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“It's like the Gostinny Dvor!” she exclaimed, and laughed at his quizzical glance. “A merchants' place in St. Petersburg, where everything is displayed in rows. This is very similar—except there are no icon stalls.”

Luke smiled at the way she shook her head, as if a marketplace without icons was hardly worth visiting. “Do you need more than one icon?” he asked.

“Oh, one can never have too many of them. Icons are good for prayer, and they bring blessings and good luck. Some people carry an icon in their pockets all the time.” She frowned a little. “I wish you had one. It never hurts to have extra good luck.”

“I have you for that,” he murmured, his fingers closing around hers.

They visited several shops on Regent Street, and a dressmaker's on Bond. The designer, Mr. Maitland Hodding, was a small, neat Englishman. Tasia liked the sense of economy in his designs, knowing that simplicity suited her far more than masses of ruffles and bows. She found it impossible to contain her excitement as she was seated in a gilt chair near tables piled high with books and fabric samples.

“I've always worn French gowns before,” Tasia said, an idle comment that brought an emphatic response.

“French fashion,” Mr. Hodding said scornfully, as he sorted through a sheaf of sketches to show her. “They raise the hemline and lower the décolletage, add a few flounces, and dye the whole of it a garish shade of magenta…and for
this
thousands of Englishwomen sigh and dream of owning a gown from Paris! But you, Lady Stokehurst, will be a vision of elegance in the gowns we will create for you. You'll disdain to wear a Parisian fashion ever again.” He beamed at her and lowered his voice, as if they were a pair of conspirators. “I expect you'll be so dazzling that Lord Stokehurst won't even notice the cost.”

Tasia glanced at her husband, who was seated in a velvet chair. Two showroom assistants were seeing to Luke's comfort. One of them insisted on bringing him tea, while the other dedicated herself to stirring until ever grain of sugar was dissolved. Disliking the way the girls hovered over him, Tasia gave him a frown, which he answered with a helpless shrug.

It had not been lost on Tasia that other women were excited by her husband's dark handsomeness. At a small soirée the Ashbournes had given, she had seen how female guests of all ages had fluttered and giggled whenever Luke was near, and had stared at him with unblinking eyes. At first it had amused Tasia, but then she had begun to simmer like a pot on the stove. It didn't matter that Luke did nothing to encourage them. She hated the sight of the eager women milling around her husband, and she had an urge to rush over to him and shove them all away.

Alicia had appeared at her side, sliding a sisterly arm around her shoulders. “You're staring daggers at my guests, Tasia. I invited you here to make friends. This is not the way to go about it.”

“They would like to lure him away from me,” Tasia had said darkly, watching the group.

“Perhaps. But they've all had their chances for years, and he's never given any of them a thought.” Alicia had smiled. “Don't think he isn't aware of your reaction, little cousin. Luke isn't above trying to make you jealous.”

“Jealous!” Tasia echoed, indignant and surprised. “I'm not—” But she stopped, realizing that was exactly the reason for the hot, riled sensation in her chest. It was the first time she had ever felt that he belonged to her. For the rest of the evening she had glued herself possessively to Luke's side, giving cool nods to every woman who so much as glanced in their direction.

Recalling the episode, Tasia decided it was high time to have some new gowns so striking and beautiful that Luke wouldn't be able to take his eyes from her. She interrupted Mr. Hodding's display of sketches, resting her hand lightly on his arm. “These are all very lovely,” she said. “Clearly you are a gifted designer.”

Maitland Hodding pinkened with pleasure at the compliment, staring into her cat-shaped eyes as if mesmerized. “It will be my great honor to do justice to your beauty, Lady Stokehurst.”

“I don't wish to copy anyone else, Mr. Hodding. I would like your help in creating a unique style for myself. Something more exotic than what I've seen in these sketches so far.”

Excited by the idea, Hodding motioned for an assistant to bring a fresh sketchbook. They conferred for a long time, drinking countless cups of tea. Luke soon tired of the delicately perfumed atmosphere of the shop and the tedious details of fabric and design. He drew Tasia aside for a private conversation. “Will you be all right if I leave for a while?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, certainly,” she replied. “We'll be busy for hours yet.”

“You won't be afraid?”

Tasia was touched by his concern for her safety. Luke understood how afraid she was of being found by Nikolas. He saw to it that she was never left alone in public. Their home was well-protected by fences and locks, and the servants had been given thorough instructions concerning any strangers who might come to the villa's gates. On the occasions when Tasia wished to pay a call to someone, she was accompanied by two footmen and an armed driver. Most important, she continued to maintain her ruse as Karen Billings. Everyone except Emma and the Ashbournes believed her to be a former governess who had been fortunate enough to marry a Stokehurst. Tasia knew that after these precautions, it would be unreasonable for her to worry about Nikolas Angelovsky…and yet the secret fear was always in the back of her mind.

She looked up at her husband with a smile. “I'll be perfectly safe here. Go, and don't worry about me.”

Luke bent to kiss her forehead. “I'll be back soon.”

After Tasia and Mr. Hodding had come to several mutually satisfactory agreements, they found themselves half-buried in a mountain of silk, velvet, merino, and poplin. Mr. Hodding paused to regard Tasia with frank admiration. “Lady Stokehurst, I have little doubt that when you wear these designs, every woman in London will want to emulate you.”

Tasia smiled as he helped her to her feet. It had been so long since she had worn a beautiful dress. She would dearly love to burn the black gown she was wearing. “Mr. Hodding,” she asked, “is there a day dress already made in the shop that I might take away with me this afternoon?”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “I suppose I could manage something along the lines of a simple blouse and skirt.”

“I would be very grateful,” Tasia said.

One of the female assistants, a petite blond named Gaby, brought Tasia to a back room lined with ornately framed mirrors that multiplied her reflection into infinity. She helped Tasia change into a wine-red skirt and a high-necked white blouse with a fall of snowy lace down the front. There was an ivory jacket-bodice that fit over the blouse, its long hem forming a slim overskirt. Delighted, Tasia fingered the delicate embroidery of pink flowers and green leaves around the sleeves of the jacket. “It's lovely,” she exclaimed. “Please have this put on my account.”

Gaby stared at her admiringly. “There's not many who have the figure for it. Only a woman as slender as you could wear it well. But the waist of the skirt is too loose. If you'll wait, my lady, I'll bring a needle and stitch it, in the twitch of a cat's tail.” She left Tasia alone in the room and closed the door behind her.

Tasia swished the skirts and turned in a circle, admiring the flowing red fabric. She could see herself from every angle in the parade of mirrors around her. The ensemble was jaunty and stylish, far more sophisticated than the girlish dresses the had worn in Russia. She wondered what Luke would say when he saw her, and laughed excitedly at the thought. Pausing in the middle of the room, she fluffed the lace of the blouse and smoothed the ivory silk jacket in feminine preening.

A shadow moved behind her. Tasia's smile faded as a chill swept over her skin. She stood there surrounded by reflections within reflections, flags of red and ivory, dozens of wide, staring eyes. Her own eyes. A dark form moved in and out of the images, coming closer. It couldn't be real…but suddenly she was frightened. Her ears rang with a high-pitched tone. She was paralyzed, trapped inside the kaleidoscope, while her lungs labored to draw in enough air…not enough air…

There was a touch at her elbow. A man turned her to face him. She stared into Mikhail Angelovsky's grinning death-face, his yellow eyes locked with hers. Blood streamed from his throat and lips as he mouthed her name. “
Tasia
…”

She gave a sharp cry and twisted in his hold. Somewhere in the careening room, there was a third presence. They formed a macabre triangle of death, the three of them trapped in a room of red and gold, the scene repeating over and over…Tasia covered her face with her hands. “No,” she whimpered. “Go away,
go away
—”

“Look at me, Tasia.”

It was her husband's voice she heard. Her body gave a jerk, as if she had been touched by an electric current. Trembling, she looked up at him. The noise in her ears receded.

Luke was there, holding her. His face was pale beneath its bronze tan, his eyes piercing blue. She kept her gaze on him, terrified that if she looked away he might disappear, and Misha would come back. She must be going mad. She had mistaken her husband for a ghost. All at once the thought struck her as funny, and she began to laugh helplessly, the sound spilling from her lips. Luke didn't share her amusement. He continued to stare at her with a serious expression that made her realize how unbalanced she must seem. Somehow she managed to stop laughing. She used her sleeve to wipe the stray tears from her eyes.

“I remembered Mikhail,” she said hoarsely. “It happened all over again. I saw everything. There was a knife in his throat, a-and blood gushing, and he wouldn't go away, he was holding me—”

Luke murmured quietly and tried to bring her close against his body, but she resisted. “Th-there was another man in the room,” she said. “Someone else was there. I didn't remember it until now.”

He stared at her intently. “Who? A servant? A friend of Mikhail's?”

Tasia gave a frantic shake of her head. “I don't know. But he was there during all of it. He was
part
of it, I'm sure—” She broke off as the door opened.

Gaby stood there with a confused expression. “My lady?” the girl asked. “I thought I heard a scream.”

“I'm afraid I startled my wife,” Luke said. “Allow us a few minutes of privacy.”

“Yes, my lord.” Abashed. Gaby withdrew with a murmured apology.

Luke returned his gaze to Tasia. “Do you remember what he looked like, this other man?”

“I-I'm not sure.” Tasia bit her lip, trying to control her emotions. “I don't want to think about him—”

“Was he old or young? Dark or fair? Try to remember.”

Closing her eyes, Tasia took a shivering breath and struggled to make the shadowy image clear in her mind. “Old…and tall. I'm not sure about anything else.” She felt cold and sick, to the marrow of her bones. “I can't do this,” she whispered.

“All right.” Luke folded her against his broad chest and bent his head over hers. “Don't be afraid,” he murmured. “No harm will come of knowing the truth, no matter what it is.”

“If I'm guilty—”

“I don't care what you've done.”

“But I care.” Her voice was muffled in his coat. “I'll never escape it. I'll never be able to live with myself, knowing—”

“Hush.” Luke hugged her so tightly she could hardly breathe. “Whatever happened in that room with Angelovsky…someday you'll remember it all, every detail, and then you're going to let it go. I'll be there to help you.”

“But you won't be able to stop Nikolas—”

“I'll deal with Nikolas. I'll make everything all right.”

Tasia tried to tell him that he couldn't, it wasn't possible, but he crushed his mouth on hers, his kiss hard, deep, a determined invasion. She didn't fight him. She relaxed into his hold, her arms lifting to encircle his neck. Luke's mouth gentled at the gesture of willingness, and the kiss ripened into exquisite tenderness. Tasia was flushed and aroused by the time he lifted his head. His mouth touched the edge of her ear and the pale curve of her neck above the white lace collar. Half-opening her eyes, Tasia caught sight of them standing together, her red-and-cream form locked against his dark one. She twitched in reaction.

“I should like to leave this room,” she said, her voice unsteady. “All these mirrors…”

“You don't like mirrors?” he asked.

“Not this many.”

Luke glanced at their surroundings with a wry smile. “I rather like seeing twenty of you at once.” As he looked back at her face and read the signs of strain, his expression became unfathomable. “We'll go home now,” he said.

Yes, she wanted to find a dark room and crawl into bed, and pull the covers over her head, and not think or feel. But she wouldn't let herself. She wouldn't indulge the guilt, the fear—or lunacy—whatever it was that inspired the macabre vision of Mikhail. “I would like to continue shopping,” she said.

“I think you've had enough excitement for one day.”

“You promised we would visit Harrods this afternoon.” Tasia pushed her lower lip into a small pout, knowing it would distract him. As she had intended, he was charmed into agreeing.

“Anything,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Whatever pleases you.”

Tasia recovered her good spirits as they went to see the accumulation of wares at Harrods, the well-known department store on Brompton Road. Every time she stopped to admire something—a clock, a tray, a tiny hat adorned with bird-of-paradise feathers, a painted tin of comfits that Emma would like—Luke would gesture for a waiting attendant to have it packaged and sent to the carriage.

Tasia refused when he urged her to purchase yet another item she fancied. “We've bought too much already.”

Luke was amused. “I didn't think the heiress to a great fortune would be so afraid of spending money.”

“I couldn't buy anything without my mother's permission. And she didn't like to walk on public streets—she said it made her feet ache. She had the merchants and jewelers come to the palace with their goods. I've never been shopping like this.”

Luke laughed and toyed with the frill of lace at her throat. The nearby attendant cleared his throat and pointedly looked away from the display of intimacy. “Spend as much as you like, sweet,” Luke murmured. “You have a long way to go before you come close to costing what a mistress does.”