Free Silver Nights by Jane Feather Page A

pistol. Knowing Prince Golitskov, Adam wryly suspected the latter to be the case.
    She led the conversation in the manner of an experienced hostess, asking him the inoffensive social questions about himself and his family, never intrusive, yet giving the appearance of genuine interest. There was not a trace of the bitter anger, the obstinate refusal to accept her situation, to which he had become accustomed, and he was at pains to discover what had produced this change of mood. Perhaps her wretched day had caused the softening effect.
    It seemed as if that was the case. When she rose from the table, she yawned delicately, saying, “You will excuse me if I retire, Count. I find myself somewhat fatigued.”
    â€œOf course,” he said, rising politely. “I am sorry, but we must leave again at dawn. I would like to reach Kiev by nightfall, if it is at all possible.”
    â€œI expect it will be, Count.” Not a flicker crossed her face, not a hesitation in the equable tone. “I am not made of porcelain.” She curtsied, and he found himself looking for a hint of irony in the remark as he bowed in response. But he could detect nothing, and her fatigue could hardly be feigned after such a day.
    As she disappeared through the rear door into the chamber beyond, he went outside into the now chilly evening. His own choice of resting place was limited. The one bedchamberhaving been appropriated for the sole use of the princess and her maid, the postman had been able to offer his distinguished guest a cot in the living room, unless he would prefer to share the family’s accommodations in the living quarters behind the kitchen. Or, of course, there was the hayloft over the stables, where the troop, the coachman, and Boris Mikhailov were already installed. Adam had opted for the cot in the living room, but found himself unwilling to seek his rest until the rich aromas of chicken stew and klukva had dissipated somewhat.
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    Sophie found Tanya snoring resonantly on the mattress in the corner of the chamber. A day that began at sunup and ended at sundown seemed perfectly fitting to Tanya Feodorovna. But Sophie knew that her own fatigue and tension had gone beyond sleep. She was accustomed to vigorous exercise and the bracing refreshment of the open air. Instead, she had spent a day of torment shut up in a dark, airless carriage interior, with the prospect of another such day ahead of her…and another such…and another such…until the city walls would enclose her, and the bars of a marriage…
    She could not endure it. It was the stark truth, and she knew that, without conscious planning, she had been doing all in her power this evening to encourage her escort to drop his guard. Now, she went to the tiny window, looking out into the dusk, thinking rapidly. She could not return to Berkholzskoye…not yet. But she had the Golitskov gems; her grandfather had not intended that they should be put to use so soon, but they had been an unconditional gift. She had her pistol, and she had Khan, the unbeatable Khan. Once on his back, she could outstrip all pursuit, cross the border into Poland…and from there into Austria. A world where the czarina’s imperial will did not hold sway. What would a fugitive do there?
    Not a useful question at this point, decided Sophie. She moved silently around the little chamber, gathering up the few things she considered necessary. The gems, her pistol, a change of clothes; boots, hooded cloak, and gloves wouldprovide protection against the night chills. The thought of the fresh night air, of the sensation as it whistled past her ears, of the sound of Khan’s hooves pounding across the steppes, eating up the miles that lay between her and freedom, was so heady that for a second she felt almost dizzy.
    There was a profound silence in the posting house. The postman and his family would also follow the sun in their daily routine. Where was the count? That was