter, and you would exclude me. Now sit up and tell me all about it, before I become extremely annoyed.”

“I wonder what that would be like,” Sophie murmured, a thoughtful gleam in her eye.

“You are about to find out.”

It was banter, but there was a base of gravity. Sophie sat up, pushing her hair away from her face. “I suppose it is just
that we are about to reach Kaidak and this magical voyage will be over. It makes me gloomy.” It was half the truth, at least.

“But from Kaidak we will be crossing your beloved steppes,” Adam said. “Sleeping in tents beneath the stars. Come, sweetheart, it is exactly the sort of thing you love.”

“Carriages,” Sophie said glumly. “Carriages and Paul. He will not be so occupied once Prince Joseph joins us.”

Adam frowned, wondering which of the two concerns was causing the greatest anxiety. “I'm sure you will be able to ride most of the way, if you explain your malady to the empress,” he said. “And where you may not, you may travel in an open carriage. It will not be so bad.” Seeing that she looked a little more cheerful, he said, “I do not know about your husband. I have not seen anyone's orders for the next stage of the trip. But you remain with the imperial suite, and he remains with the working officers. It will be no different from Kiev.”

“I suppose so.” Sophie sighed, her head dropping to his shoulder. “Hold me, love. I feel all weak and vulnerable, as if I've shed a skin.”

“Then take mine,” he said gently, sliding into bed beside her, wrapping her tightly against his body. “All I have is yours, sweet love, blood, bone, and sinew.”

 

Two days later, the party, augmented by Joseph II of Prussia, left the galleys and took to the steppes. Sophie, mounted on a neat, spirited mare as the procession set out, felt her heart lift on a surge of joy. Gliding down the river in the spring sun had been wonderful, but nothing could compare with being on horseback, even if she was obliged to ride sidesaddle. The czarina had presented not the least difficulty when told of her lady-in-waiting's distressing weakness when it came to wheeled travel, merely telling her that she should not ride far from the imperial carriage.

Prince Dmitriev was not so accommodating, however. At the sight of his wife on a caracolling horse, laughing with
pleasure, he thundered up to her on his own steed. “What is this? Why are you riding?”

“I have the czarina's permission,” she said, trying to make her voice conciliatory. “She understands that I suffer acutely from travel sickness.”

“I will not have you riding like some hoyden when the rest of Her Majesty's suite are traveling decently in carriages,” he said with icy fury.

“I do not ride like a hoyden,” Sophie said mutinously, although she knew she should not. Her husband's hand tightened around his riding whip and her heart jumped. But the general was a master of control.

“My dear, I am sure you must understand that it is not seemly. I will speak with the czarina.” Wheeling his horse, he rode to the imperial carriage.

Utterly dismayed, Sophie sat her horse. Would he persuade Catherine that a husband's wishes were owed precedence over the mere megrims of the wife?

“You look as if you have lost a fortune, Sophia Alexeyevna.” Prince Potemkin, bubbling with exuberance at the sight of his beautifully organized caravan, rode over to her. “Come, I will not have sad faces on such a day. It is not to be permitted. I command a smile.”

Sophie offered a wan attempt. “Indeed, Prince, I would oblige you if I could, but I fear my husband is going to compel me to travel in a carriage.”

“How should that be? I understood you do not travel well in such fashion,” declared Potemkin, his eye gleaming fiercely.

“My husband does not consider riding to be seemly,” she murmured, lowering her eyes.

“Never heard such nonsense!” Potemkin galloped off in the path of General Dmitriev.

Sophie could only sit and wait, chewing her lip. If Paul were overruled, his fury would exceed all bounds, but it would simply be added to the list of offenses for which he intended she should pay in full measure. At this point, she
would rather store up hell for later than endure the present torment of a carriage.

The caravan began to move forward. Neither Potemkin nor Paul had reappeared, so Sophie encouraged the mare into a long-strided walk. It was very decorous, she thought, really most boring, tedious in the extreme. Her knees pressed the mare's sides. She broke into a trot. It was a little better, but not much. Sophie's eyes skimmed from side to side. The carriages were rumbling along the road, behind them trailing the baggage train, which stretched to the horizon. She was surrounded by horsemen, officers mainly, and one or two of the imperial guests who preferred the activity to sedentary travel. No one seemed to be taking the least notice of her; ahead lay the glorious emptiness of the steppe; beneath her she could feel the mare's eagerness, the speed and power she was reining in. What possible harm could it do?

Three minutes later, Adam, riding with Potemkin at the head of the caravan, heard the thunder of hooves, felt the air whistle past as a dapple-gray flash shot by.

“Holy Mother!” exclaimed Potemkin. “That's Princess Dmitrievna…. What a magnificent seat she has.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth admiringly. “But I do not think her husband will appreciate such a flight.” He chuckled.

Adam, white-faced, could barely keep his voice steady. “Perhaps I should go after her, Prince. The czarina might also be displeased.”

Potemkin nodded. “Yes, I daresay you are right. Catch her if you can.”

Adam put his horse to the gallop. This time she was not riding the unbeatable Khan, and his own mount was a match for any ordinary beast.

Sophie, hearing the hooves behind her, looked over her shoulder. She waved a hand at him, then urged the mare to greater speed, inviting her pursuer to a race. Adam swore every oath he knew, desperately touching his horse's flanks with his spurs. Unused to such an unkind prod, however lightly administered, his mount sprang forward, drawing level
with the mare, who was beginning to tire. Sophie turned laughing to Adam as she eased back on the reins, then the laugh died on her face, faded from her eyes.

“You are completely devoid of the most basic common sense!” Adam exclaimed. “How dare you ride neck or nothing in your condition!”

“What condition?” Sophie said, having completely forgotten anything but the wondrous joy of her gallop. Then comprehension dawned. “Oh,” she said. “But why should it matter? I am not about to be thrown.”

Adam sent heavenward a swift prayer for strength and restraint, while contemplating a variety of ways of relieving his feelings.

“Oh, dear,” Sophie said, having little difficulty reading the white face and blazing eyes. “I think you are about to murder me and bury my body on the steppe.”

“Something like that,” he said tightly.