Golden Paradise

he and the two outriders were at her disposal.

She was comfortably seated with the friendly informality typical of Stefan's staff, the carriage door was closed, and at the crack of a whip the horses broke into a gentle trot.

The morning sun was a perfect summer maize.

The air was tepid and calm.

Stefan's white marble palace, crowning the heights above Tiflis, began diminishing in size. It was over.

When Stefan woke two hours later, he lazily rolled on his back and with a casual sweep of his arm reached out for Lisaveta. Only the smoothness of silk sheets, the great expanse of empty bed, met his hand, and he swore even before he fully opened his eyes.

Damn her! Instantly alert, he snapped his head around but knew without looking she was gone. Furious, he shouted for his valet and lunged out of bed. Reaching for his trousers, he thought it odd when Ellico didn't appear. He shouted again. As he swiftly dressed, he cautioned himself to deal with his feelings less emotionally, although for a man who operated a good deal on instinct, curbing his emotions required more control than he was currently feeling. Perhaps, he suggested to himself, trying mightily to gain a calm perspective at the same time he was cursing buttons that failed to button rapidly enough, Lisaveta was in the dressing room or on the balcony. Perhaps, he thought, pulling on his boots with a small grunt of exertion, she rose early and was breakfasting with Militza.

Like hell, his dominant passion noted as he grabbed his shirt and strode to the bank of French windows facing east. Pushing the gauze curtains aside, he scanned the small balcony adjoining the bedroom because he was going to take five seconds to be reasonable.

She wasn't there…

His nostrils were flared in anger as he crossed the large bedchamber to the dressing room door, and shoving it open with the palm of his hand, he stood in the doorway and swore.

'Damn her!'

He could scratch the possibility of her breakfasting with Militza.

He could reject other possibilities of her presence in other areas of his palace, as well. From the looks of the armoire, stripped clean of her gowns, his darling lover had flown the coop.

'Ellico!' he roared, turning to retrace his steps, recrossing the Shirvan rug in almost a run. He was out the door into the hallway before he considered how curious it was that his voice wasn't heeded. In the next moment, discarding speculation on his servants' inefficiency, he refocused on the important overriding issue of Lisaveta's escape. His choice of word in regard to her leaving was symptomatic of his military background or perhaps more aptly of his proprietary feelings.

Striding down the corridor, he shrugged into his shirt while his mind raced over all the possibilities of her destination. Or more importantly, when she had left; her destination was, in his current frame of mind, not likely to be reached. Tucking in his shirttails with a minimum effort, he covered the distance down the carpeted passage with haste, distracted from the unusual quiet by more prominent considerations. When, exactly, had she left? Had she traveled by carriage… or horse? She had luggage, of course; she'd have gone by coach. Good. He could overtake her more easily.

The Orbeliani family motto was, I Am God's Spoiled Child, and Stefan had been operating too many years under that maxim to deny himself anything. He wanted Lise, so he would have her. Regardless. And that word encompassed a myriad of disastrous possibilities he chose to ignore.

At the stables he paced restlessly while Cleo was being saddled, intent on taking off in pursuit, agitated at every moment lost, knowing each minute placed Lisaveta farther out of reach. She'd be traveling to Vladikavkaz where the railway line ended. The military road was the only one out of the Caucasus. At least he didn't have to deal with numerous possibilities. Glancing up at the sun he disgruntledly thought, Damn, it was late.

'When did Countess Lazaroff leave?' he asked tersely.

'Orders were to have the first carriage ready at seven.' A minimum staff had been left at the stables to service the carriages for Lisaveta and Nadejda.

Stefan's dark brows rose. 'First carriage?'

'Princess Taneiev leaves at nine.'

'She's leaving?' The pleasure in Stefan's voice was noticeable.

'Only to the Viceroy's palace, Your Excellency.' The young groom's tone was sympathetic. Servants always knew all the gossip, and the relationship between Stefan and his fiancee was common knowledge.

If Lisaveta had left at seven he'd need Haci and some of his troopers, Stefan decided, Nadejda dismissed from his mind much as he'd dismissed her from his life. Lise had nearly two hours' head start and Cleo couldn't overtake her alone. He'd need fresh horses.

'Find Haci-I'll finish that,' he said briskly, taking the bridle from the groom. 'Where the hell is everyone?' he asked next, finally consciously noticing the dearth of servants. Normally the stable yard was bustling with activity in the morning, since Stefan kept a string of racers and polo ponies that had to be exercised. He had a stable crew of fifty.

'Princess Taneiev is bringing in French servants, Your Excellency, from the Viceroy's palace. For her parents' dinner tonight. The staff is off for the day.'

'The staff is what?' Stefan's voice was a low resonant growl.

'Off, sir.' The boy's eyes were innocent.

'Everyone?'

'Yes, sir.'

'On whose orders?' There was a distinct rumble of leashed fury beneath his soft tone.

'I don't know, sir.' Georgi had made it plain Princess Orbeliani was to be protected.

'Well, who told you?'

'Georgi, Your Excellency.'

'Get him!'

'He's gone, sir.'

'Hell.' Stefan jerked the bridle buckle in irritation and almost got bitten for his temper, since Cleo's equine personality was far from placid. 'Sorry,' he quickly apologized to his horse. 'Damn women,' he went on as though his mount understood, and perhaps she did, because she nuzzled Stefan's shirtfront as if in sympathy. 'Get Haci, then, dammit. I don't fancy he was dismissed.' A mild sarcasm underlay his gruff tone. 'And where do you keep my rifle and revolver?' The weapon mounts on his saddle were empty.

'In the tack room, sir…in the gun cabinet.'

'Thank you-hurry-don't be alarmed,' Stefan added, altering his menacing rumble. 'I'm not angry with you.' He could see the young man's apprehension had mounted at his own increasing irritation. 'But bloody hurry,' he softly emphasized.

Already his thoughts were moving forward to assess the various points where Lisaveta would have to stop to change horses. In that respect he had a distinct advantage. He and his troopers could travel almost twice as fast as a coach. Twice as fast, for certain, he corrected himself, with the state of the military road to Vladikavkaz. He did the simple arithmetic in his head, traced the backtracking in his mind and gauged their estimated arrival at his mountain lodge. By four o'clock at the latest. How nice. He could show Lise the magnificent mountain sunset.

And he smiled for the first time since waking, a man once more in control.

Chapter Six

Fifteen minutes later-ten minutes too late for General Prince Orbeliani-Bariatinsky, who had sat mounted, snapping orders, since Haci and his men had arrived on the run-the troop of mounted men galloped out of the stable yard. Sweeping around the west wing of the palace, kicking the carefully raked gravel drive into shambles, they found themselves on a collision course with the carriage waiting for Nadejda. She was late and only now strolling down the bank of marble stairs, her parasol up against the mild morning sun.

Upon sighting Stefan, she stopped poised on the first landing and delicately waved her white gloved hand.