The Perfect Scandal (22 page)

A
RRIVING IN SAINT PETERSBURG
was like drifting into a massive, mythic city that had been hidden within the mist from the rest of the world for ages. Enormous cobbled streets as wide as any river were
surrounded by looming, magnificent buildings that boasted Grecian arcades, giant columns of granite, white stucco, brick and polished and carved marble that could have only been built by deities, not humans.

By far the most haunting aspect of Saint Petersburg was beholding such magnificence against a soft, grayish glow of light that lit the sky and whispered to all that it was neither day or night. As Maksim went on to explain, during spring and summer, night disappeared and only light pervaded all of morning, noon and night.

It was a city of opal nights.

As her four-horse carriage approached the riverbanks of Neva, the Winter Palace that adjoined the Hermitage stretched and stretched in sweeping architectural splendor, making Zosia feel as if she had arrived upon the doorstep of God himself. It was as eerie as it was breathtaking.

After passing through large iron gates emblazoned with eagle emblems of Imperial Russia, her carriage disappeared into the hidden realm of the Winter Palace. The coach lulled to a halt, aligning her window with a grand entrance guarded by soldiers whose military sashes all held sheathed swords.

Her throat tightened, depleting her of whatever courage she thought she had. The carriage door opened and the steps were unfolded. The soft, warm
air of the gray, illuminated summer night drifted in, bringing with it the scent of damp leaves.

Maksim stepped out of the carriage and wordlessly extended his black-gloved hand to her. She stood, swaying for balance, and grabbed hold of his hand, leaning toward the opening of the carriage.

Maksim reached up and grabbed hold of her corseted waist and swept her out onto the paved ground. Though he momentarily allowed her slippered foot to touch the ground, he retained his hold and, without warning, scooped her up and into his arms, ensuring her traveling gown was well in place.

She stiffened, glancing up at him.

“Do not resist my good intentions,” he provided in Polish. “There are countless stairs and we do not have all night.”

She sighed and allowed him to carry her up the wide set of stone stairs lit by burning torches and lanterns. Several red tarps draped the vast entryway, restlessly flapping against the wind.

The double doors before them were instantly swept open by dark-skinned men dressed in flowing, dark green Turkish garbs bound by red, thick sashes around their waists.

Maksim's arms tightened more noticeably against her body as they entered, as if he were silently demanding her full cooperation. His riding boots
echoed against the gleaming, Siberian marble floor as he proceeded up another set of wide stairs with carved, gray wood railings. Countless gold-and-silver sconces lit with tapers softly lighted the white ornate hall.

They veered down a cathedral-like corridor. Her eyes scanned the walls, which gleamed like honey-colored china against the expanse of high, soaring ceilings. Large, gilded paintings of life-size men and women floated past, their frozen eyes and proud expressions seemingly following her.

Maksim eventually paused before a wigged footman draped in laced livery, issuing several curt commands in Russian. The young footman responded in a suave flow of Russian, bowed and guided them toward an incised, gray wood door on the right, which was dutifully opened.

“The Emperor has already been informed of your arrival and will be here to greet you shortly,” Maksim announced as he carried her through what appeared to be a small study. Lowering her into a large, wingback leather chair, he swept up each hand and, to her astonishment, stripped her kid glove from each.

His jade-green eyes momentarily met hers as he held out her gloves. “I will wait out in the corridor should you need me.”

She smiled tightly and slipped her gloves from his hand. “Thank you.”

He offered a curt bow, turned and strode across the room. He paused in the doorway, glancing back at her one last time, as if concerned for her well-being, and then disappeared. The footman closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Zosia drew in a quivering breath and exhaled, the silence of the small study unnerving her. She glanced around the oak-paneled room, noting chairs, a French writing desk, maps, countless models of ships displayed on wooden shelves and leather-bound books in gleaming glass cases. It was a simple room meant for thought, not grandeur.

The echoing of heavy steps made her freeze. The footfalls faded past and she was left in silence yet again. She waited and waited, and felt as if she were sucking in the last of whatever air was left in the room. The echoing of another set of steps made her freeze again. This time, the door breezed open.

“The Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias,”
a wigged footman announced in English.

Zosia rose and bowed her head in expected recognition.

A stout but very tall mustached gentleman dressed in a simple, gray military uniform with high black boots strode into the room. A large hound scampered in alongside him, veering toward her with a wagging tail.

The Emperor gestured for Zosia to sit with a quick sweep of his hand.

So she did.

A large, furry head found its way into her lap, nudging her bare hands for affection. She smiled, rubbing the soft gray-and-white fur, and peered into those large brown eyes, which quietly observed her with great appreciation for the affection she was offering.

“He likes you,” the Emperor announced in a low and casual tone as he settled into the chair across from her. “That is good. It means you and I will get along despite your arriving on a Monday.”

She glanced up, still affectionately rubbing the hound's head. “Monday?”

“Yes.”

“I do not understand.”

He smirked. “Today is Monday. Is it not?”

She blinked, her hands momentarily stilling against the dog's head. “I still do not understand. What does Monday have to do with whether we get along or not?”

He chuckled. “Forgive me. Some Russians believe Mondays to be unlucky and therefore anything occurring on that day will carry itself as being unlucky.”

“Oh.” This did not bode well.

“Ah. But I took the Russian crown on a Monday.” He winked. “So such superstitious raff cannot be of any merit, can it?” He snapped his fingers toward the dog. “Hussar. Enough. You will exhaust her.”

The hound turned and darted back over to its master, settling across the length of the man's booted feet with timed obedience. The Emperor observed her pensively, long fingers stroking the tip of his waxed mustache as his brown eyes intimately met hers. A small smile lingered on his lips as he nodded. “I see the resemblance,” he murmured more to himself than to her.

Those soft words and soft brown eyes laced with warmth were not at all what she had expected to find gracing a man of such lethal power. She clasped her moist hands together, reminding herself that it took more than a mere brushstroke to create a true likeness and understanding of a man. “I am grateful for your willingness to host me despite my refusal of the decree.”

“And why would I not host you?” His hand fell away from his mustache, his brows coming together. “I wish to become better acquainted with my niece. Despite your vile Catholic upbringing, you and I are family.”

She stared at him, astonished at how flippantly and openly he dashed her religion. Was nothing sacred?

He hesitated, as if sensing her unease. “I am disappointed you are turning away your title. Do you not realize Maksim has passed on several good matches
in the hopes that my brother's decree would sweep him into the Russian Court?”

She lowered her gaze. “No. I did not.”

He sighed. “You do him and all of Russia great injustice,
Velikaya Knyazha
. Great injustice. I have already briefly spoken to him about enforcing the decree, but he does not wish to insist upon it. I fear he likes you too much to impose.”

Zosia felt as if the Emperor were sticking a fork of guilt into her side, trying to get her to submit. “Maksim has proven to be quite the gentleman.”

“Yes. A flaw of his, I believe.” He laughed. “The man can aim a pistol at anything but a woman's heart.”

She couldn't help but smile. “If that is a flaw, Uncle, may everyone be cursed with it.”

He leaned forward, reached down and rubbed Hussar's outstretched belly, the large gold-and-onyx ring on his finger appearing and disappearing. He glanced up. “We will be hosting a gathering in your honor in a few weeks. I would have hosted it sooner, but Madame Nicholas and I only arrived a short week ago from Antichkoff and have had little time for anything.”

Her brows came together. “Is Madame Nicholas your…?”

He grinned, his eyes and face brightening. “Yes. My wife. Your aunt.” He lowered his chin and his
voice playfully. “Though I would refrain from calling her Madame Nicholas. It will only rile her, and that, you do not want. She may appear regal and dutiful and quiet, but she is anything but.”

He leaned back against his chair, setting his head of brown-and-gray side-swept hair against its wingback leather cushion. “I wish to settle whatever unease you may have. I have heard much of your sentiment. I understand it quite well, but the Poles are not your people. We here in Russia are your people. Do not ever forget that.”

Lucifer's oversized hoof was already tapping.

She met his gaze and retorted in a flat tone, “Poles are not your people, either, Uncle. So why is it you seek to hold their way of life and their entire country hostage? 'Tis no different than an elephant ordering a herd of sheep to grow tusks. Improbable. Ludicrous. Pointless. You may wish to consider taking care of your own people first before taking on other nations. I hear the Russians are as unhappy as the Poles. Why do you suppose that is?”

The Emperor's brows rose as he leveled his head. “You appear to have inherited your grandmother's tongue.” He shifted toward her. “Allow me to explain something,
Velikaya Knyazha
. In a position such as mine, it is necessary to rule with a thumb pressing against the pulse of everyone's throat. Otherwise it is
my
throat that is pressed, squeezed and slit. Do you understand?”

She feigned a laugh. “Perhaps people would not be so eager to press, squeeze and slit if you were not so busy pressing, squeezing and slitting
their
throats. Have you ever given thought to that?”

He
tsk
ed and wagged a forefinger. “You have no understanding of me or my politics.”

“I am here to entertain an understanding of you, Uncle. But only if you are willing to entertain an understanding of me.”

“Good. That is good. I will share.” He cleared his throat. “On that very first day I took the throne as Emperor of Russia, without even being given an opportunity to demonstrate my worth to my own people, revolts echoed throughout the streets and swept out into the world. It was my duty to demonstrate from that very moment that defiance will only earn blood. My words of assurance meant nothing to them, you see. They only mocked assurance. But fear? Ah. No one ever dares mock fear or death. For they know it is permanent. You obviously seek to educate me,
Velikaya Knyazha,
and I respect that. I do. I hope you will educate me on all that is important to you and your people. When you are ready, I will graciously grant you an hour to convey all of those concerns and then you and I will never speak of this again. That is how we will settle our differences.”

Which meant it wasn't going to be settled and that her time in his presence would bring nothing but angst and frustration. He expected her to educate him in
an hour
about a crisis that affected millions of people? Ludicrous!

“I beseech you for more than a mere hour, Uncle,” she insisted. “Aside from Russian noblemen controlling far too many political seats, thus choking out the vote of
any
Pole, there is a very long list of basic constitutional rights that need to be addressed. I am asking for six months of continuous discussions. Six months will enable me to fully explain the hardships that extend from basic education to land to military training, all of which is completely controlled by the Russians and benefits no one but the Russians. There needs to be a balance of power.”

He observed her pensively for a very long moment, running the tips of his fingers across his lips. “You understand the politics.”

She shook her head. “No. My mother understood the politics, Uncle. Not I. I only ever understood the people. I spent my entire life listening to their discontent. The discontent of a university student whose education is being censored and limited, preventing him from becoming more. The discontent of a professor who is not allowed to improve the minds of those around him without being punished or intimidated. The discontent of a soldier who is forced to
salute a flag that is not his own. The discontent of a priest who cannot pray within his own church without meeting God Himself first.
Those
are the politics I understand.”

His eyes brightened. He pointed at her. “I need someone like you. I do. I need someone who will be able to speak to the restlessness the Poles feel. As you just did! Your passion, Niece, is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” He shifted in his seat. “How about this. I am willing to negotiate certain rights for your people over whatever period of time you desire if you give me what I want. What do you say to that, eh?”

She stared at him. “And what is it that you want?”

He eyed her, slowly rolling his palms together as if about to toss a pair of dice he hid within his hands. “I want you to take your place in this court as was decreed by my brother. Your presence is one of great importance to me and Russia. As Grand Duchess, I would expect you to use your understanding of the people and your position to eliminate every last whisper concerning revolt. I wish to instill a form of stability without money and bloodshed. In return, I will negotiate certain rights to appease you and them.”