Silver Nights by Jane Feather Page B

dissipated? It was to be a life of pleasure, and if she behaved herself Dmitriev would have no cause for complaint. There was no reason why she should not conform; Sophia Alexeyevna was no fool. In that single realization lay his only comfort.
    The evening sun caught the gilded cupolas of the cathedral of Kazan, shone gently golden off the flat waters of the River Neva as Sophie and her escort entered the city of St. Petersburg. All apprehension was vanquished as she gazed, fascinated, at this enormous, bustling place. Her only knowledge of cities was based on a visit to Kiev two years earlier. She had thought that city overwhelming in its noisy magnificence, but it was nothing compared to the majesty of this capital. They rode down the straight, paved thoroughfare of the Nevsky Prospect, and she stared, openmouthed, at the grandeur of the stone houses lining the road on either side. Did everyone live in a palace?
    â€œDo you have a mansion in this city, Prince?” She turned toward him with the question and was surprised when he laughed.
    This first indication of rustic innocence pleased him. “But of course, Sophia,” he told her. “My palace is on the river. Whenyou have recovered from your journey, you shall visit it and tell me how you would wish your apartments decorated.”
    There it was, Sophie thought; the plain statement that accepted as fact what she had known was going to happen ever since the night Adam had forestalled her escape. She did not wish to think of the events of that night. The memory seemed to create the most unwelcome disturbances in mind and body. No, wisdom lay in making the best of the inevitable.
    â€œOh, I will not need to recover, Prince,” she said, in tacit acceptance of the invitation. “I am not at all wearied. Riding does not tire me in the least. Perhaps I could see it tomorrow.”
    He swallowed his annoyance at this additional evidence of her unmaidenly attributes, concentrating instead on the fact that she appeared to have no misgivings about the plans made for her. If he did not have to woo her, then matters could move much faster; and the sooner he had her under his roof, subject to the husband’s authority, the sooner he could set about eradicating those displeasing attributes.
    â€œI will leave you here, General.” Adam spoke suddenly, gesturing toward a great gray building on their left. “We are at the barracks.”
    â€œAh, no, the empress wishes to see you,” Dmitriev said. “Your mission is not accomplished until you release Sophia Alexeyevna into Her Imperial Majesty’s charge.” He smiled at Sophie. “I am not yet permitted the inestimable pleasure of assuming charge of you myself.”
    He had a meagre smile, Sophie reflected, but the statement was clearly intended to be flatteringly warm. He could not help having been born with thin lips and those very pale blue eyes, she decided with resolute kindness. He was not at all an unprepossessing figure. So she told herself, quashing the apprehensive prickle that she could not identify because she did not know what it was about the prince that disturbed her.
    Then she had no time for reflection of any kind. They had reached a quay beside the river; a vast square lay before them, and beyond that the Italianate structure of the Winter Palace, with its great outside staircase. They were surrounded byservants and grooms, one of whom took Khan’s bridle. “No,” she said abruptly. “Boris Mikhailov will care for him.” She swung unaided from the great height of the Cossack horse just as Prince Dmitriev moved to assist her. “Only Boris knows how to handle him,” she said with a worried frown. “Will you make sure that these people understand that, please, Prince?”
    Paul Dmitriev met the steady gaze of a giant muzhik in homespuns. “Do I not know you?”
    Boris Mikhailov bowed low, hiding the flash of uneasy recognition in