Golden Paradise

in the sun. She should be grateful-for the beautiful day… for her memories.

Stefan was swinging onto his fifth mount since Tiflis, dropping into place without checking the horse's galloping stride; he rode bareback as easily as on his padded saddle and had the calluses to prove it. Even as he strung out the long braided lead, allowing the riderless ponies to drop back, he glanced at the sun swiftly and then at the road descending into the valley below. The Georgian highway, which had been hacked through the mountains in a titanic five-year struggle, clung to the rock face of the mountains, descending and mounting through valley after valley, through gorges and defiles, each as familiar as his own landscaped acres.

She couldn't be too far ahead now since they'd been on the road for almost three hours. His blue lacquered coach was distinctive and Lisaveta noticed as well for her beauty; each post stop knew exactly when the carriage and lovely lady had passed. She was, according to the ostlers at Tskhinval-the last fort before the Krestovaia Pass- no more than fifteen minutes ahead.

Stefan nudged his Orloff mare into more speed, and Haci, waving the men behind them forward, whipped his own mount to close the distance between himself and Stefan.

Ten minutes later they caught sight of a vivid flash of royal blue disappearing over the crest of a rise and Stefan smiled, a wolfish smile not entirely without malice. He was hot and tired, dusty after three hours on the road and in the mood to blame someone other than himself for this morning pursuit. Sliding his Winchester from his saddle mount, he fired six rapid shots into the air and then slowed his horse to a canter. His driver and outriders would recognize the signal.

The chase was won.

'Why are we stopping?' Lisaveta asked the mounted man outside the carriage window, apprehensive after hearing the rifle fire to find the coach coming to a standstill in the middle of the road. Bandits were still prevalent in the mountains, and if they were being attacked, surely they shouldn't be stopping.

'Were those shots?' she added, hoping the way a child might for a reassuring answer.

'The Prince, mademoiselle,'' he said, resting both hands on his saddle pommel and smiling. He had begun the trip addressing her with the rigid protocol required by many nobles, but she had resisted being called 'Your illustriousness' and he had deferred to her wishes.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, mademoiselle.'

'But we're over four hours out of Tiflis.'

'Almost five, mademoiselle,' he corrected.

'Why would 'the Prince'-' she duplicated his pronunciation '-be riding north?'

'I couldn't say, mademoiselle' the young man politely replied, although he had a pretty fair notion why, having lived in Stefan's household all his life.

'Need we wait?'

She could have been asking him, 'Is there a God?' so startled was his expression. But, of course, she understood as well as the astonished young outrider why Stefan was on the road to Vladikavkaz.

And she didn't think he was bringing a proposal of marriage.

In the next moment she chastised herself for unrealistic presumption as well as for demanding justice. She had with eyes wide open and entire free will entered into her relationship with Stefan, and now suddenly she was requiring decorum. It was unjust to him and to her sense of freedom. His pursuit, however, was also unjust to her sense of freedom, and she hoped he'd be reasonable to deal with.

Maybe he was simply coming after her to say goodbye.

As the sound of hoofbeats neared, the outrider moved away from the carriage, and swirling dust drifted by her window, mingling with men's voices raised in greeting, the jingle of harness, horses' neighing in recognition of stablemates. She heard Stefan's voice, too, in the melee of sound, and moments later the carriage door swung open.

He filled the small portal, wearing his clothes from the previous night, his face sweat-streaked and moody, his hair in damp curls, his lip still slightly swollen where she'd bitten him. The sun was at midpoint and hot even at the mountain altitudes.

'Come,' he said curtly, and put out his gloved hand.

No proposal of marriage, that terse command, nor a poetical declaration of goodbye. Not that she'd expected either. But then she'd also not expected the cold chill order. He could be a man of persuasive charm.

'No,' she replied, for a tangle of reasons she'd already spent hours dwelling on.

Wiping his forehead with the back of his gloved hand, he said, 'Don't push me, Lise. We've been riding our ass off for almost three hours.''

'Is that my fault?' Her mild sarcasm took issue with his egoistic viewpoint. She was hardly to blame for his willful urges; she'd certainly not asked him to follow her.

'Who the hell else's?' he growled, immune to her reasoning, tuned in to his own sense of inconvenience.

'I told you I was leaving,' she said, her declaration inflected with emphasis. 'It couldn't have come as such a surprise.' The scent of his sweat struck her as a breeze blew in from the open door and it was overlaid with the cologne he favored, a special blend distilled in the bazaar from local flora. She was reminded instantly as the fragrance struck her nostrils of other times they'd been heated-by a riding of another sort. She wondered then how useful her words would be, or how irrelevant against a man of Stefan's determination.

His answering sigh was audible only to her, and his voice dropped in volume. 'I'd love to stand out here in the middle of the mountains under a hot sun,' he said very softly, 'after two hours' sleep in clothes I haven't changed since yesterday, and argue the fine points with you, Countess, if I was in the mood for an argument-which I'm not.'

Her question was answered, but not without invoking her own willful disposition. 'And that means?' Lisaveta slowly said, a flare of resentment responding to his princely peremptoriness and sulky dark glance-to his notion she could be ordered about like a minion.

'It means the discussion is over. You'll need a horse for the rest of the journey, so kindly give me your hand and I'll help you alight.'

'And if I don't wish to journey with you?' she said, narrow-eyed and combative. For all her life she'd had charge of her actions, trained from early childhood to be responsible for her own decisions. She didn't take kindly to orders, princely or otherwise. She was too privileged herself, too wealthy, too educated to fall into a subservient role.

Stefan glanced around briefly. His men were lounging on their ponies, but even the most objective observer wouldn't doubt their capacity for action. 'Really, darling, save yourself the embarrassment of being taken bodily from this carriage.'

'Are you abducting me against my will?' Her shoulders had straightened in defiance.

'Hell, no. I'm taking you on a more scenic route home, and don't start all that 'against my will' dialogue because we settled that last night. I'm only here to accommodate your…' His smile was libertine and assured and he considered saying 'lust' but gentlemanly decided against it. Women normally preferred a more romantic term for their carnal urges. 'Wishes,' he very softly finished.

'My wishes are to continue north in this carriage.'

'And you will… eventually.'

'When will that be?' she inquired, each word chill with icicles.

He seemed to be silently calculating. 'Twenty days, sixteen hours, give or take a few minutes. It depends on Haci.'

'Damn you.' He intended to keep her his entire leave.

'My feelings exactly,' he grimly said. 'Now if you don't mind…' He reached for her.

She inched backward into the corner of the seat. 'What if I resist?'

His eyes shut briefly. 'Hell, Lise, you'd think I was going to stake you out on a mountaintop as prey for the eagles. You'll like my mountain lodge, believe me.'

'It's the coercion I take issue with.'

'Would you like a princely invitation? I thought I did that last night.' And he had, with grace and courtesy and delight in his descriptions of his mountaintop aerie.

She had no choice, short of being dragged kicking and screaming from the carriage. She was outnumbered, weaponless and quite alone against Stefan and his men. But she could at least protest. 'I want to categorically