Free An Angel Runs Away by Barbara Cartland Page B

Ula actually knew without being told where Kubaric was.
    It was a small, so-called independent state, where the Eastern Ottoman Empire bordered Afghanistan. It had, she recalled, a great potentiality for the production of jewels, which lay mostly unmined in its mountains.
    The reigning Prince, her father had told her, lived in great style while the mass of his subjects were miserably poor.
    She therefore looked with interest at Prince Hasin as the Duchess presented her.
    She saw that he was a man rising forty, slightly stout from what she was sure was soft living and his face, which when he was younger could have been good-looking, showed signs of debauchery.
    She suspected, amongst other things, that he indulged in the use of drugs, which were so prevalent, her father had told her, in that part of the world.
    When the Prince’s eyes met hers, she knew that he was not just unpleasant, but in some way she could not define, dangerous.
    She was sure of this when, as he took her hand and she sank in a low curtsey, she felt his vibrations were if not evil, certainly extremely unpleasant.
    She wanted to walk away from him immediately, but without being rude it was impossible for her to do so when he put his arm around her waist and drew her onto the dance floor.
    The band was playing a waltz, which had just been introduced into England by the Russian Ambassador’s wife, the witty Princess de Lieven. It was, however, frowned upon, being thought too intimate by a number of the older and more severe hostesses.
    There was nothing Ula could do but let the Prince move her around the dance floor to the strain of the romantic music.
    She was uncomfortably aware that he was holding her closer than any of her other partners had done and that his voice, as he talked to her, was deep with an emotion she did not like to define, even to herself.
    “You are very beautiful, Miss Forde!”
    Ula did not answer and he went on,
    “Are you cold and reserved, as so many English women profess to be or is there fire behind those sparkling eyes, a fire which I wish to burn for me?”
    With an effort Ula managed to say,
    “I find it – difficult to follow what Your Highness is – saying when I am afraid of – missing a step. I have not often – danced the waltz before.”
    “If I am the first to dance a waltz with you,” the Prince said again in that deep, rather frightening voice, “then I would wish to be the first to kiss you, the first man to awaken you to the joys of love.”
    Ula held herself as stiffly as she could and made no attempt to answer what the Prince had just said.
    After a moment he remarked,
    “I am told that your uncle is the Earl of Chessington-Crewe, whom I have met on the Racecourse.”
    This, Ula thought, was safer ground and she quickly asked,
    “Does Your Highness own racehorses?”
    “Not in this country, but I am building up a stable in Kubaric.”
    “How interesting!” Ula said.
    “I would like to show you my horses,” the Prince replied, “and many other things as well.”
    Again there was something alarming in the way he spoke, but to Ula’s relief the music came to an end and he was forced to follow her as she moved quickly towards the Duchess.
    When she reached the Dowager, who was talking to several elderly gentlemen, Ula curtseyed and said,
    “I thank Your Highness.”
    “You will dance with me again.”
    It was a statement rather than a question.
    “I am afraid that will be impossible,” Ula said quickly. “Your Highness will realise that, as the ball is given in my honour, my programme is already full.”
    There was an expression in his half-closed eyes which made her feel embarrassed and increased her dislike of him even more.
    “I shall not forget you, Miss Forde,” he said and, taking the hand she held out to him, raised it to his lips.
    Because Ula was wearing attractive mittens of fine lace rather than gloves, she could feel his lips, thick, warm and sensuous on her skin. She felt herself,