Free Golden Paradise by Susan Johnson Page B

nearby mountain stream, was ambrosia to senses already attuned to pleasure. They had made love endlessly and then much later laughed with silliness and frivolous intimacy, as if they were the only two people in the world. Tonight, he thought, he'd touch her again and kiss her and make her laugh and give to her the enormous pleasure she'd given him.
    Lisaveta dropped her eyes first before his dark gaze, more concerned with appearances than he. Stefan never cared about comportment; in that he was his father's son. Only his betrothal to Princess Taneiev was an aberration in personality. No one on either branch of his family had ever been practical. There had been no need with their wealth and status, but then, none before him had seen their father die in slow degrees, consumed by drugs, none had seen their father die a broken man living in exile at the spas of Europe. So Stefan was going to be practical in the one facet that had been his father's downfall. He would have a wife beyond reproach; he would have children with a legal patrimony from birth.
    "Do you like my wines?" he asked Lisaveta. "They say some of the Georgian sun is captured in each bottle." He spoke to her as though no one else existed at the table.
    "It does warm one's senses," she replied, her smile enchanting. After several glasses of wine Lisaveta found herself relaxed and without rancor. In fact, after listening to Nadejda over dinner, she'd actually begun feeling sorry for Stefan. The young woman was devoid of amusement or charm, fastidious only of her position and the refined affectations of society. How dreary for Stefan, who loved to laugh.
    "It reminds me," Lisaveta went on, holding her glass up to the light, its golden contents rich and sunshiny, "of a special wine from Tzinondali Papa and I once had. Papa called it Angelglow because one's blood turned warm."
    "Those," Stefan said, smiling back, "are my vineyards."
    "My papa prefers French wines," Nadejda interjected. "He says only French wines are of superior quality and fit for the palate of a gentleman." She spoke to the table at large as though she were delivering news of importance. "The Emperor, you know, only drinks French champagne."
    Stefan knew better—Tsar Alexander had a fondness for his vintages and they'd shared many bottles together over the years—but Nadejda's insipidity wasn't his concern. "I'm sure you're right," he said in a detached way, more interested at the moment in the beautiful flush on Countess Lazaroff's cheeks. Had her smile been as suggestive as her remark or was he imagining her response? His eyes took in her azure gown and the way Militza's pearls at her neck and ears set off her sun-kissed skin to perfection. Considering the haste required of the dressmaker in Aleksandropol, she'd done exceptionally well, and his glance drifted down to the provocative splendor of Lisaveta's breasts displayed so enticingly by the low-cut décolletage. Even her skin exuded warmth; it glowed like his wine with fragrant allure, and he could almost smell its heated perfume.
    Shifting slightly in his chair to accommodate his arousal, he glanced at the clock. Nine-thirty—four more courses to go. A brief half hour, he hoped, in conversation in the drawing room, and then everyone could retire. He was impatient and restless. Lisaveta was near enough to reach over and touch, but he couldn't. Because this stranger who was his fiancée had decided to spend several days in residence while her family visited the Viceroy in Tiflis.
    Militza had to ask him twice whether Archduke Michael had returned to Saint Petersburg, and when she did finally gain his attention, his answer was brief. He didn't participate further in the conversation, and after all the discussion of his taste in food, he hardly ate, as though he were host by requirement but detached from the actual proceedings. Georgi, on an informal footing with his employer, coaxed him to try the sturgeon, which Stefan did to please him, but he