Golden Paradise

'You may want more,' Haci reminded him, aware of Stefan's craving for this woman.

'Then I'll bring her back.' He was not to be deterred or dissuaded.

'Not here, certainly,' Haci swiftly said, alarmed at the extent of Stefan's imprudence.

'No… but closer.'

He was determined to have his way.

'And if the lady protests?' Haci softly inquired. Stefan's expression was one Haci had seen hundreds of times before as Stefan sat astride Cleo waiting for an attack: part exhilaration, part cold calculation, with an intrinsic vital energy glowing from his dark eyes. 'I'll see that she doesn't,' he said very, very quietly. And then he grinned. 'Wish me luck now on my night ride.'

Their friendship was unconditional; Haci smiled. 'Bonne chance, you fool. You'll need it.'

Chapter Eleven

He rode across the high plateau under a brilliant orange-colored moon, but he noticed neither its brilliance nor its color, so intent was he on his thoughts. He was reckoning distances and assessing times, gratified he was doing something at last to expedite a resolution to his sharp-set hunger. The string of ponies he led carried him in relays steadily north until he stopped briefly in Tiflis to eat and to pick up a small escort. He left a note for Militza because he didn't wish to wake her at four in the morning. Also, she would have argued with him or questioned him, neither of which he cared to deal with. He had no answers to her arguments; he hardly knew himself what was driving him.

A telegram had been sent ahead to hold the train at Vladikavkaz, and when he reached the railhead fifteen hours later, he handed his pony over to a groom, said goodbye to his escort and collapsed in his bed on his private railway car. He'd been without sleep for almost three days.

The train to Moscow had been waiting eight hours for him, so gratuities were handed around by his steward to the officials, who'd been treated only to a swift smile and thank-you from the Prince before he'd boarded. Stefan fell asleep before the train was under way and slept through until the next afternoon, fully dressed except for his wet overcoat, discarded in a heap on the parlor floor, and his boots, mud-caked and stained, which were discoloring the bedroom carpet. Three days' growth of beard darkened his face, his fingers and toes had been numb since noon, when the sleeting rain had begun in the mountains, but the worst was over and he fell asleep with a smile on his face. He'd survived this far.

He woke south of Saratov to eat and wash, and when he opened his eyes the second time, Moscow was only an hour away. From there to Saint Petersburg he paced or sat brooding, his mind preoccupied with disturbing elements of jealousy and need. He resented his obsession with Lisaveta; he resented this flying trip north; he resented the thought of other men courting her. But he resented most his own lack of control. He must see her and have her and keep her for himself alone. The sensation was entirely without reason, without precedent… and unsettling. More than that, it was inimical u a man who prided himself on his detachment.

Dressing for the ball that night, Lisaveta adjusted the bodice of her gown for the third time, for the decolletage was more revealing than she remembered. Turning to Alisa, who had brought in a diamond brooch to gather the green brocade neckline a shade higher, she said, 'I don't recall having this problem when I first wore this.'

Standing at a slight distance, Alisa surveyed her guest attired in a glamorous ballgown cut simply with Juliet neckline, a small cap sleeve and a gathered bustled train. 'Have you felt well lately?' she asked, the faintest reflection evident in her voice.

'Perfectly,' Lisaveta replied, tugging at the offending neckline, immune to the subtle rumination infusing Alisa's question. 'Perhaps I've put on a little extra weight with all the elaborate dinners lately. I'm really not used to a lavish menu, Papa and I always ate less extravagantly. I suppose some extra weight would account for this bodice no longer fitting.' Her full breasts rose provocatively above the plunging decolletage.

'Are you putting on weight?' Alisa's question was quiet and speculative. No further word had been mentioned concerning Stefan Bariatinsky, but Nikki was sure a relationship had existed before his cousin reached Saint Petersburg. When Alisa had mildly suggested he was being too cynical, that surely every woman in Stefan's proximity wasn't automatically involved with him, her husband had only said, 'Dushka, he was at the siege of Kars for months… months without a woman. Need I say more?'

That circumstance wasn't to be ignored, and knowing Stefan's reputation under even benign conditions, she'd had to admit Nikki was probably right. So quickly calculating the number of weeks Lisaveta had been in Saint Petersburg and the approximate date of her rescue by Stefan, Alisa considered that Lisaveta's added weight might have a more consequential base than simply overeating.

'Do you think you might be pregnant?' she asked, her own experience with the early signs of pregnancy contributing to her abrupt question. 'I'm sorry,' she added as Lisaveta turned pale and swung around from the mirror to face her. 'Was I too blunt?'

'No…well, yes, I suppose…in a way,' Lisaveta stammered, her golden eyes wide with astonishment. 'I mean-I- how could I be…that's to say,' she quickly amended, not naive enough to discount her many weeks with Stefan. 'I can't be…can I?' Her gaze was blank or internally focused, as though she were contemplating an interior dialogue without proper answers.

'I don't know,' Alisa softly replied, moving to her side and guiding her over to a chair. 'Could you be?'

Sitting down like one stunned, Lisaveta leaned back against the cabbage rose chintz and inhaled deeply before answering, her mind swiftly counting days and weeks. 'I can't be' she repeated, but she was finding that the arithmetic didn't fall conveniently into place.

She wasn't naive about the possibility of a pregnancy; she was, however, totally without experience with pregnancy. Having been raised in an unconventional milieu without childhood playmates, girlhood chums and young women's intimacies of conversation, she had no knowledge of the actual bodily changes provoked by pregnancy. She felt fine, and while her menses were slightly more than two weeks late at this point, that kind of variation had happened to her before. She couldn't be, she repeated silently.

It was denial pure and simple.

It was an absolute essential in her present state of mind. 'Is it Stefan?' Alisa asked.

Lisaveta straightened her shoulders, and her voice was normal again when she spoke. 'I'm sure there's another explanation,' she said, bolstering her belief in some other more reasonable interpretation for her gown not fitting. 'And in any event, Stefan's engaged to Princess Taneiev.' She said it as though that fact excluded the possibility she might be pregnant.

'I'm sorry…you're right.'

'Don't be… really. Everything was very civil. He's not to blame in any way.'

'He has responsibilities at least,' Alisa said, her pansy-colored eyes grave.

'As do I. Ours was a mutual attraction, Alisa, I wasn't seduced. He's not the villain.' She smiled then at the odd word for Stefan's extravagant loving. 'No, definitely,' Lisaveta went on, her tone softly reminiscent, 'I've no regrets about what we did.'

'Do you love him?'

'Every woman he meets loves him, as do thousands more who adore him through his engravings and heroic deeds.' It was an equivocation, but an answer nonetheless.

'An engagement isn't necessarily binding,' Alisa quietly offered.

'His is for his own reasons. Thank you for the concern, Alisa, but-' Lisaveta lifted one bare shoulder in a small shrug of practicality '-I'm not some young innocent.'

Regardless of Stefan's engagement, his reasons for it and Lisaveta's extravagant courtesy, under the circumstances Alisa felt impelled to suggest, 'Stefan should at least know.'

'There may not be anything to know. I'm sure there isn't. And think how embarrassing that would be to unnecessarily accuse him.' Lisaveta gave a reassuring smile to her hostess. The color had returned to her face and her expression was without anxiety. 'Look…I'll wear something else tonight, and after Katelina's birthday next