At Her Service

  She had been right about the gown.

  The general was thoroughly enchanted, complimenting her at some length on how she brightened the room, the evening and in particular his spirits.

  Striking while the iron was hot, perhaps attending to her nervous fears as well, she put her petition to him without delay. He immediately acquiesced to her request as though she’d asked him for the merest bagatelle.

  “Of course, my dear. You have my permission to take your brother to Simferopol. Are you happy now?”

  His smile was avuncular or maybe she just hoped it was. But she needed more than his promise, so she pressed on. “Would you mind signing a release order to that effect?” she prettily inquired, feeling like an actress on stage—albeit in a role of prime importance.

  “Of course, of course. Sit down, my dear.” He motioned to an empire settee upholstered in crimson silk. “Let me ease your mind at once.”

  She wasn’t the first petitioner he’d dealt with, she understood. He was familiar with pleas and entreaties. What quid pro quo did he normally require, she wondered. Taking a seat on the settee, she folded her hands in her lap, sat up very straight and prepared herself for any possible demand.

  He wrote the release order with dispatch, handed it to her without ceremony, then walked over to a tray set with glasses and champagne.

  While his back was turned, she allowed herself to feel the smallest sense of elation before folding the paper and putting it away in her reticule. Step one accomplished, she thought, although she understood Etienne’s health was still very much in jeopardy. The moment she could escape this evening’s entertainment, she would fly to the hospital and relay the good news to her brother.

  The general returned a moment later with two glasses of champagne. Handing one to Aurore, he sat down beside her—the settee creaking under his weight—and took her hand in his.

  Her heart began beating like a drum. He was very large—a tall, blond German from Riga—a disciplined, conscientious officer loyal to the tsar. Overcome with trepidation, not sure what was about to transpire—he had never before held her hand—she smiled up at him.

  He seemed not to notice either her trepidation or her tentative smile, his gaze unfocused—or inwardly focused on some cerebral scene. “Your pale lacey gown reminds me of summer nights at home,” he murmured, a note of wistful longing in his voice. “The sun never sets in midsummer; we always linger late over dinner, drinking champagne. You can hear the birch leaves rustling in the breeze, the scent of wildflowers fills the air, the Baltic waters glisten in the distance…” He softly sighed, and with that sigh abruptly returned to reality. His eyes were suddenly unclouded. “Unfortunately, we will be here next summer—God willing of course,” he added with a grimace, smiling a second later, apparently recalling his duties as host and garrison commander. “Forgive my melancholy. I spent the day surveying our defenses.” Releasing her hand, he absently patted it before lifting his glass to his mouth and draining it. “The siege is taking its toll,” he bluntly declared, setting his glass aside. “The men work tirelessly, repairing the ramparts each night only to have them destroyed again the next day. They are willing and loyal to a man, but”—he shrugged—“a prolonged siege is devastating to morale. There is no glory in it.”

  “As a woman, I find no glory in war at all,” Aurore submitted.

  His smile was tolerant. “What woman does, my dear. Come now, drink your champagne. I intend to have another.” Picking up his glass, he rose to his feet, the many jeweled and enameled medals gracing his white dress uniform twinkling in the light. “And by the time our guests arrive, we or at least I,” he added, smiling over his shoulder as he walked away, “shall be in a more festive mood.”

  Was that the end of it? Had she gained the release letter she needed for nothing more than a pleasantry or two and a willing ear? Or was she expected to stay the night once dinner was over?

  “Come, come, my dear. How can we forget all this misery surrounding us if we’re completely sober?” he sportively noted on his return with a glance at her undrunk champagne.

  In the event she would have something she wished to forget by morning, Aurore quickly lifted her glass to her mouth and drank a goodly portion.

  As the general poured them more champagne a few minutes later, she covertly touched the little jeweled reticule hanging from her wrist. The rustle of paper inside her talisman.

  Regardless of what the night might bring, she had what she’d come for.

  Chapter 5

  Dessert was being served when a servant swung open the double doors leading into the dining room and a stunning couple walked in. The man wore Circassian garb, his tunic black like his hair; the blonde clinging to his arm was splendid in a figure-hugging crimson gown—quite out of fashion but breathtaking on her shapely form.

  “Gazi, my friend!” the general boomed, smiling widely. “I was beginning to despair of your company tonight. I see you’ve found the lovely countess.” He waved them forward. “Come in, come in, my darlings!”

  Aurore watched the man who had escorted her into town that morning cross the polished parquet floor, the dazzling Countess Tatischev on his arm all curvaceous pulchritude and pale beauty. That the couple had just recently risen from bed was almost palpable. Zania’s adoring glances directed at her partner, the slight flush on her cheeks, the mildly disheveled state of both her and Gazi’s hair, all testified to the fact.

  On their approach, had anyone been unsure of their previous activities, that uncertainty was put to rest as the faint whiff of sex pervaded the air.

  “Malekov, Oblensky, make room for our guests.” The general snapped his fingers at the officers on his right. “Two more chairs,” he ordered, waving the servants forward.

  While the officers moved and servants scurried about arranging new table settings, the general introduced Gazi and the countess to those unfamiliar with them. It was a large dinner party, several of the guests were nonmilitary, but even then, very few were strangers to the pair. Several in the assembly greeted the couple with sportive comments; most of the dinner party apparently were friends of long standing. When the general’s round of introductions reached Aurore, Gazi simply bowed and smiled. The countess barely glanced her way.

  Aurore acknowledged Gazi as blandly. Did his reticence have to do with his lover’s jealousy? Certainly understandable; Zania was possessive.

  Once the servants had readied their places, Darley seated the countess next to the general and took his chair beside her.

  Since Aurore was at the general’s left, she was directly across from the countess. It was nearly impossible to ignore Zania’s large breasts almost spilling over the top of her gown—which was the point of that extremely low decolletage, Aurore suspected. Her own neckline seemed almost prudish in contrast.

  “I shan’t ask what kept you,” the general remarked, smiling knowingly at Darley. “But rest assured, we are gratified you have finally arrived.” He waved a servant over to pour them champagne. “You are looking radiant, Zania, my dear—as usual. And you, Gazi”—he winked at the marquis—“have a smugness about you, I envy.”

  “While I envy you your local steam baths,” Darley replied, his smile bland. “After a week on the road, I am quite refreshed.”

  The countess smothered a giggle.

  Which inexplicably irritated Aurore. When it should not, she quickly reminded herself. How Gazi and the countess spent their time was none of her concern.

  “The benefits of civilization are delightful, I agree,” the general returned with masculine insinuation and a wink for good measure. “Now then,” he briskly added, “since you’ve missed most of dinner, what would you two like to eat?”

  At another giggle from the countess, Aurore suppressed a thoroughly unjustified pique. For heaven’s sake, she silently expostulated, appalled at her unreasonable reaction—whatever the countess liked to eat en flagrante delicto was absolutely of no consequence to her.

  “Someth
ing substantial—meat, fish,” Darley replied, then glanced at the countess. “What would you like?”

  “Whatever you like, darling.”

  Good God, must she flutter her lashes like she is batting away flies, Aurore disgustedly thought. Did the woman have no restraint?

  Apparently not, Aurore soon discovered. While the other guests were served dessert and Darley and the countess were provided their choice of foods, the lovely Zania occupied her time between bites by rubbing up against her lover like a cat in heat.

  Making a spectacle of herself, Aurore spleenishly decided.

  Not that it mattered in the least, she sensibly noted, logic coming to the fore as it should. She and Gazi were the merest acquaintances, while he and Zania were, obviously, extremely good friends.

  And should the general insist on more than simply holding her hand tonight, she would be facing much larger problems than whether Countess Tatischev was annoying or not. With that metaphorical dash of cold water reminding her of the seriousness of her situation, she dismissed the countess’s behavior as irrelevant to more thorny issues.

  As the hour advanced and the general consumed more and more champagne, he became increasingly flamboyant in his pronouncements: his soldiers were saints and heroes; his enemies Satan’s legions; the stalwart men under his command would fight to the death with honor and courage; with God on her side, Mother Russia would be victorious. And periodically, between his bursts of patriotic grandiloquence, he would expansively exclaim that he loved and revered all his guests.

  At which point, he’d reach over, grasp Aurore’s hand, bring it to his lips and kiss her fingertips with smacking gusto.

  The first time he did so, Aurore went rigid, although her smile gave nothing away. The high color on her cheeks might just as well have been excitement rather than shock.

  Darley’s gaze narrowed when the general first snatched up Aurore’s hand, but he’d almost instantly rationalized away his displeasure. Why wouldn’t the two be friendly? Miss Clement was beautiful, the general was powerful. He shouldn’t have been surprised at their intimacy.

  As the hours progressed, the general’s attentions to Aurore became more and more presumptuous, but by then, the majority of the dinner guests were well into their cups and not inclined to take undue notice.

  Aurore continued playing the role required of her, smiling appropriately, responding to the general’s flirtation with urbane pleasantries, hiding her increasing dismay with aplomb. It appeared likely that Etienne’s release form would require compensation after all, she noted. Not that she begrudged sacrificing herself to save her brother. Whatever was required of her, she would do.

  But when the general was called away shortly after midnight to attend to some urgent matter and took his leave, Aurore experienced the most enormous relief. A huge weight was suddenly lifted from her shoulders; she could breathe freely again, the foreboding tension gripping her senses disappeared like dew under a hot sun.

  After the fact, she came to realize how onerous it would have been to accede to the general’s demands, how horrific. No matter her dutiful intent.

  Having only very narrowly escaped disaster, she wished to flee—now, this instant, in the event the general returned. Abruptly rising to her feet, she politely made her excuses. “It’s been a lovely evening,” she said with a smile, her gaze sweeping the table, quickly skipping over Gazi and his companion who were engaged in whispered conversation. Or rather, the countess was leaning in close and he was politely listening. “But I have early appointments, so I bid you all good night.”

  Several officers immediately volunteered to escort her to the hotel, their offers rising in a clamorous chorus.

  There was no way to graciously refuse. Nor did she wish to show preference for any one officer. As a result, she left with a considerable entourage.

  There was safety in numbers, she concluded.

  And after her close call, she was not about to put herself in jeopardy again.

  In a very few hours, she and Etienne would be on the road to Simferopol.

  Chapter 6

  Darley found himself disturbed by the fact that Miss Clement was on her way to her hotel room surrounded by six young officers.

  It was a gut feeling.

  Thoroughly illogical.

  Much like his reaction had been to the general dancing attendance on Aurore at dinner.

  He had no idea why the thought of Miss Clement’s numerous admirers irked him. He was not by nature a possessive man, as evidenced by his years of wandering the globe with no itinerary and no strings attached.

  So why this blind impulse to exercise some bloody suzerainty over the lovely Miss Clement?

  There was no reasonable explanation other than that which prompted his wanderlust: an appetite for life and, above all, a willful proclivity to assuage his desires.

  Like now.

  Turning to the countess, he offered her his most winning smile. “I’m afraid duty calls, my dear. I promised my men I’d help them unload our supplies and”—his brows flickered in pointed significance—“as you know, I have been enjoying your company instead. My thanks for a most delightful evening. May I send someone to see you home?”

  “You’re not leaving now?” she hissed, her eyes snapping with affront.

  “I’m sorry. I have to.” Leaning over, he kissed her lightly on the cheek. “There now, my sweet, don’t pout,” he murmured, but rather than soothe her irritation, he rose to his feet and said to the other guests, “Much as I hate to abandon the pleasure of your company, my friends, I’m afraid I have business commitments.” He smiled. “I doubt my absence will mar the festivities with the general’s fully stocked cellar at your disposal. So bonne nuit mes amis.” Shoving his chair back, he turned and walked away.

  Not unexpectedly, Zania took issue with his sudden departure and hastily followed in his wake.

  Once the servants closed the doors behind them and they were alone in the hallway, he turned to face her wrath with patient forbearance. “My leaving has nothing to do with you,” he explained. Which was true. “I simply have to take care of some business affairs.” Which was not true. “Come, now, darling—”

  “How dare you walk out!” she petulantly interposed, her gaze sullen. “You embarrassed me in front of everyone!”

  “They were all so intoxicated no one even noticed,” Darley countered. “But even if someone had, I mentioned that I had business to attend to. That’s simple enough to understand.”

  “Well, I don’t understand!” she snapped. “You didn’t have business to attend to a few hours ago!”

  “Actually I did and now I can no longer ignore it,” he tactfully replied. “I’ll be back in a few days, my pet. I’ll stay with you longer on my return.” He dropped a light kiss on her nose. “And I promise when I come back, you may order me about with impunity as long as you wish.”

  She gazed up at him from under her lashes for a considering moment. “Do you mean it?”

  “Of course,” he lied. He didn’t know from day to day if he’d live, but Zania wasn’t interested in larger world issues, so he chose the path of least resistance.

  “You really promise?” she purred.

  “Absolutely.” And honestly, if he survived to return to Sevastopol, he’d be happy to entertain her. She was a passionate little minx, and since her elderly husband had died, she had been enjoying her freedom with wild abandon.

  “Oh, very well,” she muttered with a pretty pout. “I suppose I shall have to settle for Major Count Oblensky tonight. He’s not nearly as talented as you though.”

  Darley didn’t rise to the bait; whomever Zania slept with was no concern of his. “I sincerely apologize for having to leave. Believe me, if I didn’t have my men waiting for me, I’d willingly accompany you home.” He was tempted to start backing away, but this near to escape he didn’t dare antagonize her afresh.

  Softly sighing, Zania waved him off. “Go, then, you lovely scoundrel.” She smiled.
“But I will expect you to be very accommodating on your return.”

  “With pleasure,” he gallantly replied.

  She lifted her chin in a huffy little gesture. “Think of me with Oblensky tonight, Gazi, and suffer the consequences of your actions.”

  “I will be desolate, my dear,” he softly remarked, hoping his expression was suitably remorseful.

  “You don’t look desolate,” she said with a little sniff, and turned away.

  A shame he wasn’t a better actor. In the event she had some more pithy words for him, he waited until she re-entered the dining room before leaving. As a rule, he avoided antagonizing women. And with Zania, there was even more reason for caution. She was volatile and quick tempered—more significantly, she was staying at the only serviceable hotel in town.

  He would have to make certain he didn’t run into her later.

  With luck, she might spend the night in Oblensky’s quarters.

  After swiftly making his way to the hotel, he spoke briefly with the concierge and left him a quickly scribbled note he wished conveyed to Cafer. Then, moving into the ornate lobby graced with soaring malachite pillars and towering palms, he settled into a chair that afforded him a clear view of the wide, main staircase.

  Glancing at his watch, he calculated the amount of time that had transpired since Aurore and her escort had left the dinner party. Not that he was absolutely certain of what he was going to do. He was, however, rather sure of what he wished to do.

  Now, whether his plans prospered or not depended on six officers, one lady and her inclinations and proclivities.

  At least in terms of the general, he was quite confident she’d not favored his attentions. Her smiles had been strained, the tension in her shoulders obvious to anyone less drunk than the general, while the flaring color on her cheeks when Osten-Sacken kissed her fingers was, to a discerning eye, genuine alarm.

  On the other hand, the officers who’d escorted her back to the hotel were young, attractive men. Perhaps she would respond more favorably to their attentions.