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He nodded, gulping and loosening the collar of his shirt. “I…I don't know how I shall ever face His Lordship again.”

“I'm sure he'll understand—” she began contritely, and gave a start as she noticed another man walking toward them.

Biddle froze, bracing for another possible assault, but instead Tasia flew to the stranger with a soft cry.

“Uncle Kirill!”

Kirill's bearded face split with a smile, and he engulfed Tasia in his brawny arms. “Little niece,” he murmured, holding her tightly. “It is no good for me to sneak you away from Russia if you keep coming back. You must stay away for good this time,
dah
?”

Tasia smiled back at him. “Yes, uncle.”

“Nikolas sent me a note to explain everything. He wrote that you had married in England.” Kirill held her at arm's length to have a better look. “Blooming like a rose,” he said approvingly, and looked over her head at Biddle. “He must be a good husband, this little Englishman.”

“Oh, no,” Tasia said hastily, “that is his valet, Uncle Kirill. My husband will join us soon…if all goes well.” Her forehead furrowed miserably at the thought of Luke being in danger.

“Ah.” Kirill nodded sympathetically. “I will go look for him. But first I will take you to the ship—”

“No, I won't go anywhere without him.”

Kirill seemed inclined to argue, but then he nodded thoughtfully. “Is your husband a tall man?”

“Yes.”

“Dark-haired?”

“Yes…”

“With a hook in place of one hand?”

Tasia stared at her uncle, stupefied. All at once she spun around and saw Luke coming to them. The sight of him filled her with overwhelming relief. She ran to him and flung her arms around his waist. “Luke,” she whispered, closing her eyes in thankfulness. “Are you all right?”

Luke tilted her head back and kissed her lips. “No. I won't be all right until I take you away from here and see you safely back in England.”

“I agree, my lord.” Tasia slipped her hand into his. Drawing him forward, she introduced him to her uncle. Kirill said a few words in broken English, smiles were exchanged, and they agreed to board the waiting ship without delay.

Suddenly remembering his valet, Luke glanced at Biddle, who stood nearby wringing his hands. “Biddle, why is your face purple? You look as if you're on the verge of apoplexy.” He watched with a frown as the valet muttered incoherently and rushed away toward the ship. “What's the matter with him?”

Tasia shrugged casually. “Perhaps the strain of the evening is catching up with him.”

Luke stared at her carefully innocent face with frank skepticism. “Never mind. You can tell me later. For now, let's get the hell out of this place.”

“Yes,” she said with calm certainty. “Let's go home.”

London, England

I
n the three months since their return to England, Tasia had blossomed with well-being. They continued to live in the London villa, to make it convenient for Luke to attend to his business interests. For the first time in her life Tasia was happy, not with the brief, brilliant flashes of emotion she had known before, but with something stronger and more enduring, a steady flame that warmed her from the inside out. It was a miracle to wake up beside Luke every morning and realize that he belonged to her. He was all things to her, sometimes fatherly, sometimes devilish, sometimes as tender as a boy with his first love. He teased and played and courted her with passionate enthusiasm. As Tasia's pregnancy advanced, Luke became fascinated with the changes in her body. Sometimes he would undress her in the middle of the day just to look at her, ignoring her laughter and half-annoyed protests. He would brush his hand over the naked curve of her stomach as if it were a magnificent work of art.

“I've never seen anything so beautiful,” he had murmured one afternoon, admiring her rounding abdomen.

“It's going to be a boy,” she said.

“It doesn't matter,” Luke had replied, spreading kisses over the tender skin of her stomach. “Boy or girl…it's part of you.”

“Of us,” she said with a smile, idly playing with his black hair.

Since Tasia was able to conceal her condition with high-waisted gowns, she was able to attend parties, theater productions, and other social gatherings. Later, when her stomach became too large to hide with loose gowns and silk shawls, propriety would dictate that she confine herself at home. “As slight as you are, I don't believe you'll show until you're quite far along,” Mrs. Knaggs predicted. Tasia hoped she was right. After a lifetime of shelter and confinement, she intended to enjoy her freedom.

In the meantime she was busy making friends with other young matrons, involving herself in various charity concerns, and fulfilling her responsibilities as Luke's wife. She was also making progress in her campaign to push Emma into friendships with girls her own age. Emma seemed to be growing out of her shyness, and she had actually begun to enjoy going to children's parties. When the dreaded day of her first monthly bleeding arrived, she told Tasia about it with a mixture of embarrassment and pride. “Does this mean I can't have doll parties anymore?” she asked, and was relieved by Tasia's emphatic assurance that she could.

As autumn swept over England, crisp and cool, abundant with color, a shipment of crates and trunks arrived from Russia. Alicia Ashbourne came to help unpack them. “More presents from Maman,” Tasia read aloud. She was seated on the sofa, scanning the letter from her mother, while Alicia and Emma lifted priceless ornaments from the well-stuffed crates. Tasia was glad to receive further news of her mother's wellbeing, and especially to read that there had been no repercussions for her. Nikolas's expert bribery had ensured that Marie had been questioned only briefly and then released by the authorities after Tasia's escape from the Kurkov Palace. Since then Marie had sent letters and a collection of family heirlooms to the London villa. So far they had unearthed treasures of porcelain and crystal, a stack of icons, a lace christening gown, and a case of silver tea-glass holders studded with precious stones.

A chorus of delight erupted as a huge silver samovar was unwrapped. “From Tula, I think,” Alicia said as she inspected the elaborate engraving. “The best ones are always made in Tula.”

“Now if only we could get the proper tea to brew in it,” Tasia lamented.

Emma looked at her in surprise. “Isn't English tea the best, Belle-mère?”

“No, indeed. Russians brew the most precious Chinese caravan tea.” Tasia sighed wistfully. “It's more fragrant and delicious than any other kind. Many people like to drink it through a lump of sugar held in their front teeth.”

“How odd!” Emma exclaimed, examining the samovar with great interest.

Alicia pulled out a length of shimmering Russian golden lace and held it up to the light. “What else does Marie say in the letter, Tasia?”

Tasia turned a page and continued reading. “Oh,” she said softly, her fingers trembling a little.

Alerted by the strange note in her voice, the women looked up at her. “What is it?” Alicia asked.

Tasia answered slowly, staring at the thin sheaf of letter paper in her hand. “Governor Shurikovsky was recently found dead in his palace. ‘He took poison,’ Maman writes…'and it is commonly believed that he committed suicide.’” Her voice faded, and she exchanged a grim glance with Alicia. Regardless of appearances, there could be no doubt that Nikolas had finally taken his revenge. Tasia looked back at the letter. “‘The tsar is distraught,’” she continued, “‘and his health and state of mind have been severely affected by the loss of his favorite adviser. He has withdrawn to such a degree that all his ministers and high officials are squabbling for power.’”

“Does it say anything about Prince Angelovsky?” Alicia prompted.

Tasia nodded, her forehead wrinkling. “‘Nikolas is suspected of treasonous activities,’” she read, “‘and he has been arrested and held for questioning for many weeks now. There is a rumor that he may be reprieved and exiled soon. If he's still alive.’”

A heavy silence fell over the room. “They've done far more than question him,” Alicia said softly. “Poor Nikolas. I wouldn't wish such a fate on my worst enemy.”

“Why? What have they done to him?” Emma asked curiously.

Tasia was quiet, thinking of the hideous tortures that were sometimes whispered about in St. Petersburg, used for punishment or as a way to ferret out enemies of the imperial government. The torturers most often used the knout, a whip that could lay open flesh to the bone, and they plied it in conjunction with hot pokers and other fiendish methods of applying pain that could separate a man from his sanity. She wondered what they had done to Nikolas, and how badly he was hurt.

Suddenly all the pleasure in the gifts from her mother was gone, and Tasia was flooded with pity. “I wonder if there's something that could be done for Nikolas.”

“Why would you want to help him?” Emma asked. “He's a bad man. He deserves everything he gets.”

“‘Condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned,’” Tasia quoted. “‘Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.’”

Emma scowled and returned her attention to the box of treasures in front of her. “He's still a bad man,” she muttered.

To Tasia's dismay, Luke's reaction concerning Nikolas's plight was similar to his daughter's. When she showed him the contents of Marie's letter that night, Luke was disappointingly unsympathetic. “Angelovsky knew the danger he was in,” he said evenly. “He decided to kill Shurikovsky even if it meant sacrificing his own life. He had a taste for playing dangerous games, Tasia. If his political enemies have found a way to destroy him, it's not more than what he expected. Nikolas's eyes were wide open.”

“I can't help feeling sorry for him,” Tasia said. “I'm sure they've made him suffer terribly.”

Luke shrugged. “There's nothing we can do about it.”

“Couldn't you at least have someone make an unofficial inquiry? One of your acquaintances in the English foreign office?”

Luke's blue eyes were sharp as he looked at her. “Why do you care what happens to Nikolas Angelovsky? God knows he's never given a damn about you or anyone else.”

“Part of it is that he's a family member—”

“A distant one.”

“—and part of it is that he's been victimized by the same corrupt government officials that I was.”

“In his case there was good reason,” Luke said sardonically. “Unless you believe Shurikovsky's death really was a suicide.”

His condescending manner stung her. “If you've decided to appoint yourself judge and jury over Nikolas, then you're no better than the tsar and his rotten ministers!”

They glared at each other. A flush of fury began at Luke's shirt collar and swept upward. “So now you're defending him.”

“I have a right. I know what it's like to have everyone against you, facing all the accusation and scorn, having nowhere to turn—”

“Next you'll be demanding that I take him under my roof.”

“
Your
roof? I thought it was
our
roof! And no, I hadn't thought of such a thing—but would it be too much to ask for you to offer shelter to someone in my family?”

“Yes, if it's someone like Nikolas Angelovsky. Dammit, Tasia, you know as well as anyone what he's capable of. He's not worthy of this conversation. Not after what he did to us.”

“I've forgiven him for that, and if you can't, at least you can try to understand—”

“I'll see him in hell before I forgive him for his interference in our lives—”

“Because he hurt your pride,” Tasia shot back. “That's why you're so enraged by the mere mention of his name.”

That was a direct hit. She saw it in the sudden lowering of his brows and the violent twitch of his jaw, saw that he was clenching his teeth to hold back a scornful remark. Somehow he controlled himself enough to speak, though his voice was distinctly unsteady. “You think I value my pride more than your safety?”

Tasia was resolutely silent, torn between anger and guilt.

“What are we arguing about?” Luke asked, his eyes as cold as ice. “What is it you want me to do?”

“All I'm asking is that you try to find out if Nikolas is dead or alive.”

“And then what?”

“I…” Tasia looked away from him and shrugged evasively. “I don't know.”

His lips curled in a sneer. “You're a poor liar, Tasia.”

He left without agreeing to her request. Tasia knew that it would be foolhardy to raise the issue again. For the next few days they carried on as usual, but their conversations were strained and their silences were filled with unanswered questions. Tasia couldn't explain why the thought of Nikolas's plight bothered her so, but she was increasingly anxious to know what had happened to him.

One evening after supper, when Emma had gone up to her room, Luke drank a snifter of brandy and regarded Tasia with a speculative stare. She squirmed uncomfortably but held his gaze, sensing that he had something important to tell her.

“Prince Nikolas has been exiled from Russia,” he said curtly. “I heard from the foreign minister that he's taken a house in London.”

Tasia burst with excited questions. “
London
? He's here now? Why did he come to England? How is he? What about his condition—”

“That's all I know. And I forbid you to have anything to do with him.”

“
Forbid
?”

Luke toyed with the brandy snifter, rolling it gently in his fingers. “There's nothing you can do for him. He has everything he needs. Apparently he was allowed to leave with a tenth of his fortune intact, which is more than enough to sustain him.”

“I should think so,” Tasia said, reflecting that a tenth of the Angelovsky fortune would amount to at least thirty million pounds. “But to lose his home, his heritage…”

“He'll do fine without them.”

Tasia was stunned by his callousness. “Do you know what the government interrogators do to men suspected of treason? Their favorite technique is to flay a man's back until the bone appears, and then roast him over a fire like a pig on a spit! Whatever's been done to Nikolas, I'm sure no amount of money could compensate for it. He has no family in England except me and Cousin Alicia—”

“There's no way in hell Charles will let her visit Angelovsky.”

“Ah. So both you and Charles are in complete control of your wives?” Tasia sprang from her chair, unable to sit and talk calmly any longer. Resentment boiled up inside her. “When I married you, I expected to have an English husband who would respect me, who would allow me to say what I think, and give me the freedom to make choices for myself. From what you've told me, that was no less than what you gave your first wife. You can't claim that I would be in any danger from Nikolas, nor would I do harm to anyone by seeing him! You can't forbid me something without offering any explanation why.”

Luke's face darkened with rage. “In this you'll obey me,” he said in a guttural tone, “and I'll be damned if I give you an explanation. In some matters my decision is final.”

“Simply because you're my husband?”

“Yes. Mary abided by that, and so will you.”

“I will not!” Tasia quivered like a tightly drawn bow. Her hands knotted into fists. “I'm not a child you can order about! I'm not a belonging, or an animal you can harness and lead wherever you wish, or a slave to do your bidding. My mind and body are my own—and until you reverse your decision about letting me see Nikolas, you are not to touch me!”

Luke moved so swiftly that she didn't have time to react. All at once she was caught up against him, his hand twisted in her hair, his crushing mouth fastened on hers. He kissed her hard, grinding her lips against her teeth until she tasted blood. She whimpered and pushed against him, gasping with fury when he released her. Slowly her trembling fingers moved up to her bruised lips.

“I'll touch you whenever and however I want,” Luke said harshly. “Don't push me too far, Tasia…or you'll regret it.”

Although Alicia had no desire to see Nikolas, she was curious about his situation. “They say it took twenty wagons to bring his valuables from the docks to the house he let,” she told Tasia as the two of them talked over tea. “He's had all sorts of callers already, but he won't see anyone. It's all anyone is talking about—the mysterious exiled Prince Nikolas Angelovsky.”

“Are you going to visit him?” Tasia asked quietly.

“My dear, I haven't seen Nikolas since I was a little girl, and I have no desire or obligation to see him now. Besides, Charles would explode if I set one foot on Nikolas's property.”

“I can't imagine Charles in a temper,” Tasia said. “He's the most mild-mannered person I've ever known.”

“It does happen,” Alicia assured her. “Once every two years or so. You wouldn't want to be in the vicinity when he blows.”

Tasia smiled slightly, then gave a deep sigh. “Luke is angry with me,” she confided. “
Very
angry. Perhaps he has every right to be. I can't explain why I must see Nikolas…All I know is that he's alone and suffering, and there must be some way I can help him.”