Free Flight to Verechenko by Margaret Pemberton Page A

the frenzy of clapping as the music grew faster and faster in time to the mens’ flashing boots. Then it was the servants’ turn to dance.
    Gagarin, the under-butler, grabbed at an unsuspecting Alice, pulling her laughingly after him and whirling her round in wild abandon. The next minute Dmitri had hold of Catherine’s waist, and was pulling her protestingly into the centre of the throng, spinning her round and round as the music grew faster and faster, so that the faces around her were nothing but a glazed blur. As the music ended and she gasped for breath, Dmitri forced a way through the crowd, searching for beer.
    â€˜My goodness, how do they keep it up?’ she asked as the violins began playing and the lawns of Verechenko throbbed to the beat of hands and feet.
    â€˜This is nothing. Ask again in six hours’ time. Where the devil is the beer table?’
    â€˜Below the terrace, next to the musicians.’
    Dmitri grinned, his teeth even yellower in the torch-light. ‘Wait here while I get myself a glass,’ and he shouldered his way through the chanting throng towards the beer barrels.
    All around her the embraces of dancing couples were growing more blatant and Kira, Maria’s maid, was being kissed passionately by one of the stable boys. Catherine thought it wisest to slip back to the house before Dmitri returned with similar ideas.
    She was seconds too late, but it wasn’t Dmitri who strode past and gripped her wrist, but Bestuzhev. Politely she demurred, trying to disentangle herself, but Bestuzhev wasn’t listening. His huge dome of a head was glistening with sweat, his eyes glazed with alcohol. With a bellow he charged into the throng, dragging Catherine after him. To struggle would have been futile and the only escape that Catherine could see was to keep a frantic look out for Dmitri, and to make a dash for it the first time Bestuzhev’s hold on her slackened.
    Crushed to his massive chest she was pushed and buffeted, the shrieks of the dancers and the racing rhythm of the music deafening her.
    At last, just when she felt she could hang on to her self-control no longer, the music ceased and Bestuzhev threw his arms wide, yelling for more. Before he could regain his grasp, Catherine twisted away, pushing between two half-drunk footmen and racing across the lawns as fast as her skirts would allow. By the time she reached the foot of the terrace steps she was breathless. In the distance the torches leaped and flamed, and she could see the unmistakable glint of Bestuzhev’s head as he whirled a more willing partner to the throbbing music.
    With a gasp of relief Catherine hurried up the darkened steps. As she did so a broad-shouldered figure swung through the open French windows, leaping down the steps two at a time, knocking her off balance so that she fell to her knees.
    â€˜What the devil …’ Dominic said good-humouredly, bending down and helping her to her feet. A firework shot across the night sky and in the golden trail it left behind Dominic saw who it was and the laughter faded slowly from his face.
    â€˜Leaving the party so soon?’ There was a strange throb in the rich timbre of his voice.
    Her heart hammered painfully. ‘The party has grown a little too boisterous.’ She wondered if he had seen her dancing with Bestuzhev and hoped that he had not.
    The singing and dancing was growing wilder by the minute and his eyes glinted.
    â€˜So it is. A pity I arrived late otherwise I could have claimed a dance as the Captain did.’
    â€˜I had no desire to dance with the Captain,’ Catherine said as freezingly as the tremble in her voice would allow. ‘ He forced his attentions on me.’
    â€˜Did he indeed?’ Dominic’s eyes narrowed. He tilted her chin upwards with his forefinger. ‘You will forgive my presumption, Miss Cartwright, but the last time we met in such convenient darkness I had the distinct impression