She couldn't look away from him. His eyes held joy and beauty and . . . Even now her mind sidled away from acknowledging that other emotion she saw mirrored there, but she had no such doubts about her own feelings. "Lover to beloved," she echoed softly.
"Forever."
Her brow wrinkled in a troubled frown. "You don't have to promise me forever. I know love seldom lasts for men and that you will probably leave me someday."
"Silver ..." He gazed at her in helpless exasperation. "How can I convince you that—" He stopped. He could see by her expression that he could never convince her with words. After the life of rejection and lack of affection she had lived, only patience over the years would convince her his was a love that would not fade away. "Very well, have it your way. Am I permitted to say I love you for the present?"
"Oh, yes." Her face blazed with radiance. "That makes me feel wonderful."
"Good." The darkness of his eyes seemed to deepen, the pupils enlarging to dominate his face. "That's the way I want to make you feel." His hand reached out to toy with the closing of the ermine cloak. "Shall we see if I can make you feel even more wonderful?"
The warmth of his fingers through the softness of the fur caused heat to spiral through her. Her breathing was suddenly shallow, and when she spoke, her voice was uneven. "That would please me very much."
"Not nearly as much as it will please me." He slipped the cloak from her shoulders and it joined the other furs on the floor, his gaze on the hills and valleys of her naked body. When he spoke again his voice had thickened. "As you will please me, love." His fingers threaded through her glossy hair. "There's one more peculiar custom connected with the Savron bathing ritual. Shall I show you what it is?"
She nodded dreamily, trying to fathom the secrets in his dark eyes.
"Lie down on the furs." His hands dropped from her hair. "I'll be right back."
She gazed at him in bemusement as he stood up and crossed to the hearth. He opened the teakwood box from which he had taken the towels and drew from it an exquisitely cut ruby crystal decanter. He set the decanter on the hearth close to the fire and knelt beside it, gazing into the flames. "In the Kuban there was a Turkish trader who came to my grandfather's village once a year bringing many treasures from Constantinople and Athens. The Turks make delightful oils and ointments and my grandfather was particularly fond of this one. So fond that he sent several hundred jars to my father as part of my mother's dowry. He claimed that it has certain properties...."
She wished he would be done with talking and come to her. "What properties?"
"The old Turk called this oil the Caress of Aphrodite. He said it had magical powers."
"Foolishness."
"Perhaps," He slanted her a smile over her shoul- der that held both sensuality and amusement, and a hot shiver rippled through her. "However, I believe I should tell you that Igor Dabol is no fool and was eager for many grandsons of his blood. He was sure the Turkish oil would help, as he'd used it many years himself."
"What's in it?"
"I have no idea. Nothing harmful, or my grandfather would have cut the ears off that Turkish trader." He picked up the decanter and the firelight glittered on the crystal prisms. "It should be warm enough now."
Silver found herself gazing in fascination at the ruby-red decanter. The Caress of Aphrodite.
Nicholas dropped to his knees beside her and unstoppered the bottle. A breath takingly delicious scent drifted from the lip of the decanter. She couldn't place it. Cinnamon, vanilla, gardenias ... Perhaps a little of all of them and many other ingredients that were a mystery. They mingled to create a fragrance that was wildly intoxicating to the senses. "Lovely," Silver whispered, breathing deeply. "I've never smelled anything so lovely."
Nicholas smiled as he poured a little of the clear oil into the palm of his hand. "I think you'll find it feels lovely too." He set the decanter down on the floor beside them. He rubbed his palms together. "Roll over, love."
"But I want to look at you. Why is all this necessary? We don't need this trader's ointment."
"And I'm trying not to look at you," he said hoarsely. "This isn't easy for me, Silver."
"Then why—"
"Because it's been a long time and I don't want you to be—" He suddenly smiled with beguiling sweetness. "I want it to be very good for you." He gently turned her over on her stomach. "Now, lie still." His palms began to knead her shoulders, rubbing the fragrant oil into her flesh.
"It feels pleasant but I don't see—" She inhaled sharply. Fire. Ice. How could both sensations exist side by side? Yet they did, and something else that was sensitizing her flesh to an excruciating pitch.
Nicholas's fingers were moving skillfully down her spine and the burning became a sensual torment. "The trader said the Sultan ordered his harem eunuchs to massage his chosen concubine for the night with this ointment. Do you suppose he spoke truly?"
She swallowed. "Yes."
"So do I."
More oil, Nicholas's hands squeezing her buttocks, massaging her thighs, the backs of her knees, the curves of her calves. Her entire body seemed to be flowering with fragrance, her flesh ripening to such exquisite sensitivity that the lightest touch of Nicholas's fingers made the muscles of her stomach clench and ignited a tingling between her thighs. She bit hard on her lower lip to keep from moaning as Nicholas began to rub the oil into the curve of her instep. "Nicholas ..."
"You like that? I remember how sensitive you are here."
She was sensitive everywhere. Her lips parted to permit more air into her starved lungs. "I'm not sure I like your Aphrodite's Caress, It makes me—"
"Hungry, aching, on fire?" Nicholas whispered. "I know. But that's good. It makes what comes later all the better."
"My heart's beating so fast it's hard to breathe." She turned over on her back. "It's—" She gasped. Nicholas's hands were on her breasts, encircling the round globes with smooth, gentle strokes. She could feel her breasts swell, ripen.
"Beautiful." Nicholas was gazing down at her, his palms cupping, squeezing, releasing and then squeezing again. His head lowered slowly and his mouth closed on the nipple of her left breast. She gave a low cry as she felt the gentle suction begin. Her hands tangled desperately in his hair and she held him to her. She felt a shudder go through his body as he lifted his head to look down at her. His nostrils were flaring with each ragged breath. "Too beautiful. This is ... killing me."
Silver was panting, her breasts rising and falling beneath his hands. "Then stop. Come into me. I need—"
"Not yet." He reached for the decanter. "It's got to be perfect for you."
"It is perfect. Come—" She broke off, her spine arching upward off the furs. "Nicholas!"
He was massaging the oil into her mound of curls, parting her thighs to reach into the heart of her womanhood. Silver's fingers dug into the furs and her mouth opened in a silent scream of primitive passion.
"Just a little more," he muttered. "You're so beautiful here. The scent of you ... You'll like this." His fingers plunged deep again and again and again.
A low sob broke from Silver's lips as her head thrashed back and forth on the furs.
"You're gleaming in the firelight like a golden statue." Nicholas's voice was uneven as his fingers moved rhythmically. "But you're not a statue. I can feel you tighten around me. Try to hold me."
But she couldn't hold him, he wouldn't permit her to hold him. Her hips lunged upward. "Stay."
"You want me?" His gaze narrowed intently on her face. "The way I want you?"
"More."
"No, not more," he muttered. "But enough, thank God. Come." He was lifting her and standing up. "I can't wait any longer."
She gazed at him in bewilderment. "Where ..." She saw that he was heading toward the door leading to the steam room, "Now? No, Nicholas, I want—" "The steam intensifies everything." The door opened and billows of steam surrounded them. "You'll see," He kicked the door shut behind them.
Heat. S
team. The wild, spicy fragrance of Aphrodite's Caress.
Nicholas dropped down on the wooden bench and set her astraddle his thighs. His rampant manhood nuzzled against the heart of her. "Can you feel me burning?" he asked thickly. "Are you burning, Silver?"
"Yes." Inside and out she was tingling, her flesh hungering for his touch, for completion. She moved yearningly against him. Why didn't he fill her, give her what she needed? She couldn't see his face in the misty darkness, but there was no mistaking the evidence that he was as wild for her as she was for him. Every muscle of his body was locked and tense, his manhood a drawn bow ready to be loosed.
His hands slid around her, cupping her bottom. "Now?"
"Now." Her fingernails dug into his shoulders. "It has to be!"
He jerked her forward, piercing, plunging into the depths of her womanhood.
Her head fell back, the tendons of her throat distended as she felt the incredible fullness, the feverish, ridged warmth of him.
"Tight," he gasped. He flexed with wild, hungry pleasure and then began to move slowly, deeply, as if savoring every stroke. "I can barely move...."
She tried to help him, but she was so dazed with pleasure she found she could only accept and accept and accept again. She was lost in heat, surrounded by delicious scent, devoured by Nicholas's hunger and her own. Her fingers kneaded the slick muscles cording his back in an agony of helpless need. "More."
He moved faster, deeper, wilder. His fingers dug into the cushioned softness of her buttocks, his manhood probing, thrusting boldly within her.
The fragrance rising from her heated flesh was as potent as the incense burned in an ancient temple dedicated to Aphrodite, a temple devoted to the same sensual splendor of the rite that Nicholas was performing on her body.
She was sobbing, each breath hot and heavy. She could hear Nicholas's harsh breathing, feel his chest heave with each gasp for air, sense his desperation as he plunged deeper, harder.
The desperation mounted. He gave a low, guttural cry. "Love, please ..."
Searing pleasure exploded in the hot misty darkness. Beauty. Joy. Nicholas.
Her arms held him tightly. She didn't want to let him go though she was suddenly so weary she collapsed against him.
"Silver."
She was too tired to answer.
"Silver, we have to leave this room now. The steam ..." He lifted her off him and rose to his feet. He caught her as she swayed unsteadily and swung her into his arms.
She felt deliciously languid, every muscle butter- soft. She yawned. "I can see why your grandfather thought so highly of his Turkish oil." Her flesh was still pleasantly tingling as they left the steam room, though her sensitivity was now enormously decreased. "I'm very good with herbs I wonder if I could work out the formula."
"I definitely think you should try. I'm sure we'd both find it gratifying." He looked down at her, his eyes gleaming like a boy's. "Are you ready for your snow bath?"
"No!" Her eyes widened in alarm. "Nicholas, you wouldn't—" She broke off as she saw that he was shaking his head and she relaxed. "Just because I approve of one of your customs is no reason to think I'll indulge in that madness."
"Someday." Nicholas strode toward the washstand. "But in the meantime I'll indulge you and let you bathe at the washstand again." His smile faded and his gaze narrowed intently on her face. "Or perhaps we'll bathe each other."
"Another old Russian custom?"
He turned her in his arms and allowed her to slide slowly down the newly hardened muscles of his body, letting her feel every nuance of his arousal. "I believe the ritual I have in mind has no national boundaries," he whispered. "And the appeal is definitely universal."
"Why were you so angry tonight?" Nicholas's fingers threaded lazily through Silver's hair, letting the strands run through them like ebony rain. "You were blazing with rage when you so rudely threw that wine bottle at me."
"I didn't throw it at you." Silver's lips brushed his shoulder lovingly. "If I had, I would have hit you. I don't miss what I aim at. I merely wanted to stop you from looking at that stupid woman. It displeased me."
"Tania?" Nicholas curled one long tress around his index finger. "I was only listening to her sing. She has a very pleasant voice."
"She sounds like a hyena howling for its mate."
Nicholas chuckled. "You're unkind. Tania has—"
"I don't want to talk about her," Silver interrupted crossly. "I've heard enough about the sluts you've bedded."
Nicholas's fingers paused. "Indeed? What other woman do I stand accused of bedding?"
"Katya Razkolsky. When I met her at the ball tonight, she took great pleasure in describing your tryst at the hunting lodge."
"I see." His fingers resumed their stroking. "And that's what enraged you?"
"Why should I care how many women you've bedded?" Then as she met his gaze she nodded reluctantly. It was still proving difficult to lower her defenses and give him total honesty. "I wanted to scalp her." She added fiercely, "And you too."
"Then I suppose I was lucky to come away with just a switching." He was silent for a moment. "What happened with Katya shouldn't hurt you, Silver. It was a long time ago and I was only a boy."
"She must be almost as old as your mother. Such a woman isn't interested in boys."
"You're wrong."
There was such bitterness in Nicholas's voice that Silver raised her head from his shoulder to look at him. "Am I?"
"Oh, yes, very wrong," he said cynically. "Perhaps you haven't been at court long enough to find out that anything new or fresh is grabbed at with greedy hands and that young boys are prizes to many of the older women there. It's not at all unusual for the pages to be summoned to the bedchambers of the ladies of the court."
"But you weren't a page," Silver said. "You're a prince."
"With an ambitious mother who wanted acceptance and was willing to pay for it. With her own body and also with mine."
"I don't understand."
"It's very simple. My father died when I was ten, and my mother sent me away to my grandfather in the Kuban. I loved it there. It was home to me. I was brought back to St. Petersburg only in the summer to make an appearance at court and show the tsar I was well taken care of and not maltreated by my mother."
"You didn't like your time at court?"
His lips tightened. "I hated it. I was treated like a mongrel dog by the other children and ignored by their fathers and mothers. I was a Cossack, a barbarian to them. Dear God, they didn't realize I never wanted to be anything else. I was nearly smothered in those ballrooms. The air was so heavy with perfume I couldn't breathe, and the rich foods made me feel like a slug."
"Your mother wouldn't let you stay with your grandfather?"
He shook his head. "After my father was killed in a duel with one of her lovers she had to appear above reproach. Any decadence is permitted as long as it's done discreetly, but my mother is seldom discreet. She didn't want me there any more than I wanted to come but she—" He shifted restlessly. "It was a long time ago. You don't want to hear about all this."
"I do want to hear it. I want to hear everything about you."
He shrugged. "There's not much more to tell. The summer I was fourteen my mother decided she could make use of me. She began sending me to visit her friends in their bedchambers. Oh, I won't claim reluctance. I was as curious and lusty as any other lad."
"Katya?"
"She was one of them. For a while I felt proud as a bantam rooster. The young Cossack was being petted, demanded by those highborn ladies as if he actually had some importance. If I gave them pleasure, they let me do anything I wanted with their bodies and—" He broke off as he felt Silver's fingers dig into his arm. "I told you that you didn't want to hear it."
"Did you ... like them?"
"I didn't think about it. I liked what they made me feel. I thought I was a pasha with an entire harem for my pleasure." His expression turned bitter. "Until I realized I was being used.
They cared nothing for me. I was as much of a whore as the camp followers of Igor's band who spread their legs for a few rubles. Only what my mother charged was much higher. For every favor she gave her friends, she demanded one in return. In the end I left St. Petersburg and told her I'd never come back."
"But you did come back."
"Not willingly. Something happened...." He trailed off, his gaze fixed moodily on the fire. The silence in the room was broken only by the crackle and hiss of the blazing logs. His shoulders suddenly shifted as if he were throwing off a burden and he turned to look at her. "So you see, Katya means nothing. They all meant nothing."
It wasn't true, she thought with fierce protective- ness. That time in his life had taught him bitter lessons and given him deeper scars than the wounds on his back. He had been made to feel without worth and she knew that feeling too well. "I'll punish Katya for you if you like. I'll punish them all for you."
The moodiness in Nicholas's expression disappeared as a smile lit his face. "Such a fierce little warrior. I appreciate the offer, but it all happened a long time ago. No punishment is required."
"But I want—"
His fingers on her lips silenced her. "No," he said softly. "I believe in revenge, but I was not without blame. I was no innocent even as a child. Cossacks—" He stopped as he saw the tears glittering in her eyes. He touched one long sweeping lash and found it damp. "For me?"
"For you." Her lashes lowered to veil her eyes. "And for our child. What you said reminded me that evil happens also to innocents. Our baby had no guilt. She should not have died." Her tone turned fierce. "But her murderer will be punished. I also believe in revenge."
Nicholas looked grim. "Mikhail is sure about the potion?"
"Yes." She hesitated. "He told me he visited court and discovered nothing, but I don't believe that's true. I think he found out something he doesn't want me to know."