deep brown gaze focused with warmth and apparent humor on Erin. “I think, my friend,” he said with soft appreciation, “that you will not have to try very hard to find happiness. And I think, too, Jarod Steele, that although you have been so very secretive, you must still bring this exquisitely lovely creature to the dinner at my apartment this evening.” Erin once more found her hand gallantly enveloped by the Russian’s. “You will come, Miss McCabe, won’t you?”
“I …” Erin began to murmur, wondering desperately why Jarod didn’t come to her aid. Why didn’t he simply tell the truth? Surely this man, whoever he was, would forgive Jarod’s ruse to help her over the border. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Alexandrovich, but Jarod and Í haven’t had much time yet to discuss anything …” She allowed her voice to trail away with one of her best smiles. She didn’t wish to offend the Russian, but she did want Jarod to clear up the mess he had created.
“No problem, darling,” Jarod said with disgusting calm. “It’s a small dinner, not an affair of state. I should have mentioned it to you earlier. Sergei, Erin certainly shall attend with me. You see, we had been intending to keep our engagement a secret awhile longer. I’m afraid when I mentioned it to Nicolai at the border that I forgot to mention that fact.”
“Marvelous,” Sergei responded, true enthusiasm shining in his dark eyes. “Then I am the first to congratulate you!”
“Oh, that you are,” Erin murmured, managing to maintain her smile through bitterly clenched teeth. A sharp strengthening of the fingers around her shoulder blade informed her Jarod didn’t appreciate her dry comment.
Evidently finished with the business of dinner, Sergei turned to Tanya, who was a little overwhelmed to find her tourist such a subject of attention. “So,” he said, “how far has the tour gone?”
“St. Basil’s, sir,” Tanya murmured, collecting herself quickly. “We have discussed some history—”
“But not yet viewed Lenin or entered the Kremlin walls?”
“No.”
“Then we shall begin together.”
Erin was at long last relieved of Jarod’s hold as Sergei Alexandrovich politely slipped his arm through hers and started toward the black marble mausoleum before the red brick wall which was the shrine and tomb of the revered Lenin. Lines of people waited to enter; the viewing of their great leader was a pilgrimage taken very often by many of the Soviet people as well as by the burgeoning tourist trade. But apparently Sergei was important. He was greeted with the utmost propriety, and he and Erin—with Jarod and Tanya close behind—were led immediately to the front.
Moments later Erin was viewing the face of the great Soviet leader of the Revolution, specially preserved and shielded by the crystal of his sarcophagus. The experience was chilling—as awesome as that of watching the guards change before the tomb.
“You shiver,” Sergei commented as they returned to the crisp and cold daylight. “You do not approve?”
“Well …”
“Speak honestly, Miss McCabe.”
Erin laughed, strangely touched by the dark eyes of her escort. “Okay, honestly, Mr. Alexandrovich, I’m not much on open coffins to begin with!”
“Ahhh … but he is magnificently preserved, don’t you think?”
“That I will agree with.”
“Our scientists spend three to four days each week assuring that he will last the century and more. But you are right, Miss McCabe—viewing the dead can be a morbid experience. Come, I shall take you into the Kremlin.”
Within the triangular high brick walls of the Kremlin were ancient towers and palaces and the buildings that housed the Soviet government.
Erin quickly discovered that she was being given much more than the average tour. She was treated to many palaces and the museums therein, a recital on the furs and jewels that had belonged to the czars, and a discourse on the many fine bells that were a
“I …” Erin began to murmur, wondering desperately why Jarod didn’t come to her aid. Why didn’t he simply tell the truth? Surely this man, whoever he was, would forgive Jarod’s ruse to help her over the border. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Alexandrovich, but Jarod and Í haven’t had much time yet to discuss anything …” She allowed her voice to trail away with one of her best smiles. She didn’t wish to offend the Russian, but she did want Jarod to clear up the mess he had created.
“No problem, darling,” Jarod said with disgusting calm. “It’s a small dinner, not an affair of state. I should have mentioned it to you earlier. Sergei, Erin certainly shall attend with me. You see, we had been intending to keep our engagement a secret awhile longer. I’m afraid when I mentioned it to Nicolai at the border that I forgot to mention that fact.”
“Marvelous,” Sergei responded, true enthusiasm shining in his dark eyes. “Then I am the first to congratulate you!”
“Oh, that you are,” Erin murmured, managing to maintain her smile through bitterly clenched teeth. A sharp strengthening of the fingers around her shoulder blade informed her Jarod didn’t appreciate her dry comment.
Evidently finished with the business of dinner, Sergei turned to Tanya, who was a little overwhelmed to find her tourist such a subject of attention. “So,” he said, “how far has the tour gone?”
“St. Basil’s, sir,” Tanya murmured, collecting herself quickly. “We have discussed some history—”
“But not yet viewed Lenin or entered the Kremlin walls?”
“No.”
“Then we shall begin together.”
Erin was at long last relieved of Jarod’s hold as Sergei Alexandrovich politely slipped his arm through hers and started toward the black marble mausoleum before the red brick wall which was the shrine and tomb of the revered Lenin. Lines of people waited to enter; the viewing of their great leader was a pilgrimage taken very often by many of the Soviet people as well as by the burgeoning tourist trade. But apparently Sergei was important. He was greeted with the utmost propriety, and he and Erin—with Jarod and Tanya close behind—were led immediately to the front.
Moments later Erin was viewing the face of the great Soviet leader of the Revolution, specially preserved and shielded by the crystal of his sarcophagus. The experience was chilling—as awesome as that of watching the guards change before the tomb.
“You shiver,” Sergei commented as they returned to the crisp and cold daylight. “You do not approve?”
“Well …”
“Speak honestly, Miss McCabe.”
Erin laughed, strangely touched by the dark eyes of her escort. “Okay, honestly, Mr. Alexandrovich, I’m not much on open coffins to begin with!”
“Ahhh … but he is magnificently preserved, don’t you think?”
“That I will agree with.”
“Our scientists spend three to four days each week assuring that he will last the century and more. But you are right, Miss McCabe—viewing the dead can be a morbid experience. Come, I shall take you into the Kremlin.”
Within the triangular high brick walls of the Kremlin were ancient towers and palaces and the buildings that housed the Soviet government.
Erin quickly discovered that she was being given much more than the average tour. She was treated to many palaces and the museums therein, a recital on the furs and jewels that had belonged to the czars, and a discourse on the many fine bells that were a
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